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shortnotsweet · 3 months

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This technically applies to my Stepmother AU in which Alicent is around six years older than Rhaenyra, and occupies a wicked stepmother role as opposed to ex ‘friends-to-first loves-to-enemies’. Despite lacking the foundation of shared girlhood, both find simultaneous comfort and rivalry in one another, and undergo a gravitational pull. A young Rhaenyra’s eagerness to participate in swordplay and political affairs at a young is accommodated for, and she grows up with a sword in one hand and the weight of experience in another, which further helps pave her way to the throne.

Alicent’s Costuming

Alicent’s clothing is almost entirely bottle, emerald, or forest green. While there is layering present in her skirts and jackets, the accent should always be a darker green than the base color. The fabric is deep, rich, and retains an undeniably high-quality luster. Look to velvets and silks. Gold embroidery lingers around her sleeves, neck, and hemline to elevate the coloring.

Metallic embellishments should be almost military-like, and appear heavy. Contribute to the imagery of chains or shackles in addition to her status

Draws inspiration from historically accurate stiffness and Victorian shapes, with a tapered waist, imposing, puffy sleeves, and a high neckline. Despite inaccuracies, this shape is evocative of someone elegantly and conservatively feminine, repressed, and capable of exerting power over others. Reference a classic, trussed hourglass shape. Skirts should be notably heavy and full; may make noise in movement

The coloring and shapes remain relatively consistent but lack variation; this is to demonstrate a lack of freedom and exploration, as well as an adherence to conventional feminine roles

Despite these limitations, her costuming should always be put-together, coordinated, and unquestionably fashionable. Tight sleeve cuffs may be accompanied by a more traditionally medieval fan sleeve

Shoes should stick mostly to slippers, or flat designs

In this AU, her hair leans more towards a dark brown instead of auburn, as her show counterpart. This is mostly due to faux-book accuracy and to simplify the sketch process, since keeping her hair darker in comparison to Rhaenyra’s lighter hair translates more easily in uncolored renderings.

Keep her hair either in a tidy bun or pulled back and loose; avoid too many intricate shapes, braids, or styles. Occasionally, the hair will hang loose. Lean into medieval or royal headpieces, clips, coverings, etc.

Rhaenyra’s Costuming

Rhaenyra’s clothes are primarily black and red, occasionally accented or substituted with neutrals such as beige, white, or gray. Exceptions may include blue or yellow, but she generally stays in this color palette.

Strong focus is drawn to her shoulders and neckline, sometimes with embroidered or embellished detailing. She often has strong, angular shoulders in her dresses or jackets, occasionally theatrically pointed. Off-the shoulder necklines emphasize her collarbones and a certain broadness.

There should be decent variety in her clothing; there is a hypothetical outfit for every occasion and more (for battle, for riding, everyday, formal, feasts, everyday, etc.), and most should be composed of multiple pieces and utilize generous layering. This includes under-fabric, belts and corsets, jackets and doublets, draped fabric for aesthetic purpose, and even functional capes.

Most of her clothes should provide visual aid for movement; additional fabric to her skirts, for example. Her clothes should be highly stylized but still easy to move in. In riding and battle gear, it is presumed that she wears pants and boots under her skirts, even if they are not visible.

Shoes lean more into boot cuts, still practical but should have a sleek and uniform quality to them. When she walks, she should make some kind of noise. Shoes should usually be black or potentially red, the latter for decorative purposes.

Overall her style should be more contemporary and lean into the fantasy element. She’s not opposed to oriental details or showing skin, and her costumes should reflect both couture-height drama and period-reliant aspects. Longer lines and diagonal hems mean she is not as devoted to an hourglass shape, and her high collars should always be decorative in some respect.

Keep her hair long and mostly loose, sometimes pulled back. Small braids should be implied as incorporated. Occasional hairstyles feature complicated braids. With the exception of highly decorative braided styles, simple buns should be avoided unless accompanied with very high necklines.

Avoid headpieces that are not either a) her crown or b) ceremonial.

#rhaenicent #rhaenyra targaryen #alicent hightower #house of the dragon #hotd #rhaenyra x alicent #asoiaf #my art #thinking about how their character and costume designs are so communicative and are designed with each other in mind. for example havijg bc #the strong shoulders and embroidered necklines keeps them connected although imo they could’ve played around with it a lot more #I just have a lot of thoughts about them ok

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clockwayswrites · 4 months

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A Broken Sort or Normal, Epilogue

WC:1383, Masterpost

Danny glances up from his fight to fit the cufflink into the sleeve of his rich blue suit and smiles at what he sees in the mirror.

“You know, it’s supposed to be bad luck to see the bride before the wedding.”

Wally grins, easily, from where he leans against the door frame. “I’m the one in white so I think I’m the bride, in this case.”

“Oh, so putting the bad luck all on me?” Danny asks as he turns to appreciate how his fiancée looks. Wally really is stunning in his white on white tux. Danny hadn’t been able to stomach the idea of traditional black and white tuxes, not with Phantom still being such a raw wound. Wally hadn’t minded in the least going with a brighter color palette.

“Never,” Wally promises. “We’ll face whatever comes together.”

It’s a vow that Danny unquestionably trusts. Since the curse broke, Wally has been there for every step of it— and Danny has needed a lot of help with steps. Danny’s weakened core not only handicapped him as a ghost but as a living. Many days Danny is able to pass through it all relatively unaffected, other than the cold ache that has settled into his bones, but other days are harder. Other days Danny walks with canes braced against his arms. Other days Danny needs his wheelchair. Other days he can hardly get out of bed unless he goes ghost. And through it all Wally has done everything that he can to make things easy for Danny.

They have a house now, one story and carefully renovated so that on the days Danny needs the wheelchair he can still move around easily. There are electric blankets and soft pillows and this ridiculous massive bean bag that’s big enough for them to both sink into on the bad days.

And there are good days too. There are days where the aches are just a background note, days it all doesn't hurt so much, days where he can fly. Oh how Danny had missed flying. Of all the things that came with being a halfa, flying is what Danny had missed most– not because he could help or be a hero, he missed flying just for himself.

The first time he had felt stable enough to fly, Wally had whisked them out to that same field their first date was in and let Danny loose. Danny had flown for hours, darting around, doing tricks, and floating among the clouds. When he had come back down to earth, Wally had been there, picnic waiting and the biggest smile on his face.

So like everything in Danny’s life, it’s all a balance: the good, the bad, the effort… Danny loves it all.

He loves it not just because it reminds him of how much living means, but because of how deeply it shows that Wally cares. Wally’s love is one thing he can never question. It’s a certainty that Danny has needed through all of the aftermath.

Once Danny had been released from the Watchtower’s medical, he had started small dealing with it all. Coworkers were easy to reply to and he could trust that informing a few would spread the news to the rest. They didn’t push for more than he was willing to give, though he had known he would come back to questions and rumors.

Everyone else was harder.

He had set a video call with Sam and Tucker at the same time. It was maybe a little unfair to not give them each their own call, but he just didn’t have the energy for that. They weren’t kids anymore and hadn’t been for a long time.

“God, Danny,” Tucker started at the same time as Sam said his name.

He held up his hand and their mouths shut with a clack. His smile was tinged with sadness, but it was a smile. “Don’t. You two didn’t do anything horrible.”

“Dude,” Tucker said and for a moment Danny was back in high school. Tucker looked good, still in bright colors and with his hair expertly shaved on the sides with a little pattern. “We forgot about you.”

“We left you alone to deal with all that,” Sam said. Her hair was a more natural shade of black now and her smoky eye an expertly done wing. It was odd to see her lips red instead of purple.

“Because of a curse. You forgot because of a curse,” Danny said, “and then you just did what anyone does, you went on to have a future. It’s not like we had some big fight or anything, you both just moved on with your lives.”

“That still had to hurt,” Sam said.

“It did,” Danny said honestly. He didn’t see the point of pretending the past hadn’t happened. “But that doesn’t mean it was either of your faults. The last thing I want is anyone doing anything for me out of guilt, especially since in this case it’s misplaced. It’s okay that you both grew up. I did too.”

It hurt and it would always hurt, at least a little, but Danny didn’t want any false care now.

Sam chewed on her lip and Danny smiled a little at the sight of the old habit. “I’m still sorry.”

“Me too,” Tucker said.

“Thanks, that does mean a lot, but it’s okay, really.”

There was a level of peace from that talk. Sam and Tucker both asked if they could reach out sometimes, and Danny said yes but with zero expectations. They were different people than they were as children and Danny knew, because he had lived it, that without Phantom there wasn’t much for them to talk about. And Danny had no plans to talk about Phantom. That part of him had ended with a wish seven years ago. He didn’t want to rehash or relive it now, even with them.

Jazz… Jasmine was harder. Sam and Tucker losing touch was just part of growing up. His own sister ignoring him though, that wasn’t the same at all. If it wasn’t for his nieces, Danny didn’t know if he would even be trying with Jasmine, even as apologetic as she was. There were some things that were too hard to come back from.

“Are they here?” Danny asks and looks back down at his stubborn sleeve.

Wally steps forward and takes the cufflink from Danny. He’s gentle as he fits it into the slot and secures it. “They are. And all our friends are here too. Just remember that you don’t have to talk to them any more than you want to. It’s okay to be taking things slow. It’s okay to decide that you can’t do this with her. You know I’m with you whatever you decide.”

Danny raises Wally’s hands to brush a kiss across each set of knuckles. “I know. I’m so lucky to have you. Is it bad that part of me making an effort with them is so that my nieces have family other than their moms and our parents?”

“Nope. I think that makes you a really good uncle. I mean, where would I be without Aunt Iris? Family like that can mean a lot and if that’s the only reason you have for dealing with your sister, then that’s enough,” Wally assures him.

It helps Danny relax some.

“Okay, good. We’ll just… see how it goes. I’m not going to focus too much on them today, not when today is about me and you.”

“I think that’s all good. You’re just wrong about one thing though,” Wally says, his grin just a little mischievous. Danny loves that grin.

“And what’s that, Mister West?”

“Well, soon to be Mister West,” Wally says, “it’s that I’m the lucky one. I could have lost you so many times and so many ways and despite everything, today I get to marry you. I don’t think there’s anyone luckier than me today.”

“Well, not to have our first fight,” Danny teases, “but agree to disagree.”

“I think I can live with that.”

Danny laughs. There’s nothing funny about that, but the laughter bubbles up in him all the same, not from humor but from joy. “Living, that sounds like a very, very good plan.”

---

AN: Aaaaaah we are done!! Not everything is perfect, but Danny is alive and living and Wally is going to be with him for all of it <3. Thank you all for coming along for the ride on this! It's been unexpectedly delightful to write these two together and I'm glad to finally wrap it up with (hopefully) a nice bow.

And yes, this will be going up on ao3 but I need the brain functions to go back to the start and give it a good polish! I'll likely do it chapter by chapter weekly to give myself and my darling beta @mokulule time.

Until then or the next thing here, stay delightful, darlings!

#dp x dc #quick death ship #danny/wally #abson

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silvermizuki · 1 year

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Hi this was literally only supposed to be a reference of their designs for another mermay piece I had planned but now they have lore :)c

Image ID and extra info ‘n their reference w/o the shading below the cut!

[ID: Sun and moon as Merfolk, sun on the right and moon on the left. They’re both hovering inside a partially enclosed underwater cave with tealish sunlight streaming in from openings leading outside. Orange and yellow crystals are scattered amongst the walls as Sun curiously holds a fragment of one close to his chest. Moon is a bit further behind him with a concerned expression, hand raised slightly as if to warn sun.

Sun’s palette sports orange, a light tan, red, and yellow; his tail and fins would reference to a betta fish, fanned and frilled. While the spines and stripped design on his body refer to a lionfish. Moons palette consists of cyans, light blues, navys, yellows and reds. The design on the tail can be compared to van gogh’s starry night, moon was based off a mandarin dragonet for the fully black eyes with red haloed pupils and the rich vibrant colors from the fish. /END ID]

Ok!! :D So- Moon I based off the mandarin dragonet bc of the gorgeous colors and sun is based off a lion, betta AND clown fish. I’m so happy how they both turned out <333

And if you want a little blurb about the lore here ya go: They're both out gathering supplies for the potions/medicine that they make for other merfolk until moon catches a glimpse of something sparkling in an underwater cave. They go check it out and they find a countless amount of glowing crystals they've never seen before, its not in their books. They aren't sure of its properties but they can feel some type of magic coming off of them. And since sun is curious, they're about to find out what it does.

Also shout out to @strawberrymothteeth hi I saw your comment in the server about adding a clam bag and I so wanted to but I had to force myself to stop working on this rwegljrae

maybe ill edit it in when everyone’s not looking

#get brainrotted on #fnaf #sundrop #moondrop #mermay #fnaf mermay #silverart #doodles #mermay designs

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lovecrime2 · 5 months

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Hannibal Lecter x Reader

summary: you begin therapy with Dr. Lecter, a man who you quickly learn much from. from his intellectuality, to the darkness hidden in the furthest parts of his mind, you become enraptured with him. will he feel the same about you? therapy sessions turn into exchanging books with notes, cooking together, and seeing more of each other in ways you both never thought possible. a love story.

authors note: hello!! this fic will have multiple chapters and i’m so excited to start this! it’s also on a03. and im creating a playlist for this!!

Chapter I: Prima

ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ ﮩ٨ـ

“Dr. Lecter is ready to see you now, miss.” the polite receptionist says, with a smile sent your way. It’s no more than a flash of positivity before she turns back to her paper work, reflected by her thin framed glasses. As her eyes scanned over the work, turning back to frantically look over her desk, presumably searching for something, she gave off an obvious air of worry. Perhaps she was new.

You were too.

Your first day of therapy. Well, your first day of therapy with this new psychiatrist. It wasn’t something you were exactly frantically nervous about- as the poor polite receptionist was. You’d been to therapy before. You were accustomed to the shallow invasion and prodding of the mind. This time, your hope was that this new Dr. Lecter would be unique. Different.

You’d heard many good things about him. Ranging from his written work and studies, to his success with patients. And after the worsening state of your mind and the life you had built around you, you decided that it was time to try again. So far, you weren’t disappointed. The office was classy. Nice chairs were set in the waiting room, where you had sat for some time. There was tasteful art, quiet classical music in the background. Bach, you had guessed. Other than the receptionist, it had emitted an air of class and calmness.

You flashed a smile back at the receptionist, returning the politeness.

“Thank you very much,” you replied.

You weren’t sure if she heard given how diligently she was scanning her desk currently. But it was of no matter, you had been polite, it was the most you could do. You stepped up to a wooden door, unsure if you’d have to knock. Before you could, the door was opened, and Dr. Lecter was revealed to you.

He was handsome. You weren’t one to judge or weigh value off of looks, but you would give him that simple statement. Looks were not the most important thing to you, and you certainly were not meaning it in a romantic way. But he was handsome. The eyes that quickly met yours were brown, maybe with a hint of hazel. His hair was brown as well, it shone in the light from his office. He wore a navy blue plaid suit, giving him an obvious air of seriousness, of class and respect. His lips curled into a smile, and yours followed suit.

“Miss L/N, it’s a pleasure to make your acquaintance.” he spoke, his voice was rich and soothing.

“Dr. Lecter, I’ve heard many wonderful things about you and your work. It’s a pleasure to make your acquaintance as well.” you replied calmly, mirroring his niceties and charm. He had a quiet suave demeanor. As if on instinct, you both reached your hands out for a handshake. More niceties. This doctor was very formal. You appreciated that. As your hands touched you felt his eyes scan you quickly. Almost like an eagle searching a field for prey. Though, there wasn’t malice behind this look.

“Please, do come in.” he said, leading you into his large room. And what a large room it was.

It had a mostly grey color palette, with the exception of the one wall which was a dark red. To your right was a large wall, with two large red and white striped curtains. To your left, a desk, obviously a professional one. Lamps and books and art decorated the top. Further back to your left was another desk and a chair, but nothing was on this one. Behind that, a fireplace. The room was lined with cabinets and bookshelves, and art (specifically paintings) were anything but scarce. Right in front of you however, were two chairs facing each other. And there was a ladder, on the wall behind them, leading up to another level of the room. This one was lined with books of all shapes and sizes and colors. You took note of the other items in the room. Your eyes scanned from the couch against the back wall, to the couch in front of the windows. The room seemed lightly dull at first, but the more you gazed, the more points of color stood out to you.

After having visually scoured the room, you summarized that the collection of books, European furniture, and art was not simply the doing of the building’s hypothetical interior designer. By his outfit and the look of the room, Dr. Lecter was a man of intellectuality, power, curiosity, and ambition. He was impressive.

“Have a seat, Miss L/N.” he said, gesturing to the two seats in the middle of the room- each sat directly across from the other. Each had small tables next to them, but one had a book (presumably for taking notes on patients) and a box of tissues. You assumed the seat that the book and tissue box adorned table belonged to: was his. So you took the other seat, smoothing the bottom half of your clothing as you sat down. He took a seat across from you, crossing his legs and folding his hands neatly in his lap.

“I have no doubt you know why you’re here.” he said politely. He was direct, eyes still piercing into you. You were afraid to look away. You wanted to maintain the eye contact but at the same time, the socially nervous part of you longed to break it, longed to gaze around the sophisticated room instead of facing his perceptive gaze.

“Yes, Doctor.” you replied, finally working up the courage to break the mural stare and look down as you smiled at him. He returned a brief smile, and nodded once.

“So then, I hope you won’t mind if I list off the reasons you put for requesting my psychiatric assistance which led to us meeting today?” he inquired, taking his notebook from the small table next to him.

“Not at all, go ahead.” you gave him an encouraging nod and he opened his book. As he looked over a page, a realization came to you. You realized how intimate the placing of his chairs was. You mirrored him and put one leg over the other. You wondered if this was a tactic of his to create a sense of connection, equality. Interesting.

“You have emotional regulation issues, accompanied by social anxiety. Past traumas, which I’m sure are accompanied by self-image problems, am I correct?” he asked at the end of his statement.

“Yes,” you said, pausing a moment. There was some more, but this was only the first session. You hated the way it sounded so labeled when it was later out like that, so shallow. Realizing your answer might’ve seemed curt, you rushed to say more. “Yes, that’s all correct.”

He set his book down on the side table and looked at you for a moment. The thought crossed your mind that he might be waiting for you to speak, you were about to say something when he spoke at last.

“How do you feel right now, at this very particular moment, Miss L/N?” he asked you, eyes endlessly boring into you.

“I feel,” you hesitated, trying to come up with the right words. “Comfortable and welcomed. Yet nervous.”

“I’m glad you feel comfortable and welcomed, I try to provide sufficient hospitality for those in my care. Though, tell me, why do you feel nervous?” he asked.

“I’ve just met someone new. Someone who will be peering into my mind, learning the most personal parts of me. It’s an odd thought that a man I met a few minutes ago will come to know my mind so deeply.” you replied, watching Hannibal process your answer. He had a good poker face.

“Are you afraid of what I might uncover in the depths of your mind?” he asked.

“I think everyone’s a little afraid of what can be perceived in the most personal parts of their mentality. We all have only so much we express. To the eye it may seem to show enough, but there’s so much hidden where we store our deepest thoughts.” you replied. You liked the knowledgeable banter.

“Knowing those parts of you is a fundamental aspect to your treatment, as it is to any patient. I am not here to judge, or to exploit. I am here to come to know your being and attempt to help it in a way that is beneficial to your mental well-being.” he replied.

“You make a good point, Doctor.” you replied, flashing him a smile. He returned it, and opened his book.

“Well then, shall we begin?” he asked, his eyes still focused on yours.

“Of course.” you replied.

And so began your session with Hannibal Lecter, your new psychiatrist.

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#hannibal x reader #hannibal nbc #nbc hannibal #hannibal lecter imagine #hannibal #hannibal lecter #hannibal lecter x you #hannibal lecter x reader #nbc hannibal x reader #dr hannibal lecter #hannibal x reader imagine #hannibal fic #hannibal nbc fic #hanniblogging #hannibal the cannibal #hannibal the series #hannibal smut #hannibal lecter smut

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theambitiouswoman · 9 months

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Everyday Makeup Routine 💄🪞💋✨

Primer: Apply a lightweight, mattifying primer to create a smooth base for your makeup and control excess oil.

Foundation or Tinted Moisturizer: Even out your skin tone with a light layer of foundation or a tinted moisturizer that matches your skin shade. (You don't always need foundation. I only wear foundation if I am going for a full glam look. Other wise, I use concealer and tinted moisturizer on days my skin is not cooperating.)

Concealer: Use a creamy concealer to cover any blemishes, redness, or under-eye circles.

Setting Powder: Gently dust a translucent setting powder to lock in your base and reduce shine.

Blush: Add a natural flush to your cheeks with a soft blush in a shade that complements your skin tone.

Eyebrows: Fill in and shape your eyebrows using a brow pencil or powder for a polished look.

Eyeshadow: Apply neutral eyeshadow shades for a subtle enhancement of your eyelids.

Eyeliner: A thin line of brown or black eyeliner along the upper lash line can define your eyes.

Mascara: Coat your lashes with mascara to open up your eyes and give them a more awake appearance.

Lip Color: Choose a lip color that suits your style, whether it's a nude shade, a soft pink, or a subtle berry.

Additional Steps for a Polished Makeup Look:

Contour and Highlight: Use a contour powder to define your cheekbones, jawline, and nose. Then, apply a subtle highlighter to the high points of your face for a radiant glow.

Setting Spray: Finish your makeup by spritzing a setting spray to lock everything in place and give your skin a fresh, dewy finish.

Lip Liner: To enhance the shape of your lips and prevent lipstick from feathering, use a lip liner that matches your chosen lip color.

Lipstick or Lip Gloss: Apply your preferred lip product, whether it's a classic lipstick for a bold look or a lip gloss for a more natural shine.

Finishing Touch: Take a moment to blend everything together and ensure there are no harsh lines or uneven patches.

Product Suggestions:

Primer: "Mattifying Pore Minimizer" - Helps create a smooth canvas and control shine.

Foundation or Tinted Moisturizer: "Natural Glow Tinted Moisturizer" - Provides light coverage and a healthy radiance.

Concealer: "Creamy Conceal & Correct" - Covers imperfections while remaining blendable.

Setting Powder: "Translucent Setting Powder" - Sets makeup and reduces oiliness without adding color.

Blush: "Soft Rosy Blush" - Adds a natural flush to your cheeks.

Eyebrows: "Brow Sculpting Pencil" - Defines and shapes your brows for a put-together look.

Eyeshadow: "Everyday Neutrals Eyeshadow Palette" - Offers versatile shades for subtle eye enhancement.

Eyeliner: "Precision Eye Liner" - Provides a defined line along the lash line.

Mascara: "Lengthening Lash Mascara" - Gives your lashes a longer and fuller appearance.

Lip Color: "Nude Lip Crème" - Choose a shade that complements your style and skin tone.

Contour and Highlight: "Sculpt & Glow Contour Kit" - Comes with contour shades and a shimmering highlight for dimension.

Setting Spray: "Hydrating Setting Mist" - Sets makeup and provides a luminous finish.

Lip Liner: "Precision Lip Liner" - Defines your lips and extends the wear of your lip color.

Lipstick or Lip Gloss: "Creamy Matte Lipstick" - Offers rich color and a velvety finish. "Glossy Lip Shine" - Adds a touch of shine and moisture.

Finishing Touch: "Blending Brush Duo" - Helps seamlessly blend and soften your makeup for a polished result.

Let me know if you guys want me to do a post with my personal product recommendations :)

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femmefatalevibe · 2 years

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Femme Fatale Playbook: How To Look More Expensive & Elevate Your Aura

Looking expensive or 'rich' is all about investing in yourself, your appearance, how you carry yourself, and not shying away from signature details or indulgences. Here are some tips to level up your look and demeanor to feel high-class in your daily life – no matter how much money you want to spend in these life arenas.

Appearance:

Prioritize Proper Grooming: Always looking clean and put-together is the ultimate sign of class. Shower daily. Brush, and take care of your teeth. Wash your hair on a regular schedule. Never allow your hair to look greasy – brush and blow dry it regularly. Cleanse, exfoliate, and moisturize every inch of your face and body. Perform your skincare routine religiously. Apply sunscreen daily.

Tailor & Steam Your Clothes: Freshly-pressed and well-fitting clothes always look infinitely more expensive – no matter their price point. Looking rich and expensive is about high self-regard and paying attention to the little details. Ensure your garments look crisp and clean – no wrinkles, pet hairs, loose threads, lint pieces, or fabric bulges highlighting an improper fit.

Create A Classic & Streamlined Capsule Wardrobe: Simplicity radiates a chic sophistication. Go back to the basics with timeless pieces – like a button-down blouse, a classic crewneck sweater, black trousers or straight-leg jeans, leather pants, a leather jacket, a trench or wool coat, a well-fitting cami or tee shirt, a simple slip dress, or a knit set. Focus on a neutral color palette – black, champagne, dark grey, chocolate brown, camel, or crisp white shades. Seek out elevated fabrics – such as Pima cotton, cashmere, washable silk, and buttery vegan or recycled leather.

Invest In Signature Pieces: Spend on "outer shell' items – coats, jackets, heavyweight knits, handbags, and shoes – that directly interact with the outside world and can be worn repeatedly with almost every outfit. Save on items like tee shirts or more simple jewelry pieces that can be found for less while still being fairly high-quality. I recommend Everlane, Lilysilk, and Naadam for affordable basics (Frankie Shop, Skims, and Norma Kamali for moderately priced pieces) and Catbird and Oma The Label for well-priced accessories. Here are all the everyday essentials you need to build the ultimate Femme Fatale Wardrobe.

Simplify Your Beauty Routine: Fresh, clear, and glowy skin radiates rich girl energy. A well-curated skincare routine should do half the heavy lifting. However, you will probably want to include a shade-matched foundation, concealer, and powder into your makeup routine along with a bronze contour, a rosy blush, and a subtle highlighter. Shape and fill in your brows for a polished look. Apply a deep black mascara to your lashes and luscious black eyeliner to your top lid, waterline, and tight line – keep the strokes thin and crisp (create a subtle wing if desired). Finish your face with a deep pink nude, red, or deep wine lipstick/gloss/lip tint. Here's a guide to the ultimate Femme Fatale Beauty Routine for a completely elevated (and sensual) look.

Eat Healthfully & Workout: Health is wealth. Taking care of your body shows self-respect – your most priceless asset. So, incorporate whole, plant-based foods into your daily diet and make it a priority to find movement you love that you can incorporate into your routine multiple times a week.

Lifestyle:

Streamline The Details: The rich girl aesthetic is all about refinement and looking put together at all times. Always have a set of matching pens with coordinating notepads on your desk, a uniform set of coffee mugs on the counter, coasters, glassware, sheets, pillowcases, cold-weather accessories, etc. This attention to detail instant makes your environment look more expensive.

Have Personalized Stationery: A high-value woman isn't shy about leaving her signature touch. Have personalized stationery (thank you notes, greeting cards, business cards, etc.) monogrammed and on hand for anytime you need to send a note or gift to a friend, coworker, boss, client, etc. This addition shows your attention to detail, leaves the recipient something small to remember you by, and adds a human touch to any gift or gesture. Try gold lettering on cream cards for an elegant, expensive look.

Keep Prosecco & Sparkling Water On Hand: Bubbly on a budget feels just as expensive as champagne (and tastes great too). Sparkling water elevates your daily H20 – add some lemon, lime, orange wedges, or frozen berries for a fancy, fruity twist.

Have Proper Place Settings: Neat, thoughtful presentation exudes class and rich energy. Whenever hosting any type of sit-down event or cocktail party, have the plates stacked, glasses and cutlery arranged correctly. Have all of the appropriate utensils readily available. Again, it's all about the details.

Stay Informed & Well-Read: A thirst for knowledge, learning and having the ability to engage in thoughtful, informed, and intellectual imbues a high-class radiance into any room. Read books, learn about different cultures and current events, and invest in studying different industries, and interests. Explore your hobbies. A rich mindset translates and generates an overall elevated aura.

Demeanor:

Learn Proper Etiquette: Address people by name, and offer a firm handshake. Maintain eye contact. Say "please" and "thank you." RSVP promptly. Communicate clearly and compassionately.

Maintain Good Posture: Shoulders back and relaxed. Open your chest. Keep your back straight and your head held high. Take up space. Command presence.

Master The Art of Engaging Conversation: Prioritizing self-presentation, learning how to listen, holding your own, and encouraging others to feel relaxed are the secrets to becoming magnetic in any social situation. Read more of my tips HERE.

Embrace An Abundant Mindset: Free your mind of limiting beliefs and notions of scarcity. There are plenty of opportunities, experiences, and emotions to go around. Another person's success doesn't take away from your potential. Focus on expansion, not envy.

Remain Confident & Unbothered: Believe in yourself. Invest in your well-being. Prioritize your goals and block out the noise from anyone trying to tear you down or criticize you for your ambition, goals, or desires. Stay in your own lane. Allow others to do the same. This is how you level up to elevate into your queen energy to create a rich life and design your dream reality.

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fatallyfalling · 4 months

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Bitter Water 0.02 ~ ♆

“ I’d rather choose death than a life with blood on my hands.“

warnings: typical Hunger Games violence/trauma/themes, language, blood, injury, insinuation of forced prostitution, enemies to lovers, slow burn, Finnick is a bit of an ass, thoughts/mention of death, nightmares, etc

{{ word count }} 3.6 k

{{ prompt }} The train ride to the Capital is underway, tensions run high as anticipation for the Games increases. A certain peacock continues to test your temper and self-restraint as well.

{{ a/n }} I promise Finnick gets more than one line this time and there’s more talking than exposition :”) Finnick also leans pretty heavily into his “golden rich boy” attitude when interacting with reader. They very obviously dislike one another haha but anyhoo, Mags communicates through hands gestures and writing with few whispered words here and there ><; Enjoy!!

Mags kindly showed you to your personal room once you no longer felt as if you were suffocating and could stand. Your mentor was endearing, if not doting, though she hadn’t said two words during your ordeal. You didn’t mind. You probably would’ve been unable to say anything coherent, you realize, giving a weak, raspy thanks before she left. The door slides closed with an industrial “Click”. An exhausted sigh slips from your lips as the aftermath of your episode weighs down.

You hadn’t experienced an episode that fierce in a long while. A couple months at least. The white-hot throbbing from the wound at your temple is worse than ever. The dried blood caked to the side of your face itches.

After a moment or two of leaning against the cool metal, catching your breath, you manage a turn and take in your room. It’s not nearly as extravagant as the dining car or sitting room, allowing a sign of personal relief. Everything was a rather gloomy palette of neutral grays with accents of that deeply stained wood again. The room is small considering the size restraint of the train cars. Only a twin-size bed and side table occupy the space, a small wardrobe is built into the wall, and a narrow door you can assume leads to a barebones washroom.

Your knees nearly give out beneath you as you barely kick off your boots and stagger into the small connecting space. Trembling hands fumble to find the sink but quickly grip the cold onyx porcelain. Another shaky inhale goes in and out through your nose before you dare to peer in the silver mirror.

You looked like shit - to say the least.

Flyaways of hair had come down across your forehead again, not to mention the small cut above your right temple, already turning a gnarly mixture of purple and red. Blood was caked down your cheek, movements of muscle under your skin causing the crimson streaks to crack and flake off. Your sage-colored ensemble had drops of blood around the collar, along with newly formed creases and dust smears from hitting the concrete in the auditorium. There was even a rip at the hemming from your fall.

You didn’t want to know what your aching knees or bloodied hands looked like.

The icy running water felt like heaven on your burning skin. You work quickly to remove the blood as best you can, albeit traces remain in the nitty gritty gaps beneath your fingernails. You tried to remove the blood from your collar, but there was still a faded red tinge mixing with the green as you gave up on trying. Your knees were scraped but not as bad as your temple. The soap smelled nice, at least - like roses.

Back then, the smell didn’t make you want to vomit like it did now.

You didn’t leave the small washroom for a while, leaning against the closed door while slowly sliding to the ground and curling in a heap on the tiled floor. The room fell silent at the absence of running water and your occasional frustrated grunt. All that was left was the muffled hum of the moving train and the occasional mechanical whistle or whirring of the industrial beast that held you captive. You tried to focus you’re breathing.

Deep breath in, hold for three.

Deep breath out, hold for four.

Repeat.

You repeated the exercise till you no longer felt like screaming or throwing something. If you stepped out of line violently, it would immediately fall back to your family. You couldn’t allow that. You’d rather be in front and take the brunt of whatever punishment the Capital deemed fit than put those horrors on them. You had to keep going.

You had to survive.

But how? You didn’t know much about physical combat besides a few things your father had taught you for self-defense. Knowing your way around a body of water wouldn’t even matter if there was none in the arena. Your skill set focused more on your wit, knowledge of certain herbs, determining edible water life, mending sails or nets, and ensuring two rowdy toddlers ate their vegetables.

Maybe you could make it by hiding and outlasting, but that felt like a coward's way out. The chances of surviving that way were slim to none. Your only other option was to fight, but the thought made you nauseated all over again. Hiding it was, then. You could only hope there was something useful in the ugly maw of death that awaited during the Games.

You didn’t leave your quarters the rest of that evening.

You eventually managed to crawl out of the washroom and onto the plush bed outside. You all but sunk into the feather-stuffed mattress and the soft blankets, but it felt wrong. The way your throbbing head melded to the pillow felt too clean. Everything felt too sterile, and you were sullying that cleanliness with your “District filth”. But a part of you didn’t care. If you were to die in the coming weeks, why not leave your mark- your stain.

Why not rub a bit of beach sand and salty seawater into every crevice of this damn place?

If you had to perform for the Capital, be their prize-winning salmon, then so be it. You’ll perish out of pure spite if you have to. But you wouldn’t go down without a fight. That bitter promise burned through the thrumming in your temple.

You will not die.

Your sleep was fitful. Honestly, you couldn’t decide whether to consider the night you had a form of sleep at all. No matter how inviting the plush materials of the bed were, you didn’t catch a wink. Flashes of your twin siblings and your father suffering as a consequence of your shortcomings plagued your mind in too vivid horrors. There were a few instances when your eyes shot open with a scream tearing from your throat. At one point or another, you couldn’t stand the bed any longer and locked yourself in the tiny washroom for the rest of the night.

There weren’t any windows, so you kept the lights on, although dimmed for ease on your bloodshot eyes. You cowered in a corner behind the glass shower door, staring blankly ahead. The water from the overhead faucet felt like pinpricks of ice. You were drenched to the bone, your clothes weighing heavy, and the skin on the pads of your fingers had shriveled from the water. You were trembling terribly, but the frigid water was calming. You always found water grounding. Running to the sea on your breaks from the shipyard, wading ankle-deep in the sea foam, and digging your toes in the wet sand. Some mornings, you’d sneak out. Making the long trek to the short cliffs to dive from for a brisk morning plunge. It felt like freedom to be in the water.

It felt like home.

But the water didn’t feel like home right now. The ice-cold downpour of the shower only reminded you that you were still breathing, still alive. The water rooted you to your huddled place on the slick tile, solidifying your grip on reality and the fact you weren’t anywhere near the sea and you weren’t anywhere near your home anymore. You may never see District 4 or the ocean again. Hot, salty tears mixed with frigid water in an oddly satisfying combination down your cheeks. The tears were silent as they streamed.

You weren’t sure how long you sat under the water, but the sudden, aggressive banging on the washroom door registering in your thoughts was a perfect reality check. Scrambling in surprise, you managed to shut off the shower head, slide the glass door open, and make contact with the sliding door handle. All while only slipping once on the wet tile.

Your name was cut off mid-shout as you shoved the door open to stare into bewildered sea-green eyes. Water was already pooling at your feet and dripped onto the originator of all the yelling. The boy had changed his clothes, opting for an ivory tunic, slim-fitted brown pants, and matching brown boots. The look on his face made him an open book as his eyes roved over your soaked form. A smug expression contorts into his features, making his dimples stand proud and a crinkle forming at the corners of his eyes.

“Why are you all wet?”

“None of your business.” You state bluntly before trying to close the door in his face. Your attempt is in vain, however, as Finnick moves to block the opening with his arm and shoves the door back open. “It is when I’ve been out here, knocking, for thirty minutes. I think I’m owed some kind of explanation, at least.” He huffs, crossing his arms over his chest while his boot moves to keep the door open.

“I don’t spill secrets to pretty Capital Peacocks.” You seethe, venom lacing your tone as you throw a pointed glare toward the boy.

“Aw, you think I’m pretty? Go on,~” Finnick all but purrs. You inhale sharply through your nose as you debate if slapping that stupid cheshire smirk off his face is worth it. His pointed, too-white teeth glint in the dim light, and your eye twitches. “Just leave me alone.” You scoff, shoving past the boy and stalking toward your bed. Water trails after you in puddles on the floor. A damp handprint clings to his clothed chest where contact was made, but you don’t notice as your face plants onto the plush blankets below.

“I was sent to get you up, you know. I’m not just here for kicks. Besides, you already missed lunch.” Finnick drawls, an irritation threading through his voice as he tilts his head at your face-down body. “Go away.” You groan. Your voice is muffled, but you don’t bother to move as the bedding grows damp beneath you. “I can’t leave until you get up.” The victor scoffs. You hear footsteps and the sound of a drawer being pulled before multiple pieces of fabric are thrown at your head. Your face snaps up at the assault, glaring hotly at the bronze-haired boy. “What are you doing?” You seethe, earning an eye roll as a response. “Change.” Finnick orders. You simply burn holes into his skull for a minute before he rolls his eyes again and turns away to face a wall. With a few incoherently grumbled profanities, you swipe the clothes and pad back to the washroom.

The articles of clothing thrown were a simple navy blue long sleeve and inky loose fitted bottoms. There was a pair of black crew socks as well. Slowly, you strip the waterlogged ensemble from your body, your shivering only worsening as the cold air kisses your skin. You quickly towel yourself off before slipping the fresh clothing on. The pants are lightweight linen with a drawstring, allowing easy adjustment, and the top is a soft stretch cotton that hugs your torso and arms.

Upon emerging from the washroom, you spot the Capital’s Darling still facing the wall. “You didn’t have to stay like that.” You quip, tucking damp strands of hair behind your ears before hugging your arms around yourself. The room was still cold. “With that glare of yours? I started to wonder if the Games would start early~” Finnick teases, a smug expression still capturing his tanned features as he turns.

“You’re insufferable Odair,”

“Hm, I’d like to think of myself as…charming~” The amused lilt in the Darling’s voice has your eyes narrowing again and blood simmering. “Uh-huh, keep telling yourself that.” You murmur, hugging yourself tighter as a shiver runs through you. “Word of advice? Catching a cold won’t do you any good in the arena.” Finnick drawls, his head cocking to the side while quirking a brow. Your glare turns to daggers, and the boy raises his hands as if to surrender.

“Just saying,”

“I don’t need your advice,” You snap back, not appreciating his teasing in the slightest. “I wasn’t trying to get sick. The water helps...” You offer an explanation enough. There’s a falter in Finnick’s demeanor at your words. Maybe it was the flicker of a crease between his brows, the sudden deep inhale he took, or the tightness that appeared in his shoulders, but you immediately take note of the change. It felt like peeking behind a screen, but as quickly as it appeared, it vanished, Golden Boy charm snapping back into place.

“Let’s go, they’ve waited long enough.”

You follow the bronze-haired boy back through the hallways of the moving train to the dining car. Everyone is already seated as you arrive, causing your ears to turn red in slight embarrassment. You quietly slip into your seat beside your District partner with Finnick across from you again, and Thatcher clears his throat, “Nice of you to finally join us.” the escort’s tone is filled with irritation, but you simply keep your eyes trained on your hands folded in your lap. There are scabs on your palms from yesterday, and traces of dried blood still hide in the crevices of your nail beds.

“This evening, we shall arrive in the Capital. As I so graciously explained yesterday, we’ll have to move swiftly. Once we step off into the station, our wonderful Tributes and their respective mentors shall be whisked away by their stylists in preparation for the opening ceremonies and Tribute parade,” Thatcher’s voice strains on the word “wonderful” and you feel your blood simmering again at the sarcastic remark. They explain minor details concerning the parade procession and more miscellaneous rules and expectations for the Tributes. Your brain feels less like mush today, thankfully. But your ears don’t tune into the spiel,till they mention the victor sitting across from you.

“Mr. Odair, our dear Capital’s Sweetheart, will be departing from us the remainder of your stay in the Capital due to having business elsewhere in the city.”

“As long as he’s not bothering me, that sounds great,” You quip internally with a flickering glance across the table. Finnick shifts in his seat, only his eyes glance at Mags. The mentor’s facial expression doesn’t reveal anything. But her eyes glint with something like worry. “Odd…” You think before averting your gaze back to the lecturing escort. “There will be lots of cameras once we arrive, so I suggest you all look your best. At least one of you has cleaned up already,” Thatcher mentions with eyes peering at you in an up-and-down motion. It’s your district partner’s turn to shift in their seat now. You merely roll your eyes and look back down to your hands.

The escort continues their lecture for a few more minutes before suggesting, “We should leave our tributes to discuss strategy with their mentors. Come with me, Mr. Odair. We have details to discuss of our own.” with that, Mags reaches out and gives a squeeze to Finnick’s hand, a small smile on her lips and in turn receiving a tight-lipped smile from the boy as he stands and leaves the dining car to follow Thatcher.

Once the two are gone, your gaze falls to Mags, who motions with a gesture of her thin hands to follow her. Your district partner and their mentor have already begun discussing in harsh whispers, leaving you to suppose there’s no room for alliance. Standing, you quietly pad after the elderly woman into a sitting room you partially recognize from yesterday.

You take places across from one another in the deep, royal blue velvet armchairs without a word. An inkling of awkwardness whispers through you, but part of you can’t help feeling calm around the mentor. Mags offers you a small but sweet smile, giving a few hand gestures you chalk up to asking how you’re doing. “Not well…I didn’t sleep…” You frown, and your mentor gives a sympathetic expression in return. She understands as she leans forward to place a hand on your knee. You manage a meek smile before continuing the conversation.

“I’m terrified, honestly…I-I don’t know the first thing about fighting. I don’t know if I could even stomach hurting, let alone kill another person… but I can’t die. I-I have to get back to my family.” Your eyes are pleading as you wring your hands together out of anxiety. “And I know hiding isn’t the best option, but it might be easier than fighting…” You continue to vent between rambling off apologies for said venting, but Mags doesn’t stop you. Your mentor sits patiently and listens. That sweet, caring expression and comfort in her eyes never leave. She knows you’re scared. She’s been a mentor for numerous years, and she’s done this every year since her victory in the 11th Hunger Games. She understands your concerns better than anyone could.

Once all your emotions and fears are laid on the table, you manage to list off your skills. Mags takes notes on everything in a small notepad she found in a side table drawer. She gives a few hand gestures to insist she’s listening as she writes in a small, curvy font.

Net weaving (hunting & gathering)

Sewing/Sail mending (could be good for stitches if necessary)

Minimal herb/Root knowledge (gathering)

Swimming

Able to lift/pull/push own body weight

Nimble/good climber

Swift runner

Basic self defense combat

Knowledge of edible water-life (hunting & gathering)

Good witrh a knife

The two of you spend the next couple of hours defining uses for the skills you already have and figuring out how to amplify your strongest ones. You mostly spoke while Mags listened, but occasionally, she’d murmur a short, barely audible response. Otherwise, everything was conveyed in hand gestures or writing. You found a good technique for understanding each other. She even taught you a few hand signals of your own to utilize. You started to feel like you might have a chance of at least not dying immediately during the initial “bloodbath” in the arena.

“Thank you… for being kind to me..”

You start after a beat of quiet. Your mentor gives that sweet smile again as she moves to wrap her arms around you in a gentle but warm embrace. That feeling of safety washes through you again, and hesitantly, you return the embrace before you separate.

The sky has started to dim from bright blues to soft oranges and pinks with hints of purple. An announcement is made for the evening meal. It was quite a lovely sight, but you still preferred the sunsets you saw while sitting on the summits of rocky cliffs back on the coast of District 4. This was just another ghostly reminder of home. You let Mags lead you back to the dining car. There’s light conversation instead of silence this time. It feels nice to be able to talk with and trust someone. Even though the circumstances of your meeting were rather grim.

Thatcher gives another lecture between phlegmy coughs throughout the meal. You are uninterested in the food, opting to poke your fork around your plate. Fearing you might be sick by the familiar anxious knots twisting in your stomach the closer you got to the Capital. There were more tunnels as the train sped towards the city. You weren’t a fan of the flashing lights. During one of the longer tunnels, you find yourself shrinking back into your chair from the shadows.

“Scared of the dark?~”

Finnick drawls from across the table. His bronze waves are backlit by the flashing tunnel lights causing his pointed, too-white teeth to all but shine under the lights as his lips pull back in that stupid cocky smirk of his. Your ears burn red as the other table members turn to view the interaction. “No, I don’t like being confined,” You snap back, crossing your arms over your chest and squaring your shoulders back in your seat as light floods the car upon exiting the tunnel. “You say that, but you’re about to be trapped in an arena to fight till only one of you is left alive for the entertainment of all of Panem,” Finnick quips, cocking his head to the side as his smirk gets wider. “ Sounds pretty confining if you ask me,” You know he’s instigating. Picking a fight to see how you’ll react and if you’re all bark and no bite. The problem is, you do bite.

“At least I’m not confined to a Capital that favors pretty Peacocks for killing innocent children.” The viciousness you usually keep on a tight, tight leash lashes out and snaps. And you don’t care to try and stop it.

“I’d rather choose death than a life with blood on my hands.”

Your venom hangs heavy in the air as you glare at one another. Mags is trying to gesture and de-escalate the situation, but you place your hands flat on the table and stand, pushing your chair back.

“I think I’ve lost my appetite.”

With that, you turn and storm back to your quarters with heavy footsteps. Barely hearing Thatcher's snide comment on your “Blasphemous outburst.”

That claim was the last thing you said to the 65th Victor as you hoped you’d never see his face again.

@emerald-09 @reader-bookling123 @finnickodaddy @thehairington86 @darlingsoulbeautifulthoughts @avoxrising @meri-soni-meri-tamanna @whens-naptime

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nkukuforcolorpalettes · 1 year

Photo

Little Rooster

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blackberry-s0da · 3 months

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Gonna make a big post to try to answer this.

My characters are inspired by lots of thing things (and lots of artists), Machete wasn’t an inspiration in particular to be honest, it’s a fully fleshed character with a specific white-black-red aesthetic, catholic imagery, blood, violence, hate, guilt and by the latest posts, love too. Mercy barely has a name for now, I haven’t been able yet to make a story, place him in a specific historical context or do as much as design his clothes.

Regarding physical similarities I actually took most of the poses and general vibes for Mercy from paintings depicting naked women (mainly form renaissance) as i liked how soft and peaceful they looked;

(Machete lives on that time period if I’m not wrong so there’s also that. Mercy doesn’t have a spot in any timeline yet, but I’ve depicted him in modern clothes once and I think I’ll eventually place him in a modern setting)

Another inspiration was actually the artist Babezord, specifically for Mercy’s color palette and face pattern as seen in the image below. Many characters count with this mask like pattern and I’ve always loved it;

(funnily enough on this character it is an actual mask)

The similarities on style are due a few factors: I learned to draw dogs mostly from Canisalbus, I’ve been following their work since I was around 13 or 14 I believe? Maybe earlier, and I learned a lot of things from them for the most part. On top of that I also love sighthounds and mostly draw that type of dogs as I’ve been having them as pets since childhood and always found them very pretty. I currently have two greyhounds.

Another artist I’ve leaned from are Lilaira, putrid.hound, canisinfernalis and mischievousdog, amongst others so shoutout to them too.

I believe that Canisalbus characters are more stylized and fancy looking, they’re more lean and lanky for the most part, their hands are small and delicate, characters are very expressive and culturally rich, the clothing and pieces of background are beautifully detailed, their pieces usually tell a story, Mercy in the other hand was recently picked up from a mental trashcan I had him on as he’s my oldest and probably less used oc (he used to be a she but I decided to keep the name, that’s as much as he has for now, besides two scraped background stories). I designed them when I was a teen for lots of vent art and didn’t like how he looked (plus the negativeness I attached him to) so he’s been pretty much abandoned until September of 2023 when I redesigned them. Also gotta add that, while he isn’t a self insert he’s been used for the most part to reflect things about me and how I feel at the moment.

I believe my art is similar in many aspects to the one of Canisalbus, but not remotely close to being as amazing as theirs, I wouldn’t say were identical but I do take inspiration on them, amongst other artists.

#I actually drew a few of their ocs for my two participations on ArtFight #and sent a piece of one of their ocs to them a while ago but I deleted that post #it is flattering to be compared to them but also I’d hate if my art was too similar. I know they’re ok with inspiration based stuff #but I believe I have my own style as well. plus it would feel awful if all this learning ended up looking like plagiarism #ask

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murfpersonalblog · 9 months

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Thanks for tagging me @little-desi-historian! ❤️

YES, all of this takes me back to something I wanted to touch a lot more on in my original post when it comes to the historical male image, Percy, Lestat, and Matadors; because it truly does link back to how AMC is playing with dandyism and society's expectations about effeminate men.

Dandyism is a form of resistance culture. As I've said before, Lestat flouts gender norms because HE CAN do whatever he wants & get away with it. His androgyny's on a different level: effeminate or masculine, he's still a vampire, a SUPERnatural creature elevated beyond the bounds of social mores that determine what men & women could or SHOULD act/dress like. MANY people across social media have pointed to Lestat's limp wrists, long blonde "Barbie" hair and ESPECIALLY him dressing in drag in Ep7 as proof that he's the "wife/mother/woman/femme fatale" in Lousta's relationship, and THEN claim its either gender essentialism or homophobic/racist to say Louis is CANONICALLY female-coded one in BOTH the books and show (as AR said so). But no, Lestat in drag was a power move, because he doesn't care what anyone thinks/says/does--he'll just eat them. Mockingly eating the baby in a dress was a deliberate bastardization of motherhood/womanhood. Louis is called every homophobic name in the book by those expecting the black man to just take being insulted, but MARQUIS de Lioncourt DEMANDS being crowned KING of Mardi Gras, Krewe of Raj, & he'll show you exactly what he thinks about your silly homophobic hypocritical human society: You're just "the MEAT," let them eat KING Cake--you're his FOOD. Eff y'all, I'm dressed to KILL you, & laugh doing it.

Lestat's behavior is not only derived from the time period he was born & raised in (the Rococo era of so-called "effeminate" high class dandies--a la Percy Blakeney, etc). Lestat is the embodiment of PRIVILEGE: a powerful rich white male vampire, who leans into being foreign/French White to excuse anything he does that people find strange/off/unnatural/dangerous--all the red flags. 🚩🚩🚩

And red flags brings me directly back to matadors/toreros.

@toscrollperchancetomeme

😂 TYSM! Sam Reid dropped so many juicy deets; I couldn't resist! There's so much depth to the Matador outfit, beyond the gendered aspect of bullfighting that I discussed before. Let's go back to what Sam said about Lestat, and delve deeper into matadors:

The most iconic apparel worn by toreros ("bullfighters") / matador de toros ("killer of bulls") in Spanish bullfighting is the Traje de Luces, the "Suit of Lights." The colors are usually bright & vivid, as part of the showmanship & pizzazz. Darker palettes are less common, as shiny sequins (the luces/lights) became part of the standard fit.

However, Lestat's all-black Matador outfit from what Sam called the "villain sequence" in Ep5 seems to be loosely following the style of a different but very closely related outfit, the Traje Campero "Rural/Countryside Suit" aka Traje Corto ("Short Suit").

(These costumes are typically worn during ceremonial parades and a very specific festival I'll get back to in a moment, cuz it's important.) Unlike the Suit of Light's sequins & silk, the Rural Suit is made of suede, leather, or velvet, in dark muted colors. The pants can be light or dark, striped & patterned, with or without chaps (also found in gentleman's uniforms of military officers and cowboys).

The trajes originated from "the flamboyant costumes of the 18th-century dandies and showmen involved in bullfighting, which later became exclusive to the bullfighting ritual." (Wikipedia)

The ancestor of both trajes (luces/campero) is traditional 17th-19th century Andalusian clothing (Andalusia being the home of Spanish bullfighting), closely associated with a very particular type of masculine dandyism. (The campero/corto is also the costume worn by Andalusian male flamenco dancers.)

"Before the 17th century the profession of bullfighting did not exist as such, and the fighters did not wear luxurious & shiny trajes de luces, but instead normal clothes of the time according to the social class to which the bullfighter belonged. The first bullfighter trajes de toreros appeared in the 17th century, when professional bullfighters from Navarre & Andalusia wore characteristic garments with their gangs to participate in performances and thus differentiate themselves from other bullfighter bands." (translated/truncated from Spanish website)

In the mid-1700s, Francisco Romero revolutionized professional bullfighting by establishing the first matadors who fought on foot, heroically fighting the bull face to face with swords & the muleta (iconic red flag) in a dance-like performance, dressed in a suede/velvet coleto (jacket), a precursor to the traje campero. Romero (from a carpenter family) wanted to show off & stand out from the nobility, and changed the game entirely, through a form of social resistance-turned-innovation.

"At that time, bullfighting on horseback was more important, which was considered a sport and not a show. Bullfighting on foot was not yet widely recognized." (translated from Spanish website)

Bull-killing on horseback was practiced by Spanish noblemen, attended by lower class assistants on foot. Romero was the first to make on-foot matadors the stars of what was increasingly becoming a dandified show/performance/dance. Matador Joaquin "Costillares" Rodríguez introduced even more showmanship, competing against Francisco Romero's grandson Pedro Romero (famously painted by Goya--bottom right).

For his matches, Costillares (middle) dressed in flashy silks, threaded in shiny silver braiding; the precursor to modern traje de luces. Like Francisco Romero (left), Costillares wanted to show off & stand out; and revolutionized the male image of the bullfighter through clothes.

In 18th-19th century Andalusian Spain there were 2 types of dandy: the French-imported upperclass petimetre (effeminate dandy), and the indigenous working class majo (masculine/macho dandy).

Noyes, Dorothy. “La Maja Vestida: Dress as Resistance to Enlightenment in Late-18th-Century Madrid.” The Journal of American Folklore 111, no. 440 (1998): 197–217. https://www.jstor.org/stable/541941

The majo, like many dandies, became the peak of Andalusian fashion, across all social classes; and torero/matador outfits weren't the only ones to take cues from them:

18th-19th century majos "distinguished themselves by their elaborate outfits and sense of style in dress and manners, as well as by their cheeky behavior. The majos outfits were exaggerations of traditional Spanish dress. The style stood in strong contrast to the French styles affected by many of the Spanish elite under the influence of the Enlightenment. Majos were known to pick fights with those they saw as afrancesados ("Frenchified" – fops)." (Wikipedia)

The majos' flamboyant/cheeky/saucy/exaggerated behavior was aggressively masculine; a lower/working class resistance to social mores imposed on them by (foreign) elites, whom they saw as more feminine, and FOUGHT against, to reaffirm their masculinity. These dandies were violent, brazen non-conformists; as beautiful & stylish as they were dangerous. And matadors/toreros knew that the bullfight was the perfect arena to exemplify the spirit of the majos through the dandified performance art/sport of killing bulls--a universal cultural symbol of masculine prowess & strength. Spanish bullfighting used to belong solely to the aristocratic equestrian sphere. Lowly pages/assistants like Francisco Romero (dressed in the precursor to the Rural/Countryside Suit), were the first to buck the system by killing bulls on foot--he likely didn't own a horse. The Romeros were from a carpenter family. Costillares was the son of a butcher. But through bullfighting they gained social status and became icons of masculinity--and dandies.

Lestat--the nouveau riche son of a poor country marquis--insists on being all the beautiful things he is without apology: masculine & effeminate alike. But like I said, it was no coincidence that Carol likened Lestat's Ep5 villain outfit with matadors--he's fighting Louis for dominance in their household, and reaffirming his place at the top of their very gendered social hierarchy, as a warning to BOTH "the housewife" AND "the prodigal daughter" he feels are threatening his authority as their Maker, so he defeats them BOTH.

Carol Cutshall initially designed Lestat's matador pants as pajamas--loungewear. (Lestat's CASUAL & comfortable in his ability to KILL--matador means "Killer" in Spanish--and remember what I said about Louis & Claudia being put on the same parallel level in Ep5, when Claudia's attacked by "Killer" aka Bruce.) Sam said Carol made several versions of the pants; and yup, they're foreshadowed in Ep5 when Lestat first starts arguing about Louis' depression, then they pop up again in Ep7 during the Murder Plot--two instances @dwreader brilliantly linked Lestat (& Stanley Kowalski) wearing wifebeaters. (Listen, Carol, I just wanna talk.... 😅🔫)

And here's my last points about Lestat's matador outfit. First there's the irony of Lestat (who grew up poor in rural France) wearing the something very similar to the matador/torero's Rural Suit, traje campero (aka Short Suit (traje corto)). But what's more interesting is that that type of Short/Rural Suit is usually only worn during special festivals called the Tienta ("trials"), not the regular corrida ("bullfights").

These Tienta are trials for young and immature bulls to be tested in the ring, to see if they're fit for breeding/fighting. 🤯 FLEDGLINGS. And who's Lestat's young bull? "Built-like-a-bird" Claudia. Who's the immature bull? The "biggest rat eater of them all," the under-developed "botched" vampire Louis. During these trials, veteran matadors can show off their skills; and novice bullfighters are shown the ropes and prove themselves. Like I said: the matador wins again.

God, even the way Lestat dragged Louis' bloody body out of the courtyard by the jaw/neck resembles the way the defeated bull--bled out & stabbed in the neck--is dragged by the neck out of the ring.

And remember what I said about Lestat and FOOD. Cuz what happens to the bulls after the matadors kill them? They're sent to the slaughterhouse to be butchered for FOOD. People EAT the bulls.

So yeah, my whole point in this post and my first one is not to sleep on guys like Lestat, Percy--or even other famous dandies like Valmont from Dangerous Liasions/Cruel Intentions (mentioned by both @little-desi-historian and @dwreader)--just because they're effeminate--especially when they're emulating mannerisms from a time period where the model of what made a fashionable gentlemen/good breeding/elite society did NOT match modern expectations about gender. People are getting distracted by Lestat's yaasified manner, not what the show itself is signalling through the relationships he has with others.

This show is deliberately painting Lestat as a villain through Louis' & Claudia's perspectives, as they were the ones who suffered under his Reign of Terror. The symbolism behind the matador-inspired costume used in Ep5 reflected gendered social hierarchies embedded within bullfighting culture (in Spain, women only started being allowed to fight in the 19th-20th centuries). Dressed in clothes resembling that of a matador, Lestat beating & defeating Louis mirrored the defeat of the emasculated bull, and the reification of the victor's masculine prowess at the top of the foodchain.

#the vampire lestat #lestat de lioncourt #male fashion #fashion history #gender inequality #read a dang history book #operation matador #iwtv tvc metas

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