#brocade is sexy

[xxplastic-cubexx]

the cerebro + suit charles combo is so good in x manhunt genuinely what kept me interested LMFAOOO the art is so good agghhh

cerebro + suit is incredibly sexy i HAVE to keep it a stack with all of you and i'm so mad he looks SO good in it in the manhunt event

[club-cheongyang]

[bingsoo-jung]

my funny controversial veilguard opinion is that while i get why people are saying the 'sexy lof' armor is orientalist and i do think there's a convo to be had there... that armor is also based off of actual clothes people historically wore in southeast asia. like this

is absolutely based off of these

and while these are stylised forms of the outfit it's not because of the skin being shown. the women wearing shirts underneath are not wearing it as thai people wore tabengman historically. because historically we didn't really wear a lot of shirts, shirts were not legally mandated clothes until the 1940s. my thai grandmother is older than that. in fact a lot of asia didn't get around to stigmatizing and sexualizing breasts until the 1800s or later (like you can find photos of korean women in the 1900s with their breasts out and that was fine and normal culturally). the reason these are stylized though is bc they're made of silk and they're wearing brocades. most people would've worn this in plain fabric without gold brocades bc silk and gold are expensive.

and, to be clear, a lot of both the LoF and qunari armors and fashion is based off of historical southeast asian fashion. isabella is straight up wearing a hmong necklace.

the qunari ropes are also almost certainly based off of muay boran kard chuek which is this old way of binding your hands with hemp ropes in thailand for boxing. you can also see that in qunari concept art they've drawn them with intricate knots that are very chinese in origin, they're wearing armor in rattans weaved patterns. (i'll also point out that it was explicitly said in the past that people from east tevinter, which is closer to seheron, look like dorian, and dorian's va is half indo-fijian and half malay. that man belongs to the south pacific.)

and yes, we could have a whole conversation about specifically choosing to look at these armors instead of other southeast asian armors. but i think a lot of people think the armor is based off of western fantasies of belly dancer costumes... which while may have played a part, it's also very clear to me that the devs have used a lot of southeast asian inspiration for seheron, rivain, and part of tevinter.

[ophelialoveshandsomemen]

Say what you will about Van Helsing 2004; hate it, love it, be indifferent, But the All-Hallow's masquerade ball went sooooo hard and it had zero right to do so! It's a fun, campy, monster mash movie with wonderfully dated ( and expensive) cgi and non-stop action meant to be a popcorn flick one takes out to watch around spooky season. And it has this* chef's kiss* GORGEOUS 6 minute sequence plopped arbitrarily in the second act, which unexpectedly surpasses nearly every other ball in the last 30+ years of film( notable exception being the Cinderella 2015 ball) for literally no reason other than to be dramatic af.

Like feast your eyes on this Gothic masterpiece!!! Who doesn't want to immediately live in this picture?!??

They used those candles with oil in them so that they would have real candles, real string orchestra( I believe), probably around 100 real life extras( something which is tragically absent in modern film), said extras are all in beautiful fully decked-out costumes( which are in luxuriously dark colours, but nearly no fully black, another thing you cannot say for much modern cinema), REAL CIRQUE DU SOLEIL PERFORMERS for all the acrobatics!!!! Hell, instead of filming in a sound stage, where they could control the reverb and the acoustics and the size of the set and the bloody lighting ( they apparently had a heck of a time emulating the firelight for this sequence) and the temperature( it's very cold in stone churches!) better, they filmed in a Baroque church in Prague! As I said, peak dramatic splendour, jfc...

Think about that a second...They filmed a vampire masquerade in a Baroque Catholic Church( St. Nicholas' in Lesser Town, if you were curious) with amazing over-the-top acoustics and marble statues and real, tiled floors and marble pillars and a choir loft which they very much utilized, covered the pipe organ and the altar with a grand brocade curtain so it wouldn't be so obviously a, you know, a church! And there's a gold gilt elevated and canopied pulpit into which they put two vampire kiddies for, again, the sake of being dramatic.

And the costumes! They remind me of the 25th anniversary Phantom of the Opera Masquerade costumes. Same quality, like they're old, well-cared-for costumes pulled out of a warehouse, instead of fast industry churn-outs. With lots of trim and colour and masks and lace and feathers and..just...ugh.. they are all perfect! Just look at all the head pieces on the ladies and the hats on all the gentleman ( save Dracula of course) and the powdered wigs on the musicians. ANNNNDD! The dresses are historically correct!!!!!! It's the 80's bustle era! Nobody does the 80's bustle era in film anymore and it's a bummer. Oh and one other thing! Anna's ( and other women's) hair, at least here in the ball, is also historically accurate because it's all pinned up! None of those fucken modern beachwaves at a ball! Everybody's got updo's!

Gah, I swear, Dracula in his gold cloak really does things to me in this scene!

By the way, the acrobatics are bonkers in here for just background stuff!! Especially the random guys on unicycles and the dude playing the violin whilst standing on a ball...Like....WHAT?

Anyways, all this to say, that this masquerade ball feels sooo real and tangible and because of that it blows every other film out of the water, and no, I will not change my mind!!!!!

Here's a few more gifs, bcuz, why the hell not, this scene is sexy as fuu*ck?

Alright I need to go to bed now.

[sashayed]

watched GHOST (1990) last night and boy it is not a good movie but some people in it look so great i think they had to stop making people like that. tony goldwyn serving the kind of aristocratic Luciferian twink beauty that would make thomas mann's corpse wake up, climb out of his grave and slap himself so hard he dies again.

whoopi goldberg iconic for a reason. she is doing all the work normies do with their eyebrows with her eyeBAGS.

the ginger rogers of eyebrow acting: upside down and hairless. a trailblazer. in this post-Substance world it feels on the nose to talk about how beautiful young demi moore is (not-young demi moore, duh, also so beautiful) but golly. if you have a weakness for girls who look like the cartoon mouse waitress at the cartoon mouse sexy jazz bar (👋) Watch Out.

i'll tell you one thing about 1990, they'd be like "a very sexy thing for a beautiful woman to wear on a glamorous date? is a brocade vest."

and i think that was very brave and innovative of them. anyway you know who else has a great face? rick aviles who plays the absolutely thankless role of willy lopez.

a SUPERB face that we didn't get to see enough bc he died at 43 of AIDS-related heart failure. fucked up. apparently he was a very gifted comedian! oh also vincent schiavelli The Subway Ghost

wonderful face!! i'm not mentioning patrick swayze bc i think i have a whole post in me about his Trembling Masculine Vulnerability as a movie star and i don't want to blow my load about it. verdict: pretty bad movie. four stars

[rhysdarbinizedarby]

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

Source: Gypsy Tailor on instagram

[rarepairdumpster]

Casino AU Part 1

Pairing: Viktor/Silco (Arcane) Rating: M C/W: Mob Boss Silco, Viktor in a Dress, Teasing, Who will survive between two incorrigible flirts

Silco running a casino for the mob and Viktor being his pretty young husband that he met when he caught him counting cards.

Silco is completely smitten and marries him after only a couple months. He knows Viktor has his own agenda but trusts him implicitly. Viktor running most of the political bribery because he knows exactly what to say.

As long as Silco can make Viktor comfortable, he knows he doesn't have to worry.

That first night when Silco catches him though. Leaning over Viktor's shoulder, all confident and sexy, and Viktor thinks its gonna be a night of flirtation.

But Silco purrs in his ear instead, "You know, boy, card counting is against the rules."

Viktor's a little impressed that someone caught him and he still smiles like it was a compliment. 

"Is it?" He asks, tilting his face a little towards Silco. "I'm afraid I wouldn't know anything about that."

Silco tuts.

"Telling lies to the man who runs this place is a poor choice." His voice sharpens, gets louder. "Guards!"

Viktor turns fully towards Silco, letting his foot trail along Silco's leg. He reaches up and rubs the lapel of Silco's brocade vest between his thumb and forefinger, looking up at him sweetly. 

"I don't think we need to get them involved, do we?"

"I suppose alternative methods could be considered." Silco arches his brow, straightens, and steps back from those flirtatious hands. "Get up. Now."

Viktor smirks and goes to reach for his winnings, but Sevika has already sidled up next to him. She puts her hand down on the chips and shakes her head when Viktor follows the very muscular arm up to see who belonged to it.

He instead reaches for his cane and lightly hops off the stool towards Silco.

Silco leads him to the back office, and holds the door open so Viktor can step in ahead of him.

Sevika guards the door once Silco steps in and closes it.

Silco motions towards the empty chair in front of the desk and Viktor walks over and sits, crossing his legs and letting the slit of his blue satin dress open up over his knees. 

Silco walks up close to Viktor and leans up against the front of his desk, reaching behind and grabbing a cigar. 

"Now then," he chops the end of the cigar and sticks it in the corner of his mouth, "I'm afraid I can't have you manipulating my tables like that." Silco flicks his lighter then takes a puff. 

He then offers a light to Viktor, who has taken a cigarette out. Viktor looks up at Silco as he leans forward and accepts the flame at the end of his cigarette. "I'm happy to manipulate other things."

Silco smirks, but his gaze hardens.

"That line won't work on me, boy." 

He leans back and takes another slow puff.

"You have two choices. One: I can have you blacklisted from every casino from here to Timbuktu. Two: you take a position here."

Viktor raises an eyebrow, then takes a drag of his cigarette and breathes it out slowly. "A position?" He leans forward a little. "And I'm sure you don't mean the kind I'm usually offered."

"Deal cards for the House."

Viktor chuckles and leans back in the chair. "I'm afraid those uniforms aren't my style."

Silco smirked. "A plant, then. Watch the tables for me, play a little, flirt with guests if you like," he noticed he had Viktor's attention again. "You'll learn signals that will alert security to counters and others that may be trying to cheat the house."

When Viktor leans back, the hem of his dress slides that bit higher, and Silco gets the faintest tease of shadowy, bare skin between Viktor's thighs.

Silco absolutely looks, considers it briefly, and then pushes it from his mind.

He was here to work, not fuck.

"And would you be watching me?" Viktor asks, taking a drag of his cigarette.

Viktor's eyes are absolutely full of mischief, the little tart

"Some nights," Silco admits, and sees the corner of Viktor's mouth twitch up. "I do have other business to attend to."

"And what will you pay me?" Viktor raises an eyebrow. "I'll have to make it worth my while."

"All of our staff are well compensated." Silco taps the ashes from his cigar into his ashtray, and takes another puff. He let's out a ring of smoke before adding silkily, "There might be a bonus from time to time."

Viktor pretended to think about it, but if he was honest, he didn't have anywhere else to go. The other casinos he had been caught at only gave him a local ban, with a little coercion. It was clear Silco wouldn't be so easily swayed and he could be banned from every casino in the city.

"Fine then," Viktor shrugged. "When do I start?"

"Tomorrow night."

"I suppose that means I'm free tonight," Viktor smirked, a glint in his eye as he took another drag.

"But not free to roam the casino," Silco answers, a smirk of his own pulling at his lips.

Viktor stands up, leaning on his cane a little closer to Silco. "I don't mind changing my plans a little," Viktor leans closer next to Silco's ear. "I have a feeling our meeting was more fortuitous than any chips out there."

Silco turns his head slightly, breathes in the sweet and floral perfume, and eyes the curve of his jaw. Imagines biting it. Feels his cock stir at the thought.

Viktor leaves a soft, lingering kiss on Silco's cheek, then steps away towards the door. He raps on it, then turns to Silco with a smile. 

"We are done, yes?"

"Yes," Silco confirms, though his voice is slightly huskier than before.

Sevika opens the door and Viktor nods. "See you here tomorrow, Mr. Silco," Viktor winks before he steps though the door.

Silco sighs.

Sevika rolls her eyes -- because of course Silco was going to bend the little tart over his desk at some point.

Part 2

Arch + Woods

[ourflagmeansbts]

Source (Season 2 - October 7th 2023)

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

[jaynovz]

Hey y'all could you help me out with something--

Various examples:

[image description: Three photos of different styles of double-breasted jacket. The first is a U.S. Navy Admiral uniform, the second is a military marching jacket with shoulders and rope brocade, the third is Anne Hathaway from Twelfth Night in a gentleman's garb. /End desc]

[perlukafarinn]

Ranking every single one of Shirley Maclaine's outfits in What a Way to Go! because I can (part 3)

(link to part 1) (link to part 2)

15. Pinky This look is unhinged and I love it so much. It's the head to toe bubblegum pink, including the wig and jewelry (clock the pink rhinestone beauty mark!). It's the floor length fur coat, which in universe is made from chinchilla. It's the fact that the only reason Shirley is even wearing this ridiculous getup is because her husband's name happens to be Pinky and he is super into personal branding.

14. Sweater dress Shirley's Paris fits are all incredibly chic and this sweater dress looks super comfy to boot. I also love the way her hair is styled here, and the nude lip adds a little je ne sais quoi.

13. Sculptural dress Now we're getting into the fits her artist husband Paul Newman designs for her after he makes it big and holy moly I love this so much! The color combo is beautiful but obviously the highlight is the sculptural elements which are as impractical as they are fabulous.

12. Abstract painting dress Second art dress and what I really love about this one (besides the print and color) is the cape attached to the gloves. Very night at the opera meets Joan Mitchell.

11. Pop art bodysuit I don't know if it's strictly pop art but that's what this fit is giving me. It's maybe not as fancy as the other two Paul Newman dresses but I love how graphic and bold it is. The fingernails on the felt hands matching Shirley's nail polish is such a beautiful touch.

10. Black negligee This outfit is such a strange mix of kinky and cutesy and I'm kind of obsessed with it.

9. Backless with the pearls Gutted that this is the only angle we get of this outfit - it might have ranked even higher otherwise. But I love a backless dress and that pearl detailing is to die for. And notice the cigarette holder is bedazzled to match!

8. Gold and fur The silhouette of this dress goes so hard. The gold lame plus fur trimmings is both kitschy and fabulous, I live.

7. White faux fur I am a sucker for an all-white ensemble, and I adore the collar of this fit. What I love most about it is the jewelry in the hair, it's such a unique placement that really compliments the up-do.

6. Tangerine dream That hat! That neckline! That color! I am in love and I have nothing more to say!

5. My fair Shirley I love this because not only is the dress covered in rhinestones from top to bottom, Shirley has also piled on the sparkly jewelry. Sit her on top of a lighthouse and she could safely guide sailors from the shore for miles!

4. Red pleather The chopsticks in the hair are unfortunate and together with other design elements lend this outfit an air of (I hate to use this word) Orientalism. But this dress is so beautiful! The silhouette is bold and unique and that color works incredibly well with the choice of fabric. I just wish they'd styled it differently.

3. Red slip Yes, this simple red slip dress tops nearly every extravagant outfit in this movie for me. It is stylish, it is sexy, and it is the best Shirley looks in this entire movie.

2. Black and gold eleganza I loved this dress the moment I saw it, with the beautiful brocade fabric and the flouncy skirt, and then it kept getting better with every new angle - first the plunging back, then the skirt parting to reveal Shirley's long legs!

1.Black bikini Maybe a controversial top pick, considering all of the elaborate outfits and gorgeous dresses in this film but this bikini is simply irresistible. The design is utterly unique and so intriguing, and the styling - the matching black ribbon in Shirley's hair, the black kitten heels and earrings - puts it over the top for me.

Or maybe it's just that I'm incredibly down bad for Shirley MacLaine. You decide.

[terrible-eel]

"Astarion and Gale finally have a chance to have some time alone together and figure out a few sexy work-arounds to Astarion's touch repulsion"

Because I've been completely obsessed with bloodweave recently I thought I might as well get some of their cursed romance out of my head. I think I might turn this into a longer thing eventually.

Astarion walked down a small trail behind the encampment. The moon pierced the forest canopy, cascading over the dewy grass. He smiled to himself, watching it move gently in the wind.

“It looks like puddles of moonlight,” he thought fondly, stepping through the pale blue ripples, feeling the icy dew soak into his clothes.

The air out in the wilderness made him feel light and peaceful again. There was a rightness in the underbrush and little rivers that he would scarcely allow himself to feel in the company of others, but on the way to Gale's tent he was content with a solitary embrace of what the night had to offer… Which made approaching the tent all the more solemn.

Astarion began to roll the sleeves of his tunic shirt absently as he thought, an age old tell of his nerves.

He and Gale had been exchanging glances and small flirtations where they could manage as their camp grew larger with refugees. Neither of them felt comfortable letting any of their companions know of their affairs, sexual or otherwise, and it had left them exchanging letters and subtle conversations during the rare moments when they could find each other.

Fortunately, forming a more permanent settlement while they waited out the conflicts had allowed them the opportunity to meet up again. Gale had taken his tent far into the woods, using some excuse or another. Nobody paid him any mind, just as they paid Astarion no mind as he made his way out into the forest "for a hunt."

"Gale? It's me!" Astarion called from a few paces away.

Gale threw open the flap of his tent quickly upon hearing Astarion's voice.

Astarion’s heart skipped a beat, shock clear on his face. He quickly forced his jaw to shut but still stared with brows raised at Gale.

Astarion felt so underdressed for the occasion in his jodhpurs and old tunic. He didn’t even consider fastening a belt this time, but Gale was carrying himself beautifully in a fitted top he had never seen before. It was a deep enchanting purple, almost black, and though it was a long sleeved garment, there were expertly tailored openings revealing his collarbones and shoulders. Gale’s olive skin in the firelight was almost more than Astarion could take, but he made himself absorb the rest. Around his neck hung a long silver chain and turquoise pendant, which allowed his eyes to trail down to his pants. Beautiful purple brocade ran up the sides of the black fabric. He also took note that he was barefoot.

“Well, the least I can do is take my boots off before entering,” Astarion thought in embarrassment.

“Come in, Astarion,” Gale said with a knowing smirk, inviting the vampire in.

“You look lovely,” said Astarion, glancing up as he pulled his boots off, hoping Gale didn’t notice his shame.

“I’m glad you think so, I’ve been meaning to show these garments to you, I figured you may be interested in their design.” Gale boasted, clearly proud of himself for drawing such a reaction from Astarion.

Astarion smirked. “Well I’m clearly interested in the form they’re designed for.” To that Gale turned quickly away, moving further into the tent.

It was a modest thing from the outside, but Astarion was just as taken aback as usual when he walked in. It was much bigger on the inside, giving the appearance of a private study. Bookshelves lined the walls between things in jars and bottles. Astarion barely understood most of it, but he was familiar with a few things here and there. Of course there was a desk and a million half written papers thrown about, but in the middle of the room was a comfortable sitting area with large ornate pillows and furs over beautifully woven woolen rugs to keep the cold out.

The bed lay unattended in the corner. Astarion half wondered when Gale ever actually slept before a bone chilling sensation encompassed his body. Gale had taken him in his arms. The scratching of his beard felt like spiders. The light touch on his back burned like ice water.

And then the kiss. At first it warmed him to the other feelings. Astarion allowed himself to settle into the entanglement, trying to ignore the shivers like nails scraping against iron. Gale's mouth was warm and welcoming. Astarion tried to remind himself of how much he wanted it. How many weeks he had spent crafting letters of what he hoped they would do together; about their plans after their return to Baldur's Gate. He had even been so bold as to suggest they stay together in Gale's home in Waterdeep.

Astarion was desperate for a life where an embrace from Gale meant something romantic. He wanted the sunlight to rouse both of them from their dreams and to be able to cuddle into his shoulder as dawn sang sweet birdsongs.

"Why can't it just be like that now?" Astarion lamented as something crept into his mind. Books. Shelves like Cazador's. His study. Cazador taking notes. Astarion lay bound and watching him from a table-

Astarion pulled away quickly. Gale didn't try to hold him as he left his embrace. Gale had watched Astarion lose himself before and responded immediately with a loud distraction, hoping to pull him back to the present.

"Astarion! Let's start over, alright? You step outside now." Gale ushered Astarion back out of the tent.

The sudden feeling of icy dew on his bare feet and the soft smell of pine trees began to bring Astarion back to his senses. Gale hurried away and returned with two cups of hot chocolate he seemed to have had sitting for a while.

“He must have prepared that for me,” Astarion thought with a flutter in his chest that he prayed would not turn to guilt.

Gale swung one flap of the tent up and stood at the threshold.

"Let's start over, " he said again brightly. "Hello Astarion! Welcome to my room. I've made a drink for you- oh hells how long has it been cold- '' A purple glow came from his hand and the drink began to steam. "No matter, there you are." He placed the cup in Astarion's hand. The warm ceramic had grooves pressed in by some potter’s hand. Astarion began to trace the marks, feeling a sense of calm at the gentleness of the handcrafted object.

Astarion loved to watch Gale be charming. Perhaps the wizard didn’t know it, but whenever he began to show even a hint of what was on his mind, Astarion was charmed.

"Now, my dear, would you like to come in? I've added a little space since it will be the two of us. I wasn't sure if you would want your drink sweet, but I took the liberty of guessing you would. You do seem to have a sweet tooth."

Astarion finally smiled. "You're not wrong in that," he said, tasting the drink. "Oh, this is quite good. You really shouldn't have, sweetheart. Too many nice things and I might think you're flirting with me."

Gale smiled back with all the warmth he could manage. "There he is. Gods, I really need to stop approaching him so aggressively," Gale silently berated himself before speaking out loud:

"Well we couldn't have that now, could we. I suppose these biscuits I picked up at the market will be much too sweet and suggestive then. I will have to have them for myself," Gale said, opening his palm and pulling a small ginger jar to himself with his magic. Astarion intercepted it and tucked the jar under his arm, forcing Gale to release his hold before the thing shot out of Astarion’s grasp.

"No way you're retracting your sweets from me," Astarion chided, flopping down on Gale's many pillows. "I'll be eating all of them myself now," he said, making a valiant effort to do so.

Gale took a seat next to him. "Fine, I surrender. It's more fun watching you eat them anyway... I do love to see you satisfied."

Astarion lounged on his side and propped himself up on an elbow enough to look up at Gale. "I'm sorry for my behavior. It's just one of those days, it seems."

Inwardly, Astarion lamented. "I don't deserve someone so gentle. Look at him. I need to get myself under control. This is what he's been waiting for. I can't go back on every promise I've made. I need to stop behaving like a ridiculous child.-"

Astarion was pulled from his thoughts by Gale's gentle fingers running through his hair. His big warm hand was such a surprising and wonderful sensation. He leaned into the touch as he drank his cocoa.

"I'm so thankful I can see him happy like this," Gale thought, watching the man's expression soften as he settled down. "This is how I always want to see him. Just content and smiling. Maybe I'm going insane, focusing so hard on another's happiness again, but it feels different this time, I think. Astarion has been thinking of me as well. His little handmade gifts. His tending to my affliction. Rage towards our enemies as he comes to my aid... No. I know he's different." Gale wondered at Astarion as he leaned down to place a kiss on his forehead.

To Astarion these things finally felt right, but he knew that they would only go on for so long before the expectations would arise. He leaned onto Gale's lap, hoping to savor the affection before everything went sour.

"How would you like to have me," Astarion blurted out before he could catch himself.

"I'm sorry?" Gale asked, pulling his hand away.

"We had talked about this, why did I have to say that-"

"Remember we had-" Gale began.

Astarion sat up to face Gale directly.

"Talked about that, yes, I recall. I'm sorry. Look, frankly this is a situation we have both been anticipating, and with that anticipation there must be some expectation, no?" Astarion’s voice broke. He sounded more meek than he liked.

Gale pondered for a moment before responding: "Hm. I suppose… perhaps there is a bit too much of that. I myself am finding it difficult to know whether I'm going to be satisfactory for you. I had offered you the option to fuck me again in that letter…" Gale hesitated, and Astarion reached out and placed a hand over his, maintaining a reassuring grip until the man was able to continue. "Truth be told, you're the only man I had ever allowed to bed me at all, let alone in that way. I have no real reference with which to compare my own performance, I fear I am likely inadequate."

"Oh love, no, there's nothing to compare. I'm here because what I feel for you makes everyone else irrelevant to me." Astarion placed his cup and jar of sweets down on the floor and began to stand, bringing Gale to his feet along with him. He guided Gale into his arms, holding his left hand in his right, and pressed his body to Gale’s, swaying a little as if dancing with the man.

Astarion continued, “Let's just be here together now, in each other's arms, free of expectations," he whispered, feeling Gale lean into his shoulder. "You're wonderful in bed, but more than that, you're my treasure. You're who I want to spend my days with, as well as my nights. That's by far more important. I want nothing more from you than your love."

Gale's shoulders tensed and his face began to feel very hot on Astarion's collarbone. It was rare for Gale to become shy about anything, but Astarion was managing to find more and more ways to elicit the response recently. Together they tiptoed around the concept of love as they danced in silence.

"Alright. No expectations." Said Gale as he wrapped his arm around Astarion. "You have such a small waist. It just fits so perfectly in my hand."

"Hmm, perhaps it was made for your hand then," Astarion purred into his ear. "To hold, to caress, to scratch as I am inside you..."

Astarion could feel Gale's hand curling around the fabric of his shirt as Gale hid his face again. This time Astarion peeked down to see Gale's olive skin turning a deep crimson.

Astarion carried on, "There's my blush. Does my mage wish to feel me again?"

Gale's breath hitched in his throat, a delicious sound to Astarion. He had to have a taste of those lips. This time Gale's mouth tasted like chocolate. Warm and soft, his tongue coaxing Astarion for his kiss to go deeper, Astarion gladly moved in, eliciting a moan from Gale that made Astarion's body tense with arousal.

Gale's hand traced up Astarion's back and he felt that cold shivering malice run through him again. Slime like a snail's trail. Icy, dripping liquid. It was beginning to feel awful again. Slowly, Astarion began to pull away once more, taking a few steps back.

"What is it? You can tell me. Is it something I did?" Gale's voice was purely concerned. Astarion could tell consciously that he didn't want to hurt him, but the feeling was impossible to explain.

"It's not you, it's just…" Astarion looked down at the ground, hating that he couldn't bear to look Gale in the eye. He knew how pathetic he must have looked, but the idea of facing Gale was an even worse prospect than whatever the man thought of him at that point.

"It's just that tonight isn't really working for me…" Darling was usually the rest of his sentence, when these kinds of things came up; some flirtation to ease the tension, something to mask his worries a little, but all of that was gone. All that remained was hesitation and too much fear.

Gale felt an ache in his heart as he watched Astarion pull away. He hated to see that enchanting confidence be swallowed up by an anguish someone else had put there. Gale approached Astarion, reaching out and quickly drawing away when he saw the elf curl into himself.

"That's absolutely fine, Astarion. Another time, perhaps?" Gale took a step to the side where Astarion was staring off to, trying to at least meet Astarion's eyes.

"If he can see my sincerity, perhaps he would at least take comfort in the fact that everything is alright at the moment." Gale thought hopefully.

Astarion flashed him a glance through his lashes. When he saw Gale's worried expression, he turned on his heels, running both hands through his own hair in exasperation.

"Agh it's nothing so serious, it's not that I'm truly uninterested! Gods, I'd happily be fucking you right now! It's just the idea of sensation; the pressure of bodies is repulsing me, and of course it's happening now of all times! Right when we finally have time alone together, after so long. And then there's the hunger, I haven't fed properly in two days! This unpleasant mess-" Gale cut him off before he could continue.

"Might I interject with a solution -what you're going through is a relatable experience, if I'm being completely honest. It's not something I am taking lightly, I assure you. I may know at least a little of what touch repulsion may mean to you, is what I mean to say-"

Gale's voice, the notes of confidence and comfort, filled Astarion's ears like the low hum of a song. He could feel his jaw relax and his shoulders drop. Gale continued.

"There were points where an overabundance of affection from my goddess would become too much. Whenever I had experienced these awful, skin-crawling sensations, nothing my lover could do was a comfort to me. Contact was simply unbearable. And I believed that was that. That I was this untouchable, unlovable mess. To think I would be useless to her as a lover filled me with dread- well it didn’t help that she berated me for my performance issues, but it wasn’t that I was uninterested. It was just too much and too often. And the expectations she had for my performance…well perhaps her expectations were uniquely high as well. The more time I spend with you the more I understand the amount she would take from me while giving nothing in return."

Gale's words struck Astarion.

"So he truly does understand. He has nothing to gain by telling me this point of weakness…then why? Is he simply attempting to comfort me?" Astarion turned away from Gale and smiled. "He's too soft. The fool. So much more tender than he should be."

But the thought of intimacy; the thought that someone would want to share so much vulnerability with him just so he felt less alone in his needs, soothed his anxieties almost instantly. A blush rose in Astarion’s cheeks. Meanwhile, Gale had continued.

"However, there are very simple ways around things so pedestrian as physical contact with a body- that is, if you're still interested in something sexual, we needn't-"

This time it was Astarion's turn to interrupt.

He turned back to face Gale, this time locking eyes with hungry intensity. He wanted to savor Gale's next words. "I'm all ears," Astarion said in a low voice.

The sultry tone caught Gale off guard.

"Fuck. Don't give me that look," Gale thought as he felt a wave of arousal run down his abdomen.

Astarion could see more color rush to Gale's cheeks, a blush deepening over the human's neck. His heartbeat quickened in Astarion's ears, his scent filled his nostrils.

Gale struggled to keep his composure as a predatory shift overtook Astarion. As attractive as the idea of being taken by Astarion's instincts was in theory, he knew that Astarion had no true desire for intimacy past his vampiric needs, so he continued.

"Just because I can't touch you, doesn't mean I can't give you pleasure," Gale said with an eyebrow raised. Astarion bowed his head, peeking up hungrily. The posture of a beast on the prowl… And Gale could sense he had just become the prey.

"Is that so…" Astarion asked, taking a step towards Gale, who swallowed hard, attempting to move past the erotic focus Astarion had on him. "Then show me what you have in mind."

Another step and they were only a foot apart. Gale wanted to reach out and kiss him, to comfort him with touch, but he only smiled and kept his hands at his sides.

"Are you sure you want this?" Gale asked, searching Astarion's face for an honest answer. A smile crept up the corner of the elf's mouth and he raised his brow as if to suggest he continue.

"Then get on your knees." Gale instructed with more authority than Astarion thought he had in him. Astarion obeyed, curious where this would go.

"My abilities are not to be overlooked. Behold-" Gale raised his right hand, bending it at the elbow, pointing two fingers up and twisting his wrist to the side. A glowing purple ribbon fluttered into existence. Astarion watched the thing wrap itself gently around his wrists.

"Why is everything he does so beautiful?" Astarion thought as he let the ribbons draw his arms gently behind his back until he was secured in comfort.

Before he could think further, a sensation of pure pleasure ran up his arms, tingling and exciting but not overwhelming. It was enough for a soft moan to escape his lips. Then another stroke of pleasure, this time stronger, pulsing down to his groin so fast he thrust his head back in a gasp, and there he saw that Gale was standing directly over him now.

"This is better than I expected." Gale thought, admiring Astarion's body, watching how his heavy breaths escaped moist lips. Astarion was his now, finally, after so many nights of laying awake knowing that he was off with someone else, knowing that he was feeding on someone else's blood... No. Not this time. Now it was he who would be available for Astarion.

"I'm the one who's going to provide for you. I'll be the one who sustains you and makes you feel like this, more than anyone else. I’ve waited my turn."

As he spoke, the waves of pleasure grew in intensity. It was better than the touch of light fingernails on Astarion's skin, it was as if he was made of nothing but liquid pleasure. Gale was inside of every nerve in his body. Gale was going to take him over completely.

Astarion couldn't help but let his back arch, couldn't stop himself from gasping, couldn't stop the tight confinement of his erection pressing hard against his pants. Gale's words felt like they were burrowing down inside of him, erotic for their content but also hypnotic, like a spell was being sung into his heart. But it wasn't mind control. This was something so much more gentle. It was as if Gale was somehow cradling his joints, caressing his lungs, nurturing this feeling of pleasure; enveloping him in something Astarion could only guess was love.

"I'll be the one coursing through your veins from now on." Gale said as that magnetic hypnotism only increased in Astarion. Gale reached for the knife at his side and sliced a deep cut down his palm, spilling his blood onto Astarion's face. It dripped down his cheek and pooled between his lips.

At first Astarion recoiled, expecting the burning acrid taste to make him retch, but somehow, past the initial sour taste, past the burning in his heart as he swallowed, there was something sweet. Something like a fresh plum, just picked from its tree. He had never been so aroused from blood. His eyes rolled back for a moment and then he shut them hard. The blood kept coming.

The drops were like rain falling down inside of him, coating his throat, suffocating him. His head rattled like thunder. Shadows and rainstorms and dark fields. He lapped at the dripping wound. His tongue thrusted out, seeking the cut. It felt like he was finally satiated after starving for years. He drank and moaned and allowed the blood to pool down his face. It was the dripping caress of a lost lover; the answer to some divine mystery he had contemplated for that year in the dark.

He licked at Gale's hand until the ache in his pants was too much.

Astarion finally opened his eyes to see Gale's expression. The man was looking down at him with brows knit, the soft sheen of sweat at his temples, his mouth ever so slightly open. Astarion had to give him a teasing smile.

"Will you be the one to provide me some more now? Will you satisfy me?" Astarion nipped gently at Gale's pinky. "Will you fill me up like this every night?"

"Fuck, Astarion," Gale said in a low voice, biting down on his lower lip.

With his free hand repeating the same waving gesture, Astarion could feel the strings of his pants be undone. His nakedness instantly met with an unexpected wave of pleasure like something was running from the tip down the entire shaft, drawing out thrusts from Astarion as invisible motions pumped him at a tantalizingly slow speed. Gale raised his bleeding hand and squeezed more onto Astarion's face as he arched into his thrusts.

"That's it. Let me take you completely," Gale breathed as he watched Astarion's eyes widen.

He looked like he was begging for more, and with each plea, Gale quickened the pace, feeling his magic inside Astarion, pressing hard into his prostate until his moans became gasps. The feeling was dizzying but Gale began to support Astarion, commanding his magic to hold the elf up as he played with his body.

Astarion could feel this invisible force pressing into him, wrapping tightly around his thighs and neck, gliding down his body lightly enough to make him squirm. He shivered in pleasure. Astarion could barely lick his lips as the blood spilled down his throat. His moans were almost inaudible whimpers.

Gale’s voice was breathy with desire as he spoke. "Gods, you are impossibly beautiful,” he said, savoring the way Astarion's whole body began shaking as the sensations became unbearably intense.

“Now, come for me.” Gale’s voice filled Astarion’s mind until he felt himself lose control. With a sharp breath hitched in his throat, Astarion began to come as commanded, and the force that held him pushed the orgasm further and further until Astarion finally let out a gasp and his body relaxed, spent and exhausted.

Gale lowered him down gently so he could sit on his knees, still shaking, breathing heavy. The ribbon that bound him still gave him light pulses of pleasure.

Astarion didn't want the ribbons off yet. To be held by something so pure was blissful. It was Gale's intent, wrapped in his hands. He gripped the ribbons hard and looked up at Gale again.

“Take off your clothes,” Astarion said hungerly.

“Are you sure? But you had said-” Gale was cut off by Astarion’s voice, dripping with lust. “I said take them off. I want to feel your cock down my throat.”

“Are you sure?” Gale repeated with some hesitation.

“Darling, I’ve never been more sure of anything.” Astarion waited on his knees, pants down at his ankles, Gale’s blood beginning to crust along his neck. He was exactly where he wanted to be. The warmth of Gale’s blood was bringing him clarity like he had never imagined. There was nothing in the world but this room and this man in front of him, who’s muscles moved under soft skin, who’s arms rose above his head as he removed his shirt, whose pants came down tantalizingly slowly as he undid small knots at his hips, revealing a full and beautiful erection.

“Now come here, my doll, you can touch me now. I want to feel your hands as I take you.”

Gale looked away in shame. His modesty only served to attract Astarion further to him. He could feel his own dick begin to harden as he watched the crimson blush rise in Gale’s exposed chest. Gale reached out a hand and brushed Astarion’s bloody, sweaty hair from his face. He took Astarion’s cheeks lightly in his hands.

The two men held each other’s gaze for a moment. Both could feel their stomachs flutter with anticipation.

“Oh gods he’s perfect. I can’t be without him. I need him,” Astarion thought in wonder.

“How can this be happening? I’ve never needed someone so badly in my life. I need to be with him,” Gale thought with adoration.

Astarion slowly opened his mouth and leaned forward. Gale gently moved Astarion’s head, guiding his dick straight into the elf’s mouth, and then pulling back a little again, slowly back and forth, coaxing a moan from deep in Astarion’s throat. The sensation made Gale shiver.

Astarion moved down the shaft, taking him even deeper until Gale could feel the back of his throat. Gale’s hands gripped hard in Astarion’s hair as Astarion began lightly sucking and licking. Gale began to lose more and more control, soft moans escaped his lips which he threw a hand up to silence, but the grip in Astarion’s hair only tightened as he felt Astarion begin to lick at the base and back up to the tip, lapping at the precum he couldn’t repress. And again Astarion took him in his mouth, this time almost completely.

“Wait, I don’t want to choke you-” Gale breathed. He could feel Astarion’s mouth curl into a smile around him.

Astarion pulled away for a moment to say “my love, I don’t need to breathe. I’m dead.”

“Ah-but-” Before Gale could protest, Astarion’s mouth slid quickly around him again, this time even further. Gale watched Astarions eyes begin to tear up as his throat was impossibly filled. He could hear Astarion’s moans, feel Astarion choking, yet he continued that sucking pressure, moving even deeper. Gale couldn’t help it, he took Astarion’s head in both hands and began to thrust into him. The deeper he went, the harder he thrusted, the harder the moans from Astarion.

“Ah! Fuck! The sounds you make!” Gale exclaimed over the choking sounds of Astarion around his cock.

Gale pressed even harder, until all Astarion could do was whimper. That was enough to send Gale over the edge. He shuddered, letting himself thrust deep into Astarion’s throat, filling the elf’s mouth with cum. Astarion continued to suck through his orgasm, finally opening his mouth to release him, gasping as he tried to breathe through the cum that had begun to leak from his nose and throat.

“Gods! I’m sorry!” Gale cried as he released the ribbon tying Astarion's wrists and summoned a handkerchief which Astarion gladly took. Gale leaned down, trying to hold Astarion’s shoulders, but Astarion waved him off as he cleared his airways.

“Are you alright? What have I -” A sharp laugh cut through Gale’s fretting.

“Hush, Gale! Hah, you’re ridiculous.” Astarion giggled between coughs.

“That was fun for me, see?” Astarion gestured casually to the cum running down his leg. “It only took having you in my mouth to make me finish again. You have no idea what that does to me.” The deep purr of his voice made another shiver run through Gale.

“Can I please hold you, Astarion?” Gale asked.

“Yes you may, my love.” Astarion replied with a chuckle.

Astarion found himself in Gales' embrace faster than he anticipated. It was a fierce hug that held more passion than he was expecting. "I'm sorry. I was afraid I went too far." Gale mumbled into his neck. Astarion softened at the kindness, slowly allowing himself to return the embrace.

Astarion wiggled loose to look at Gale, who wore an expression of uncertainty, so he offered a reassuring smile. "Gods," Astarion complained with mock drama. "I feel I must have woken the whole forest, let alone the camp." Gale smiled back at that. They both couldn't help but laugh.

"I think we're fine. I have enough paranoia to put a little soundproofing around us," Gale said as lightly as he could.

A blush was returning to Gale’s cheeks. His bashful demeanor made Astarion's chest ache with adoration.

Gale asked with some hesitation: "What did you think? Did you like it?"

Astarion blinked. Beyond the surprise, there was this tender bubbling in his chest which he didn’t anticipate. “He’s too soft,” Astarion thought. But his judgment was gone, replaced with a deep admiration for the man’s kindness.

Astarion let his expression soften. He let that feeling wash over him; let the affection show through his eyes. More than anything he wanted Gale to know what he meant to him.

“You’ve done something for me like no one else has, Gale. You’ve seen me. Of course it was uniquely amazing, but more than that, you knew just who I was going in, and you chose to do that. More than satisfied, I’d say I’m charmed. I’ve never known anyone like you.” Astarion placed a hand on Gale’s cheek as the man's eyes widened a little at his words. “I think this is the first time I’m actually in love.”

Gale wrapped Astarion in his arms and tightly squeezed until Astarion collapsed helplessly, unsure what exactly it meant, until into Astarion’s hair he heard Gale whisper: “I love you too.”

[justforbooks]

Roberto Cavalli

Italian fashion designer who used exotic animal prints, embossed leather and distressed denim to create his flamboyant clothes

As Italian fashion went global in the later 20th century, it diverged into two schools: the sensuous, soft in silhouette and touch, and the boldly sexual, flamboyant to the eye. The first, and lasting, head of the sexy school was Roberto Cavalli, who has died aged 83.

The material bases for both schools were the nation’s specialist textiles and leather firms: for Cavalli, they delivered figured and lamé leathers, garments printed after sewing so that no seams interrupted a design, and many fabrics with his emphatic prints. These featured animal-skin motifs, Renaissance and Baroque brocades, or, natural-world details derived from his digital photographs.

His aesthetic was hectic, blingy, and sold across classes and cultures: those from palazzos could don it ironically, while those for whom it was streetwear appreciated Cavalli’s celebration of blatant heterosexuality.

From the late 1990s, he expanded worldwide through clothes, shoes and accessories for women, men and children to homewares, perfume, a credit card, and cafes – in his native Florence, he bought the exclusive Caffè Giacosa and Cavalli’ed it.

He sailed the Mediterranean in his purple yacht, and was mobbed in his Manhattan store, but his emotional core locale remained Florence. His mother, Marcella, was the daughter of a painter, Giuseppe Rossi; his father, Giorgio Cavalli, a mining engineer, was shot in 1944 with 91 other civilians by German soldiers in reprisal for a partisan attack.

Postwar, Marcella scrambled by as a coal dealer, then as a dressmaker who hand painted her creations. The boy’s childhood was hard – he stuttered – but after much pleading, he studied at Florence’s Istituto d’Arte (1957-60), although never sat his final examination.

Instead, he earned money. His mother’s painted dresses inspired him to widen the idea to a mechanical process. He travelled to study Como’s many high-end textile firms, and began to print ready-to-wear sweaters for Mariuccia Mandelli of Krizia, who shared his fancy for simulated wild-beast pelts, and then for Hermès. Soon he had a studio, employees, a longed-for Ferrari and enough money to impress the banker father of Silvanella Giannoni; Cavalli claimed it was to win her hand he had achieved so much this young. They married in 1964, and had two children, Tommaso and Cristina, before divorcing in 1974.

Cavalli’s breakthrough to his own clientele came in 1969, when he gatecrashed a party for the shoe designer Mario Valentino, and mentioned to him that he could print on leather. He couldn’t, but the next day worked out a technique using supple glove kid, and returned with samples. Cavalli showed his new wares, sewn into garments, at the Paris Salon du Prêt-à-Porter in 1970. People gawped, but did not buy.

What did sell was his next inspiration. At that time, only brutal wear and laundering faded, abraded and distressed denim – the big industry that would become stone- and sand-washing, bleaching and shredding denim had not been invented – and any embellishments were crude. Cavalli ordered a container of dirty worn-out jeans from a US prison, and washed, cut and patchworked the pieces with leather and printed textiles for a collection shown in the Pitti Palace in 1972. The arte povera materials had been collaged with Italian craft skill and an artist’s eye, and appealed to the well-heeled in the last phase of Boho-hippy-rock-chick chic.

Cavalli went retail with his designs through boutiques, opening the first, Limbo, in St Tropez, and built up an international following. As a high-living celebrity, and a divorcee with loud enthusiasm for beautiful women, he was a judge at the 1977 Miss Universe pageant, where he did not vote for Miss Austria, Eva Düringer, 18, to win, as he wanted her for himself. After finishing her education, she followed him to Florence, where they married in 1980; she became his model, business manager, and mother of Robert, Rachele and Daniele. They divorced in 2010.

Cavalli retained close control of the manufacture of his clothes, proud of the skills used, and disapproved of licensing deals and production off-shoring in Italian fashion as it internationalised at the end of the 70s. He resented the 80s fashion preference for what he called “minimalism”, but was more accurately a temporary supremacy for the sensuous school, exemplified by Giorgio Armani’s unstructured tailoring for women, plus a desire to moderate overt sexiness.

The Cavalli label retained clients – rock doesn’t give up on its own – yet he stopped showing his collection, and in 1993 intended to close the factory and beg union help to re-employ its workers.

He was persuaded to a comeback show at Milan Fashion Week, and attributed his triumphant second career afterwards to his inspiration to add Lycra to denim to create stretch jeans. (Not a new idea – Irene Sharaff had denim experimentally woven with Lycra for the dancers’ jeans in West Side Story, 1961.) Cavalli personally distressed a pair, printed a snake entwining a leg, and displayed them on the perfect rear of his favourite model, Naomi Campbell.

During Cavalli’s years of retreat, Gianni Versace had taken over much of the remaining custom for Italian-originated sexiness, but Versace designs, especially his prints, had a mad Roman emperor stridency never seen in the work of Cavalli, whose leopards and tigers were for cuddling and stroking, not gladiatorial combat.

Even before Versace’s death in 1997, Cavalli was in the ascendant again, in demand on red carpets, on stage on Jennifer Lopez, Beyoncé, Christina Aguilera, and on screen – a giraffe-skin print – on Carrie Bradshaw in Sex and the City: he opened boutiques and cafes around the world for his sex-is-fun, Latin-culture-orientated, clothes that suited the mood of excess is success. He was the first Italian designer to create a collection for H&M, a sell-out in 2007. His company closed in 2014, but was relaunched a year later, with little input from Cavalli himself.

In 2002, tax police inspected Cavalli’s extravagant house and estate outside Florence, including the purple helicopter he piloted, and charged him with evasion for claiming expenses for the property as work premises rather than a private home. Cavalli was found guilty and sentenced to 14 months jail, but a superior court annulled the verdict.

A son, called Giorgio after his father, was born to his partner, Sandra Nilsson, a model, in 2023. She and his six children survive him.

🔔 Roberto Cavalli, designer, born 15 November 1940; died 12 April 2024

Daily inspiration. Discover more photos at Just for Books…?

[bethanysnow]

Three in Company

Joseph Quinn X Reader X Jamie Campbell Bower

Slow Burn! Minors DUI,  (Y/A = your age) (F/A = Future age)

TAGS: @etherealglimmer​  @munsonslilbunnie​ @depressedstressedlemonzest​ @munsonmoonshine86

__________~○~__________^-^____________

==============================================================

“Your Majesty we’ve come to discuss a very important matter- oh take your legs off the arm of the throne! A lady sits properly” The tall blond scolds the young lady sitting in front of him. 

“No- Bower I will not adjust how I sit to please you. No one else is here” Motioning to the basically empty room. Besides some servants who scurry about in corners of the room it is just her and the Chamberlain after all. “What matter is so important you must interrupt me and my grape eating” Lifting a bowl of grapes off her stomach to show him. Her eyes gave way that she was amused and teasing her poor Chamberlain was a loved pastime. 

“We have to talk about the men who you could marry. This is of great importance I assure you-” Taking the deepest bow “-Your Majesty~” Looking up at her with a wink. She laughs and motions for a servant to bring up a chair.   

“Go on then,” motioning him to sit next to her.  

“Very well,-” Stamping the end of his cane onto the marble floor the doors open at the end of the great hall. Men in festive court attire walk forward with portraits of varying sizes and one with a cart filled with boxes.   

“What’s that?” Pointing to the cart, piled a mile high with boxes and bags and things in pretty packaging making the Queen’s eyes sparkle. 

“Some of the gentlemen with their portraits have sent you gifts, my lady. Onward!” Stamping his cane twice as the men unveil the first portrait. 

The men in the portraits all seemed rather dull, some were too old and not in the sexy silver fox way, but in the ‘this is your uncle’ way. Some were literal children.

Till they got to one…

“Who is this?” She asks looking at the next portrait as the fabric is tossed away. 

“Joseph Quinn, Duke of France, he actually is English, cousins with some Prince but was given that title by Henry the IV. He has sent with him…mmh” Looking over his paper with all the names and correlating packages. “Nothing- just the portrait” 

The Queen getting up from the throne steps down the stairs and up to the portrait. Looking very closely at the figure in the painting. Taking in his appearance. Curly brown hair, soft eyes, oval face, he isn’t some striking beauty with a jawline and cheekbones and angular expressions. In a blue and white brocade suit, a slight smile, crinkles around the eyes that make it seem genuine. Like he was proud to get his portrait taken. The signature of the artist says that while not some well known name the artist did a very good job at capturing his likeness. While some are covering up their blemishes and imperfections, it didn’t seem like that with this gentleman. He stood tall and present in the frame, a hand resting on the back of a chair and the other on the hilt of a sword. He seemed lovely. 

“Do you know him?” her majesty asks, turning to face the chamberlain. 

“No, but I’ve heard stories, he fought alongside the French in fact saved the King’s life from an assassination, he is a diplomat, quiet fellow, haven’t heard anything bad about him persay. People say he’s kind.”  

The young lady stood looking him up and down 

“What do you think Mr. Bower? Would we look nice together?” Facing him on the platform with the portrait above her. 

“Why does that matter?” He asks in reply with a cocked brow. 

“Because when our portrait is painted together I don’t want to look like a fool who’s picked a ugly man. Then we will have ugly children” sarcastically replied

“Given that notion your majesty I might as well throw my hat into the ring” He muses shuffling through papers. 

“Yes yes, the lord blessed you with beauty that much is true. Not so much with intelligence though~” She giggled teasing her friend. “How old is he?” 

“29? I believe? Old enough to be your brother” Mr. Bower said under his breath, slightly hoping to persuade the Queen into making a different decision. 

“I am Y/A, turning F/A, I think being 29 just means he’s not some immature boy. He’s a gentleman or should be. I pick him” 

“Are you sure your Majesty? You pick a Duke of France over Princes and various other nobles? There are still many to choose from.” Sir Bower said with a sort of perturbed expression. Not only was this particular Duke well known to be one of the people, he was seen as a soft hearted. Which Chamberlain Bower knew to be one of her Majesty's only weaknesses. 

“I pick him” She stated again going back to sit on her throne. Her mind was made up. Whoever this Joseph Quinn, Duke of France was…he was going to be her husband. 

==============================================================

And so the race had begun, a letter from Astruador was sent to France demanding the Duke’s presence at once. The Chamberlain had assigned to the Ladies in Waiting and the Master of Ceremonies to start the planning process for Mr. Quinns arrival. The court was a buzz at the idea of the arrival of a suitor for their Queen. Her Majesty would be dressed in the highest of garb, a large banquet would be needed for all of the members of the court and anyone he brings with him. He would be placed at the right hand of Her Majesty and given the Royal Coat of Arms as someone who will now be a part of Astruadors legacy. 

In the meantime, the palace would be cleaned, polished, and dressed for the upcoming soon-to-be King. While the palace was not in disrepair, it was becoming more dusty from ill use, her majesty wasn't one for parties or large sessions of court. Astruador since the passing of the late King and Queen was put under a spell of mourning. Everyone dripped in black and the sadness went on for 4 years. Till rumors of a formal introduction of their daughter were to be announced. Those black clothes changed to white, yellow, and pink. The colours of the Astruadorian flag. Since the public announcement of Her Majesty, it was then assumed she would become Empress. As her Father was King till his coronation after his own wedding, making him become the Emperor King.

A week had elapsed since the request of the Duke's presence and Her Majesty was starting to get nervous. While she never fully believed in love at first sight, it did cause her to wonder what was taking him so long. No letter back, no note, it left much to the imagination. Did he find her portrait not worthy of being a bride? She knew she wasn’t some beautiful flower like her mother, or the rest of European royalty. She was plain, stout, and had hair that never did what she wanted. She could be dressed in jewels and still be a step away from a chambermaid. Picking at her nails, looking out her window onto the Rose Garden. It was beautiful in the spring, filled with reds, pinks, yellows, and whites. She never dared go into it since the passing of her mother. Her parents were symbolically buried in a stone chapel on the property surrounded by roses. Now it was only to start wondering what her mother would say. ‘Don’t look so sour, he will come. In time dear all things will work themselves out’. The late Empress's voice floats through her head only to be interrupted by a page boy walking in. 

“Your Majesty there is a letter from the Duke of France!” 

~~

[elegyworks]

Hi again!! This month's male outfit is a layered jacket+shirt and sexy leather pants! The pants have metadata so that the bottoms of them are hidden when you have knee length boots on, vanilla or otherwise. I added metadata to make them functional with the boots from my Fitzwilliam set - just make sure the Griffin set has higher priority if you want to use them both! I also included a bulgeless option, and it uses separate textures/is separately baked to look as good as possible. :)

Shirts: ⁍ Four texture options for the jacket: a patterned silk; brocade; leather; and wool ⁍ Multiple dye options, in light, true, or dark options, as well as with gold detail options

Pants: ⁍ Metadata for boot functionality ⁍ Multiple dye options, in light, true, and dark ⁍ Designed to be used with or without a shirt ⁍ Bulgeless & non-bulgeless versions available

Public 12/30/23! Patreon Website

[bigasswritingmagnet]

Whatever it is People Go Away For Ch 7

Rating: M Fandom: What We Do in the Shadows Summary:

Did you ever see the 2006 romcom smash hit The Holiday, with Jack Black and Kate Winslet? This is that, but with vampires. Except they're human. Laszlo is a musician who can't remember how to make things for himself. Guillermo has a cheating ex-boyfriend he can't let go of. They both need a break from their lives, and swapping houses with a stranger sounds like just the ticket.

AO3 link

“Now,” Nadja said, hiking up her skirts to get her underwear on, “we must do something about your clothes.” 

Laszlo looked down at himself, in his usual dark jeans and collared shirt. 

“You only popped a few buttons.” 

Nadja frowned.  

“Laszlo, I can tell you are very smart so stop thinking like an idiot. Look at you, and look at me. I look like a sexy mistress of the night born in ancient Greece several hundred years ago. You look like you are late to give a presentation on how many paperclips it takes to build a cubicle. Which of us belongs in this night club?” 

“Oh.” 

“Yes, oh. Finish putting your dick away and follow me. We will find you an appropriate outfit.” 

Nadja took him to a clothing shop. It was small, looking squeezed between the two much larger buildings on either side. And yet, somehow, you couldn’t fail to notice it. The sign over the door said The Barony in curly red letters, underlined by a twirling measuring tape tailing a golden pair of scissors. 

There was a musical jangling of a bell overhead when Nadja pushed open the door, and Laszlo stepped back in time by at least two hundred years. The walls were lined with bolts of fabric and lace and brocade dangling across the shelves, soaking up the sound. Mannequins were dressed in decadent, gorgeous outfits that he’d only ever seen in history books and museums. 

A curtain twitched and a man emerged. Tall, thin, with long-white blonde hair, dressed in a sumptuous red coat with the most intricate embroidery Laszlo had ever seen. When he saw Nadja, his face lit up, his mouth twisting into an almost avuncular smile. He stretched out his arms, impossibly long fingers unfurling like the fanning of a peacock’s tail.  

“Nadja,” he crooned, and Laszlo immediately scratched the ‘avuncular’ descriptor. There was nothing even tangentially familial about that hug. 

“Afanas, this is Laszlo. He will be performing at my club tonight, and he needs to be properly attired.” 

“Yes, I can see that,” Afanas said, dryly. He circled Laszlo, humming critically. Then, with no words but a twitch of his elegant fingers, he glided back behind the curtain. Here there was a changing room in one corner, next to an angled mirror, and everywhere neat stacks and hanging racks of clothing. Afanas plucked a few items from their homes and dropped them unceremoniously in Laszlo’s arms. 

“Go forth,” he said, mildly, gesturing in a wide sweep for Laszlo to enter the changing room. With only a brief uncertain look at Nadja, Laszlo went forth. 

The door was not very thick, and anyway didn’t entirely reach the floor or ceiling, so Laszlo could very easily hear when Afanas whispered. “He does not seem your usual type.” 

“I promise, he is not as boring as he looks. Very good at following instructions.” 

“Really? Intriguing. How is he on his knees?” 

Laszlo immediately focused on getting dressed, doing his best to tune out the conversation discussing him as if he was breeding stock at the county fair, lest it cause interference with the fit of the trousers. 

The cravat was giving him a bit of trouble, so he turned to check in the mirror. And saw–and he was–the clothes were–

He felt…harpsichord, with violin accompaniment, woodwind section alto only. Four-four time–no, three-quarters, a waltz, but a quick one, the kind where you couldn’t think, only move. No crescendo, but a soaring finish that ended sharply rather than fading to quiet. 

A song you could listen to every day, every damn day, over and over and never be sick of it. 

But he didn’t like the cut of the jacket. It was too trim at the waist, he wanted something straighter. And he didn’t want the coat buttons to be so bright; he wanted the coat to be the accessory, not the statement piece, he wanted to wear it with different waistcoats that had patterns and colors and when had he ever thought the phrase “statement piece” in his fucking life? 

When had he ever thought about what he was wearing beyond “it fits and it won’t embarrass me in public”? When had he ever cared enough to have an opinion? 

When had he ever cared at all? 

“Laszlo, are you alive in there?” Nadja called, cutting through the maelstrom. Laszlo tied the cravat with shaking fingers, breathing hard, blinking away the heat in his eyes. 

“Just a moment.” He stepped out from the changing room. “Little trouble with the cravat,” he said. 

“Aha!” Afanas said, eyes lighting up. “ Now I see it.” 

Nadja nodded approvingly. 

“Much better. What do you think?” 

“I look like me,” Laszlo said, and was as horrified to hear the words as he was the wobble in his voice. He tried to flee back into the changing room–what he thought he was going to go when he got in there, he wasn’t sure, but away and out of sight was all that mattered. 

Nadja caught his wrist in a grip like a vice, but her voice was casual when she spoke. 

“Afanas, perhaps another outfit to try?” 

“Of course,” he said, as if nothing had happened or was happening.

Laszlo muttered something about the buttons, but wasn’t sure if anyone heard him. Only when Afanas had glided from the room did he feel a fingertip under his chin, tilting his head up. He kept his eyes averted, not wanting to see her expression. 

“Tell me, ó fílate ,” she said. “And do not say ‘nothing’,” she added sternly. 

His throat was too tight, he could barely breathe let alone say anything. 

“Laszlo,” she said. “I will not find it funny. I will not think less of you. Speak.” 

“Have you ever recognized yourself in the mirror?” Laszlo asked. “Looked at yourself and actually seen you, not…not someone else? Yes, that’s me, that’s what I look like. That’s who I am.” 

“Yes,” Nadja said. 

“I haven’t,” Laszlo said, barely more than a whisper, and forced himself to raise his eyes. There was no pity, no laughter, no derision, not even exasperation. 

“Agapité,” was all she said, when she wrapped her arms around him.  

Three hours later, Laszlo stepped out of the store in a canary yellow waistcoat, a long dark overcoat, fitted trousers, button shoes, and holding a top hat in his hand. 

“I think I just spent more money on clothing than I have the entirety of my life put together.” 

“How would you know? You signed the receipt with your eyes closed.” Nadja adjusted his cravat and smoothed her hands over the waistcoat. “Worth it, I think.” 

“Very much so. What time do we need to be at the club?” 

“I need to be there at 6, you go on at 8.” 

Laszlo checked his watch–maybe he should buy a pocket watch–and nodded. Then he twirled the top hat and set it on his head.

“Well then, my darling, we had best be off.” He offered Nadja his arm. She took it, giggling, and led the way back towards the club. 

For the first time in years, Laszlo couldn’t wait for the performance to begin. 

[mumms-the-word]

A Macabre Masquerade - Ch. 2

Ch. 2 - Getting Ready

Characters: Tavs (multiple), Gale, Astarion, Karlach, Wyll, Lae'zel, Shadowheart, Halsin, Minthara + other OCs Plot: One year after defeating the Netherbrain and saving the city, Dani and Gale receive a mysterious invitation to a masquerade ball. The invitation specifically invites them to participate as the Heroes of Baldur's Gate. However, when they get there, they soon realize they aren't the only Heroes of Baldur's Gate that got invited. A/N: Designing outfits for Dani and Gale ended up being so hard for me, but I can't wait to show off some descriptions of other Tavs/Durges/Companions when they get to the party. Should I post my inspiration pics? Maybe~

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Dani was just putting the final touches of her outfit together, sliding a few gold filigree rings onto her horns until they fit snuggly, when she saw Gale step into view in the reflection of her full-length mirror. He wrapped his arms around her from behind and pressed a kiss to her cheek before resting his chin on her shoulder.

“Nearly ready, my love?” he asked.

“I think so.” She glanced over her reflection quickly in the mirror before turning and bringing Gale to stand side by side with her, her arm linked in his. “What do you think? Are we fit to be seen by high society?”

He tilted his head, studying their reflections, and she in turn gave them both another lingering once-over. She was dressed in an elegant sleeveless midnight gown embroidered with golden swirls along the bodice and a pattern of gold embroidered feathers twisting and curling upward from the hem of her skirt. She felt sexy with her low plunging neckline, nearly to her navel, showing a tantalizing hint of the curve of her breasts. Her back was mostly bared as well, though she had draped a silky gold wrap around her shoulders in anticipation of the night chill. The blue fabric of the dress was soft and draped easily from her hips, weighed down by the elaborate embroidery. It was easily the fanciest and most expensive dress she owned, even having spent the last year filling her closet with finery to wear to dinners with patriars and celebrations for newly restored buildings in the city. She felt almost overdressed, like she were playing pretend with a costume on a stage. 

But then again, it was a masquerade. Everyone would be dressing up and pretending to be someone else for a bit.

Gale, in comparison, looked more than at home in his well-tailored attire, consisting of a dark high-necked shirt buttoned all the way up, an open midnight brocade coat that fell halfway down his calves, and dark trousers to match. Warm golden embroidery shimmered along the edges of his coat and around the buttons of his purple waistcoat, and he had added a sash that crossed from shoulder to hip and around his waist in the same purple shade. He’d tied back sections of his hair into a little bun at the back, fastened with a bit of purple ribbon, the tails trailing down, and he’d swapped his silver earring of Mystra’s eight-pointed star for a gold feather charm that matched all of Dani’s gold jewelry for the night. Dani wore the other feather earring as one of her many earrings. He looked like a prince in a fairy book, especially when his expression shifted to one filled with love as he gazed at her in the mirror.

“You certainly do,” he said in response to her question, turning to kiss her cheek again. “You look absolutely stunning.”

She pursed her lips at her reflection, reaching up to pull some of her two-toned hair over her shoulder. She’d styled her hair a little differently, going with a high ponytail that left her waving, slightly curling locks cascading down her back, but kept her usual fringe pieces to frame her face, freshly dyed a pale, icy blue. She did feel beautiful, but she couldn’t shake the silly notion that she’d blink and it would all disappear.

She knew that it wouldn’t, of course. She was there when they tried on these outfits in Figaro’s elegant shop and she remembered watching Gale hand over a hefty bag of coin to pay for them. She was there when they’d trusted the custom tailoring to her mother, as the dress needed altering to accommodate Dani’s tail and Gale wanted the jacket a bit more fitted (plus it gave them an excuse to visit her mother). So there was no denying the dress on her body was more than a figment of her imagination. It was just taking some getting used to.

“You do know how to go all out, dressing for a fancy patriar party,” Dani said, smoothing her hands down her skirt. “This is fancier than my wedding dress.”

“You don’t dislike it, do you?” Gale asked, pulling back to look at her, expression suddenly concerned. “You should have said—“

“No! No, I love it. Hells, I look like a princess.” She fidgeted with her wrap, not being used to it. She didn’t like it covering her shoulders but she felt matronly with it limply draped around her arms. She was half tempted to just toss it to the side or tie it in a sash around her waist. “Is this how people dress all the time in Waterdeep? City of Splendours and all that?”

“Only if you’re of a particularly fortunate class,” Gale said. “Though among wizards it’s not unusual to see someone charm their outfit or cast a lingering illusion to make their shabby robes look better than they are. The Blackstaff Ball could be positively insufferable with apprentices and alumni trying to outshine one another with elaborate illusions.”

“Oh?” Dani grinned and tilted her head. “That sounds fun. Would we have passed muster at a Blackstaff Ball?”

“As we are now? Absolutely. But there’s nothing wrong with adding a bit of sparkle to an already stunning visage, is there?” He chuckled, but his eyes drifted back toward the mirror, lingering on both of them. He looked almost…wistful. His mind a thousand miles away.

Dani felt a pang of guilt, all too familiar. For an entire year she and Gale had lived in Baldur’s Gate, working to rebuild the city out of all the destruction the Netherbrain and a hoard of mind flayers and dragons had caused. She was fiercely proud of their work, especially Gale’s role in navigating the reconstruction efforts. He'd been indispensable. His verbosity, charm, and intelligence were essential to all the schmoozing, wheeling, and dealing they’d had to do with patriars, the upper ranks of the Flaming Fist, guild masters, and even civilians themselves. But every now and again, like now, a tiny bit of doubt and guilt would worm its way into her head, chiding her for stealing Gale away from the city that was his home. Even as he settled comfortably in Baldur’s Gate and spoke of establishing a small wizarding school or they spoke excitedly of their next book idea, she couldn’t completely ignore her doubts.

Baldur’s Gate was her home. It was the city that made her. But Waterdeep was his, and it was the city that made him. Yes, he had been the one to suggest he move to Baldur’s Gate when he proposed, but…had she been too selfish, asking him to stay with her?

She pushed the doubts aside for now. If she let herself linger on them too long, she would convince herself that she wasn’t worthy of him. That she wasn’t worthy of anyone, really. And she couldn’t let herself go down that slippery slope just yet. She wanted to be selfish just a tiny bit longer.

She turned and looped her arms around his neck, kissing just at the corner of his mouth, a sweet hint to wake him from his reveries. “Then why not add a bit of extra sparkle, just for us?” she asked, hoping to cheer him up. “A bit of dazzle. A touch of magic.”

He smiled and wrapped an arm around her, turning his head to kiss her properly. “You don’t need any extra sparkle, my love,” he said. “Not when you’re already perfect.”

She giggled and shook her head. “You and your words. We both know I’m not perfect. So go on, then. Indulge me.” She stepped out of his embrace and did a little spin. “Make me look as beautiful as I might appear at a Blackstaff Ball.”

“You already look more beautiful than most at a Blackstaff Ball,” he said, but he put a hand to his chin, clearly thinking through possibilities. She smiled and waited, curious to see what he might come up with. Sure enough, after a second’s thought, his eyes lit up as he landed on an idea.

“Hold still,” he said. He held up a hand, palm toward her, and murmured an incantation. 

She didn’t catch the words he whispered, but she felt the pull of magic. She’d become far more attuned to it after living with Gale for a year, though she still preferred to cast her spells via music. She closed her eyes, feeling the threads of magic shift around her until the spell seemed complete. When she opened her eyes again, turning toward the mirror, she gasped with delight.

Gale had turned her wrap from a drape of gold silk to a cascade of gold feathers, glimmering with metallic beauty. She ran her hand down the feathers and found them soft and flexible, but not downy like real bird feathers. An artist’s rendition, a craftsman’s interpretation of feathers, sculpted in flattened gold. They shifted easily as she adjusted the wrap over her shoulders and held out her arms, admiring how it made her look like she had wings.

“You do know how to impress a girl, darling,” she said, grinning and taking his face in her hands for a big kiss. “Now I really feel like a princess in a fairy story. How long until my little spell lasts? Until midnight? Am I expected to scurry home before I start molting golden feathers?”

He chuckled again, looping his arms comfortably around her waist. “No scurrying necessary. Your feathers will last a full twenty-hours. I should hate to embarrass you by letting the illusion fall too early.”

“You’re the best,” she said, kissing him again. “But what about you? Don’t you need a bit of dazzle?”

“Why should I, when I will have you on my arm, my love?”

“Oh stop it,” she laughed, pushing playfully at his shoulder. “You can think of something, surely.”

“Well…I did have one or two ideas,” he admitted, giving her an all-too-familiar grin that was both sheepish and smug.

“Well, go on then. Show off for me and then let’s get going.” She stepped back to give him room and gestured for him to get on with it. 

He shook his head slightly, amused, but then passed a hand over his clothes. He murmured another spell and she watched as the embroidery of his brocade coat, the slightly bluer threads that made up a bland repeating floral pattern against the darker blue of the fabric, shifted and re-threaded into a new pattern. When the spell was complete, the fabric of his coat had gone from a standard floral brocade to a pattern of embroidered feathers, faintly blue against a midnight-dark background. As she watched, the feathers seemed to shift and glimmer faintly, as if moved by a faint puff of air. It was subtle, almost unnoticeable unless you happened to let your gaze linger, but the overall effect was enchanting.

“There,” he said, turning to glance in the mirror. He gave his reflection a self-satisfied nod. “Now we match. Birds of a feather and all that.”

“I love it,” Dani said, wrapping her arms around his arm and resting her chin on his shoulder. “We’ll be the envy of the entire masquerade.”

“Speaking of, we’ll be late if we don’t hurry.”

“Late? We’re the heroes of Baldur’s Gate. The party doesn’t start until we arrive.”

“I’ll leave you to tell that to the doorman or whoever bars us from entry when we arrive after the appointed time, my love. You always were the more charming of the two of us.”

He adjusted her hold on his arm so that he was escorting her properly, her hands nestled in the crook of his elbow. As she straightened up and met his warm brown eyes, she found him gazing fondly, lovingly, his smile gentle. Despite his warning about the time, his eyes never moved from her face, slowly taking in every detail of her appearance. Her hair, her earrings, the decorations on her horns, her makeup, all of it. 

“You look beautiful,” he murmured. “Like a dream.”

She ought to be used to his words, but something about the way his gaze lingered, the tenderness in his expression, it made her flush as though this were the first time he’d ever said such things. She was at a loss for words, wanting to say the same back but thinking that it might trivialize the moment if she did.

At her silence, he leaned in for a slow, sweet kiss. She let her eyelids flutter closed, melting into the kiss, until at last he pulled away with a soft-spoken, “I love you.”

“I love you, too,” she whispered.

“Ready?”

She took a deep breath and nodded, giving his arm a little squeeze. Her heart fluttered with sudden excitement. A masked ball! And they looked gorgeous. It really did feel like a dream.

“Ready.”