#peep the victorian heeled boots also

[simply-slytherin]

The 5th year arrives...

More photos from my Hogwarts Legacy MC cosplay!

[whirlybirbs]

FEVER-DREAM    ;    echo/reader 

summary: echo is fine-tuning his new prosthesis. you have experience, you help. unspoken feelings are acted on. adoration blooms. you learn what mesh’la means.

word count: 3k

pairing: echo / f!reader

tags: mutual pining, lots of tender looks, victorian-era hand-touching sluttiness, echo is a gentle soul, reader is head over heels, a touch of ptsd mention, set on ord mantell, mention of our boy fives, in this house we love assistive devices, enough sexual tension to power the death star

a/n: this is me round-house kicking the bad batch writers in the throat because they made echo cosplay a droid — but, also because this man deserves to be treated as more than a means to a mission’s end. majority of you know i am ~bitter~ (understatement of the century) of tbb’s plot/design/writing. but echo has been a favorite from the original days... so have some very soft fic.

i reference character redesigns by @nibeul​ in this piece — please go peep them here, and some updated character spreads here! they’re really beautiful and add a phenomenal layer of storytelling to the existing designs that’s lacking. nibuel’s art and writing is lovely. please give them a follow — i can’t rec their work enough. 

“How does it feel?”

The words are nearly whispered; it’s clear you didn’t want to startle him, and Echo can feel the pinch in his brow soften at your sudden appearence in the doorway. 

His bunk, at the back of the Havoc Marauder, is small — the space itself even more so. There’s a makeshift partition, hooked together with spare parts and meant to offer a bit of privacy on the cramped vessel. Its slate grey color has faded, and the edges have become tattered in the cycles of use. 

When Echo pulls his dark eyes up from his work, you’re leaning against the frame — your expression is earnest.

For a moment, the once-ARC Trooper is quiet. 

He wonders if he’ll ever get used to your attention. Each and every time, it sends him into a spiral; his heart catches as he inhales and tries to push down the warm stir in his gut. The sight of you is enough, nowadays, to melt Echo’s well-maintained irritability. His attention is stolen from his ever-present pain, if only for a bit.

There are plenty of days where he misses the old him — the wide-eyed, eager ARC Trooper who had his brothers by his side. His real brothers. Hevy, Cutup, Droidbait... Fives. 

Fuckin’ hell, Fives was probably staring down at him now laughing. 

No matter what changes, you’re still shit with the ladies, vod’ika. 

In a way he hasn’t fully admitted to himself, you make him feel like himself again. Like... Like some shiny cadet, on leave and distracted by the promises of pretty smiles passing-by. It’s good.

This makes him feel... good. 

He flexes, and his right hand — the new, gunmetal durasteel cyberized-prosthesis — closes into a tight fist. It’s taken him a bit, but the feeling isn’t so foreign now. It’s still... slow. Slower than he’s used to, but you’d mentioned it may take some time. The phantom feelings get better, too. All in all, it’s a good thing.

Your own hand, your left, glimmers back in the same gunmetal color.

(Echo had never pressed you about the missing limb — not until one day, in Cid’s, you’d joined him in a quiet corner. You’d spilled your drink and a complaint about getting the star-cherry syrup out of the joints had slipped out. Echo had laughed; a real laugh, the sort that was so rare coming from him, it had you staring at him as if he’d hung ever star in the sky. 

Can I ask how it happened? he’d said, breaking the heavy silence when your eyes never left his.

The Pykes, you’d said, and that was enough.)

“I haven’t, uh... Haven’t gotten the sensory calibration right yet.”

Then, his prosthesis cramps. His fingers go rigid, and Echo curses sharply as he reaches around his forearm to quickly reboot the appendage. It goes slack, then hums alive once more.

You wince.

You’re slow to move into the room — and you settle atop one of the crates Echo had stolen from the belly of the ship, an old Mantell Mix shipping container. You’re mindful to set his datapad aside, to not disturb his space too much. Before you reach for his hand, however, you lift your chin and open your hands in your lap.

“May I?” you ask, just as soft as before.

Echo feels small under your gaze.

Truth be told, you’re doing more than just... asking. You’re taking him in — appreciating him. It’s a habit that’s grown more and more apparent to not only himself, but the others.

In recent rotations, Echo has let his hair grow out — not long, but the once close buzz he’d kept has begun to curl at the top. Not entirely dissimilair to how it was before the Citadel. The dermal implants, the ones the Techno Union installed in order to parse the nuerological data in his head, stand out against his warm-colored skin. 

His usual AJ^6-inspired headpiece is resting on his bunk.

That damn thing.

A neccesary tool. One that, given the amount of user data Tech had procured when working on modifying the implant, Echo found himself immediately distrusting. It wasn’t as if the AJ^6 cyborg construct had a beautiful track record, and frankly, Echo would like to keep his personality in tact, thank you very much. There were plenty of days he felt machine enough. 

It wasn’t often you saw him without the headset; you knew it made linking in via his scomp easier to handle, it made the visualization of data transfers as easy as breathing. For Echo, it was a part of his vast kit, an important tool. For you, seeing him without it bubbles up a bit of a smile.

Echo catches it.

His eyes narrow playfully.

He looks... well. You — hell, are there words for it? For the way the sight of him makes you feel? It’s like there’s a world full of potential there, a thousand words unsaid, and feelings that have steeped in the warmth of longing gazes and half-there touches.

You’re still looking up at him, knees bent on the crate.

You blink, realizing you’ve been caught staring — not for the first time and certainly not for the last. In the beginning, it had left a sour taste in Echo’s mouth. But, now... Well, it stokes a sort of pride in his chest that he hangs onto. 

It never gets easier to recover from — certainly not when Echo smirks. He moves to allow you to take his prosthesis into your lap. The gesture is gentle; your fingers cradle the firm yet pliable metal.

“What?” he asks. His voice, low and rough and warm, is tinted with amusement.

“Nothing,” you say vaguely with a shrug — as if that’s supposed to explain any part of your enamored stare. Your attention moves to the prosthesis.

“Nothing?” he asks, moving to thumb his left ear with his free hand with a dash of nervousness. A habit. Echo tilts his head as his fingers brush the cochlear implant there. The panel rests neatly against the side of his head, a small rounded-off square. The bite of self-consciousness has dwindled around you — but still, it creeps back up every now and again.

The Corporal’s brows knot playfully as you turn his new hand over in your lap; you’re admiring the upgraded feel, the more seamless panelling in comparison to your own. Echo watches your lashes flutter in silent thought.

Then:

“You’re a terrible liar, you know.”

You blink slowly at the hand, swallow down your sudden sheepishness and ignore his gaze. You bite back the smile digging into your cheeks. “Maybe.”

“Do I have something on my face?” he asks suddenly, and you look up.

A baited trick. He’s smiling. 

The warm sort — the sort reserved for you and for Omega. The two souls that hold a piece of his heart, with all its ticking valves and electric timed pulses. There are machinisms that keep him alive, and then there is you. Your wide-eyed expression melts, giving way to the sort of smile he’s tried to memorize over and over. It’s the same smile that has warded off that reoccuring nightmare of the night on the tarmac at the Citadel, the same smile that has pulled him through the grit of phantom pains.

“What—” a sudden laugh bursts from your chest, “What is that supposed to mean?”

“You were staring, mesh’la,” he rumbles out as a reminder, enjoying the fact he’s suddenly become the center of your attention. Echo leans back, his boot toeing yours. You nudge it back. Your face feels hot. You ignore his pointedly teasing look with a roll of your eyes.

The nickname started a few weeks ago. You haven’t asked what it means — no, for now it’s meaning hangs in the balance. Untouched but there. The affection the word carries makes your heart feel heavier and unbelievably full.

“Bad habit,” you chirp back, looking up at him through your lashes.

His laugh is warm.

“Maybe not.”

“No,” you say quietly; your voice is soft as your eyes bounce across his face, tracing the lines of his face with your gaze, “I don’t think it is.”

There’s a silence that slips between you — a comfortable one. It’s heavier than before. That has begun to happen recently, especially with the petal-soft utterance of mesh’la becoming more and more frequent. You hold his gaze. Echo lets out a soft, contented sigh.

Then, you remember the task at hand.

You clear your throat.

“Uh... The access panel I’m looking for,” you say slowly as your raise your finger to point to your own arm, “It’s on your bicep.”

Echo blinks. He clears his own throat before looking down — he hadn’t even noticed that access panel. That could explain the jarring miscommunication stalling the limb. This model had more bells and whistles than he initally realized. 

Better than a fuckin’ scomp link, that’s for sure.

Wordlessly, Echo makes room on his bunk. You move to settle beside him, your bent leg resting aginst his hip as you half-straddle the bed; your other knee brushes his thigh — and Echo tries to sit still. You’re close, now. 

“Is it okay if...?” you trail off, fingers tugging on the short sleeve of his blacks; you pause until Echo offers a curt nod. You catch him swallow. You push onward, fingers nimbly rolling the fabric up over his broad bicep. 

Echo steals a glance your way as your fingers pass across a slip of his bare skin. 

In his lap, both his hands twitch.

He’s no small man. Lean and athletic, Echo is built like a soldier. Omega had said once that Echo was an ARC Trooper, one of the best of the best. You believed every bit of it, and you’d hung on her words when she’d rambled on about ARC training, about Kamino, and about who Echo was before you knew him. It was all in the past, though. That Echo is a part of this Echo but... They’re different men. He’s been changed by the things that have happened.

You don’t press him on the details. 

In time, they’re slipped into conversation here and there — between the here and now.  

In the beginning, when you’d found yourself amongst the crew of the Havoc Marauder — be it for a simple job on Cid’s behalf — Echo had hardly paid you a moment of attention, though you admit you’d been curious from the start. It had taken three jobs for you to finally see his face. Then began the slow and gradual bonding over catching joints, grating plates, and hardware updates. His legs, your arm. Two pieces of a pair.

Now, he has this. A beautiful new upgrade — something he’s wanted for a long time. A part of his old self is back, in a way.

You liked that it was more than just a tool. That, in having this piece of his body back, he felt like more than a tool. More than a scomp link. 

After all, he is a man — a... a very handsome man. One whose proximity is sort of distracting you, again, from the task at hand.

“The panel here,” you say as you slowly press on the seam that enables the settings panel to be revealed; you’re mindful to explain, “It controls sensory outputs, as well as synchonized synaptic commands. The panel on my forearm does the same to my hand, yours is just... well, you’ve got the new and improve version.”

Echo ducks his head as you work, watching you from the corner of his eye. “Feeling a bit jealous, mesh’la?”

“Maybe,” you breathe out with a smile. 

Then, you lift your eyes. You intended to see that he was still comfortable, but instead you come face to face with the Corporal. His nose nearly brushes yours when you lift you chin, completely dragged in by the closeness shared.

There’s a beat of tension. Echo’s mouth goes dry.

You fingers pause. You swallow hard. “How... uh, how does it feel?”

Echo tightens his grip, then releases. His breath tickles your cheeks. His eyes, a deep, warm brown, flit from your eyes to your mouth, and then back. His voice is a croak. 

“...Same as before.”

You tinker with a dial, eyes never leaving his; your voice is above a whisper. “And now?”

It’s immediate. Like a rush of cold air up his arm — and on instinct, Echo’s hand twitches. His fingers grip the fabric of his blacks, along his thigh, and... he feels it. The smooth, stretch of the material. It’s... it feels like a lot. His fingertips, metallic and cyberized, tingle. It’s distracting.

He can feel. 

His hand is slow. It moves across to bridge the space between you. His pointer finger settles on the curve of your knee; the feeling of your tactical pants beneath his fingertip is ignored, instead he chases the heat of your body.

Your breath catches at the touch. 

Echo’s face is turned to you, but... his attention has settled on his hand. His palm then sweeps across your thigh. He follows the curve, soaks in the feeling. You’re frozen in place, beating back the desperate sound of appreciation that threatens to be pulled from your throat. The touch is... more than welcomed. 

The closeness itself is making you dizzy.

Then, Echo turns — and the warm, durasteel-plated palm finds your cheek.

Your skin is hot. 

“Is this okay, mesh’la?” he whispers, words riding on a quiet exhale — the sort that make you feel... well, you don’t even have words for the way he makes you feel. Echo is... kind, honest, and loyal. Above all else, he’s gentle. Despite it all, despite every bit of horror he’d been put through, he’d never lost sight of the importance of a gentle hand. Especially now in a moment as intimate as this. It coaxes you closer.

You lean into the cybernetic attachment, cheek resting in his palm. You nod, then, with eyes eager to take in every bit of this moment.

He chuckles at the enthusiasm. Echo’s thumb, deft and smooth, then traces the line of your lower lip.

The feeling is... the gnawing pain that he’s felt for nearly a year has melted. Finally, the itch has been scratched in his brain and the hollow ache of his bones is gone. It’s relief, and comfort, and excitement and all these beautiful things — and you. 

You’re stuck — you don’t want to move, you won’t move. He’s rooted you completely, and when his other hand — the calloused and warm one of flesh and blood — finds it’s spot along your thigh, you swallow a lovesick sigh that would only exaserbate your desperation. 

Your mouth is moving before you realize it. 

“What does it mean?”

Echo’s eyes narrow, only a bit, and he runs his thumb up your cheekbone.

“What does what mean?” 

“Mesh’la,” it sounds foreign on your tongue. It’s not Hutteese or Twi’leki, not like any language you know, “Will you tell me what it means, Echo?”

The corner of his lips quirk. Your eyes jump to it.

You feel like someone’s reached right into your chest and given your heart a squeeze — and it only worsens when he laughs. He laughs, deep and quiet and warm, like a thunderstorm on a summer night. It feels cruel, to string you along like this when you’re here, lips parted, hanging off his every touch and his every word.

“Beautiful,” he says quietly as his other hand touches your jaw — it’s so damn reverent, this little moment in time, that you almost don’t believe it’s real.

It feels like a dream — like someone has come in and stolen your thoughts from you; like the unrequited yearning has finally stoked a fire large enough to burn you up entirely, a fever you never knew you wanted.

His nose brushes yours.

Your fingers wind into the fabric of his chest. You’re clinging, lost to the moment — and you can’t help wonder if this is how it feels when he catches you adoring him. He’s admiring you so tenderly that you nearly break.

You want to kiss him.

He’s thought about nothing but kissing you for the last five days at least. Longer in his dreams. Nowadays, it’s a constant pull, a constant want.

And now, it’s here — a present and current moment where it can happen. Where he can stop being a shiny cadet and he can make a move...

Enter Omega.

“Echo, we’re back—!”

The telltale hammer of a girl’s boots on the floor signals that the party is back from their supply run — but you’re so far off, spinning in a different universe, you don’t even hear her until its too late... Until Echo is yanking himself away and clearing his throat and rolling his wrist to test the prosthesis in a different way, a less intimate way. 

You blink, then rattle yourself back to the present. Omega is in the doorway staring with a quizzical look. Clearly, your state does little to dissuade the assumptions she’s already making and you can see the gears turning in her head. The dark-haired girl then slowly grins.

“Hi.”

You swallow. “Hi, Omega.”

“...Whatcha guys doin’?”

Echo coughs. “Uh, just fine-tuning the new upgrade.”

“...Riiiiiight.” 

You rub your cheeks and laugh — clearly forced and incredibly pained — as you stand up and nearly ram your head right into the top of Echo’s bunk. It’s met with a hiss of warning from the trooper as he jumps up to try and protect you from the impact. 

“Well! Uh, thanks for letting me help, Echo,” you clap, rocking back and forth on your boots, “I, uh... Oh, Cid called. I should... I should get back—”

“Yea,” he says, straining a bit to find the words, “Yea, I’ll... I’ll comm you if it starts to, uh... If it starts to act up?”

Omega watches the exchange, big brown eyes moving from left to right. 

“Good, great — yea, that’s,” you inhale as you rub your thighs and move towards the door, “Perfect. Okay.”

“Okay.”

“Bye!” Omega calls, waving.

You wave back, smiling. “Bye, Omega.”

Then, once it’s only Echo and Omega in the bunk, the tween speaks.

“...What the kriff was that?”

[mycandylavynder]

Valentine’s Day: Prologue

“This is insanity.” I scream at Chani as we enter the grand foyer of an old Victorian Gothic estate. The sight is overwhelming. Between the pounding music, the intricately crafted double staircase and dazzling glass chandelier, the astonishing size of the estate, the twisted Valentine’s Day art and decor, and the sheer amount of people, I have no clue where to look. My senses can’t rest. People are littered everywhere, their bodies wiggling just beyond the sight-line of the stairs in the flash of strobing red lights.  

Chani and I push forward, as there is really no where else to go. The staircases are roped off and a suited buff guy is posted at each side checking names off a list before allowing anyone to pass. I am quickly understanding why the cover fee is $30 bucks. My eardrums are throbbing from the thump of the base blasting out of the speakers. I look over at Chani who stopped moving to admire a portrait of a red haired woman in a white dress with bloodied heart eyes. I gently grab her arm and lean in toward her ear. “What kind of party is this?”

Chani raises her pinkish-white brows and replies, “I have no clue, but the architecture in this house is stunning. And I am really loving the theme of the art so far.”

“Me too, actually. I thought the cupid piercing a burning guy in the heart outside was a great metaphor for my love life.”

Chani smiles and says, “I heard there was a gallery room open on the main floor, shall we try to find it?”

“Yes, please! I think I want to hold off on losing my hearing for a little while longer.”

The two of us enter the chaos, pushing our way through the crowd until we reach the far right of the massive living-room-turned-club. Chani opens the french door and I squeeze through it behind her. We are in a hallway with golden floral wallpaper and exquisitely crafted wooden borders trimming the ceiling and floor. More bizarre Valentine art is dressing the space and, to our relief, there are signs posted directing us where to go. With our heels clicking against the marble, we follow the arrow pointing toward the gallery still awestruck at the size of the residence.

We pass through a large archway of red, pink, and white balloons into a large gallery room filled with more unique and over-the-top art. We stop to scan the room. The atmosphere is leagues calmer than the makeshift club and less crowded. There is a lot more breathing room and I’ll be able to talk to Chani without screaming in her ears. A cash bar is set up in front of a ceiling-to-floor window at the far end of the room and a bartender in a black bow-tie is stirring up a drink. Beside the bar is a long white table where two waiters are attending to the array of appetizing hors d’oeuvres and decorative sweets. I scan the faces of party-goers and am very pleased when my eyes fall on a head of blue hair. “Oh, look, there’s Alexy and Morgan.” I say to Chani as I gently pull her along.

They seem to be discussing an oil painting of two men resting by a tree in a field when we approach them. “Hey Candy and Chani. I’m glad you’re both here! Maybe you can settle this for us. What color do you think that is, a greenish-brown or a bluish-brown?”

Chani and I lean in a little closer. Chani answers almost immediately, “Bluish. Those are definitely blue undertones.”

“Yeah, I’m going to agree with Chani. They definitely mixed blue in to get that color.”

Morgan flashes a victorious smirk as Alexy pouts. “I was so sure that was green,” he whines.

“No, big deal. You were right about the last painting.” Morgan soothes as he tenderly rubs his shoulder.

“So what are you two up to? I’m loving the dresses.” Alexy asks.

“Thank you,” I say giving a small curtsy.

Chani and I do look adorable tonight, but especially Chani. She is wearing a black halter top dress with black off the shoulder ruffle sleeves and a mesh crescent moon shaped peep hole on her chest. The dress is above-the-knee in length. And she is sporting black knee-highs with white stars and black boots.

As for me, I found the prefect little red number from Leigh’s shop. My cocktail dress cinches in at my waist and flares loosely at the bottom. The red slip underneath is a basic spaghetti strap and a floral lacy design flows as the top layer. The lace rests over my chest and covers to my elbow, teasing at my skin underneath. The lace falls below my waist line as well, flowing modestly past the hemline of the slip. I am wearing sheer flesh color stockings and red heels with a bow on the side of the ankle straps. I also brought a black heart shaped purse on a gold chain that match my black heart shaped earrings perfectly. 

“And we just got here so we aren’t up to much. Have you been here long?” I add in reply to Alexy’s question.

“Maybe a half hour or so. We’re still waiting on Hyun to come. But this place is insane, isn’t it? I heard the girl who threw this party belongs to some billionaire family.”  Says Alexy.

“That’s a given. This place is too HUGE to not belong to a billionaire. Not to mention the money it must cost to maintain the architecture must be ridiculous.” Chani chimes.

“Yeah, I wonder who threw the party anyway. It didn’t say on the flyers they put up at school.” I say.

“I’m not sure. I just heard people talk about a ‘her’ and how ‘her’ parties are absolutely the best and that its been forever since she threw one.” Alexy replies.

I shrug. “Well either way, I’m glad you all are here. It’s nice not being alone on Valentine’s Day.”

“You can say that again.” I hear a familiar voice chime as she appears beside Chani.

“Priya!” We all cry happily.

“Hey guys. How’s it going?” She asks before sipping a drink. She looks stunning in white frill waisted palazzo pants with a belt tied in a loose bow and a red v-neck crop top with flaring sleeves. She is wearing red pointed slides with a modest heel. Her hair is pulled back into a high ponytail and she is glowing with energy.

“Good. We were all just speculating about who the mystery hostess is.” Alexy says.

“I think Amber might know her. Amber was the one who told me about this party,” answers Priya.

“Oh, really? What did she say?” I ask.

“Just that her friend owns a huge mansion just outside of town and she’s throwing a party and I should come.”

“Did you come with Amber then?”

“No, I just told her I’d meet up with her when I got here. I just finished texting her when I saw you guys.” Priya says taking another sip.

It seems like the entire campus is going to be here, maybe even the whole town. I mean if Amber is here, Nath might be here too. Or maybe she will come with Castiel since they went to the Gala together. Either way, I’m not too sure if I am ready to see either of them after all that drama they caused at the Gala. Alexy said Hyun was going to be here. As for Rayan, I doubt he’ll be here. After the rumors from the beach party, I am sure he wants to avoid another round of gossiping students and probing questions from the Director.

After thinking about that...I wonder how tonight will play out and who will turn up?

(Love Interests coming soon)

Castiel

Hyun

Nathaniel

Priya

Rayan

[asfeedin]

The Duchess Of Cambridge’s Fashion Style Analysed

If you were allowed to have a good old root around inside Kate Middleton‘s closet, how many fashion gems do you think you’d find? There’s a plethora of McQueen, sure. Boxes and boxes of nude L.K. Bennett courts, obviously. But the Duchess Of Cambridge is also really good at introducing us to niche new brands that we would never previously have heard of.

She’s the ultimate fashion diplomat, whose impeccable style choices have been known to build bridges between nations (remember when she tactically wore Canadian-born British designer Erdem to kick off her royal tour in Ottawa, or wore this dress in Poland?), and the Kate Middleton effect leads to an instant sell-out of any item she wears.

‘There is no question that Kate choosing to wear Reiss has impacted our brand,’ David Reiss, Founder and Managing Director of Reiss told us. ‘We have noticed a significant increase in terms of brand interest and awareness globally, strengthening existing markets and attracting attention in markets we are yet to enter.’

Getting Duchess Kate’s seal of approval is the ultimate honour for any fashion brand, but the impact her endorsement can have on small businesses in particular has been known to literally see tiny labels launch into fully fledged companies overnight.

‘I was so excited the first time I found out that the Duchess had chosen to wear one of our dresses,’ Natasha Rufus Isaacs, co-founder of ethical fashion label Beulah told us. ‘We were a relatively unknown and young label, and it definitely helped spread the word about us and the cause that we support.’

Find out more about Beulah, Reiss and all of Kate Middleton’s favourite high street and designer fashion brands below, plus shop our edit to recreate her wardrobe…

Kate Middleton wearing Ghost

For clap for carers in April 2020 (to show her support for the NHS working during the pandemic), Kate wore a blue floral dress by Ghost, the colour of which was also a nod to the NHS.

Shop now: IDRIS DRESS for £118.30 from GHOST

Kate Middleton wearing Alexander McQueen

Let’s start with the Duchess’s ultimate fashion go-to, shall we? Kate loves Sarah Burton’s designs at Alexander McQueen almost as much as she loves Wills. From that stunning lace wedding dress to an entire collection of chic, sharp dresses and occasion coats, Sarah always strikes a perfect balance between McQueen’s house hallmarks (extreme silhouettes, Victorian corsetry and dramatic presence) and Kate’s softer, approachable personality. Every time the pair collaborate, the resulting look is pitch perfect.

Shop now: ALEXANDER MCQUEEN draped sleeve asymmetric hem dress for £1,690 from FARFETCH

Kate Middleton wearing Monica Vinader

British jewellery Monica Vinader has been one of the Duchess’s go-to brands since 2014. She wore the label’s delicate crystal-studded Riva necklace and matching earrings, with a combined cost of £2,750, to the Wildlife Photographer of the Year gala at the National History Museum that year and has since modelled them on multiple engagements. On her tour of Canada in 2016, she accessorised with the brand’s more understated Siren Wire earrings in green onyx to match her emerald hued Dolce and Gabbana dress.

Monica Vinader Siren Wire Earrings, £115

Kate Middleton wearing Reiss

When Duchess Kate wore Reiss’s Shola dress to meet the Obamas in 2011 the impact on sales was instant. ‘The surge in web traffic following the release of the images caused our website to crash, David Reiss, Founder and Managing Director of Reiss told us. ‘The dress promptly sold out online when service was resumed.’ The Duchess’s wardrobe is full of Reiss’s classic dresses including the Nannette and the Trina – both of which also experienced the ‘Kate effect’ in full force when they too sold out in a fashion flash.

REISS Riana Dress, £195

Kate Middleton wearing L.K. Bennett

Oh those cream courts. Never has anyone ever been so faithful to a signature shoe. And yet they always look box fresh? We have reason to believe that Kate’s L.K. Bennett collection is housed a mini-wardrobe of its own and comprises of even more classic heels, a few pairs of showstopper sandals and a dozen or so boxes of stockpiled nude ‘Sledge’ pumps.

L.K. Bennett Stila Trench Patent Court Heels, £195

Kate Middleton wearing Temperley London

Both Middleton sisters love Alice Temperley’s eponymous line (Pippa has even been spotted on the designer’s London Fashion Week front row). And Alice equally loves them back. ‘[Kate is] a brilliant ambassador for British fashion,’ she has said of her regular client, who comes to her for red carpet drama and pretty lace day dresses alike.

Temperley London ivory crepe jumpsuit, £1,295 at Net-A-Porter

Kate Middleton wearing Jenny Packham

Another go-to for red carpet wow gowns and chic maternity ward nighties alike. True glam prevailed, though, when Jenny provided Duchess Kate with this stunning embellished gown for a red carpet-ready party in Hollywood. Does it get any more A-List?

Jenny Packham ombre sequin dress, £3,215 at Net-A-Porter

Kate Middleton wearing Le Chameau

Kate’s a country girl at heart and always goes to Le Chameau, manufacturer of the ‘world’s finest rubber boots’ for her, erm, wellies. A ‘maître bottier’ handcrafts each pair of the French heritage brand’s shoes. Because apparently Hunters are just too general public these days.

Le Chameau Women’s Vierzon Jersey Lined Boot, £135

Kate Middleton wearing Mulberry

A fan of the established Brit label since her uni days, Kate Middleton’s Mulberry bag collection includes a classic black Polly Push Lock and a bright pink Araline, which she once wore with yellow disco hot-pants (well you would, wouldn’t you?).

Mulberry Amberley Clucth Bag, £495

Kate Middleton wearing Emilia Wickstead

Kate regularly called upon the first lady of British couture while she was pregnant with Prince George, making sure that all of her maternity wear was tailor-made to the royal bump. Wickstead injects a lot of colour into the Duchess’s wardrobe too – we love the floral ensemble Kate wore in September 2019 to visit a garden.

Emilia Wickstead rose printed dress, £1,420 at MatchesFashion

Kate Middleton wearing Russell and Bromley

Kate’s £245 Russell and Bromley wedges have become one of her wardrobe staples. Her go-to styling choice when dressing up those J Brand drainpipes, she’s even played volleyball in the 4inch cork platforms. What a pro.

Russell & Bromley Candyfloss Peep-Toe Espadrilles, £145

Kate Middleton wearing Erdem

Clever Kate used her style to unite nations on her Canada tour in 2011, choosing a dress by Canadian-born British designer Erdem Moralioğlu on her first day in Ottawa. Every country (obviously) wanted to take some credit for that masterful use of lace.

Erdem Klya dress, £1,942 at 24S

Kate Middleton wearing Jimmy Choo

The Duchess’s party shoe of choice – usually something strappy, sky high and shimmering. Proper princess footwear? Now we’re talking. She wore these sequin pumps to a gala dinner at Somerset House in 2019.

Jimmy Choo Romy 85 pumps, £525 at FARFETCH

Kate Middleton wearing Beulah

Ethical fashion label Beulah use a portion of their profits to help victims of India’s sex trafficking trade. Kate’s helped to raise awareness of the brand and their work, wearing a few of their loose and lightweight dresses when she’s on tours in hot climates.

‘She’s a wonderful ambassador for British fashion and her support definitely raises awareness and recognition of the brand,’ Natasha Rufus Isaacs, co-founder of ethical fashion label Beulah told us. ‘A few of the press picked up on the charity angle on our business, that we help vulnerable and trafficked women and provide an alternative, sustainable livelihood. Raising awareness and funds for the cause is the heart of what we do here at Beulah.’

Beulah midi dress, £640

Kate Middleton wearing Max Mara

Lovely luxe coats are Italian mega-label Max Mara’s specialist subject. Kate’s got about 5 in her winter wardrobe – ideal investment pieces.

Max Mara Labbro cashmere Coat, £3,009.60 at Selfridges

Kate Middleton wearing Jaeger

The Duchess of Cambridge loves Jaeger dresses – from this sweet sunshine shirtdress on tour in the Solomon Islands, to the nautical number that she snapped up in the SS14 sale. Who said royalty couldn’t be thrifty?

Jaeger colour block dress, £175

Kate Middleton wearing Whistles

The Duchess Of Cambridge loves Whistles (here she is wearing their best-selling Carrie pleated skirt in 2011), however, the brand’s chief executive Jane Shepherdson says the ‘Kate effect’ on sales isn’t always as you might expect – thanks to her thriftiness. ‘She wore a blouse [in the royal engagement photos] which was actually from a few seasons ago, which we weren’t running,’ she said. ‘So in that instance, it raised profile certainly, but it didn’t do anything for sales.’

Whistles broderie dress, £111.75

Kate Middleton wearing Goat

Luxury label Goat just announced that their first stand-alone store will open in Mayfair this year – no doubt, in part, thanks to the ‘Kate effect’. Kate was spotted (but really, how could you miss her?) in this fuchsia frock on a visit to a London school.

Goat tea dress, £630

So, which items will you be picking up?

Happy shopping!

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Tags: Analysed, Cambridges, Duchess, Fashion, Style

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