#leather kilt skirt

[forcedfemme-me]

Karolina Kurkova by Gilles Bensimon for Elle - Azzedine Alaia

[captainkingsley]

okay but can I draw attention to this from one of the covers of x-treme x-men. have you ever seen a gayer interpretation of wolverine.

[the-patrex]

Dead boys detective Cat King outfit save me.... save me Cat kings outfit...

[ghw-archive]

karen millen

[womenofwrestlingfashion]

Isla is wearing the Align™ Bodysuit 8" in Black from Lululemon ($128) and the Pleated Plaid and Faux Leather Kilt from Labelrail x Julia Cumming (on sale for $46.80)

[all-purpose-dish-soap]

TF141 & sexy clothes

Gaz absolutely supports you wearing whatever you feel sexy in. however, in his heart of hearts, he believes the sexiest thing you can wear around him is your pjs, your ratty old tees, your sleep shirts, your big hoodies, your slouchy garbage clothes. he just wants to know you're comfortable. not to mention the idea of you letting him see you the way nobody else gets to... letting yourself be totally vulnerable around him... that lights up a certain (slightly needy) (slightly possessive) part of his brain. interesting how easily his hands can slide past the hem of your clothes when they're bigger and slouchier, too.

Ghost loves lingerie, though. like wrapping a present just for him. it's less about the lace (or the bows, or the straps, or the leather, whatever you prefer) and more about the time and attention you're expending to make yourself look all sexy. all this work? for him? even if his usual compulsion is to act aloof and pretend it's no big deal, he can't hide the greedy way his eyes devour you--for me? don't mind if i do. it's a toss-up whether he decides to unwrap you completely or just push his calloused hands into your lil outfit and muss you up until it's not covering anything anymore. or maybe he'll just leave the wrapping on so he can keep admiring all your hard work while he pumps into you.

Price says he loves you in lingerie, and he does. he doesn't tell you how fucking crazy you drive him when you're dressed for business. that might mean the clothes you wear into the office every day; it might mean fatigues; it might mean a particular uniform; it might be sportswear. he's big into seeing you focused and in your element--your competence is sexy--while also knowing there are so few layers he'd need to peel off before he could have you completely forgetting yourself if he wanted. and hey! if the lace at the top of your thigh-highs happens to be peeking out from under your pencil skirt, or if your ass fills out your uniform just right? that's just fine with him. you do you. (for now. he'll do you later.)

Soap's preferences are simple. he likes access. skirts. dresses. obviously, if he could convince you to be naked 100% of the time, he would. sundresses are pretty, though. so are your studded black skirts if you're gothy. or your sharp, practical, form-fitting pencil skirts if you're professional. you can even wear a kilt if you'd like. his kilt. he doesn't mind. (he only asks that you wear it as it's meant to be worn--without a thing underneath.) on days you do wear a dress or skirt, you're lucky to make it out of the house without him darting after you, pulling the hem up your thighs, and wondering aloud how you managed to find any undergarments at all; he'd swear he hid every last pair. he peels your underwear off--don't protest, hen; you know how this works--and after that, your chances of getting out the door are slim to none.

...

more multi-141 and poly 141 / masterlist tag

[bebemoon]

look for the name SHRUTI (requested by @ikhaberry) | jean paul gaultier maille mesh frill camisole top in black, vivienne westwood grey and white striped kilt-style skirt w/ overlay of brown lace and three leather kilt buckles, casa shop vintage gold moonstone ring, régime des fleurs "fauna" eau de parfum (bergamot petitgrain, castoreum, coffee blossom, grain, indian oud, night-blooming flowers, nuts, saffron, sumach, tonkin musk), miu miu pink satin jewel-encrusted cork platforms w/ removable lace-up gingham ribbons

[wild-joker-out-pleasures]

🎀 Skirts for Joker Out 🎀

The recent posts about skirts made me decide to create this. Why not let ALL FIVE BOYS join in on the fun and joys of wearing a skirt? Feel the breeze? The freedom? Equal opportunity is never a bad thing after all, isn’t it? 🤭

Thus, I have taken it upon myself to choose fitting skirt styles for each of the lads, based on what I think would suit each of them! 🎀

Bojan Cvjetićanin 💓

Very out there, very flirty and attention-grabbing miniskirts with standout details and more than a few dashes of coquette. Chiffon, fringe, sequins, little bows. His fearlessness and outgoing personality would really shine, and the short lengths ensure that this short king would look as tall as possible. 🤭 Swishy and twirly silhouettes also allow him to shake those hips and twerk.

Kris Guštin 🤍

That ass certainly doesn’t lie. Kris could rock long and short skirts alike, and with those long legs. Soft, delicate fabrics that drape beautifully complement his Greek god-like beauty. A sheer long skirt with a slit would suit him particularly well. He is well-suited to both pretty princess styles with dainty details and cute bows, and high-fashion runway-esque silhouettes that hug that peach of his and would make every jaw in the room drop.

Jan Peteh 🖤

Dark and intense Jan is a natural fit for equally dark, edgy and alternative skirt styles. Black leather, dark lace and mesh, as well as some bondage and lingerie elements such as buckles, straps and hardware, complement his black cat nature and his natural sensual energy. Of course, one cannot leave out the classic red and black plaid kilt-style miniskirt a la Vivienne Westwood, a staple in alternative fashion that just screams Jan.

If any of you know the manga and anime "Nana"...Jan is 100% Nana Osaki coded, both in appearance and personality.

Jure Maček 🩵

Sunny and chaotic Jure is all about showing skin, and a natural fit for Y2K sensibilities, the shorter the better. Playful, youthful denim and summery mini lengths are particularly good styles for him, rips and distressed details optional. When he's feeling especially fancy, a bold feather mini is a particularly good fit, in its unconventional and unexpected chaos...that Jure would absolutely pull off. 😆

Nace Jordan 💜

Nace is the epitome of a lovely fall day. He suits so many autumn-inspired styles in earthy tones of brown, orange, warm purple and muted green, touched with varying degrees of coziness, and both soft and tough details. Naturally, that extends to skirts. From fairy grunge maxi skirts, to "sexy nerd" dark academia style, to army green minis (he has nice thighs, of course I wouldn't deny anyone those thighs)...he can carry them all beautifully!

Thank you for your time, and LONG LIVE SKIRTS! 🖤

[fireya-x]

luna sanguinis // CHAPTER I: nox fatalis

[PREVIOUS] || CHAPTER MASTERLIST || [NEXT]

AO3 Link

John isn't the party type. But a Halloween invitation to a secluded manor and an encounter with the alluring Victoria prove to be a temptation he can’t resist.

[4k words]

cw: blood, violence

nox fatalis

“Oi, cowboy!” A way too enthusiastic voice boomed from his right, and John Price looked up to see Soap approaching. He blinked, almost rubbing his eyes to fully take in the costume his comrade was wearing.

“Soap, are you wearing a bloody skirt ?” another voice beat John to it. He sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose before reaching into his jacket pocket to retrieve a cigar. Why did he agree to go to a Halloween party, of all places?

“It’s a kilt, you fuckin’ uncultured dog,” Soap shot back, his Scottish accent thick, turning to face Gaz. “What are you supposed to be? The saddest vampire in town?”

“Dracula,” Gaz flashed his fake plastic dentures with a smirk. “Isn’t that obvious?”

“Sorry, the runny eyeliner threw me off. It makes you look miserable, not threatening.” Johnny laughed, then turned to John, giving him a once-over. “Nice costume, cowboy.”

“Gunslinger,” Price corrected, his voice flat.

“What?” Gaz asked, looking confused.

“Not a cowboy,” John repeated.

“Practically the same thing,” a low, raspy voice joined them, and John rolled his eyes.

He turned to see Ghost approaching, clad all in black, his skull balaclava and skeleton gloves the only concession to the holiday. “The dress code was Halloween costume, Simon, in case you missed the cue.”

Ghost gestured to his face. “This has to do. I scared enough kids on the way.”

Price sighed audibly. “I need a fucking drink if I am supposed to survive this. Y’all owe me for dragging me here.”

“Oh come on, it will be fun. Snacks, drinks and maybe some lovely women - what’s not to love?” Gaz clapped a hand on Price’s shoulder, always the optimist.

“Is that a skirt, Johnny?” Ghost’s voice rasped through the chatter of nearby partygoers, catching their attention.

“Fuck all of you,” Soap replied, holding his finger up to point at each of them in turn. Then, turning to Ghost, he added, "At least I put some effort into this."

Ghost just huffed and grabbed an envelope that Gaz held out. “How’d you get invitations anyway?”

Gaz flashed his fake teeth in a dramatic grin. “I know some people who know some people. This is the most prestigious party in the country, you should be grateful.”

“I am so grateful,” Price muttered sarcastically, taking a long drag of his cigar before discarding the butt and grinding it out with his boot. “Let’s go before I change my mind.”

They turned toward the imposing front gate of the mansion. It was an old, stately building, quintessentially English, with a rose garden stretching out to either side. Price had expected over-the-top Halloween decorations, but the decor was surprisingly tasteful. Candles flickered in ornate lanterns, eerily realistic skulls were perched on stone pillars, and real ravens perched on the wrought iron fence, their caws echoing through the driveway that circled a towering willow tree. 

He had to admit, there was a certain prestige, a sense of history, that hung about the place. Why he’d agreed to come, he still didn’t know. He would have much preferred mission reports, a good whiskey, and a cigar in the quiet of his office. He was lucky he’d even found this old outfit buried in the back of his closet - leather jacket, fake revolvers, cowboy hat, and boots that were more for show than practicality these days.

The mansion seemed to loom over them, its dark windows like watchful eyes. Soap was openly gawking, while Gaz wore a knowing smirk that suggested he’d been here before. They climbed the short flight of steps leading to the massive oak double doors, flanked by two imposing figures in black suits who were checking invitations.

“Maybe if we’re lucky, we’ll get to chat with the hostess,” Gaz murmured, handing his envelope to one of the men who barely glanced at it before nodding curtly, granting him entrance. “She’s a bloody smoke show,” he added in a low voice, earning a dramatic eye roll from Price.

John handed his own invitation over, meeting the guard's gaze with his usual intensity. The man’s eyes flicked to the revolvers in Price's holsters. “They’re fake,” Price said, already reaching for them and offering them to the guard for inspection.

To his surprise, the man just grunted and nodded, gesturing for Price to enter. Holstering his weapons, Price stepped inside, following Gaz into the grand foyer. He paused, taking in the opulent surroundings. It was a strange mix of old-world elegance and modern sophistication. Centuries-old tapestries hung alongside abstract art, and antique furniture was arranged with an eye for minimalist design. It felt surprisingly welcoming, despite the sheer size of the place.

After everyone was admitted inside, they all headed straight for the bar, dying to have drinks for the night. Price needed something stronger than the lukewarm champagne being offered on silver trays by circulating waiters.

“Whiskey, neat.” He barked the order to the bartender, a pale, skinny man with nervous eyes, who hurried to pour him a generous measure.

“Never been to one of these fancy dos before, eh?” Gaz asked, leaning against the bar.

“Can’t say I make a habit of it.” Price replied, downing half his whiskey in one long swallow, letting the familiar burn settle in his chest.

“You’d be surprised,” Gaz said with a wink. “There’s more to these high-society types than meets the eye.”

Soap had been quiet, his eyes wide as he took in the entirety of the place. “Aye, and some right mental costumes.” He jerked his head towards a group of guests dressed as mythical creatures, their outfits more resembling something out of a fever dream than a Halloween party.

Ghost, as always the silent observer, was leaning against a pillar, his skull balaclava a stark contrast to the brightly coloured masks and outlandish outfits surrounding him. He watched the crowd with a predator's intensity, his gaze missing nothing.

While his comrades continued chatting about all the costumes, his eyes followed the impressive staircase that separated the main foyer from the second level, until they landed on her . 

She was standing at the top of the grand staircase, her figure framed by the golden glow of the crystal chandelier. Her gown, a deep red that seemed to absorb the light, clung to her curves, accentuating the slimness of her waist and the fullness of her hips. Her dark hair cascaded down her back like a waterfall of ink, and her skin – so pale it seemed to glow in the dim light – was flawless, spared by the passing of time. She wasn’t wearing a costume, not really, she didn’t need to. She didn’t need the theatrics; she was the spectacle.

Price felt his breath catch in his throat. Time seemed to stop. The noise of the party, the chatter of the guests, the music, all faded away, leaving only the steady thump of his own heart.

“Bloody hell,” he muttered, unable to tear his eyes away.

“Told you she was a smokeshow,” Gaz leaned in, a smug grin on his face.

Price ignored him, his gaze fixated on the woman on the stairs. It was more than just her beauty, though, that alone was enough to stop a man in his tracks. There was something else about her, something that drew him to her like a moth to a flame. A power, an intensity, that he’d never encountered before. It was more than just physical attraction; it was a pull, a magnetic force that went straight to his bones.

He cleared his throat. “Who is she?”

“Victoria Di Corvo. The hostess. She owns the place.”

The conversation, though spoken in hushed tones, drifted towards you above the noise of the party. You followed the direction of it, and turned your head to find the source. And that’s when his scent hit you, too – it was like it suddenly called out to you. Primal, spicy, wild, full of strength. Raw and untamed like the deepest, darkest corners of your soul.

You felt a jolt of excitement, a thrill that sent a shiver down your spine. It had been centuries since you'd felt such a powerful pull, such an undeniable connection.

He stood by the bar, tall and broad-shouldered, his black pants and gray leather jacket doing little to conceal the power of his frame. His cowboy hat shadowed his eyes, giving him an air of quiet danger that made your heart skip a beat.

“Never seen her before.” The man’s voice was rough with an undertone of curiosity.

“She’s not the most social one, it is said.” His friend said, with an easy charm, which seemed like a gift that gave him the ability to slip into conversations easily, blending into the crowd.

You raised a hand, a small, elegant gesture that summoned your closest companion and most loyal servant, Beth, to your side. She moved with a grace born of centuries of service, her eyes never leaving yours.

“Yes, my lady?” she asked, her voice a soft murmur.

“Spare his friends, tonight,” you instructed, your gaze never leaving Price.

“Do you think –” Beth began, her voice hushed.

“I don’t know,” you cut her off, your voice laced with a hint of weariness. “And I don’t want to get my hopes up.”

“I’m sorry, my lady. I didn’t mean to assume,” Beth murmured apologetically.

You sighed. “Just make sure his friends are safe. They may live, if he lives. They seem important to him.”

“Of course, your majesty,” Beth bowed her head.

Your gaze returned to Price. He was watching you, his eyes locked on yours. It was as if you could taste him with a single glance, the intensity of his presence overwhelming. His scent was more potent, more exquisite than any of the other humans in the room. Their scents, while intoxicating in their own way, were sweet and naive. His was something else entirely.

Hope, a dangerous, forbidden thing, flickered within you. Was it wrong to have hope? Probably.

But you couldn’t afford to be wrong anymore. The curse that bound you, the curse that made you queen of all creatures, living and dead, was a double-edged sword. It gave you power, immortality, but it came at a terrible price. Your life was tied to the Blood Moon, and each year, it demanded a sacrifice to maintain its power. A sacrifice of blood.

For centuries, you’d endured this burden, keeping the balance between the human and vampire worlds. A balance that prevented chaos, that kept the darkness at bay. But with each passing Blood Moon, the curse grew stronger, the hunger more intense.

The lavish party, the carefully crafted disguise for the brutal ritual to come – it was all a desperate attempt to cling to life, to maintain an equilibrium. One that only you could uphold. You were its core, the nexus point between light and darkness. 

Watching every guest dance, celebrate, feast, and drink, oblivious to their fate, filled you with a melancholy that had become as familiar as your own heartbeat. They didn’t know that, either way, their lives were in your hands. 

If you fell, the world would fall with you.

But if you could find your king, your mate, to rule at your side – your strength would be bound, the need for sacrifice eliminated. But every time you'd sensed a possibility, a flicker of hope in the blood of a human male, he'd failed the test. Each failure, each death, had chipped away at your hope, leaving you weary and vulnerable.

Your gaze remained locked on Price. He was still watching you, his eyes holding yours with a steady intensity that both intrigued and excited you. He smirked and raised his glass to you before taking a sip of his drink. The simple act, the way his throat moved as he swallowed, was strangely sensual. Your fangs ached, calling to the predator within you.

Leaning further over the railing, you smiled back at him, a slow, deliberate curve of your lips. You knew you held a certain power over human men. It was one of the many gifts that came with your lineage.

Without breaking eye contact, you turned and walked towards the gardens.

He followed. Of course, he did. You didn’t even have to try. You heard his footsteps, the faint, steady beat of his heart behind you, as you stepped out onto the terrace and leaned against the railing, overlooking the moonlit expanse of the garden.

“Enjoying the party, cowboy?” you asked, your voice low and smooth as velvet.

“Gunslinger, actually, ma’am,” he corrected, his voice a deep rumble.

“Oh?” you tilted your head, intrigued. “And what makes a gunslinger different from a cowboy?” You knew the answer, obviously, being alive during the wild times you spent at countless saloons, but you wanted to hear it from him, anyway.

“A gunslinger is more precise. More deadly. Very skilled with firearms,” he explained. “I like to keep people informed.” His accent intrigued you. And the way he corrected you, it wasn’t meant to be demeaning. Simply informative. It was refreshing.

“Is that just part of the costume, or are you actually skilled with guns?” 

“I’m a Captain in the military. SAS, to be precise. John Price,” he said, stepping closer.

He couldn’t know why he told you the truth. He simply felt compelled to. It was so easy to sway a human’s mind, to make them reveal their secrets. But with him, it felt different. You didn’t even have to try. As if he wanted to tell you, wanted to offer himself to you.

“You’ve never been here before,” you stated. It wasn’t a question, it was a fact. You could sense it in the way he moved, the way he looked at everything with a mix of curiosity and caution.

“I’m not the party type,” he admitted.

“Yet you seem to be enjoying yourself a lot.”

He chuckled, a low, rumbling sound. “If you can call sipping a drink and watching ridiculous costumes enjoyment, sure.” You noticed the wrinkles that formed at his eyes when he smiled.

He joined you at the railing, his presence beside you so incredibly livid. You could hear the steady beat of his heart, a rhythm that seemed to echo in your own chest. The scent of him was so intoxicating – cedarwood and tobacco, but beneath that, a primal musk that spoke of strength and untamed desire. It was a scent that resonated deep within you, awakening something ancient and powerful.

Something you hadn’t felt in centuries.

“Are you not enjoying your own party?”

You turned to face him, and the world tilted on its axis.

His eyes, as blue as a winter sky, locked onto yours, and a shock of recognition, as sharp and undeniable as a lightning strike, went through you. This was him. Yours. Your mate.

It was written in the depths of his eyes, in the way his scent wrapped around you like a promise, in the very essence of his being. The one you’d waited centuries for, the one who would complete you, who would make you whole.

He was here.

Your breath caught in your throat. You couldn't tear your gaze away. It was as if you were seeing him for the first time, seeing through the layers of his human facade to the soul that mirrored your own. A soul that had been searching for you, just as you had been searching for it, across lifetimes and continents.

A wave of possessive joy surged through you, so fierce it made your heart ache.

You shook your head. Despite all the feelings and signs the universe seemed to give you, you couldn’t be too sure, he had to prove himself worthy first.

“It’s complicated,” you finally managed to say, your voice husky with emotion.

He frowned slightly, his gaze searching yours as if trying to unravel the mystery you presented. He was so close now, you could feel the heat radiating from his body, smell the faint sweetness of his breath. His hand brushed yours as he shifted his weight, leaving a trail of elecrictiy on your skin.

His gaze flickered to your lips, and you saw a flash of desire in his eyes, a hunger that mirrored your own. He leaned in, and for a moment, you thought he was going to kiss you.

Then, just as quickly, he pulled back, his expression clouded with confusion.

“I’m sorry,” he mumbled, shaking his head as if trying to clear it. “I don’t know why I feel so…” He trailed off, his breath coming in short, sharp gasps. His hands were fisted at his sides, his chest rising and falling rapidly.

He was fighting it, you realized. Fighting the pull, the connection that he couldn't understand. 

You stepped back from him, breaking the spell that had held you both captive. “So, you’re a skilled fighter?”

“You could probably say that,” he replied, his gaze sharpening. “Why do you ask?”

You’d have to risk it. 678 years and no chance, what could be one more year added to the pile? It would be a shame if your assumptions were wrong yet again, but what did it matter? Humans would die that night either way, it would just be a shame that he would be among them. You’d like to get to know him a little better, his eyes told you more than he could have in a matter of a few seconds. He probably had stories to tell that could keep you entertained for a while. His scent was exciting, a strong mix that you longed to breathe in, to savour. And the way he’d looked at you, the hunger in his eyes – you'd imagine he’d be more than inclined to kiss you. It would indeed be a shame to lose it all, simply because you dared to believe for yet another chance.

But did you have a choice? Not really. It was the cruel irony of the curse – your survival demanded sacrifice. Was it selfish? Incredibly so. But the cost of your demise would be far greater. You had to be selfish, not just for yourself, but for everyone.

You couldn’t tell him the truth. With a subtle gesture, you raised a hand, signalling to your guards who were hidden in the shadows of the garden. They emerged silently, moving with an unnatural grace that hinted at something other than human.

Price, ever alert, noticed their approach immediately. “Did I say something to offend you?” he asked, his brow furrowing slightly.

You froze, stunned by his reaction. That was his first thought? Not that he was surrounded by creatures , but that he might have said something wrong? You met his gaze, and saw genuine concern in those blue eyes.

The pang of regret was almost unbearable. It had been so long since you’d encountered such genuine concern, such selfless care. 

It had been forever since you felt this honest care for you, this genuine concern for your feelings. It had always been just a quick encounter for their pleasure, for their needs. Nobody had asked about yours, absolutely genuinely so, in decades.

“I’m sorry.” You whispered, before taking a step back from the railing, and turned away. It was barely audible in the music filled air, but Price heard it — a hint of regret in that tone sent a chill down his spine, as he tried to rationalize the sudden shift in your demeanour. It didn’t match the heat that had been building between you just moments ago.

If he really was the one, he’d have to survive.

If he really was a fighter, he would.

Or at least that was what you told yourself.

You stepped even further away, putting more distance between you and him. He watched, confused, as he was circled by shadowy figures. They moved with unnatural grace, and their eyes were glowing with a hunger that made him be fully alert in a split second.

“What the hell —?” he muttered, his glass slipping from his grasp and shattering against the stone patio. He didn’t have time to process the situation before they were upon him.

As the guards attacked, a surge of power, raw and untamed, pulsed through your veins. It was his power, his life force, echoing through the bond that was already forming between you. It was unlike anything you’d ever felt before.

You looked up at the moon as it began to shift, a slow bleed of crimson spreading across its silver face.

As soon as you had given the silent command with the raise of your hand, the true night had begun.

Inside the mansion, Beth glided through the throngs of guests, a phantom in a sea of revellers. She found Price’s friends – Soap, still boisterous in his kilt, Gaz, charming his way through a group of costumed women, and Ghost, a silent observer at the edge of the crowd – and, with a few carefully chosen words, lured them away. An exclusive after-party, she’d hinted, just for them and their cowboy friend. They followed willingly, oblivious to the darkness gathering outside.

But you had no interest in them as the other creatures began to feast.

Your gaze was fixated on the man in front of you. He had faced many impossible odds, and he noticed quickly that the men surrounding him weren’t ordinary men. 

Moving with the precision of a soldier, his body was a weapon honed by years of training. He didn’t need guns, he fought with his hands that spoke of deadly efficiency, every blow calculated to maximize damage. He was fighting for his life, as was the purpose of this test.

He wasn’t even panicking, just confused, as you saw in his eyes as he took in the situation. It was as if you could read his mind as it went through quick calculations and assessments to analyse threats and exploiting weaknesses.

One of your guards lunged, fangs glinting in the red shimmering moonlight, and John met the attack head-on. He didn’t even flinch from the creature's superhuman strength but used his own weight to his advantage, pivoting on his heel and sending the attacker crashing into the marble ground.

A smile of fascination played on your lips, the sound of the fight was music to your ears, especially the rush of blood in his human flesh. Surviving the attack of one vampire was already a promise more than anyone had withstood before him.

Two more came at him, and he met them equally with a ruthless grace that made your blood sing. He ducked under the blows, his fist connected with a crack against a jaw. He made quick work of the other one, too, using the guard's own momentum to send him over the railing.

With each passing moment, the connection between you intensified. You could feel his pain, his determination, the surge of adrenaline coursing through his veins. And the scent of his blood – oh, it was intoxicating. Like the finest wine and the most potent drug. The spice of it shot through your system like a wildfire, it felt almost too strong, too overwhelming — yet so incredibly intimate and familiar, even though you had never met this man before in your life.

But also, his blood reminded you that he was still just human, after all. Now that it was running free, as he used his last strength to fight against more of your guards, it was mingling with the scent of cigars and the whiskey that he drank, and turned it into an irresistable concoction. The more he fought, the more you realized he was everything you craved, everything you needed — strong, defiant — as if he was singing a siren song to your soul.

With every drop of his blood that spilled onto the moonlit marble, the ground of your home, the connection between you sparked, and you were absolutely, undeniably sure. 

Price staggered, his vision blurring. He’d taken down at least four of them now, but he was wounded, fatigued and dying. His clothes were torn, his cowboy hat long gone, and blood soaked his shirt. And as he felt a sharp sting of pain in his side, he knew he was losing too much blood. That was it. Whatever it was. He came here not really expecting a good time, but dying here, in some English garden of a lavish mansion, surely hadn’t been among the plan. 

Just as he braced himself for the final blow, as he felt hot breath on his neck, a strong commanding voice, your voice, cut through the night.

“Enough!” You shouted, at the attacking guard's side in a flash, your movements a blur, as your hand closed around the guards' throat in a grip that could crush stone. You’d stopped him from biting him at the last second, with a surge of possessive fury that you had never felt before.

“He’s mine.” You hissed, your eyes blazing, and fear shot through the poor young vampire's face. “Nobody has his blood but me .”

The guard whimpered, and you released him with a shove. He scrambled back, taking an exaggerated bow as he did.

“Leave us. Make sure you feed to survive the night.” You commanded the remaining of them, and with sharp bows of their heads, they joined the rest of your court inside the mansion.

Price collapsed to his knees, gasping for air, his body screaming in pain. His chest was slowly rising and falling in shallow breaths, but his pulse still beat. You were suddenly there, kneeling in front of him, your fingers lightly tracing the line of his jaw, running through the blood soaked beard.

He looked at you, and you expected fear in his eyes, but there was nothing of that sort. There was a soft gaze as his eyes found yours, he was staring at you almost admiringly, and you knew.

He really must have felt it too. The connection. The pull.

The strength he displayed against superhuman creatures wasn’t bestowed upon just anyone.

He was it.

He was both your greatest hope and only salvation.

He was your king.

[zagreuses-art]

The fine Rank and File (or at least the rank) of the Ankh Morpork city watch! I've been figuring out my designs for them, and I wanted to put them in a lineup to see how they look beside one another. makes you realize how ridiculous the height difference between some of them is

[ID: three digital drawings of the Watch members, against a police lineup background with height marks and an ankh morpork city watch watermark and logo. The featured members are in order of height: Detritus, Dorfl, Carrot, Angua. then Reg Shoe, Visit, Colon, and Vimes. finally, Nobby, Cheery, Buggy Swires and Wee Mad Arthur. they are all wearing variations on the watch uniform of brass colored armor, chainmaille, leather boots or sandals, and a skirt of studded leather straps. end ID]

more detailed description of the designs under the cut

First drawing: standing at over 8 feet is Dorfl. He is a grey-green troll with a very muscled top heavy build, patches of moss on his skin, and angular features. He is wearing oversized armor with pauldrons, one with sergeant's stripes painted on it, and scale mail underneath. the Piece Maker (a siege weapon crossbow) is strapped to his back. second, standing at 7 foot 4 inches is Dorfl, a reddish Golem made out of patchwork clay, with a overall gingerbread man look, and glowing red eyes. he is only wearing a breastplate, and he has his sergeant's stripes painted on his arm. Third at 6 foot 6 inches is Carrot. He is a redheaded white human, with a sturdy build, round face, and a cheerful smile. he has a captains pip pin in the collar of his shirt and his armor is visibly shinier than all the other's. fourth at 6 foot 2 inches is Angua. she is a white human with lots of very light blonde hair and slightly pointed ears. Her armor has straps at the shoulder rather than being one piece, and she is wearing her badge on a collar. (end of first drawing)

Second drawing: first, standing at 6 ish feet is Reg Shoe. He is a green zombie with a hunched posture and several missing chunks and lines of stitching visible, most noticeably the right half of his mouth has no lips, exposing his teeth. he wearing a tattered and patched flow-y white shirt under his armor, which is also the strap style, and there is a red ribbon in his long-ish dirty blonde hair. second at 5 foot 9 inches is constable Visit. He is a brown skinned human, with slicked back 80's business guy hair and a slightly strained smile. He is wearing a very crisp white shirt under his armor as well as khaki pants and a Omnian turtle necklace. he is clutching a bundle of pamphlets. Third at 5 foot 6 inches is Colon. He is a white human with a heavy-set build, a mustache, and a large bald spot. his armor has sculpted muscles in it and he is wearing sandals. Fourth at barely 5 foot 4 inches is Vimes. He is a white human with messy greying brown hair, and a five o-clock shadow, he looks a bit like house era Hugh Laurie. along with his armor he is wearing a red cloak and a sword. (end of second drawing)

Third Drawing: First, standing at 4 foot nothing, is Nobby Nobbs. he is a white-ish human with vitiligo spots, several suspiciously red or green patches of skin, and very scruffy black hair and a five o-clock shadow. he is smoking a cigarette and has several dog ends behind his ear. he has managed to tarnish his armor. second, at 3 foot 4 inches is Cheery. She is a white dwarf with a stocky build, blonde hair and a blond, braided beard. she has some burns on her arms, ears, and forehead, and is missing her eyebrows. she has a full lentgh leather skirt rather than pants. third, at 7 inches is Buggy Swires. he is a brown skinned Gnome, with grey hair and pointed ears. he is not wearing armor, but instead a rain cloak. next to him is his pigeon, which carries his badge and is a foot tall. Finally, at 4 inches, is Wee Mad Arthur. he is a blue nac mac feegle with red hair. he is in a watch uniform with a kilt, and is carrying his badge like a shield on his back, unlike the others he has a dynamic aggressive stance, rather than standing straight up. (end of third picture)

background of all drawings: a lineup height marker background, with the initials AM (ankh) CW and the city seal in the top right corner. the city seal is two hippos on a shield, with a tower between them. they are in shades of copper or bronze, as is the overall color palate of the drawings. (end of ID)

[artbean]

reblog so others can vote as well!

winner of the last poll: abducted cows (and the runner up, dinosaur bones)

help me dress eddie! see the latest version here.

[stupidphototricks]

Cheery/Cheri Littlebottom socially transitioning in Feet Of Clay.

"I thought dwarfs hardly recognized the difference between male and female, anyway. Half the dwarfs we bring in here on a No. 23 are female, I know that, and they're the ones that are hardest to subdue--" "What's a No. 23?" "Running Screaming at People While Drunk and Trying to Cut their Knees Off," said Angua. "It's easier to give them numbers than write it down every time. Look, there's plenty of women in this town that'd love to do things the dwarf way. I mean, what're the choices they've got? Barmaid, seamstress, or someone's wife. While you can do anything the men do…" "Provided we do only what the men do," said Cheery. Angua paused. "Oh," she said. "I see. Hah. Yes. I know that tune." -- Terry Pratchett, Feet of Clay

"What is this place?" Cheery whispered. "It's... a place where people can be themselves," said Angua slowly. "People who... have to be a little careful at other times. You know?" "No..." Angua sighed. "Vampires, zombies, bogeymen, ghouls, oh my. The und--" She corrected herself. "The differently alive," she said. "People who have to spend most of their time being very careful, not frightening people, fitting in. That's how it works here. Fit in, get a job, don't worry people, and you probably won't find a crowd outside with pitchforks and flaming torches. But sometimes it's good to go where everybody knows your shape. -- Terry Pratchett, Feet of Clay

(Just try not to see Biers as a gay bar stand-in.)

"I don't know, I've never talked girl talk before," said Cheery. "Dwarfs just talk." "It's like that in the Watch, too," said Angua. "You can be any sex you like provided you act male." -- Terry Pratchett, Feet of Clay

"There's no help for it, I'll have to move out," sighed Cheery. "I feel all… wrong." Angua looked down at the little figure trudging along beside her. She recognized the symptoms. Everyone needed their own space, just like Angua did, and sometimes that space was inside their heads. -- Terry Pratchett, Feet of Clay

THIS.

Vimes hesitated. Now he could put his finger on what had been bothering him for the last twenty seconds. "Littlebottom…" "Sir?" "You… er… you… On your ears?" "Earrings, sir," said Cheery nervously. "Constable Angua gave them to me." -- Terry Pratchett, Feet of Clay

"Er… Littlebottom?" "Sir?" "On your… your lips. Red. Er. On your lips…" "Lipstick, sir." "Oh… er. Lipstick? Fine. Lipstick." "Constable Angua gave it to me, sir." "That was kind of her," said Vimes. "I expect." -- Terry Pratchett, Feet of Clay

"Cheery?" "Yes, Captain?" "You've been, er, you've been trying to hide your face from me… Oh. Did someone hit you?" "No, sir!" "Only your eyes look a bit bruised and your lips--" "I'm fine, sir!" said Cheery desperately. "Oh well, if you say so." -- Terry Pratchett, Feet of Clay

Okay, so the recurring joke of Vimes not being able to wrap his head around why this dwarf he thinks of as male would be wearing makeup and jewelry gets a bit old. But bear in mind that a) he just hired her and barely knows her, b) there's a lot of other stuff going on, c) nobody has told him there's been a pronoun change, and d) Vimes does become one of Cheery's biggest advocates by The Fifth Elephant.

"Cheri," thought Angua. Now, what does that name conjure up? Does the mental picture include iron boots, iron helmet, a small worried face and a long beard? Well, it does now. -- Terry Pratchett, Feet of Clay

I actually love this.

"Are you all right, Corporal Littlebottom?" "Yes, sir," said Cheri. "You're wearing a… a… a…" Carrot's mind rebelled at the thought of what the dwarf was wearing and settled for: "A kilt?" "Yes, sir. A skirt, sir. A leather one, sir." Carrot tried to find a suitable response and had to resort to: "Oh." -- Terry Pratchett, Feet of Clay

Carrot, though. Carrot is uncharacteristically awful, I'm not sure he's entirely excused by his traditional dwarfish upbringing. Fortunately Angua is there to beat some sense into him.

"Female? He told you he was female?" "She," Angua corrected. "This is Ankh-Morpork, you know. We've got extra pronouns here." -- Terry Pratchett, Feet of Clay

"Well, I would have thought she'd have the decency to keep it to herself," Carrot said finally. "I mean, I've nothing against females. I'm pretty certain my stepmother is one. But I don't think it's very clever, you know, to go around drawing attention to the fact." "Carrot, I think you've got something wrong with your head," said Angua. "What?" "I think you may have got it stuck up your bum." -- Terry Pratchett, Feet of Clay

"Er… what's that on your hands?" "Nail varnish, sir." "Nail varnish?" "Yes, sir." -- Terry Pratchett, Feet of Clay

"You come, Littlebottom, and bring your… have you got taller, Littlebottom?" "High-heeled boots, sir," said Cheri. "I thought dwarfs always wore iron boots…" "Yes, sir. But I've got high heels on mine, sir. I welded them on." -- Terry Pratchett, Feet of Clay

"Hrolf Thighbiter's asked me out," said Cheri shyly, looking at the floor. "And I'm almost certain he's male!" -- Terry Pratchett, Feet of Clay

It's a throwaway joke but I mean. Imagine a society where you might find out someone's gender only after you dated and maybe already fell in love with them.

(It could be amazing, you know?)

[avastrasposts]

Mel, your Bona Dea fic had so many real details about Roman life in it, that I'm hoping you know the answer to this question. I saw this shot of Paul Mescal in the G2 promo photos and it made me wonder... what on earth are they wearing under those skirts (Idk the actual term)? Like is it a kilt-wearing type of situation? Or do they have undies of some kind? Did Romans even wear undies? Please help ❤

Dear Alice, I'm so glad you asked! Can you tell I'm over the moon that my favourite actor is making a film set in one of my absolute favourite time periods?! My history nerd is coming out to play!

And to answer your question, yes, they did have underwear! They called it subligaculum and it was either a loin cloth, or almost a bikini like thing with strings being tied to keep the thing up (the Museum of London has a really well preserved leather one excavated in London).

This gladiator mosaic from 320 AD shows some of the different clothes gladiators wore, you can see both loin cloths, shorts and what really looks like a thong!

[cephalofrog]

my review of every piece of underwear armour I could find in the elden ring DLC

1. soiled loincloth

I like the ropes. I think any great piece of underwear has a mild implication of kink. however with this one being soiled it goes a bit too far into things I'm not into. great for people who are into that kind of thing but it's not really my jam. I like the aesthetics of this one though, the cloth waves in the wind in a rather nice way and it kinda covers up the bottom part which creates an impression of it exposing more than it does. 5/10

2. gravebird anklets

this one is great! the shape is really nice. it's modest but bold, and it has the cloth out front to wave in the wind. I love the ankle bracelets too, they're very fashionable. really no issues here, and it does just enough to stand out. 8.5/10

3. leather leg wraps

I love the skirt, but it's maybe a bit too long to truly count as underwear so it loses points for that. I also don't like how the shoes kinda look like they're tied onto your legs. but the patterning on the skirt is so cute that I have to give it a good amount of credit, it reminds me of a kilt. 6/10

4. igon's loincloth

I'm sorry igon, I love and respect you, but your trunks are just too damn big. they create the impression of being really thick which sounds practical for colder climates, but I think if you care that much about being warm, you should probably wear something that isn't underwear. they also have a loincloth over the trunks, which I guess looks pretty cool but then why have the trunks there? the rope on the feet is good but in my opinion there are much better options in terms of the footwear included. can't see any situation where this one would be better than any other choice. 4/10

5. freyja's greaves

now this is what I'm talking about! these are excellent. leather is a great material, it's unique but also slightly horny. they have a belt included so you can let it all hang loose or absolutely crush whatever you have down there. they have subtle accentuation of the ass. they have fancy sandals included, all business in the front but with exposed calves and toes. these are the underwear that all the other underwear should strive to be. 10/10

6. messmer's greaves

the actual underwear here are lackluster. they're a bit too big and a bit too high up to really stand out. I do like how high the bit at the top of the thighs gets but aside from that they're a bit too big and boring for me. the greaves themselves are lovely though. they lose some points for covering up a lot but they do have toes out and honestly it's worth it for the lovely engraving on them. a solid choice overall but you could do much better on the actual underwear front. 6.5/10

7. horned warrior greaves

the underwear are pretty big but I like the style with the cloth hanging down. the real star of the show here is the greaves themselves, which replace toe exposure with engraved toes. this is bold and interesting but feels a bit like it's going the long way around for something that could be much simpler. I do like the style overall though, and as the best underwear protection-wise on this list, these are a solid choice for people who reject trousers but still want to have some defense. 7/10

[runninriot]

'seeing Eddie in a skirt for the first time makes Steve a little stoopid'...✍️😏

His eyes roam further down Eddie’s body. He’s wearing a skirt. Not a kilt or anything likewise. A skirt. Long, and flowy, and transparent. Two slits parting the front, each seam adorned with silver studs. Beneath the revealing fabric he wears leather panties, short and snug, not even trying to hide the obvious bulge in his middle.

The cherry on top is the full display of the painted canvas that is his skin, his tattoos visible almost on every part of his body.

Eddie is a vision. He looks so soft, almost androgynous in this outfit, with his hairless chest, his long curls, and eye makeup. And yet, he radiates nothing but strength and dominance. There’s nothing frail about him despite his delicate frame. He’s like a dark elf, some kind of romanticised version of a vampire, a warrior princess carrying a pride that makes him shine.

Steve can’t think, knows he should say something, anything but his mouth is dry and there’s a lump in his throat and some part of him a little further down is trying to get his attention.

Eddie chuckles.

   “God, I love when you go all stupid on me, baby doll.”

The Best You Ever Tasted

[sca-nerd]

renn fair tips!!!

yes bring water, but also figure out how you can bring that water, some places only let you bring in sealed, never opened, bottles (cause alcohol is a large part of event revenue)

CASH, most sellers have got a square card reader or paypal or something, but those work at the whims of cell service, and cell service tends to suck in parks

also with cash depending on the seller they might just wave the tax. things are priced to even dollars most of the time

the crafts people (leather, blacksmiths, silversmiths, glassblowers) are where you really want to "focus" your money, not because there's anything wrong with the clothing stalls, it's just that it's harder to get those items online, and you're helping a small business

also some of the clothing sellers just buy in bulk from a place like amazon and clip off the tag, "wevez" is where i get my skirts, and the price markup can be anywhere from 2 to 3 times what you'd pay if you bought from the seller directly

the end of the last day of the weekend you can get food for cheaper, so if you're staying until close and don't want to find a fast food joint, get a turkey leg

bed bugs, (SPRAYS DO NOT WORK ON THESE MOTHER FUCKERS) the horrible truth of the matter is, it is a valid concern, moreso since COVID. so if you do buy anything, im talking books, tunics, hair wraps, corsets, trousers, a kilt. anything a bed bug could be hanging out in, you put that in a seperate plastic bag, seal it, and stick it in the freezer when you get home. then you beat out the thing a few hours later.

this doesn't kill them, but it does make them hibernate, which means you can shake them out then kill them or if youre feeling vindictive, pop them in the oven, a minimum of 120F for 90 mins gets all bugs and possible eggs. you could also put the things in your dryer on high for the longest setting, but i personally prefer the oven (and not just because i don't have a drier)

business cards! i personally collect business cards for convience and maybe one day i'll go back to pursuing graphic design, but having a designated pocket for business cards or pamphlets cause you may be grabbing a lot of them

the vibes: Its a bunch of weird nerds getting dressed up to play pretend and get drunk in the park. It can get weird, and it can get raunchy (not horny, just crass) i have witnessed several different parents huff off with their kid cause a performer made a low brow joke that was obvious enough that the kid knew smth dirty was said, MOST of the people are chill with boundries, but some never got out of that phase of being a dick cause they think it's funny

speaking of phases, renn faires are still the only place i have ever been where you've got the flagrantly queer and menanist douchebags bumping shoulders. like side eyes are made im sure, but you can walk down a path, past somebody in the loudest, most obviously gay garb you have seen outside of a drag show, then a few feet behind them is somebody else with a trump denim vest

also, back to the rauchy bit, there will likely be people there who are cool, but use outdated/offensive lingo. like I got called a fairy by a guy waiting in line for a kebob, he did try and backpedel, but im fine with being called that and his girlfriend (who obviously dragged him there) was dressed up like a fairy, so jokes were had and expensive kebab's purchased (idk what they used to season those things but they were so fkin good for just being some meat on a stick)

if you do a craft (knitting/crochet) check if you can bring your supplies in because some places don't let guest bring in knitting needles (they are often 11 in long pointy sticks so fair enough)

ASK QUESTIONS not just at the small semi educational areas they sometimes have, but also the people selling things, i love hearing people talk about their crafts (also renn faire drama is real and it is wild, and it's much more exciting because it's effect on you is almost null)

WATER WATER WATER

I KNOW I SAID THIS AT THE TOP BUT IM SAYING IT AGAIN

DRINK SOME FUCKING WATER

some faires have pub crawls and i have witnessed many a stumbling drunk get escorted out by EMTs cause he didn't pace himself and drank on an empty stomach