#Ornamental corset

[ylohein]

Just thinking about doing a porcelaine corset or a normal one for Orel

13-08-2023

*Do not use my artwork unless you paid me and asked for it*

[angel-void]

[clove-pinks]

They should give me millions of dollars to make a prestige historical drama. What will it be about? I don't really know, but I will have three or four dress historians on staff to do for historical costuming what those consultants hired by the Jurassic Park producers did for paleontology. Everyone's hair is styled period-accurate with hair oil and authentic product, I forbid the actors from using modern shampoos during filming. Hats will be worn!! There will be no explosions or CGI because I spent all that money on textiles.

[travellingstranger]

Time transformed into space.

National Museum

Wroclaw, Poland

[skyeslittlecorner]

Hello! I hope you're having a wonderful Halloween!

Will it be all right if I request the WHB King's reactions to MC wearing One of those sexy Halloween costumes (any of your choice!)

You're writing is extremely well done And I really enjoy reading your work!

Have a nice day or night :3

Hello! And thank you! And yes, and thank you! I'm writing this answer early, because the time it's posted, I'm probably sitting with family and friends. Hope I can brighten up your three minutes with my silly ideas 

HAPPY HALLOWEEN!

You came to Satan in a mummy costume, covering strategic places with bandages. He is delighted. For this joy he will kick anyone who looks at you, and he will want to take you here, now, in this corner, on this wall. The bandages you wore will grow to the status of relics. Satan will tie them around his wrists for difficult fights, and small pieces will be used to tie the most seriously wounded warriors, as a reward and support in healing.

Mammon won't be able to take his eyes off you when he sees you dressed as an Egyptian queen. Dripping with gold and silk, half-naked, combining inaccessibility with luxury... This will be Tartaros' favorite Halloween, because Mammon will take you on his knees and open up the throne room, accepting audiences for ordinary devils. Let all the devils see how beautiful and powerful their queen and his Master is, before he takes you to his chambers to ruin your expensive makeup.

Leviathan will be disgusted when he sees your exposed shoulders, tight corset and short skirt with a deep cut if you dress up as a pirate. What kind of idea is that? And that knife on your thigh. You want to fight with anything? With this? Foolish human. As a pirate, you should be ready to fight a kraken... and he can show you how dangerous and big the tentacles are.

You know those edible bracelets made of powdered candy? This is what the bikini Beelzebub will send you is made of. Only there will be less candy than on this bracelet. So that you can somehow go out on the town, you'll throw on his coat and tie it tightly around your waist. Improvisation is all you have left. You grab your markers, open the phone gallery and in the mirror, sloppily, scribble words on your body; Beel's tattoos. You'll steal Bael's glasses, and voila! Avisos, don't count on seeing your king, because when he sees you, he'll get obsessed. Do you want to be his so much that you're dressed up as him? Do you miss him so much? Come here. All you'll see for the next few hours is him and his clones; he'll point out every mistake in your tattoos and make you learn them by heart on his own body.

For Lucifer, you really tried your best with the makeup. You came in torn clothes, with fake wounds painted all over your body. The poor devil almost had a heart attack when he saw you. He rushed to check which of them were real, and when it turned out that none, you only heard a quiet whisper and felt a warm breath on your cheek. "Not very convincing." he muttered disapprovingly, as if he almost didn't panic at your sight. "I'll help you make them better." He licked his lips. Looking at his sharp fangs... your makeup can't compare to what they will leave.

For Belphegor the sexiest thing you can do is dress up as a mattress, but he guesses that wasn't the purpose of this event. You put on a sexy outfit, drew some card designs, and slid some cards and dices under your clothes and into ruffles. You decided to present the devil with a fait accompli. Took his favorite dice and threw it under your bra. "Oops." You spread your hands as if you hadn't done it on purpose. "I think you lost something?" Although initially unfazed, you quickly motivated him to search... even though your ornaments would soon be the last thing he was interested in.

Asmodeus was hard (as always) to figure out… so you decided to ignore him completely and just have fun. Let's test our king. Will he really think you're sexy in *everything*? Even if you dress up as an inflatable T-Rex? You were already excited when you found out that there was no such thing in hell. Sucks. Annoyed, you decided to tease your king. With Eligos and Paimon you spent a good few days, preparing a tight black dress, a curly wig, and specific makeup. To them, you looked simply sexy; but when you stood before Asmodeus, made up like Lust, his eyes widened. After all, he’s a man of culture who spends most of his time on Earth. “Sassy.” He smiled menacingly as he ran his finger over the tattoo between your collarbones. “Do you want to mock me or please me? Oh, well… Guess I have to ignite you.” Others better appreciate your creation before he sees you, because there will be absolutely nothing left of it.

[bastart13]

How did you go about redesigning the clothes in you remaster?

Ooh great question! I'll go into more detail below, but the gist is that I broke down each character into their vibes and general aesthetic and tried fitting it to my design biases.

I tend towards more grounded designs than the original JRPG-inspired armour and clothes, so I referenced a lot of medieval fashion for the setting. You'll usually see me covering bared skin in battle outfits or toning down extra details I struggle to draw

Then, using those references, I'd try to thumbnail basic shapes and colours to figure out which works best

(More specific character notes below)

For some characters like Iseul, I didn't feel much need to change his outfit so I mostly toned down the detail to suit my style. I shifted the colour scheme to something warmer and removed the fur and extra armour to serve his image as animal-loving and battle-avoidant. This serves as great contrast to his timeskip outfit where he then commits to being both a warrior and a prince, with more ornamentation and practical armour

I designed Helena and Alain as contrasts. They have very similar themes and designs, so I decided to smooth Alain down into the picture-perfect metal knight while Helena's wilder and asymmetric. I referenced more realistic armour for Alain but overall I wanted to keep his clothes similar.

For Helena, my design style is more practical and thematically I want to avoid Helena baring skin and vulnerability so I extended her corset into more of a chest armour and covered her other thigh. To add to her duality of magic and metal, I gave one arm armour and bared the other to show off magical scars.

August and Altea's designs are where I start to venture off into more vibes-based outfits. August is humble and traditional, a knight with proud loyalty to his Lord and family, so I gave him medieval colours to represent both on his tabard. The armour is still there, but it's less focus on metal and more on "cheaper" materials to serve as a contrast to his timeskip where he becomes a proper knight in shining armour. For that reason, I took away the cape and other unnecessary decoration.

Then Altea is flashy, wealthy, and bright. I kept the focus on light armour, with scalemail as the only obvious protection. I've mentioned before but I took inspiration from south east asian fashion (mostly cambodia and malaysia) as a grounded but ornate basis for her magical girl theme. Here the colour scheme and fabrics are what mostly connects it to the original

Similarly, Lennox is where vibes rule and the overal aesthetic changes quite a bit. He's often described with "choir boy" hair, so I wanted to combine choir robes with ornate priestly outfits to sell him as a vain cult-leader. I kept the symmetry, long coat, and lack of obvious armour, but I wanted him to look less modern and stick with less structured outfits.

One thing specific to the generals, is that I wanted to give them more of a variety to colour palettes to sell that while they're working together, they're not exactly happy about it. While they all have a focus of blue and silver to keep them cohesive, they each have a motif: Alain - silver, Helena - pale blue, Jinhai - brown, Lennox - dark blue, Magnus - turquoise

[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

[littlefreya]

Summary: Whatever madness drove this woman to board a pirate’s ship of her own free will was beyond comprehension. Yet there she was, in velvet and silk, marching toward certain danger and the sinful desires of the monstrous Captain August ‘Blackbeard’ Walker.

Pairing: AU! Pirate August Walker x OFC (no mentions of body type or ethnicity)

Word count: 1.9k

Warnings: 18+. No smut, but sexual themes are mentioned, as well as dark themes - he is a pirate. Possible historical inaccuracy. This is not the real Blackbeard. Mentions of kidnapping.

A/N: Not beta’d. Many thanks to @agniavateira @luna-aestas and @wolvesandhoundshowltogether for the support, and thanks to @geralts-yenn because this story started as a 15-minute challenge, and I ended up writing a whole shot. There might be a part 2, and this might turn into a series. We will see after my anxiety runs its course :D

Thanks for reading, and please reblog and comment if you enjoyed :)

Neptune's Snare

The soggy wooden platform creaked beneath her feet as she climbed onto the main deck. Each step eliciting s husky wail - a sorrowful hymn to the lost maidens of the sea - those who would never return, those devoured by the sinful desires of monstrous captain August ‘Blackbeard’ Walker. 

Whatever madness drove women to go there willingly was beyond comprehension. No more than a tomb, the ship alone looked like a carnivorous maw; black iron spikes stood firmly at the bow, and the sheer size of it was enough to strike fear at the heart of even the bravest sailor.

Yet, there she was, draped in a black velvet cloak and an ivory corset dress, willingly marching toward grave danger. 

Dozens of ragged men welcomed her onboard, filthy scoundrels, all drenched in an exotic mixture of sweat and alcohol. Hungry, their eyes gnawed at her tender flesh, but none would dare touch her. If August’s crew knew one thing, it’s that some fates are much, much more worse than death. 

It didn’t stop them from taunting. Suckling their lips, they followed the girl on her march toward the captain’s cabin. Cheer and chortle in their voice as they imagined the obscenities their captain was about to perform on this naive girl. 

“Pity, he never let us look…” whined one of the pirates while the other bood.

“Aye, you mad to come ‘er tonight. The cap’n hasn’t had his fill in weeks, lass. He would sure pillage each of you’ holes tonight.”

“He gonna paint her full of his sea foam!”

The entire ship roared with their laughter. The girl, however, kept a blank face and, without spending any minute longer, opened the door to the captain's cabin.                                                                                                                                                

Bright, golden luminance blinded Lizette’s sight as she entered the cabin. The walls were plated by ornaments made of gold, reflecting the sparkle of the hundred candles that burnt at the decorated candelabras and crystal chandelier. Fine works of art hung from each wall, and on a vast lacquered table stood a plethora of delicacies that made Lizette’s belly gurgle. 

She stared at the table momentarily, almost fooled by the obvious seduction. In complete opposite to the murky exterior of the ship, the captain’s chamber was a room fit for kings, sputtering style, elegance and riches. Perhaps this was how he lured them. The poor naive girls truly believed he would give them a better life. But Blackbeard was no king, nor was he a gentleman. He was the deadliest man the world has ever known - a serpent, nightshade - all he could give a woman was death. 

“Take off your cowl.”  

A deep voice called from behind, dark and mysterious as the ocean. It struck like an icy shard through her spine, making her shoulders jerk and stiffen. It was odd to know someone by hundred of myths and stories spun around them and have men mimic their voice in an attempt to portray them but never know what they truly sounded like. 

As it turned out, August sounds like a man one doesn’t refuse. 

Obedient, Lizette pulled the cowl from her head - slow as she would unwrap a much-anticipated present. Her gaze kept to the floor still, continuing to play the coy virgin the Captain wanted her to be, though if she had to be honest - she was terrified of whatever hideous monster she would soon have to face. 

There must have been a reason why the women who came here never left. Lizette was willing to bet every dime in her pocket that August was the most gruesome, repulsive creature, and the only way for him to keep people from knowing was by murdering each woman he bedded!    

“Shy, aren’t we?” Blackbeard murmured with a dry chuckle and began to circle her, observing his bounty from side to side.

“I quite enjoy shy,” he chuckled once more, his voice almost a groan. 

She forced herself not to flinch too much. She could sense his glare upon her, stripping her garment by garment, weighing what he earned tonight and considering all the ways in which he would pillage her body. It made her feel like she was one of the delicacies that rested on his table rather than a person. 

After gyrating around her and inspecting each crease of her body, August finally returned to his starting spot behind her and, in a low, delighted groan, demanded, “Turn around.” 

Doing as he commanded, she turned to him, still keeping her glance plastered to the floor, her breathing now shallow as the air in the room grew magically stuffy. She could spot his blurry silhouette from the corner of her eye; a tall and fit man, rather broad. It seemed that he was doing a loose white cotton shirt and dark trousers, and from his waistband - a gleam of silver winked back. 

“Are you a mute?” 

Another chill shot through her as he spoke. Absentminded, she swallowed. “No…”  embarrassingly, her voice cracked; she took a deep breath and reprimanded, “No, sir. Just nervous.”

“Captain,” he corrected. 

Lizette nodded but did not repeat him. She couldn’t. Words died on her tongue as the Captain made a bold step toward her, drawing dangerously near. He paused for a shy second, fingers laced together, contemplating, before he reached a fist beneath her chin and, in a ceremonious tenderness, lifted her chin.  

The air drained from her completely. Her lips parted in a mixture of fear and astonishment. 

It couldn’t be.

Perhaps she had the wrong man?

Grey, ocean-eyes peered at her through a face that women and men would damn themselves for. No! Even angels would. His jaw was sharp and profound, statuesque like cut marble - dashed with dark stubble and a thick raven-black moustache. His lips, though chafed from the salty sea breeze, were plumped and shaped to be kissed, and while some of his curls were streaked with silver, he still had a healthy mane of hair on his head. 

‘He could have been a decent man,’ she thought, ‘and yet he chose this?!’

There was an obscure attractive melancholy to his looks - almost tragic. 

August took another moment to study her face, a frown slowly forming on his ridged brow. “You look familiar…”

“I work the docks,” she answered almost immediately.

His stare deepened, eyes dropping to her cleavage momentarily before returning to pierce back into the back of her skull, “Skin too soft. Too shy to be a prostitute.” 

His fingers wrapped around her chin, caging it between his thumb and his index in a tight grip, making it hurt. He tilted his head, daring her to come up with another lie.  

“The tavern,” Lizette answered, firm and steadfast. She did not flinch from his touch, even though every instinct begged her to.

“And you came to me. Why?”

“What girl wouldn’t give everything for a night with the notorious Captain Blackbeard? The living legend… the king of pirates.” She softened her eyes as much as possible and offered a shy pout to reconcile him. 

August chewed on the inside of his cheek; storm clouds gathered on his pale eyes as he contemplated. They both knew she was flattering him to gain his trust and save her pretty little neck. It wasn’t a situation he hadn’t encountered in the past. They both also knew that he was stronger, bigger and armed and could snap said pretty little neck in less than a split second. 

“Are you a virgin?” He proceeded. 

She nodded, her throat clenching. 

August lingered on her response and, after what felt like an eternity, offered a small grin and pinched her chin sweetly as if to praise her before moving a step closer. Lizette smiled back nervously. She could sense his rum-drenched breath on her face. The scent was so pungent it made her moan invulnerably. 

Or perhaps it was the anxiety that was eating into her heart. 

“Ever sucked a cock, pet?” 

His question was answered by a small click that echoed through the quarter and the press of hard, cold metal against the bare parts of his chest. 

Not stepping back, he slowly, almost theatrically, spread his arms into a gesture of defeat while peering at the girl. No rage nor fear painted his face, and as he spoke, there was neither surprise in his voice. 

“Heh. So you ARE a whore.”

Lizette held the pistol determined, not saying a word.

“What is it that I do, pet?” 

Offering a sly grin, the pirate pressed against the barrel; the oceans in his glare darkened. As Lizette stared back, she could have sworn the many shades of blue in his sights shifted and swayed like angry waves. Quickly brushing the thought away, she cocked the gun in a warning, her little thumb grazing the trigger.

But to August, it was clear that the girl had never killed anyone before, and the longer she stalled, the more shaky her hand became. Taunting, he moved further into the barrel, which forced her to take a step back. 

“Do not move closer!” She finally spoke. 

August brushed her warning away, moving forward instead. He had been so nimble in his movement, fluid, like a sea creature himself. Only now she realised that his hands were no longer in the air. 

“Was it your dear mother?” He suggested. “Father? Sister?” He paused and offered a vicious smirk, “Ah… I see, A lover. Well, to that, I surely deserve to die. Go ahead, pet, pull the trigger.” 

His slender, heavily ringed fingers reached to envelop the barrel, holding the pistol steady for the girl. Every breath he took pressed the metal harder against his sternum. Lizette could sense his heartbeat pulsating through the barrel, the thrum of his blood nearly mingling with her own. No longer steady, her digit quivered around the trigger and in her throat, she felt the strenuous hold of anger, guilt and hatred. 

“You have taken everything from me!” She simply answered. 

Soon her sight became blurry, and wetness gathered beneath her eyes.  

‘Do it, do it now.’ 

Another click sounded in the room. Louder than the cocking of a gun. 

Lizette’s eyes flared in shock, and before she could pull the trigger, August had carefully veered the gun from his chest and, in a tenderness that was accustomed to lovers, snatched it from her hand. His other hand laid still on her neck, fastening the iron collar he granted her.

“Good girl,” he teased and then leaned in, pressing a soft kiss to the forehead of the girl who was too struck by her own misfortune and stupidity to react. 

With the pistol safely placed in his waistband, the pirate stepped back, face alighted, eyes sparkling with starlight cascade, like a child who had just earned a new toy.  He clasped his hands together, ecstatic; thick silver rings chiming as they collided.

 “I haven’t taken everything from you, pet. but I am going to…”

With one last slanted grin, the pirate turned on his heels and marched toward the door, not bothering to bid farewell as he left and locked the door behind him.

Panicked, Lizette reached her hands to the iron collar, desperately trying to pry it off her neck despite knowing there was no logic in pulling at the heavy metal. 

“Please!” Tears trickled down her cheeks and chin, “no! No! No! Please!”

Through the open window, she could hear the captain's voice barking orders, commanding his men to lift anchor and set sail. 

****

Chapter Two

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

The Grey Zone 1

Warnings: this fic will include dark content such as noncon, manipulation, age gap, bullying, toxic parental figures, and possible untagged elements. My warnings are not exhaustive, enter at your own risk.

This is a dark!fic and explicit. 18+ only. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Summary: Your relationship with your parents has never been good, and that with a family friend takes a strange turn(goth!reader)

Character: Lloyd Hansen

Note: This is what happens when I decide to say fuck it.

As per usual, I humbly request your thoughts! Reblogs are always appreciated and welcomed, not only do I see them easier but it lets other people see my work. I will do my best to answer all I can. I’m trying to get better at keeping up so thanks everyone for staying with me <3

Your feedback will help in this and future works (and WiPs, I haven’t forgotten those!)

Love you like I love turning intended one shots into series. Take care. 💖

The scent of matcha dampens your corset. Lucky for you, it’s black and won’t stain. That’s the one worry you rarely face in your life; stains. Dark fabric does more favours than just slimming you.

Still, that sunny side isn’t enough to brighten your mood. Your day has been shrouded in dark clouds. Your wasted Starbucks matcha and spoiled study sessions weigh down your feet, the thick treads of your boots clomping down the pavement. And on the bus, you nearly fell right on your face with no seats free to sit.

You look up as you approach your father’s ranch house style home. He didn’t take much pride in you but the house was always a gem for him to show off. Almost all your life, it was under one renovation or another. He was always trying to fix things up, including you.

Your mother enabled his endless ‘improvements’ so long as he bribed her with something pretty. That was her thing. He builds, she decorates, and you are the one ornament that doesn’t fit. At least, that’s what it’s felt like since your turn towards black nail polish and fishnets at thirteen. Seven years later and there was still the same angst woven into your parental relationships.

You tramp up the steps of the porch, not noticing the figure sat on the handcrafted bench near the large squared paned windows. Mr. Hansen sits with a can of craft beer in hand, arching a brow at the can as he reads it skeptically. He glances over, not so surprised by your sudden appearance. 

You take your earbuds out as the racket scratches from the tiny speakers. You thin your lips, smiles not exactly your forte. He sits up and puts the can down on the bench.

“Tastes like fermented socks,” he says coolly, “your dad never has anything good.”

“Mm,” you grumble as you grip the leather strap of your studded knapsack. “Yeah…”

“You want it? Just don’t tattle on me,” he offers as he taps the aluminum brim.

You shake your head.

“I won’t tell,” he smirks.

“You’re right, it tastes like socks,” you say dully.

He chuckles and brings his hand up, smoothing his palm across the buzzed side of his head. He looks at you, a bit longer than usual. You have the urge to take out your phone and check your reflection. 

“I should–”

“That new?”

You speak at the same time. Awkward. Mr. Hansen isn’t usually that out of sync. He has a confidence that makes you feel even more clueless.

“What?” You blink and twist your toe into the wood.

“That shirt.”

You look down at the boned black corset with the violet trim, over a plain black turtleneck. You got it from a vintage store years ago. You’ve worn it so much, the boning holds the shape of your body. You shake your head and shrug.

“Hmm, looks nice.”

The compliment catches you further off guard than his solitary presence. He’s blunt and to the point. The only person you’ve ever heard tell your father the truth. And you know your style is not to everyone's taste.

Looking at him, it's definitely not his. Cream coloured pants, burgundy loafers with golden buckles, and polo striped in shades of goldenrod and garnet.

“Thanks,” you keep from sucking your lip in, not wanting to smear your lip stain. “I should… go.”

“Sure,” he sits back, leaning against the window frame, “if you see your dad, send him out. He ditched me like fifteen minutes ago to find some nonsense sports card.”

“Right,” you continue across the porch.

In your peripheral, his head turns but you don’t meet his gaze. You pull open the screen door, innately aware of him watching you. Why?

The interior door is ajar. You step inside and the spring of the screen snaps it shut behind you. You put your bag on the console table just inside, and lean on it as you unlace your boots. Your mother would subject you to her shrill disapproval if you leave dirt on the runner again.

As you stand, you check your reflection in the round mirror hung on the wall, a frame of golden oak leaves around it. You don’t look that bad. You fixed most of your smeared eyeliner before you left the mall and your lip stain has stuck pretty well. You might be a bit shiny from sweat but nothing egregious.

Before you can grab your bag, the screen door opens. You wince and look at Mr. Hansen as he enters. He is close as he lets the door shut softly and you quickly snatch your knapsack and move away from him. 

“Second thought, gotta hit the bathroom,” he explains but pauses and wiggles his nose, the gesture made more obvious by the trim of hair beneath, “smells like grass.”

“Uh, yeah,” you sling your bag from your elbow, “spilled my tea.”

“Probably a good thing if it smells like a lawn,” he scoffs and kicks off his velvet loafers.

“Probably,” you agree glumly and turn away.

“Too bad though. Hope you didn’t burn yourself.”

You stop again, at the bottom of the stairs. You glance back at him. He’s being strangely nice. This isn’t the same man who called you Wednesday Addams and teased you how he was certain that you must sleep in a coffin. Is something wrong? Is your dad okay?

“Hey,” your dad’s voice booms down the stairs above you. You spin and look up at his descent. He carries the old cigar box he keeps his collectibles in, “home early. Thought you were studying.”

“Yeah, uh, I’m just going to do it here–” you say.

“Your mother wants you to help with dinner tonight,” he doesn’t let you finish. As he nears he stops, looking you up and down like he always does. You have to know that he hates everything about you. “Colourful.”

“Dad,” you whisper a weak plea.

He doesn’t answer you as he shoulders past. You frown but don’t look back. You don’t want to show how much it hurts. Even if it happens every day, it still crushes you. It’s just clothes, why does he care so much? You remember the day he stopped taking you to car shows with him, the day you refused to take out your earrings. That was the switch.

“Studying, huh? Boring, but admirable,” Mr. Hansen comments, “think most dad’s would love to hear that from their daughters, huh, Ray?”

Your father just huffs, “depends what they’re studying.”

You keep on up the stairs. You won’t argue, not in front of company. Especially not in front of Mr. Hansen.

“Degree isn’t worth much when you dress like that,” you hear his remark before you get to the top. 

You peek back downstairs but can’t see the landing below. Funny, you got a job and they don’t care what you wear, they just want you to show up. If only you had the courage to say it out loud. If only it would make a difference.

You shuffle to your room, just down the hall from your father’s. He occupies the primary room and your mother sleeps in her studio, just the next doorway. They can be amiable, given they don’t spend too much time together. Their relationship is more transactional than affectionate.

You wouldn’t know much about that, though. You’re only guessing. The closest you got to a relationship was when Travis invited you under the bleaches… that’s a memory worth forgetting.

You close your door before you can get carried away. You stopped worrying about your parents’ marriage right before high school. You realised then, there wasn’t any use in fretting in it. In fact, you became almost hopeful that one day they would split.

You put your bag on your bed and look around. The vanity you painted black stands beside the dark curtains. Little bat stickers decorate the edges of the mirror, your collection of antique vials and painted bottles line one side, and your make up chest sits on the other. It’s your little cave, the one place no one can tell you who to be.

You turn on the lamp in the shape of a crystal ball. You undo your corset and peel off your turtleneck, leaving the damp clothing in the hamper. You pull on a black and white striped sweater instead. 

You unpack your laptop and climb up on your high queen. The frame has curling iron posts, a particularly gothic design with a peak at the center of the headboard. You love it even if it scratches the paint off the wall.

You pile your pillows up, building a cosy nest to catch up on your work. It’s maybe ten minutes before there’s pounding on your door. Your mother doesn’t wait for an answer. You’ve learned not to expect her to. You look over as she flips on the overhead lights, ruining the subtle ambience of your bedside lamp.

“Uh, hello,” she snips, “your dad said he told you about dinner.”

You frown, “it’s only four–”

“Yes, and? I’m making a bouillabaisse. It needs lots of time,” she retorts, “besides, the table will need to be set for our company.”

“Company? You mean Mr. Hansen–”

“Er yeah,” she sniffs, “don’t be so dumb and stop asking questions.”

“Just curious,” you close your laptop and push yourself across the bed, “coming…”

Your voice trails off as your mother’s already gone, your door left slightly ajar. You huff and follow her tracks, her steps on the stairs as you get to the hallway. You pull your door shut behind you, checking to make sure the fault mechanism catches.

You continue downstairs and follow the impatient clanging of your mother. She’s never very subtle. She already has a glass of red on the counter. She’ll bark at you over it as she tells you exactly how to cook and refuse to do any of it herself.

“Oh, honey,” she says dramatically as she slams the soup pot on the burner, “you look so grim. What happened to that new gloss I bought you?”

“The pink stuff?” You utter as you pick at your sleeves.

“It went so nice with your complexion,” she preens, “it would look so nice with a new dress. I was online shopping today–”

“Mom,” you cross your arms.

“Don’t be a brat. You know, when I was your age, I would’ve loved if my mother still bought me clothes. She made me work for everything I had. She wouldn’t even buy me tampons.”

“I’m sorry,” you murmur.

“Don’t be sorry, get the fish out. Don’t forget the mussels…”

You do as she says. You take out the vast array of fish along with the vegetables she lists off. She empties her glass by the time you start adding ingredients to the blender for the base. You’ve never been a fan of the dish but the last time you tried to convince her on something similar, you went to bed with a stinging cheek. She pours a second glass as you run the motor, holding it extra long to override her nagging.

She leans on the counter, swirling her glass. You can smell her cabinet-laced breath. She’s tipsy already. You add oil to the pot and wait for it to heat up.

“You look so dreary in black,” she mopes, “what happened to my little girl?”

“I’m twenty,” you offer flatly.

“Oh, you started this long before that,” she snarls, “you never wanted to be pretty for your mama.”

“I…” you look down, “this is pretty. To me.”

“You look like one of those girls on the internet…” her head wobbles and she slurps from her glass, “I’ve seen the type. They wear tights like yours and nothing else. What are you always doing on your computer, anyway?”

The accusation scalds you. You shake your head and add the chopped onion, fennel, and leek to the hot oil. This isn’t the first time she’s made the insinuation. Like that time she found certain websites saved on your father’s iPad. It couldn’t have been him, he wouldn’t look at those things. And there was only one other person to blame.

“Schoolwork,” you sigh, “mom,” you look at her wine glass, almost empty again, “how about some water–”

“How about you don’t tell me what to do,” she points at you with a long red nail, “I am your mother, not the other way around.”

“I know,” you grab a rubber spatula and push around the veggies and oil. The fragrant aroma rises in the air. It stokes your appetite.

“Mmm, something smells delicious,” Mr. Hansen’s voice enters ahead of him as you glance over.

Your mother turns and leans her elbows back on the counter, pushing her chest out. You know this part too. Not just with him but the gardener and even the garbage man. Your eyes flick to Mr. Hansen’s before you quickly return your attention to the pot.

“Looks delicious too,” your mother slithers as she leers at him, “Lloyd, I didn’t even get a chance to thank you for the merlot!” She raises her glass sloppily, “there’s enough left for you.”

“Ah, Connie, that’s nice of you,” he replies as he nears, “but it’s cabernet, actually. And my stomach was turned by that craft bullshit.” 

He comes close to the stove, standing beside you as he peers down into the pot. The heat from the stove couples with that of his proximity. Your mother drains her glass and pulls away from the counter.

“More for me,” she chimes and grabs the bottle.

You feel a warmth on your lower back as Mr. Hansen’s cologne mingles with the scent of your cooking, “what’s for dinner, sweetheart?”

You realise he’s touching you. His hand slips under the wool of your sweater and his thumb rubs the skin along the top of your pants. You freeze and keep your hand steady as you simmer the veggies. You peek over at your mother, she’s too distracted with her glass.

“Bouillabaisse,” you answer in a brittle voice. You shift and his hand falls away, grazing the top of your pocket, a tickle on your ass. 

“Mmm, fish,” he purrs, “I’m starving.”

“Shoo, shoo,” your mother waves her hand at him, “won’t cook faster with you hovering around.”

“Fine, fine,” he raises his hands defensively, “don’t burn yourself, Connie. I see you doing all this hard work–”

“Oh, you,” she sneers and grabs the dish cloth from in front of you where it hangs from the oven handle. She whips the end in his direction, “no wonder you and my husband get along.” She snaps him with it again, “you’re a bunch of jackasses.”

He cackles, unbothered by her anger, but retreating nonetheless. You keep your head down and your mother takes another thick gulp. She scoffs.

“Men,” she slurs, “no good. If you won’t listen to me about anything, you take that in, hon. They’re all trash.”

You refuse to look after Mr. Hansen or think about the shadow of his touch on your skin. Men are confusing, that’s enough to keep you away.

[themisimagines]

labyrinth

content: you and vyn attend a birthday party hosted in his honour but end up doing something rather more fun in a garden labyrinth. wink wink nudge nudge. again inspired by anna karenina (2012) film but also labyrinth (1986). maybe a companion to 'i could sleep inside the cold of you'. some spoilers for episode 10. total porn without plot. characters: vyn x fem!reader warnings: public sex, hunter-prey relationship, breeding kink, minor knife play

On your second last day in Svart, Vyn's father hosts a birthday party for Vyn – all to keep up appearances, of course. His father isn't present, and Vyn dislikes half, if not most of the people there. You've made your way through most of the evening by his side, and finally things have begun to wind down, the guests suitably drunk and starting to do unspeakable things, sure to forget everything by tomorrow. Vyn has told you to keep close – he doesn't trust half the people here, and your kidnap by his uncle is still fresh in the forefront of his mind.

Then the next moment, you find yourself wandering the grounds of a large garden maze, heart beating out of your chest as you run as fast as you can, trying to get to the heart of the labyrinth before you get caught. Every single twitch of the leaves and hedges beside you makes you jump. You've dropped pieces of clothing slowly to make a trail, so you don't get lost. Thank goodness they dressed you like an iced cake – layers upon layers of silk, lace, underskirt, petticoats, gloves, ornaments, brocade, outer layers, inner layers, not to mention the hoops used to prop up the voluminous skirts.

Just as you shed one of your outer layers, exposing your bare skin to the chill night air, a low whistle sounds behind you. Without looking, you decide to run, going further and further into the maze, not caring if you get lost now. But just as you see you've hit a dead end, you turn around, but Vyn is there, blocking the entrance.

Vyn stands in front of you, slowly approaching and twirling a decorative blade between his fingers. Even though you know he would never hurt you, there is a tantalising whisper of fear running up your spine, which is deliciously arousing.

'I found you,' he sing songs softly. In the moonlight, his eyes glint as he gets closer, the most delicious shade of honey gold. You love seeing him like this, like a cat who has gotten the cream, a mischievous boy reliving the childhood he never really got to have.

You consider making a dash for it, but he closes the distance and grips your wrists over your head tightly, breath skimming against your ear and neck as he whispers, 'Don't even try... I've hunted down my prey and I intend on enjoying every single moment...'

He turns you around and secures your wrists to a branch with his abandoned bowtie, manoeuvring expertly around your hooped skirts to run his hands up your bodice and corset, slicing open the corset ribbons and stripping your layers back. Standing there, unable to move, you feel especially vulnerable, feeling the cool metal of the blade just barely grazing your skin. Under his careful unwrapping, you are soon completely naked, bared to the moonlight.

'What a marvellous birthday present,' he whispers against your skin, pressing soft kisses throughout your back. 'Thank you.'

You can hear other people have entered the maze, laughing drunkenly from some distance away. Vyn sees you notice them, and chuckles in a low voice. 'You didn't manage to find the heart of the maze so you're all mine. If I choose to let anyone else watch me fuck you, then you can't do anything about it.'

'Pretty words,' you retort, squirming at the feeling of his gloved hands running over your body, squeezing at your tits, ghosting over your thighs, flicking at your clit. 'I bet if anyone actually dared to come over, you would have their head cut off or something.'

He growls at the thought and bites down hard on your neck, definitely leaving a bruise there. 'You're not wrong.'

Vyn pulls away and you whine at the lack of contact, turning around to see what he's up to, but without any warning, he lines his throbbing cock up with your entrance and thrusts up into you, making you cry out in surprise.

The pace he's taking is breathless, cock sliding out fully before slamming into you, setting a desperate pace like he's trying to punish you, forcing small cries from your throat. You are pressed up tightly against the hedge, pain mingling with pleasure, twigs and branches scratching at your delicate skin, feeling like a thousand hands clawing at you, which somehow is a huge turn on.

'That's it,' Vyn purrs. 'Make those beautiful noises for me, darling. I want everyone to hear you.'

You try to bite your tongue just to defy him, but then he grabs your breasts in each hand, forcing you against him and bending your back impossibly as he fucks you fast and hard. Your nipples are in his clever fingers, and he is playing with them in the way that makes you want to scream, because it feels too good, and you are terribly overstimulated from everything. You squirm relentlessly on his cock and you hear him pant shallowly, quietly whispering about how wonderful you are over and over again under his breath, hips thrusting into you endlessly.

You're not content with letting him have his way completely, so you turn your head around to look at his face, which is dark with desire, completely focused on every single sensation as if he's a beast and you're his prey.

'Is that all you've got?' You challenge him.

Upon hearing that, he growls and stops to untie your hands, looking to punish you even further, but the moment you are free you tackle him onto the ground, knocking all the air out of his lungs and mounting him. His face is surprised, but he doesn't resist, and this time it's your turn to pin his arms above his head with his own bowtie as he watches you hungrily, not resisting although you know he could easily break free of your sloppy knots, wanting to see what you do next. It's a strange sight – you are completely nude, having been stripped so thoroughly by Vyn earlier, but he is almost fully clothed. It almost makes you feel like a wild woman who has hunted down her prey and is ready to enjoy the spoils.

You slide down onto his cock, relishing the feeling of fucking outdoors – being fucked from behind always feels so animalistic, but being on top tonight drives you wild, and you lift yourself off his cock and plunge back down, watching Vyn bite his lip and watch you move up and down, your breasts bouncing with every thrust, your thighs burning with exertion. 'Nghh-' you moan, feeling him hit a particularly sensitive spot inside you. 'I love watching you like this,' you tease him breathlessly. 'Helpless beneath me, completely at my mercy...' You grind your hips in a circular motion, drawing your lovemaking out.

There are more voices approaching, they seem to be getting closer, but you're quite sure that they aren't about to find you anytime soon. Cries of pleasure ring out from other corners of the maze, other lovers having found secret spots to release their desires. You see Vyn's eyes glint as you tease him, a smile on the corner of his lips, rising to the challenge. He shifts his feet upwards, thighs grazing your buttocks, and you are just about to ask him what kind of tricks he's trying when his hips thrust upwards, sending you bouncing upwards, and seeing stars from how deeply his cock is buried inside you.

'I can hardly let my prey get away with everything,' Vyn bites down, cock ramming into you, leaving you breathless and begging him to slow down.

'Ah - Vyn - Ah - ah - mmmh!' You cry out, as he drives faster and faster, not letting you gather yourself for a single moment, thrusting so hard that you lose your balance and are pressed against him, hands scrabbling for purchase in the soil as he just uses you mercilessly, chasing his own release while pushing you closer and closer off the edge. 'Ready to scream for our audience?' He chuckles in a low voice. A pair of voices comes so close that you swear they are about to turn the corner, and the thought of getting caught is so deliciously tantalising that Vyn just has to thrust a few more times before you come undone around his cock, trying to stifle your cries in his neck, clenching and throbbing so hard that you see flashes at the side of your vision.

Vyn speeds up for his last few thrusts, and he whispers how good you are, how amazing your cunt feels around his cock, about how much he loves you, and surely you have another one in there for him, he wants to feel you come again. He has freed his own hands and one now snakes down to your clit, the other tearing your hand away from your mouth - 'Don't you dare hold back, I want everyone to hear that you're mine.' He rubs your clit as his cock grows and throbs inside your cunt and that pushes you over the edge again, crying out in earnest this time - 'Fuck yes, Vyn - oh!' and Vyn cums with a guttural groan, growling deeply and squeezing his eyes in pleasure.

The voices trail off, giggling to themselves. There is no way that they didn't hear their lovemaking, but also the hedges are so thick that they couldn't possibly have seen who it was. You collapse onto Vyn, and he embraces you in his arms, both of you panting heavily. He gives you his jacket, and drags over the remains of your dress to keep you warm. 'It would be a shame if you caught a cold,' he says. 'I would feel rather responsible.' You giggle against his chest, buried in layers of silk and tulle. You both look up at the sky, watching the stars and feeling so lucky to be in love.

[resplendentoutfit]

WW I Part II

Women's fashion has less ornament and detail. Pockets were stictched on the exterior of women's skirts and jackets instead of hidden in seams. Jackets were worn longer over the hips and looser fitting with belts wrapped around the waist. Women's waists were no longer emphasized as they had been with corsetted dress. Women's skirts were shorter and showed their shoes.

Suits by Chanel in silk and wool jersey.

La Mode Illustrée, October 8, 1916 | Woman's suit • 1918

Though we don't think of haute couture and war as having anything in common, in France the manufacturing and export of fashionable clothing for women helped to keep the economy going during World War I.

Fashion Plate for the French magazine Les Elegances Parisienne • 1916

While Coco Chanel got her start during the great war, it was Paul Poiret who was the star of the era's high fashion. Referred to as the King of Fashion in America in the 1910s, Poiret is most famous for his designs influenced by Orientalism, Neoclassicism, and Surrealism; the kimono, the Turkish trouser, the slit skirt, and the famous lampshade dress. Mostly, he is remembered for his stance on women’s fashon and the simplification of the female silhouette. He dismissed the petticoat and the corset, as the trends shifted away from tailoring toward draping. He disliked the word fashion, opting instead to design women’s clothing solely as an expression of individuality. “Women are wrong for following one style,” he said.

Paul Poiret's "lampshade" fashions

Chanel photos. The one on the right was taken in front of her first boutique in 1914.

[welcomingdisaster]

House of Finwë + Gender Presentation In Valinor HCs

Disclaimer: I have not been able to find any actual canon on what is considered masculine or feminine dress for the Noldor. It might exist, and I might be blatantly contradicting it. I think I have some grounding in seeing associations between gold/yellow/Laurelin colors and femininity and silver/grey/Telperion colors and masculinity, but it seems elves of any gender will wear/be associated with/named after/etc either color, so I assume this association is somewhat loose, a little as red and blue to us.

Finwë and Míriel, during their reign: They had set the fashion for all of the Noldor courts, and, unlike the Vanyar, there had been to be a contrast between the sorts of fashions they wear; Finwë in well-fitted, sometimes almost figure-hugging dress in bold, bright colors, decorated with gems and embroidery along the collar, sleeves, and hem, while Míriel leaned towards loose, many-layered outfits with quite a lot of visual noise, often covered in embroidery head-to-toe but eschewing quite as many jewels (in part because she found the weight exhausting). She would also wear one or two rings only, to keep her hands freer, while Finwë's hands were heavily ornamented. Finwë's hair was usually done in a half-up half-down style and ornamented, while Míriel's was bound in many twisting plaits, often with colorful strings (or sometimes light dye!) worked into it. These differences were so influential that the associations between masculinity and tight-fitting clothes + freer hair, and feminine styles and looser-cut dress + ornamented braids remained long after Míriel's death, following the Noldor into middle earth.

Finwë and Indis, during their reign: Gender differences in court dress notably decreased during Indis' reign, though some remained present. Indis, fond of sport and horseback riding, preferred tighter-fitting, simpler clothes than her predecessor, and notably wanted to avoid associations with embroidery. Indis was also similar in height to her husband; when, once or twice, she was seen wearing his robes (pinned and styled to better suit her figure) it caused quite a stir in the courts -- whether it was seen as improper conduct or a touching display of devotion varied heavily on who you asked. Indis was, however, very precise with her hair, which was never seen loose; she braided it closely to her head, bound with jewels and pearls. She introduced hair-wrapping to Noldor courts, binding her hair with thick bright silks. This was always considered a highly feminine style, with men at most using a ribbon or two in their braids.

Findis and Lalwen: Findis styled herself often after her mother, but subconsciously favored styles which would garner the least attention; she tended towards looser, more flowering dress, with sleeves so long she could comfortably fidget without drawing too much attention to herself, and tended to keep her hair bound. Lalwen, on the other hand, was at times scandalously masculine in her forms of dress. She was one of the first noble women to wear parts of her hair unbound, and wore bright, simple styles, tailored close to her with a few statement-piece ornaments, a little as early-reign Finwë. She preferred heavily silver jewelry and sought out an association with Telperion. Upon meeting her for the first time, especially in riding-garb that hid her figure and before hearing her speak, strangers sometimes mistook her for her brother Fingolfin, which secretly pleased her.

Feanor, Fingolfin, Finarfin: Feanor often found himself caught between his desire to harken back to his mother in his modes of dress and the fact that his mother had, more or less, set the standards for what was considered feminine in his society (and his desire to appear masculine as the crown prince). He embraced the same visual noise that Míriel did, wearing tightly-tailored vests and corsets covered in embroidery, but in cuts of cloth tended to imitate Finwë's style. He too kept his hands relatively unadorned, for practicality's sake. Fingolfin was one of the first elves to embrace simplicity in dress, wearing darker or subtler robes broken up by a single splash of color; usually in the form of brooches. His long dark hair was sometimes left entirely loose except for one thin braid holding his hair from his eyes, bound with a few silver beads or sapphires, very distinct and masculine styles. Finarfin leaned rather neutral in his dress in his youth, mostly imitating Finwë by default, though he favored bright sunset oranges and pinks, yellows. However, after spending much of his time with the Teleri, he found he enjoyed their modes of dress, often wearing simpler, looser garments, often off-one-shoulder, rarely worn in Noldor courts. This preference was seen by some as feminine, and by some as simply somewhat foreign.

House of Feanor: From his youth Maedhros tended to heavily imitate his father in dress, often wearing ornate and heavily-embroidered robes. He was also often the first model for some of his father's jewelry pieces, and gained something of a reputation for being garish and loud in his dress. The cuts of his robes, however, tended to be firmly masculine, as appropriate to the first-born son of a crown prince. His hair he often wore down, in the single-braid-in-the-back style popularized by Fingolfin (though he would not admit to that inspiration).

Maglor tended to wear tight-fitting riding-clothes, often in greys, blacks, and dark-blues, ornamented only by silver jewelry. His dark hair he cut unusually short (just below his shoulders) and wore in a top-knot, half-up half-down, a working man's style popular among Telerin sailors. All in all his style read as very masculine to the Noldor, with just a touch of androgyny provided by the the loose-fitting silver-and-black cloak he wore often to formal events.

Celegorm dressed most often in imitation of courtly trends for young men, favoring hunting-styles. His most infamous moment was coming to court with his hair entirely unbraided, scandalous for elves of any gender-- a little as coming to court shirtless. Caranthir dressed in looser robes, though largely out of comfort rather than style. His jewelry tended towards large and chunky, without much visual noise. Curufin heavily imitated Feanor in his manner of dress, albeit often wearing even more jewels; he popularized five ear-piercings rather than the previously fashionable three.

Amrod and Amras, not particularly invested in the fashions of the court, tended to dress similarly to Celegorm, usually falling a few seasons behind the trends currently in court.

House of Fingolfin: Anaire was fond of a matching her husband, sharp and purposeful in her dress. She had particularly beautiful dark hair, which she wore in many braids as a crown upon her head, and of long, simply-decorated cloaks. Very distinctly feminine, but in a sharp, unapproachable sort of way.

Fingon's tendency towards feminine modes of dress was noticeable enough to get him pulled aside and talked to several times during his youth; he preferred layered and loose, dress-like robes, wore bright gold-lip stain usually associated with young women (men favored red and orange lip stain) and did entirely too much with his hair, always wearing it in great plaits. After a specific incident in court during his adolescence he was forbidden from binding his hair with headscarves for court-wear, but wove gold into it. His one touch of masculine saving grace were his many rings. The androgyny suited him well; his appeal to women was offset only by his utter lack of interest in them.

Turgon tended to imitate Fingolfin's manner of dress, albeit with brighter base-colors, favoring deep browns, golds, and reds. Gondolin would eventually grow to have very different gender-norms for its residents, and then Turgon would begin to favor almost toga-like dress during his reign. That, however, is a matter for another post. He was known for many ornate rings, and collar-like necklaces.

Aredhel leaned sporty/practical feminine, often imitating Indis, whom she was particularly close to. She wore her dark hair plaits bound with white, often decorated with diamonds, and favored white riding-clothes and golden jewelry, matching sometimes with Turgon.

House of Finarfin: [the ones I have headcanons for] Earwen embraced hyper-feminine modes of dress, both to the Teleri and the Noldor. She wore intricate gowns and cloaks with many layers as feathers, most often in silver, white, or blue. Her hair was incredibly long, and always woven into several long braids.

Finrod favored greens and blues, usually in adventuring, hunting, riding sorts of styles -- distinctly sporty. His long hair matched his mother's, and he wore parts of is down, threaded with lily flowers and jewels. His hands were covered in many rings, and generally he made the appearance of being a well-ornamented young man. In Middle Earth he would experiment with androgyny, but that is a story for another post.

Orodreth: Dressed in soft, simple colors, notably pale greens and grays. Not wanting to draw attention, he would usually imitate whatever masculine style was popular in court, but he did not seem particularly confident in them.

Angrod: Embraced his Telerin side often, and dressed similarly to his father. His hair he kept strangely short, just around his shoulders, and wore a top-knot as often as a braid.

Aegnor: Simple in his dress, usually modeling himself after Fingolfin but with rather less splash. He did not much like the weight of jewelry, and wore the minimum he could get away with. Most people considered him quite unfashionable.

Galadriel: Mingled feminine styles of dress freely with masculine ones. Wore her long hair completely unbound on several occasions despite many talking-tos. Decorated her hands with many rings, pairing this with riding styles, but was just as likely to wear a long flowing cloak or gown; often styled her hair with rubies and sapphires. Quite controversial in her style of dress.

[ojamajoprincess]

No productive thoughts in my head today. Just this absolute banger of a witch outfit rattling around.

I love all the historical fashion nods like the sleeve garters and drop shoulders. The puffed and flared sleeve. The danglies on his sleeve garters. The loose shirt gathering at the waist. The corset belt. The floor length skirt. The loops on his shoes/ stockings.

And don’t get me started on the cape. The blue against the black and all the gold details with the binding and buttons and tassels. The five buttons with real button holes on each cape lapel— cape lapels in general? Five whole tassels. The fact that he and Qifrey swapped hat ornaments. His shoes actually have the flying glyphs underneath.

The fashion in this manga is unmatched.

[smolvenger]

A Court of Mischief and Purpose Chapter Nineteen (Loki x fem! Reader Hiddlesverse Crossover Series, A Court of Thorns and Roses AU)

Series Summary: Sarah J Maas's A Court of Thorns and Roses series reimagined with Tom Hiddleston's various characters- Especially the events in the second book: A Court of Mist and Fury. England. 1885. You are dying of tuberculosis right before your upcoming wedding to the Lusty Vicar of Aldwinter, Will Ransome. As you lay on what could be your deathbed, the god of mischief Loki appears before you with a deal. He will heal you in time for the wedding...if you spend a week of every month with him.

Chapter Summary: You complete your revenge.

Word Count: 7K (I REALLY wanted to get to the part at the end)

Warnings: mentions of sex, masturbation, and cheating (I portray the canon cheating in The Essex Serpent as bad and both Will and Cora deserving of punishment, and if you don't like that, don't read this), Supporting Women's Wrongs. Violence, Loki being Loki. Mentions of religion.

Series Masterlist

A03//My Ko-Fi//My Etsy Shop//Masterlist//Wattpad

Taglist: @asgards-princess-of-mischief @jennyggggrrr @five-miles-over @fictive-sl0th @ladycamillewrites @villainousshakespeare @holdmytesseract @eleniblue @twhxhck @lokisgoodgirl @lovelysizzlingbluebird @raqnarokr @holymultiplefandomsbatman @michelleleewise @wolfsmom1 @cheekyscamp @mochie85 @fandxmslxt69 @skittslackoffilter @mischief2sarawr

On Wednesday, you went out with your mother to shop for Cora’s birthday present in the next larger town. There were times you both enjoyed going there for little outings more than the sleepy white and brown town by the seaside could afford. You stopped at the first boutique for women you found.

Clothes, yes, clothes would do for the gift. You recalled what she would wear. Grey coats and no corset when she was researching and running about. The grey dress for parties. You recalled the bright red dress that forever drenched your nightmares in infamy.

Women walked about with their hats and little purses dangling. Mother got into chatting with a shop-girl about what was on sale. The bell over the door would ring as shoppers entered and exited. Roses blossomed in vases amongst the goods. Walking about, you noticed several lacy gowns full of little ornaments on mannequins.

Not those dresses. Nothing with frills and feathers. Cora didn’t like that. She wouldn’t wear it. Your secret goal was to find the perfect attire, be it a dress or a coat or even a skirt or blouse that Mrs. Seaborne would not resist adorning. You had to keep looking.

Sometimes there was a slight hint of masculinity in what Cora wore….like Lady Sif... You did miss your trainer and somewhat friend- she had a heart beneath her sometimes aloof and brash nature…

Wait a minute- how hypocritical you were! Admiring Lady Sif and feeling embittered to Cora! Should you do this at all? No, no you had to gather yourself. Focus. You pushed the thought away to your mind.

It took some searching, but you managed to find your Trojan Horse for the gift. It was the perfect one for Cora. A new grey coat with no worn frays or signs of use. Just like the one she always wore. Practical, but not frumpy, comfortable, and subtly pretty. Only this one was new, freshly made with hardly any tears. Perfect for running about in the fields and forests and muck, searching for Serpents in the wood and the Serpent in your fiancee’s trousers.

You bought it at once. You both traveled right back home. Refreshing yourself with tea and sandwiches, you picked up your new package and brought it to your room. Taking out the coat from its box, you laid it down over your bed. A body, a ghost, a figure lying down in the realm of either death or sleep.

Cora, Cora, Cora, Mrs. Seabrone, the widow, her, her, her- The equal half of the pair that ruined your life. You had done your subtler strikes against Will. It was now time to strike against her.

You went to your desk. Getting out a journal, you tore out a blank scrap of paper.

Grabbing a pen, you wrote five words down in big, clear letters.

Once it dried, you folded it up.

The coat’s sleeves had two sides of the fabric. She wouldn’t see it if it was inside out. For it would be in the fabric itself.

You got out scissors, your needle, and grey thread. Then you cut open a hole in the sleeve. Folding the paper up carefully, you tucked it inside. Then you got your needle and thread and patched it back up so the scrap of paper was concealed inside the sleeve.

Yes, your powers could have done that. But you were determined to do it with your hands, with real effort- it was freeing, satisfying.

You then laid the dress back out.

You held out your hand. Concentrating harder than you ever did before with your magic gifts, you waved it over the coat.

The dress lay untouched, like normal.

You then retracted your hand.

Loki cut in.

'My pet, why didn’t you do that with your dear Lusty Vicar?'

' He never was ‘my’ vicar….why have him when I have a god and a prince as my husband instead?' you teased.

‘Well…I cannot blame you for that.’

You heard a small chuckle of his. You settled the dress back into the box.

' But…you are right, Loki! Will got all those letters, all the things that will come up to him. And there is one more thing I shall do to him. But it’s…it’s not like this. They were equal in this…so I should!'

The next day was conveniently a Thursday. The time Will went to the lake to pleasure himself over his mistress in the ocean or lake or stream or whatever body of water it was, as Loki confided to you. Or swim bare, as Will once confided to you in his times past. When you were so happy, in love, that as you smiled and looked at him in adoration, Will would only look at you with secret boredom and annoyance.

He was doing it again. He was bare. And if he was touching himself or swimming or both, it didn’t matter. He would be away from his house again.

That would be his mistake.

You hurried to the vicarage, not wanting to take your time before anyone could see you. You scurried up the stairs into his room. Finding his clothes where they were kept in his shelves and wardrobe. With every item, you placed your powers on each one. Each dark sweater you once smiled over, each white shirt you once lusted over, each tan coat hat made you stifle a giggle, every green vest, pants, down to one last sock.

Then, before he would finish, you hurried out and back. Not leaving a trace. You’d have to wait until Cora put her own on. But no matter what he wore, odds are, it would work.

It felt good. Deliciously good.

The next day, the church would be empty. You hurried to the little safe. Again, you took out some money. Again, you snuck it in your shoe. Again, you hurried home and put it in a blank envelope. Your magic that night would slip it under Cora’s doorstep. As you had your alibi of sitting in the parlor reading the Bible, you could do it while looking at Second Corinthians and not outside.

Consistency was key. The council and congregation had to realize there was a certain gap each week in what they pledged to give and what was recorded as then. Once they saw the gap that was Will’s responsibility and someone found that exact amount in Cora’s possession….no matter how much Will insisted on his innocence, there would be evidence.

And no one would suspect you. For you were now the “Miracle” woman. Seemingly blessed by God. No thoughts in your pretty head except becoming a rectory bride and nothing else.

The next morning, it hit you that you had to keep up appearances and then some. Since you were “blessed” by God, you would be a blessing. That would make them all like you even more.

When you first returned after the disaster that occurred with Grendel, you would walk about. Feeling like a shelled piece, your center torn out and thrown away. You would notice the looks on their faces. Once, they had a silent mixture of pity and disgust for you being “ruined.” But now, after the miracle, the suspicious town who thought anything and everything they saw was a part of something monstrous, magical, and greater than themselves be it in terror or awe… Now, they liked you.

And you had to make them like you even more.

You looked up at your parents at breakfast over your poached eggs.

“Oh! How are the Crawfords doing? I hear Mrs. Crawford is fond of flowers, may I go pick some for her?” you asked.

Your mother smiled approvingly, asking of the neighbors back home.

“With the Trickster god about, not in the woods! You must be careful, but you may buy some,” advised your mother.

With a smile, you went out, got to the flower shop, and bought a pretty bouquet of daffodils for Mrs. Crawford. You called on in time for tea and she cooed over the gift.

“Oh my- what a sweet girl you are, Miss Y/L/N!” she exclaimed.

She then revealed her hobby- collecting cookbooks and recipes.

“Oh- please tell me the recipe for making those little cakes, Mrs. Crawford! I’d like to surprise the Sunday School class for this week! Poor little dears, they deserve something nice!” you said.

She scribbled down the recipe that she learned from her mother, and then handed it to you.

For the next week, your free hours were spent building up a rapport. Patting children on the head, smiling at strangers, doing little acts of charity. It was better to stretch it out rather than pile it on thick in one go. It would seem natural.

One day, Martha, Mrs. Seaborne’s maid, was walking out with the widow’s little boy. In her pockets, there were pamphlets. You recognized it as from a magazine that was notorious in town for its liberality. He was doing his best to keep up with his chubby little legs, one tall arm reaching up to hold onto Martha’s. You stopped and greeted them like friends.

“Oh, hello there! Tell your mistress I cannot wait for the party! And how well he looks! What is his name?”

“Oh, hello there! And he- you have never been introduced! His name is Franklin, but we all call him Frankie,” explained Martha.

You bent your knees down to greet the little boy. Though you addressed him, his eyes would flitter anywhere but yours. They only flicked to you as you smiled, exuding warmth. Then you got back up to greet Martha. You asked her a little about the pamphlets. She rattled on about some bold, interesting, and brave ideas about slums and the treatment of the poor. So much, Frankie let go and was about to waddle away. She then gasped, out of her own spell, and gathered the boy back up.

“Already such a handsome lad! And so well-behaved!!” you cooed.

Martha bounced him a little and smiled at you.

“Perhaps you and the Reverend shall be blessed and there shall be a third in the vicarage soon!” Martha replied.

Loki’s voice rang in your head.

‘There better not be.’

You made sure to have such interactions with someone at least once a day. It was a little fun though. One benefit of being a clergy spouse was the opportunity to get to know others and do little acts of kindness for the community. To think, even before you were betrothed to Will, you could have done it. Done things like these for others, only with no plan behind it. Perhaps you would in Asgard.

You questioned Luke on his doings and said you would pray for him. You gave a beggar in town a few coins and he returned the favor by showing you an abandoned church. You told Mr. Banks to please stop drinking in excess and gave Mrs. Banks money for her pains. You smiled at grumpy old Mr. Cracknell despite his sneers. You gave flowers and gifts and cooked and baked for everyone- now they would all love you.

You once overheard two ladies smile at you. As you left, you heard their whispers- “She truly is a Blessed Lady!”

All would respect their miracle woman. See her as perfect for their Lusty Vicar. For his house and bed and ministry. At least, sweet and innocent. And at most- the Perfect Ideal of a Woman blessed by God Himself. And never suspect the secrets inside you.

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

The evening arrived for Cora’s birthday party. You put on a nice dress of velvet and navy blue. This was partially for Stella, so even if it wasn’t the bohemian style your friend had a weakness for, it still was apt you should don her color. As you continued to get ready, you found your hands shaking as you put on your last bit of jewelry.

Gathering your gift placed in a box and wrapped up in ribbon, you headed to her house. Arriving at the front door, you lifted your hand to knock. Part of you hesitated. Your hand floated above in a trembling mess, curled and crumpled, as if to squeeze yourself into reality.

The old hesitation seeped in like tea levees in a forgotten cup of water, one that was once boiling and now grew tepid with each passing second. Should you do this? The coat was already in your hands, too late to be ungiven…should you just give it to her like a decent person and not use its magic? Should Cora be punished?

What if your father was right, and it was just “silly jealousy”?

Were you just bitter about Cora’s rejection of traditional feminine norms? Did it shock you to the point where you were upholding traditions blindly? Criticizing her for being an unfeminine woman? Feeling anger in her brashness and her boldness, because you projected your insecurities on her unfairly? You felt in your soul women should be considered equal to men….yet here you were, your heart turned against another woman! An unfeminine woman! An unconforming woman! Must you be a hypocrite and tear her down?

Not to mention her past. Cora’s husband hurt her and beat her. What a nightmare that must have been!

That was one odd similarity between you both- you loved two men, two cruel men- Mr. Seaborne and Will. And while Will never once raised his hand to hurt you, he didn’t have to.

And it must have been uneasy- having one little son who it was rumored was an “odd” child. And part of you…admired her wanting to pursue a passion, of bravely entering a male-dominated field, and wondered at the discrimination she must have experienced…

Your mind was reeling as you knocked on the door.

The maid, Martha, opened it. She greeted you kindly. “Ah there! Miss Y/L/N! Welcome in! Cora- come quick! Miss Y/L/N has arrived! And she has a gift!”

As Martha stepped aside, you came into the warmth of the house. A fire was crackling and there was chatter in the next room. You took a deep breath to steel yourself, as Cora walked to greet you. Donned in slightly fancier attire and her usual grey.

“Oh- hello there. Welcome in,” she greeted with a smile. Her voice a low mezzo.

You walked in and presented the present.

“For you, happy birthday Mrs. Seaborne,” you replied with a kind smile, despite your stomach churning. Perhaps you should just leave it, not enact what you set up inside, and let it alone.

Martha dutifully took the present and left. Cora went up to you with a smile.

“How glad you could be here! I hope I can call you my good friend, Miss Y/L/N,” she said.

Your senses reached out and could feel something in the pocket of her dress.

It was a letter she was going to send tomorrow morning.

A love letter to Will.

You felt your jaw and fists become tight.

“Oh, thank you! Please excuse me- I’m going to get something to drink,” you excused.

Promptly turning around, you began to walk over, your head spun for a bit. You found the dining room did have some red punch. Guests chatted with each other, ignoring you. You made yourself drink slowly. You urged your breathing to slow despite your racing heart and mind.

She called you her friend to your face, yet had the audacity to continue to pursue the man about to be your husband!

You took another sip. You felt some of the cold punch dribble on your mouth. You grabbed a napkin and wiped it. The little red drops look like blood on the crumpled cloth.

You then made up your mind about her. It didn’t matter if she pursued science or housewifery, it didn’t matter if she wore corsets or refused them. It didn’t matter who she was or what she liked. And it especially didn’t matter what happened in her past.

Even if it all explained why…in no way could you excuse or condone her actions.

If Will had forced himself on Cora if he lied about you to her… there would be nothing to forgive. She would be a victim as much as you.

But that’s not what happened.

A thought began in you, growing, spinning around in your mind in its quiet, angry, bitter delirium.

She knew Will wasn’t free…and she did it anyway…

And for that, Cora would receive punishment. There was no regret in your systems now. You would enact the gift when the time was right.

It even made you more motivated to enact the next part of your plan here- one seed was planted when Martha carried that present away. Now you had to figure out where to send the next letter. You were glad you remembered. Even if the present didn’t work- you would at least figure out where to send the letter.

But for now, you had to calm yourself. Take deep breaths and take note of the current moment.

A small group of people were gathered in the parlor. Saying you felt better after getting a little dizzy, you went over to meet them. You took note of those you knew. There was Mr. Charles and Mrs. Katherine Ambrose. A couple that lived close to Will. They were looking forward to having you as neighbors. They already viewed you as such as you went up to greet them. Charles shook your hand excitedly.

“How good to see the lady of Reverend Ransome! How is he today?” he asked.

Ransome…that was an odd name. Once you would have loved and now…how hollow it felt. Empty. It was going to be Stella’s name in another lifetime if it wasn’t you. Ransome- like the word “ransom”. Which meant to hold someone as their prisoner. To trap. There was a second meaning to the word to. And also the bargaining, the deal. The money paid would set prisoners free. So you would have been ransomed to be a Ransome and in need of a Ransom. Perhaps others would see the second meaning if you married him and lived a life of lies in that tall, white vicarage.

Only you knew which meaning it would take on for you or Stella had either of you married Will.

“He’s lovely. Said hello to us after everything he did. He was busy as a bee today- helped a farmer whose sheep broke out into the field. Then he was off to scold Mr. Banks about his crudeness over tea and biscuits,” you reported.

Katherine promised to indulge you in secrets of marriage and housewifery, gathered in gossip and recipes, and should the time come, child-rearing. You smiled and listened to her.

A few others trickled in. Luke you recognized was finger-combing his short hair. All sipping on drinks and biting off bits of treats before dinner of roast lamb.

As you sat down to the little main course you saw Martha bouncing along Frankie. Cora turned her head to the maid, nanny, and now it seemed, a cook too.

“Martha, make sure Frankie is in his bed by now, please.”

“Oh, of course, Miss,” Martha replied.

Cora turned around and began to pour out small glasses of wine for everyone. But you found yourself looking at Martha.

You took note of the look on Martha’s face. She hadn’t left but was staring at Cora. Lovingly, full of longing, blushing cheeks and soft eyes with a little smile…she hesitated before she turned and left.

Part of you was a little shocked. You were surprised- you knew your husband liked both men and women, so you shouldn’t be so shocked. It was the kind that took you by complete surprise and made you a little worried for her. But you looked down on your plate of dinner and ignored it, pretending like you didn’t see as you began to take nibbles off your side dishes.

Excusing himself, Luke turned around to leave for the parlor. Everyone gave little looks in confusion. Then he returned with a bouquet full of red roses. People gave little gasps, smiles, and the little laughter of delighted surprise, except for the birthday lady. She sat up, her posture rigid and her small eyes darkening, her round face still pale.

He knelt and gave the bouquet to Cora in a flourish.

“Roses for your birthday, our dear Cora! In addition to the present!” he declared.

But the object of this grand gesture did not change one bit in her face or body.

“Oh…thank you, they’re very nice,“ Cora replied politely. She took the flowers, set them aside, and continued eating. All as she did, he smiled big and tried to pay compliments, but she ignored him.

Oh, good grief! Was every person in town in love with Cora!? Did she have admirers popping in everywhere to swoon over her!?

Then again, it would cause a rift in your plans. For the third letter you had already decided that you would leave it in church where a member of the congregation would pick it up. You would have to take note of where Luke and Martha sat in church. If they discovered the letter, heartbroken as they would be, they wouldn’t tell a soul. Especially Martha considering this was her employer!

It then hit you…everyone loved Cora. Everyone owned up to Cora and offered their hearts. She had her pick of anyone in town, any soul…

And she chose your fiancee.

She knew he wasn’t free…and she did it anyway. The thought emerged again.

They began to talk. Soon there was a two-layered cake delivered. It had a coating of white buttercream that seemed delicious on the outside, but the inner cake was bitter and stale to your tongue. Yet the others greedily devoured the pieces anyway, only wiping away the cream on their mouths with napkins.

You reached your powers out. You found her room, her desk, her letters. Where was it- where was it? There were letters. Of course, the love letters from Will. But nothing- she must have already sent things! Oh, you couldn’t find anything! Was it hopeless? Should you plant two letters in the church?

But then, right before you could search further….a miracle occurred.

“I only wish to have more evidence. Mr. Sawyer of the Royal Institution was interested. He wished to see my notes on the fossils. Though it appears I will have to give him a hypothesis that he considers ‘great’ enough. That’s what I wish for my birthday,” Cora sighed.

“Do not fret, but keep at it. They will listen soon!” encouraged Katherine.

You took note as you delicately ate. Remembering the name. Etching it into your mind to be reached again.

You bore the rest of the party patiently, then said you were tired and excused yourself. The Ambroses cooed saying that the little parsonage bride would indeed need it in her excitement for the upcoming day. They escorted you back home.

The next day, you stopped at the library. You found the address of the Royal Institution of London, copying it down onto a piece of paper.

Once you got home from the party, you got out an envelope. You got out the second love letter, the “come quickly” letter being tucked in your bookshelf for Sunday.

The second love letter you placed in an envelope.

You then got out another piece of paper.

“Dear Mr. Sawyer, I have some unfortunate news regarding Mrs. Seaborne. I found this letter in the possession of Reverend Ransome, who is already engaged to a Miss Y/L/N. She is not of character fitting for your halls of science. Sincerely, Anonymous.”

Scurrying out, you sent it out to be mailed.

Now you only had to wait for Church. Use your senses to note where people sat. Then you’d plant the last letter.

Saturday Afternoon, no one would be there. You crept inside. Your senses reached out, feeling who sat where. You took note of where Martha and Luke sat. Even the Amrbose’s too, for they were fond of their neighbor and if they discovered the letter, wouldn’t talk. Martha liked the far left in the corner. Luke enjoyed the fourth in the middle from the door. The Amroses took the second pew to your left.

You got out one of the red, sturdy books of common prayer that sat there. Often there were pamphlets with the service order planted in the books. You picked a spot where none of Cora’s allies would sit. From your coat’s pocket, you got out the letter. The “come quickly” letter. The one that would shock and damn the most, for you had to get it to where it would reach more people.

You planted the letter inside the book. To make it, Will left it there by accident. A letter too juicy for anyone to resist or just leave.

Sunday morning, you delivered the little baked cakes for the children. and set it aside in the kitchen. They all cheered and gobbled them up, uttering thank you’s. You were immediately becoming a favorite to them. They went up and asked questions until they had to be corralled to learn about Mary and Matha. But even the old lady who taught them couldn’t resist one. She picked up a warm cake, sniffed it, and you saw her shoulders sag after she took a bite.

You went to the front row of the church. This was all normal. What was always done, despite your racing heart. You didn’t dare check your senses to feel when the moment happened. It would make you too anxious.

As people filtered through, if they didn’t find interest to go chatting with the miracle woman, you took note. Even during the service, your back turned to see all of them.

Finally the organ blared and it began again. You then returned to the service to look with pretend adoration at Will for one hour. In his white robes with a blue-green sash with gold ornaments, he stood before the crowd a the sanctuary. The bright, sunny day letting a bright light over the brown church.

“For our announcements, in just a month, we shall have our rescheduled wedding. We hope that those invited shall be available to join. And then, my dear Miss Y/L/N shall make me the happiest of men.”

You took note of those little wooden chandeliers. The cloudy, grey overcast day rather than a sunny one, their wicks were dry and unlit.

And he was standing right under one in the middle as he spoke on.

‘Do it, my dear,’ Loki whispered to you.

You made one of the unlit candles on the chandelier shake. Wriggling.

‘Fall’ you ordered it through your magic.

It then tipped over the side where Will remained for the announcements. There were a few gasps, and before he knew why-

PLUNK! The candle hit him right on his curly, auburn head.

He jumped his white sleeves up to his head with a noise he made out of pain. It wasn’t enough of a fall to do him any real harm, only a bit of pain.

The congregation burst into laughter. As did you. For all the tension inside of you, it was much needed.

The service began and then ended. When you checked it the next day…it was taken. You let out a smile, a deep breath through your system. A member of the congregation had “happened” upon the letter and took it. And likely read it. How could they not? Small places need entertainment. The content was far too shocking, too entertaining, too scandalous for someone in a small town not to read.

And they would do what people in a small conservative and religious town with nothing else to do did.

They would talk.

Then Mr. Brown would tell Mr. Miller would tell Mrs. Miller who would then tell the baker who would whisper it to his daughter and she would tell all of her friends at tea time and then one would tell Ms. Price and Ms. Price would tell Mrs. Banks who would tell Mr. Banks who would tell his drinking buddy Mr. Plume who would tell old Mr. Cracknell who would complain about it to Mr. Charles Ambrose who would then tell his wife Katherine. And by then Katherine wouldn’t talk and swear to secrecy about her neighbor but it would be too late because the silent melodrama behind everyone’s backs was already in its run.

The next two days, you could sense it. There was sadness, a pity on people’s faces as you greeted them. There was some hesitation when they talked- but they were even kinder to you than before.

When they interacted with Will, you noticed a cold politeness. One woman, after he left, crossed herself as if she met a demon. Some people seemed silently furious at Cora. Glaring at her.

The rumors started to circulate at last. The sweet virtuous, wonderful bride. The miracle bride. The bride who was blessed by God himself…only to suffer as it seemed her vicar was being tempted. The devil moving him to deny his oath before God. An oath he was ready to make before all of them. An oath already broken.

And you were now the figure of pity- poor, sweet Y/N! The bride God blessed! Now thrown away! What was he thinking?

So it would make the last three steps of your plan fall into place.

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

It was Wednesday and Will was going to be here for dinner. Your mother rolled up her sleeves and began to cook away. You promised to wipe down every surface clean and sweep the steps outside. As you stepped out with a broom, you looked out at the front. Nervousness tightening your chest.

It was time to enact the next step. Part of you hesitated to do this.

But Will would be here tonight. It was the right time it would work- a time after he left when rumors were running high.

And if you did, then everything would start falling into place. You just had to gather your courage to do it.

You set your hand before the door.

This is going to hurt him more than it shall hurt me, you thought as a comfort.

You waved your hand over the front of your house at the door. Concentrating hard.

Nothing happened. Not yet. It was all coming into place. You swept with more of a flourish.

Once you had finished your errands, you saw your mother hurry out.

“What is the matter?” you asked.

“Oh, apples! I forgot! There is a new shop here with orchards from farmers! This fellow, Mr. Armstrong grows the finest apples! I forgot to buy some- I must be back in time to finish supper!” she chatted, putting on her hat as she scurried away.

It wasn’t long before she hurried and set the apples in a bowl. Though you insisted on being there to help with dinner. You had to learn to cook for your husband, you said. Preaching works up an appetite.

Another dinner, another evening like no other. Will got up a napkin and wiped the sauce off of his goatee before he continued. He reached a hand to hold yours, though it felt like a grip on you. Your mother cut everything into bits taking small bites. Your father devoured his plate within a minute.

Will looked over you, his eyes as soft as a lamb.

“I must keep you in my prayers now- and will help you. The council who appointed me- The Reverend Eckheart, Moore, and Bishop Green shall be here. And you shall pray the council meeting goes well, yes?”

“Of course, love,” you replied with a small voice.

The council meeting. He thought they would sip tea and discuss theology. How little did they know…a man who the town thought an attempted murderer, rumored to be unfaithful, with evidence of him giving money from the church to his mistress. A woman who was probably by now exposed as a ruined woman to the largest and most prestigious institution of science.

Part of you wanted to wait longer to see it all happen.

Everyone then gathered to be by the fire in the parlor to read for a minute as dinners settled. A domestic, normal scene.

Will then announced he would leave. He shook hands with your parents and embraced you and kissed you on the cheek. It almost pained you- a glimpse of what could have been. Even of what was.

You were scared to enact your step. But you wanted your revenge more. You would not let your mind run wild- you would act rather than dwell. It was now or never.

He left, closing the door.

You waited, counting the time. You turned back to your knitting in the parlor. Your heart raced. You could sense him there already walking.

You took in a deep breath. Remembering the mantra.

“This shall hurt him more than it shall hurt me.”

Sitting down to your needlework, you turned your head away. You urged the magic on the front side of the house as he began to walk away.

‘Go alight now,’ you ordered.

It complied.

From outside of the front door, a fire grew. It’s smoke spread. You turned your head down and began to knit as if not noticing it. For surely the Miracle Woman was only attending her womanly needles per her duty as a wife to the church!

Then there was smoke in the parlor.

“Fire! There’s a fire!” shouted your father. Your mother screamed. And you screamed with her in your planned terror.

Mother pulled all of you out of the back door before any of you could be hurt.

Neighbors ran out, pulling out to make a makeshift fire department.

“Fire! There’s a fire! Fire at the Y/L/N house!”

Will, with what little decency in his holy heart he had, hurried back to see the damage. You wailed out tears and clung to him like any sensible damsel in distress.

The neighbors hurried with buckets of water, and Will helped. Instead, you leaned on your mother, hugging her and crying, shaking it out per the innocent little victim. The Harris’s got wind and ran out, and soon the fire was silent by the water people managed to get out and toss at it. Even before it could creep in and destroy the place or hurt any of you.

But the front door and area were charred some, there was no denial about that.

“Oh, thank you! Thank you all! How frightening!” you said, tears streaming down your face like the little ingenue you pretended to be. You smiled at each one.

“Don’t worry, we promise, you’re safe now!” assured Mrs. Banks. From her white shawl, she reached out a hand to squeeze your shoulder.

“Why…what happened? There were no lamps, no candles there, nothing that could be alight!” your father wondered.

“Hm, looks like it started in the front,” Mr. Harris noted.

“There was nothing there! Could it be an accident? Oh- to think the house nearly burned down! How horrible!” you would cry, shivering like a doe in a rainy forest. Perfect for him to wrap his arms around, the image of a victim and now the one who began it.

“What happened before?” asked Mrs.Harris in concern.

“Oh, nothing! Reverend Ransome came by to visit, he just left. Then it occurred!” your mother reported. “We shall be fine, just careful! Just some charring in the front- nothing big!”

People would wonder. But you felt their eyes on him.

By the next morning, You knew the rumors would turn.

They already knew of the rumor of the affair. Now…with nothing else but the fire…

Someone tried to kill you, kill their precious miracle woman. There was nothing that could have caught fire by accident and it was started from the outside.

By someone who must have been out.

And it was Will who was there and was seen just outside and left right as it began.

The talk would turn.

Did he want to…kill his fiancee, the beloved darling YN, the miracle woman who emerged from Loki blessed by God? Why…then that made it even worse!

Moods would turn against him. Bad. People were polite, but their eyes would soften at you. Poor, pitiful Y/N! If this happened- then the Lusty Vicar was a Lusty Scoundrel! They frowned but kept polite. Oh, if only some act of God would happen to set him and his little tart in their place.

But one act was on the way. The last step in your plan.

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

Three days passed. And each morning you checked your senses to see where Cora was. It made you nervous. Your heart racing.

Then one morning, you woke up in the early dawn again. Your parents were still asleep. You could only wrap a shawl around you. Though the golden and emerald wedding ring remained on your desk. You fit it around your finger. Not too loose to fall off, but not too tight to squeeze it.

Stomach rumbling, you could only sip on a little coffee. Picking an apple from the bowl, you took a bite of it. Tasting the juices that tickled down your throat and crunched like bones in your mouth.

Your senses alerted you. Cora was wearing the new coat. She was in the marshes, in the woods.

Now. Now. Now! You urged. It was finally time. Time you would go home.

You got a letter left on your desk. You wrote it before and would leave it planted. Explaining that you loved Loki, you married him already, and that you were going to reside in Asgard already with him. Especially to fight Grendel. And that Stella once she was healed would be returned home too.

Then you set off. Your heart raced as you went through the woods in only your nightgown and shawl as you hunted Cora’s path like a predator.

Your thoughts reached out to Loki.

'Listen to me! It’s almost time!' you cried. 'Hm, yes my dear, time for what? I do prefer specifics,’

'Loki-I’m going to complete the last part of my revenge. Then I am about to give a signal. When I do- open a portal. And take me home to Asgard, Please!'

'Oh, anything for you,’ he agreed.

You caught your breath. Beneath the dirt had gotten on your little slippers. On the bottom of your skirt.

It was a similar scene. There in the chill woods where the birds sang about and an owl hooted over his night’s hunt. The little mist. The light wind made it cooler. You had known it before. And you would not stop to pick flowers anymore.

You were so familiar with this, this dream, this nightmare, this dance where you could recall each step.

So when you went behind a tree and turned to the field, the sight shouldn’t have shocked you.

Will and Cora. Her in the new grey coat and him again undone in his shirt and tan coat. The same scene again.

You thought you were strong, a brave person, thought you could take it, chew it, devour it, and digest and it shouldn’t bother you, it shouldn’t have…but…You felt the cold shocks, the electricity made with ice running down you. Pat of your vision blurry, making yourself small. Feeling small.

This time, Will placed his green scarf over Cora.

They talked a little bit. You couldn’t hear their words. Only small. Romantic.

He grabbed the long end and gently tugged it over so she would be close to him.

The exact same tug that he did at your skirt not long ago.

Yes, you were crying, small tears down. Your breathing faster and your mind whirring. Yes, you were shaken just like the girl you were before. Your mind was stricken with panic to where it wasn’t clear. You knew it would happen- yet why did it hurt again? You felt almost on the cusp of panicking, collapsing. Your failure and imperfections there in your soul, twisting like a knife to your chest. Your thoughts strangling you.

‘I’m not good enough, I’m not good enough, I’m not good en-’

‘You are good enough, Y/N Darling, you are to me,’ Loki cut in.

His voice broke out. You felt calmer.

You hid behind a tree. And waited. For whatever conversation, be they talking with their mouths or sticking each other’s private bits up the others, would be done.

You were different now- and this time, you had everything in place. You were not going to run. Fury was building in you. Ready to explode, run, scream. Yet you kept silent.

'Loki…keep me calm, steady, please…'

'Yes, my love- you are brave. You’re a brave, wonderful, clever woman. I love you, Y/N. You are my True Love, my wife, and my princess. I love you so much.',/em>

'I love you too.'

'Is that the signal?'

'No…I’m waiting for them to stop…'

You looked back.

Cora was alone now. Will must have walked off to the woods or fields or wherever. No scarf around her neck. The mantra repeating in your mind.

"She knew he wasn’t free. She did it anyway.”

Your eyes glared at her. You stepped a little out to see clearly. Though she was in the distance and you must have been just a figure, at most a phantom. Her small eyes down on the ground and a blush on her cheeks, nothing in her blonde hair streaked with red but her lover.

You kept your eyes focused and took a breath as you lifted your hand. Letting your anger run cold.

“She knew he wasn’t free. She did it anyway.”

You let that phrase be your guide as you pointed with a finger.

With a breath, you got out your magic. Urging it to tear the sleeve open from the outside.

After she did, she went up to glance at you.

Cora felt something off, feeling it funnily on her arm. She reached inside. Then her nose crinkled at feeling something. Then she got out the scrap of folded paper. Curiously, she took it out. She unfolded it and flipped it over to the side with words.

You stepped out of the tree. You gathered your face to be still, your body still. Only a woman in a bridal-white nightgown staring calmly at her, only your eyes showing what anger you held in your heart.

You waited until her tiny, scrunching eyes saw the phrase you had written. For just one second to pass for her to process it.

One second to react. To look up. To see you in the woods, the paper shaking in her hand.

It read:

“Mrs. Ransome sends her regards”

In a heartbeat, flicked your wrist, triggering the magic on the coat.

The coat burst into flames and Cora with it.

Your senses alerted you that Will was some distance in the field, praying. Wearing his coat- one that you cursed.

With a flick of your wrist, you let it burst into flames too.

It was poetic. Stella’s suicide attempt would have been a death of water. So it seemed fitting that theirs should be fire.

You turned around. You would not watch to see if Cora survived.

It didn’t matter.

As you walked into the woods, you heard her. The high-pitched, womanly, tormented scream of Cora Seaborne.

You smiled a little as you walked further and away.

[wr1t3w1tm3]

I wanted to add another little bit about clothing and characters of PotC.

I don't think it's a coincidence that of all the characters, only Jack Sparrows costume has remained relatively unchanged. Of all the characters, he's changed the least.

But looking at Elizabeth in the picture above, on the right, we see that her outfit has changed quiet a lot from her first (adult) appearance in CotBP (below).

In CotBP, she is obviously wearing a dress with a corset, but we see she is wearing a white dress with yellow accents. Her final outfit from At World's End (outside of the end credit scene, which doesn't count) is black with gold/yellow accents. Earlier in AWE, we see her in all black, and even briefly in the scene where Soa Feng puts her in the more ornamental robes, those are dark colors. My point here is that as Elizabeth's story progresses, she dresses in darker colors. It happens in every movie.

In CotBP she goes from the white with gold to a sort of mauve-y red (IDK I don't know my colors that well) to that bright red coat on Isla De Muerta. And at the end, during the execution sequence, she's in that other yellow dress (see below). And even when she's in her underthings, they're white. Which we only see her in when she's surrounded by Norrington and his soldiers. When she's back where society would deem her "place". When she's aboard a pirate vessel, where she can be truer to herself, she's in darker colors. Around society, she has an image to upkeep, so she wears the lighter colors, using them as a shield.

And I can't forget pants. Elizabeth wearing pants near the end of the movie really drives home just how much she's changed in these movies. Here she's wearing arguably the least amount of clothes she's worn during the entire movie (even her underclothes are several layers of full-length dress like stuff). Even Anamaria, the only other significant female character in CotBP wears pants. They show the freedom these women have as pirates. This same point can be made when she eventually ends up in soley pants through the mid part of DMC to the end of AWE, except for the brief moment she's in a dress while imprisoned by Soa Feng, which I feel only strengthens my point.

Now, let's look at Will in the above (left) picture. He's in what I like to call his "Muskateer Get Up" - he's wearing the more billowy, formal shirt, a brown vest with double crossed belts, a red cape, brown pants and that garish hat. Will's outfits in CotBP are much less about color and more about appearance. In the picture above from Will's first adult appearance, he is pictured wearing a full, formal suit with tie, coat, and everything. As the movie progresses and he gets closer and closer to Elizabeth, he loses more pieces of that suit.

By the end of CotBP, Will is left with just his vest, trousers, and undershirt from the original ensemble.

Him putting on the more colorful ensemble at the end to free Jack is symbolic of him accepting his true identity (son of a pirate) and allow his experiences to change him.

I wanna talk about hair here for a second. Elizabeth and Will both get hair used as a symbol as well. For Will, his is kept up until approx. his capture in CotBP by Barbossa. Once he's finally in the thick of it, and once again when he's accepted the results of his actions, it's down (in the opening shot with Governor Swann we can see his hair is kept back in a ponytail). The same can be said for Elizabeth: during the scenes where she is wearing her lighter clothes, where society is expecting something of her, her hair is kept up. When she goes out to Barbossa's ship, and basically up until she's back in her stuffy societal position, her hair is down. Now, it's not practical, but it is symbolic (I still don't give it a pass. That is a crime honey. I have to put my hair back to walk to class when it's windy, put your damn hair up on the high seas dammit!).

Back to clothes: we really get to see this change in Elizabeth and Will's characters and their clothing best in DMC and AWE.

We can see here that Elizabeth is once again in yellow, and her hair is done in a half up, half down style. Her yellow is once again a symbol of her being in a societally "acceptable" position (the same can be said for Will, more on that in a moment), however her hair can be seen as a sort of "sticking it to the man", since, as we've established, Elizabeth's hair is down when she is getting a taste of freedom. Marrying Will is an act of freedom for her, since she's not been forced to marry Norrington. With Will, we get a special blend of symbolism. He too is wearing yellow, which can be seen as symbolic of him doing a "societally deemed chill" thing: getting married. However, his is surrounded by the much darker blue, which as I will establish momentarily, is a symbol of him straying further towards piracy and away from society. This is also the fanciest get up we see him in: he looks like a soldier and has the same tricorn hat we know Jack wears. As far as his hair, it's up in a ponytail. So, we know that Will is in a societally acceptable position, but just like Elizabeth, his scuffle with pirates previously has changed him. However, unlike Elizabeth, he's not really acknowledging that in public, hence the ponytail.

Just like with CotBP, DMC gives us similar outfit evolutions with Will and Elizabeth, but with some minor changes. Will still ends up stripping down to the most basic components of his suit by the end (though this time he doesn't get a final outfit change, though it appears he gets it at the beginning as he doesn't seem to be in the full wedding suit when he leaves Port Royal) and Elizabeth ends up in pants and a red shirt once more. Both have their hair down as they return to piracy, again a symbol of their freedom or even just comfort level away from society. Elizabeth is back in pants again, relatively free (despite the whole Davy Jones situation). The only major hair change to note is that when she's on Tortuga, Elizabeth keeps her hair up and very short looking. Even if this is a temporary change, it's the first time we really see her acting like a pirate. Even stowing over to Tortuga she'd kept to the shadows and been witty about her interactions with the crew. This shorter hair can be taken to symbolize a new start (even if, again, it's only temporary).

What I want to note here is the colors used. Both end up wearing significantly darker colors by the end of the film. Even their yellow and blue at the beginning of the film are the darkest we've seen outside of the blue navy coats, but I'd personally argue that Will's coat is darker than the EICo's blue. Elizabeth's dress is a darker yellow, and as the movie progresses, they end up in darker and darker colors. Both end in grungy, dirty clothes too, in contrast with the previous film. Will is in greyer tinted, dingy stuff, and Elizabeth is wearing maroon and a brown darker than Will's from CotBP.

Also, I'm putting a quick pin in Elizabeth's maroon from DMC for Will's fit in AWE. We already saw Will wearing yellow for the first time in DMC when Elizabeth so prominently wore the color in CotBP, so him wearing maroon in AWE after Elizabeth wore it prominently in DMC cannot be a coincidence. I think it's probably a very literal symbol, in that she is really starting to rub off on Will.

Now let's jump to AWE. Elizabeth is featured initially in all black (minus the hat and poncho which are quickly discarded). Will's outfit also appears this way due to the water he's been soaked in, although we soon learn that it's black with the maroon shirt. Everyone's in mostly dark clothes, as this is a dark hour for pirates. Also here, Will's hair is undone, and Elizabeth's is in a tight braid. Again, Elizabeth is in a more "acceptable" position, but this doesn't last long. It's down again once they hit Davy Jones locker. Will's hair, however, stays back almost the entire movie, beginning with their search for the locker (See below).

As I mentioned before, the dark clothes are a pretty standard symbol for dark times. Just about everyone in this movie is wearing dark clothes. The maroon on Will still shows how Elizabeth has rubbed off on him, but his hair back shows us he isn't as free as he could be, how he's trying to hide the effect of his experiences on the Flying Dutchman from everyone. He's weighed down between his options: Elizabeth and his father. We learn pretty quickly into the movie that he's gonna have to choose, and he doesn't want too.

Once again, as mentioned above, Elizabeth is the one who gets an outfit change for this movie. First, she ends up in the red and blue ensemble from Soa Feng. Red is a color we've seen her in before, one we know she's comfortable in. Blue is one we haven't seen her in, so we can see how she sort of feels during this scene through these colors. At first, she's ill at ease, but once Soa Feng reveals his cards, she gets him hook, line, and sinker. She's in control. She's cool, she knows what she's doing.

When Elizabeth rolls up to the pirate council in the black and gold threads from Soa Feng, she also has her hair up (not many pictures of that, unfortunately). And while, yes, that does mean she's in an "acceptable position", I think here its more that she's in a position she's prepared for. She's the governor's daughter, so a position of power is something she theoretically should have in the bag. And we see she does because she becomes Pirate King pretty quick. Again, it's a dark hour, but that gold really ties her character back to when she was firmly the governor's daughter: when she only wore yellow. Something I didn't mention above is that Elizabeth really only wears yellow in the presence of her father, the governor. And again, really only while he's the real power. By the time he loses that to Cutler Beckett, she's in maroon and brown. The colors symbolize that while this is the pirate's darkest hour, Elizabeth is prepared for this. She can lead them. And her hair, once again down, represents that she is free here, even in the face of impending doom (same with her pants). She is a real pirate, and she's ready to fight for their freedom (even if I would HIGHLY recommend tying your damn hair back, girl!).

Let's look at Will now. In AWE, he's got some pretty static character stuff, but that's okay, because he got a lot of that in DMC. His most major outfit is the switch from a black vest during the locker sequences to a black coat when Jack throws him overboard and lets him get captured. He's still got a crossed belt, which has become a staple, and we get a little pop of color from his sash/gun belt thing. Which, funnily enough, looks to be predominantly brown, red, and gold.

So as far as colors, we again get the darkest hour bit, although for Will his is more of a darkest hour because he's going to soon be forced to choose between his dad and his (I'm assuming) fiancé. The maroon shows that Will and Elizabeth are still connected, she's still rubbing off on him despite their coolness during this movie. The steaks of color in his belt help us really see where he came from too, red from AWE, the gold again from Elizabeth, and the brown calling all the way back to CotBP.

Will's final costume change comes once he's sort of forced into the captainship of the Flying Dutchman. He's still wearing the black coat and maroon shirt, with the black crossed belt, but there's two major changes: the bandanna and his hair. The hair I'll harp on real quick because it's down. And as far as we've discussed, that mean he's more himself, that he's allowing the world to see just how much he's been changed by the circumstances around him. Like Calypso says, Will has a "touch 'a destiny", and as far as we can tell, this is quite literally where he is meant to be (for the 2007 crowd this was assumed to be in perpetuity as well). This is like, literally the 2nd or 2 times his hair is down in this movie. Do I like that all the symbols are pointing to him being here on purpose? fuck no. But it gives me that kind-of-icky-kind-of-not pit on my stomach that tells me this is a narratively satisfying conclusion.

Turning to the bandana, this is something we've never seen his character wear, ever, in the entire franchise. The only other prominent characters we see wear bandannas are those who do so under hats: Jack and Barbossa. And both of them are captains. So, the bandana not only signifies the magic-girl-transformation(TM)that Will undergoes after getting his heart carved out by (assumedly) his own father; but it also symbolizes his new role in life: captain of the Flying Dutchman. Its color tells us something too, the same as his clothes. The maroon symbolizes how Elizabeth has worn off on him, and the black shows us that when he became captain, it was a dark time. But the bandanna, that baby is green. What can that symbolize? Well, do me a favor and scroll back up to Will and Elizabeth's wedding outfits from DMC. What colors are they wearing? Yellow and Blue? I sure hope so. What color does yellow + blue = ? Green. Will's bandana symbolizes not only his new station in life, but also the entwinement of his and Elizabeths' destinies, now for all eternity. That's why even though Norrington ended up in gold and blue, like Will, he never got any green, he says it himself: "Our destinies were entwined, but never joined" (I paraphrase).

So, in conclusion, the wardrobe department for this trilogy slaps, the writers were great, Gore Verbisnky is a legend, and I just spent over a literal hour over analyzing the clothing on two fictional pirates in a Disney movie franchise based on a ride.

I love how I said this was gonna be little. Thanks for coming to my TedTalk ya'll. Felt like pictures might do us some good this time and break up the giant walls of text. This has been fun to put together, and I may do an analysis of other characters later, but IDK. I'm trying to outline a new WIP so... we'll see how long that one lasts. I may do an analysis of the costumes from five as they pertain to the original trilogy, but I don't know yet (for reference, I personally don't consider 4 as a main line story. It's like Rogue One is to the Original Star Wars trilogy, it explains a couple plot points for the next movie, but it's not a necessary watch).

[littlevisiteur]

My sister didn't achieve a slender enough figure to be displayed facing the castle as I am, but as soon as her core muscles will have weakened, I have no doubt she will be corseted way tighter and become a marvelous ornament, just like me!