swirl skirt

*Logs on to tumblr
*Throws an attempt at a Taako design at the internet.
*Shrugs and runs away

Art blog

I was rereading The Lynburn Legacy last week and I kept noticing all of Kami’s descriptions of her clothes… All of these are (at least partly) described in the books. ft. Jared’s jacket. separate images on my art blogsociety6 

(also partly inspired by walkingnorth‘s fashionable fictional character thing :))

pavarti - saffron, sunkissed smiles, running barefoot along dusty pavements. skylines bleeding, hot temperatures, curtains blowing in the wind, the sound fire makes. faceless noise, dark purples and warm oranges. messy hair, bare faces, sudden embraces, dulled singing, passion fruit

lavender - water lilies, water against concrete, leaves blowing across the footpath. silver jewellery, shades of light pinks and purples, the way silk feels, furs. the first dusting of snow, smoke billowing, naked trees, rain running, idle chattering, a bird in flight.

hermione - thyme, earrings swinging, the first flowers of summer. dusty libraries, lit candles, gondolas, early mornings, flipping through a book. shades of dark greens and browns, long skirts swirling, flower crowns, red roses. empty art galleries, the flutter of a butterfly.

—  the girls of harry potter, part two. 1 3 4 5

Based on this fantastic piece of art by radio-silents. Thank you for giving me permission to write this short piece about your work!!

He had cried when he first looked in the mirror, eyes glued to the cream-colored swirl of the skirt that sat gently on his waist. She almost couldn’t bear to look, a hand covering her face, trying to contain the overflow. This wasn’t like him; but, then again, she had never dared to do anything like this before.

At the young age of nineteen, Kageyama Tobio had bought their first skirt, and the swish of fabric felt like liberation.

Perhaps, he thought, this had been a long time coming. From childhood memories of stealing her cousin’s cotton dresses (though never for very long, despite his whining) to high school when Yachi and Kyoko-san were kind enough to teach him about makeup basics at the tender age of fifteen after he accidentally spilled his long-kept secret. It had all been a journey climbing toward this very moment when they could look into a smudged dressing room mirror and feel right for once.

At the young age of nineteen, Kageyama Tobio found bliss in loose pastel fabrics and delicately sewn flowers.

They grabbed the hem of their shirt, quickly tying it into a loose knot over their midriff and looking back into the mirror. The hand came up again over the apples of her cheeks because she didn’t trust herself enough to stop the tears, however joyful they were. His eyeliner had taken at least five minutes to get right and he wasn’t about to re-do it over some poorly-timed waterworks.

At the young age of nineteen, Kageyama Tobio faced the mirror head-on, breathing a long-awaited “finally” and letting their hand fall into a field of lace flowers.

A/N: The use of differing pronouns throughout the piece is completely intentional.

anonymous asked:

good end

finale.

She could still remember the blood that flowed through a city, years after she had last lived in one. The hum of conversation, vehicles growling on the roads, all these noises were lessened to a dull murmur through the open window of the  apartment. Through that same window, Julia could just make out the neighbors across the street, one still pulling her suit together as the other woman trailed after her, still in her underwear, still trying to lure her buzzing companion into an unseen room with a plate of breakfast.

Neighbors, that was another thing she could remember, but had lost over the years. People, only a stone’s throw away, living their own lives. Julia was wholly free to observe, so long as she did not get caught, all the minutiae of their lives, however unsettling a thought that might be. There were a hundred little things to do in this city, apparently random acts of careful calculation, little insights to the lives of others.

Even the flutter of pigeons was a memory brought back to reality – There, there the tall bra and panty clad one went, taking careful hold of her well-dressed housemate’s jacket–

“You’ve really missed this, haven’t you?”

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You were born in lightening,

White-hot fire tearing your mother apart.

You were born in ashes and blood,

A fluttering heart left in the dust.

Scooped up by the hands of your father,

And hidden away to grow.

You were born in shadows and tender care,

Carried off to forests and caves.

You were raised in green places,

Suckled on nectar and wine.

You were raised in laughter and dance,

Watching the nymphs play their games.

You were raised by wild beasts,

Eating their meals bloody and raw.

You grew in perfumes and silks,

Hair braided and veiled.

You grew with rouge on your lips,

Smiling at all who would look.

You grew with wine on your tongue,

Wicked honesty cutting deep.

You grew with your eyes open,

Seeing what mortals saw.

You, Wild Lord,

Who pours wine and sings,

Who dances in a swirl of skirts,

Who rips apart beggars and kings.

Jean- fresh brewed coffee in the morning, light streaming through the windows, black and white of piano keys, dirt under your nails from gardening, Chanel No 5, red brick buildings, cotton sundresses, flames licking at the edge of your consciousness

Emma- galaxies visible on clear nights, lipstick residue on champagne flutes, black leather gloves, the chrome shine of new machinery, echo of your footsteps on marble floors, the lethally sharp collar of a business suit

Ororo- extended guitar solos, gold more heavy than beautiful, overgrown fields swaying in the wind, petrichor, the hum of a beehive, city skylines in the distance, skirts swirling as you dance into danger

Wanda- the static between radio stations, candles flickering, laundry fresh from the dryer, stairs creaking in an old house, sunglasses tangled in dark curls, cinnamon, flowers coming through the cracks in the sidewalk

(insp)

Fic: Once Upon A Time

Yesim dedicated this flawless artwork to me, and I got inspired. ~1200 words of fairy tale princes!Klaine at a ball, gratuitously fluffy, G.

“Prince Blaine Anderson of Tesni!”

Blaine walked down the staircase carefully before standing at the bottom in awe. The ballroom of Dalton’s grand palace was full of swirling skirts and burbling laughter, set off perfectly by the candelabras placed artfully around the periphery and the crystal chandeliers hanging overhead. It was the prettiest sight he had ever seen.

At least, until he turned to look at the guest behind him.

“Prince Kurt Hummel of Feray!”

Blaine had to consciously focus on his breathing as Prince Kurt made his entrance. The other man was stunning, all pale skin and upswept hair and long long legs. His tailored black suit and silver shirt recalled the moonlight his kingdom was named for and made him look impossibly regal. Blaine’s own white suit and sunflower yellow cape felt positively gaudy in comparison.

“Excuse me,” Prince Kurt said softly as he reached the end of the staircase. He reached out a hand to greet Blaine-

-and Blaine fled, panicking.

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Chapter 18 (05/02/1844)

Music accompanied the swirling of colourful skirts as Viktor participated in  quadrille. It was his daughter’s coming of age ball after all, and Serafina had made it very clear that Viktor was to take part of the festivities. Such occasions had never appealed to him, he could only imagine the easy smile that would be in on Daniel’s face at this very moment. The sparkle in his eyes as he looked upon the young woman Chessa had become. 

Viktor was fully aware he had stolen this moment from Daniel, along with several other memories, but he was still convinced he had done the right thing. After all from this distance he could see her smiling, her cheeks flushed from the steps of the dance with her partner just a little ways away from him, and she was safe. 

+ stellaxlucere +

                           "I believe this is a PRIVATE party, and you’re not invited.“

The swirl of skirts behind him is muffled as he shuts
the door, stepping out into the chilly night. The rest
of the town has shown up, yet he has made it clear
that he wants no WITCHES within his home. At least,
not yet. They would come to him when he called, and
not the other way around.

                                        "What issue would bother your mind so that you would
                                           dare go AGAINST me?”

The dress is short on purpose” + Klaroline for peachyforbes.

She has spectacular legs.

               Klaus had been born in a time when women kept themselves demurely covered, and he had to admit that he could admire the changes that had been made to women’s fashion since then.

               Particularly Caroline’s legs.

               She moved around, ordering people about, her yellow skirt swirling around her legs as she did so.  Ever since he had returned from New Orleans – his desire for a crown quickly killed in the wake of the mess of witches and baby vampires he would have had to deal with – they had been dancing around each other.  They weren’t quite friends, but certainly no longer enemies, and with Tyler having left her a Dear Jane voicemail – these wolves need me – she was truly a free woman for the first time in the history of their acquaintance.

               And now she didn’t quite seem to know what to do with that.

               Klaus knew what he would like to do with that.

               “Are you just here to make my decorating a spectator sport, or are you going to maybe actually help?” she demanded, coming to a halt in front of him, her hands on her hips.  His gaze darted to the hemline, falling several inches above her knees and showing off all that skin, and then gave her his most charming grin.

               “I wasn’t aware there was something you need assistance with.  I’m yours to command, Love.”

               For a moment he swore he saw heat flash in her eyes at his words – and did her eyes dart to his lips? – but then it was gone, and her determination was in its place once more.  Surely he had dreamt it.

               “Yeah, those boxes over there need to be moved to the stage, and certain weaklings” – her gaze shot to Matt Donovan, flirting with his sister by the bar – “claim they’re too heavy.”

               Klaus bowed his head, because why not work his way into her good graces when he had nothing better to do, and moving the boxes took just a few minutes, before he was free to admire her once more. He turned to find her, only to see her bending over a box, her dress riding higher, higher… and there was  a pair of boys ogling her, poking each other in the ribs, and Klaus felt rage rise in him.

               “You are no longer needed here,” he stated, clapping them on the shoulders and compelling them. “Leave.”

               “Klaus, you can’t just order the help to leave!” Caroline snapped, charging up to them.

               “Then perhaps you should keep yourself better covered!” he snarled right back, making her take a step back and narrow her eyes.

               “Oh, you so did not.  You old fossil, women don’t have to be covered from ankle to neck anymore.  It’s the twenty-first century.”

               “They were staring at you!”

               “So were you!”

               “Yes, well, I always stare at you.  I’m a stalker, remember?  And really, if you don’t want to be stared at, then maybe you shouldn’t wear… that?”

               He motioned at her dress, and she rolled her eyes and poked a finger into his chest.

               “I wear this because it looks good on me, and I never said I didn’t want to be stared at” – she leaned in, and Klaus swallowed, because at the angle he could now also see rather well down the neckline – “and the skirt is short on purpose, you damn jackass!”

               He blinked at that and watched her saunter away. Had she just… surely she hadn’t…

               “I’m quite positive that with a closing remark like that, she rather wants you to follow her,” Rebekah murmured from the bar, her voice somewhat exasperated.

               Klaus didn’t have to be told twice.

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Down for the Count - Chapter Two

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Wills grimaced at himself in the mirror as he adjusted his tie. He was pulling down his collar when he heard Posey yelling, “I’m not going and you can’t make me!”

Before he could get to the bathroom door, he heard his mum. “Fine! Don’t go. See if I care!” He opened the door to see her standing in the middle of the hallway. Her hands were resting on the top of her head and her eyes were closed. “You know what?” she continued. “None of you have to go. I’m leaving in twenty minutes. If you want to come, meet me downstairs.” Her skirt swirled around her knees as she turned around and stomped down the stairs. He caught Lucy’s eye as she stood in her bedroom doorway.

“It’s okay, Lu.”

“I don’t think it is,” she said softly and closed the door.

>< 

Anna stood on the steps of the church and watched as Clara and Odette talked with two young men. The girls had their mother’s grace and build and they seemed to attract admirers everywhere they went. Lucy hovered in their shadow.  Wills stood close by, talking with Tim and Jasper. They were practically cousins; they saw each other more than their blood relations.

“Do you ever wish you could keep them from getting any older?”

Anna looked over at the familiar voice. “Every day. Wills is debating a gap year or just enrolling at Cambridge this fall.”

Ben smiled wistfully. “Following in his father’s footsteps.”

“No,” Anna said a little more sharply than she had intended.

Ben looked confused for a moment and then smiled. “Right. He’s not going to be an actor.”

Anna nodded, glad for the reprieve. “Not an actor. He doesn’t know what he wants to be yet, but it’s never been an actor.”

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