#just like. they fashion clothes better made for surviving out of their dresses

[who-gives-af]

thought: a horror movie set in the victorian era where they have to survive through something like in the ritual or the blair witch project. may write something and see if it even seems good but like. idk the thought of a bunch of victorian women slugging their way through the wilderness and getting caught in some sort of supernatural thing they cannot and will not understand is truly doing it for me. also would def include wlw rep bc i said so

#victorian lesbians my beloved #just like. they fashion clothes better made for surviving out of their dresses #they have infighting but learn to grow closer through it #someone may die but also idk #remains to be seen #also kinda like the idea of a midsommar-esque ending but instead of only one surviving they all decide #to join the community that worships the supernatural being #and that community accepts every type of love and even encourages wlw and mlm #like. the vibes im getting from this >>>> #swords would be a must #but also addingthat they’re actually quite familiar with survival tactics from reading things for no reason #and using common sense #i love it #story #horror #victorian

[colddelusionsheep]

So, this is my start of yandere hunger games, and before y'all read this. There are some things to take note of.

Everyone romantic (and y/n) is 18 or older. I am not going to mention age unless the story requires it.

This is going to be ocs x reader, and it will be based on the hunger games(with some differences.

The reader will also be fem.

And that is it! I hope you enjoy, and if you do, feel free to like and reblog(dni if you are under 18 tho)

2nd Part

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The reaping

Humming softly, you buttoned up the last two buttons on your dress. The light green was worn with a few stitched up parts where the fabric use to be ripped. It was old and has seen better days, but even with those details, it still was the nicest thing you owned.

You hoped you could wear it again someday. A wish that you had each year during the reaping, and so far it came true each time. People would comment on how lucky you were to avoid the reaping each time. Weeping love ones of the reaped would curse your name and say you somehow cheated to save your own skin.

You don't blame them. With how many times you have sold your name to this game that is hell. You should of been reaped a long time ago.

Even you didn't know how your name wasn't pulled. The suppose luck that people would attribute to your was no where to been seen on any other day of the year. It was only on this one. However, if it was seen on any other day then maybe you wouldn't be so closed to starving each day.

Reaching down, you pulled your worn socks to your knees. Patches were half hazerdly stitched onto them. Soon you would need new socks and shoes for the winter. You would have to decide on which. Shoes seemed to be the priority in your mind. What good were socks without shoes anyway.

Giving one last look in your mirror. You let out a deep sigh. All you had to do is survive one more time. Then you would be forever free of this life. Once you were free from the reaping, maybe you would finally be accepted in district 12.

The walk to the town square was always a silent one. Each person was getting ready to die. You always thought that the suspense was the worst thing about this. The knowledge that it could be you was nerve wracking to say the least.

Passing by one of your neighbors, you could Hear them mutter under their breath. "I hope it's you."

The rumors you got use to, it was just part of your everyday life by now. Being the outcast was a role you took with stride. What you didn't get use to was the fact that many of those that live close to you wished you dead.

Just like they wished your parents dead, and it was a wish they got. Maybe they would get this wish also.

The check ins went by like a blur. A yearly routine that you would never have to do again. There was peace in that thought, and that peace would surely give you the strength to make it through this. No matter how false it may be.

Taking place behind Susie Mack, you took note of how nice her dress was. The blue color complemented her bright red hair. She even had matching blue ribbons in her two braids.

Late at night, you liked to imagine what it was like to be her, to be Susie Mack. Almost everyone loved her. She was bright and cheerful. You supposed it was easy to be bright and cheerful when you had a full stomach and a loving family. What you would give to be her. To be loved and beautiful. To not have to worry on whether you would have shoes for the winter or food in your stomach.

You hoped that she wouldn't be reaped, simply for the fact that you knew if she was. Then the entire district would come for you. You don't want to imagine how they would punish you this time.

The escort of the Capital made his appearance, and just like every year. His fashion sense was..... lacking.

A mix of fine fabrics made up his outfit, along with a mix of patterns. You were sure that his clothes had every color known to man. Diamonds littered his neck on their choker that they wore.

You couldn't imagine that he were comfortable. Tight and stiff silhouettes seemed to be the main trend in the Capital this year.

As the escort made the same speech that they did every year. You could feel the anxiety of the crowd. It was getting close to the pulling of the names.

You could practically feel the heart beating of each person here. Looking around, you could even see some of the younger ones silently crying.

The two large crystal vessels were brought out. Each full of names. If you did your math right, yours should be in there 80 times.

"Now, as always, ladies first." You never noticed how gentle his voice was. It reminded of the stream your parents use to take you too. The sound of the water would always make sooth you matter how upset you may of been. It was just too bad that that stream turned into a raging river.

"Our female tribute is." He, as always, paused for dramatic effect. " --/n"

Ringing, that's all you could hear, it wasn't till someone shook you that you could fully understand what was said. It wasn't till the peacekeepers roughly pulled you out of your spot that you understood that your wish was finally ignored. It wasn't till the dammed Capital escort kissed your cheek, and spoke of how lucky you were that you understood that luck was just a lie. That the odds were and would never be in your favor.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

And the 1st part of the yandere hunger games is done! Hopefully I will have the next part soon. I did write this part very late at night so the are probably mistakes but that is okay.

Also, sorry I was gone so long, school really took everything happy that was in me away. Good news tho, I am graduated!. My blog is going to be open to asks and all, but for right now requests are going to be closed untill I feel more confident in my writing. It should be a lot more active now however!

That's all for right now! Love y'all <3

#yandere hunger games #yandere writing #yandere #yandere x reader #yandere idea #yandere story #platonic yandere #yandere harem #yanderes #x reader

[atruththatyoudeny]

Happy 28th! Here are all the fics I read and loved this month:

Desperation Was My Sanctuary | InsightfulInsomniac | [101k] As a PhD student and transplant to New York City, Louis is struggling for both money and companionship. His roommate, Zayn, introduces him to a friend who is involved in New York City's sugar bowl. Reluctantly, he signs up for a sugaring app knowing he’s probably the least conventional sugar baby on the market. If he can find a sugar daddy who will pay his bills without asking him to sacrifice his own preferences and boundaries, he might just be willing to earn a bit of extra cash by faking a relationship with a millionaire. At the age of 35, Harry’s spent his entire adult life devoted to his career as a fashion designer. With his label, Eroda, steady and flourishing, he finally has time to settle down. When he reflects on his adult life, he realizes that he’s never been in a relationship and therefore feels behind. Shy and insecure in his inexperience, he turns to a sugaring app to manufacture a “test relationship” on his terms. Turns out, they’re both looking for something unconventional. A smutty, non-traditional strangers-to-lovers story about finding yourself, friendship, safety, sexual discovery, and an unexpected collision with tender, profound love.

part time soulmates (full time problem) | localopa | [12k] sworn enemies harry and louis are soulmates. everything is going smoothly until the pain hits.

Men of Steel, Men of Power | Stria (Asia117) | [58k] “You’ve been watching me,” Styles said. Louis swallowed around nothing. He tried for light. “You’re the newest addition, people are bound to be curious,” he said. “Sure,” said Styles, in a somewhat condescending tone. “I’m not that daft, I do notice the curiosity regarding my clothes. That’s not what you’re doing though, hm?” Styles’ gaze was intense, and Louis could feel it burn on the side of his face, but kept his eyes stubbornly on the coffee cup. “I,” he said, licked his lips. Took a deep breath, tried to look open, confident, dominant. Alpha. - Louis has one goal: survive this year unscathed to complete his grand plan, for which he has sacrificed his family, his friends. His identity. he's not expecting Alpha Harry, who manages to get under his skin and inside his heart. He suddenly has a lot more to lose, and a lot less control.

Write You A Song | Rearviewdreamer | [6k] Harry’s new flat is great but the acoustics are even better. They’re so good in fact that his daily shower concerts start to entertain an audience besides his shampoo bottle.

The Bluest war and peace | Hazzaslittle28 | [27k] For centuries the Black Haven pack had a tradition where the first born omegas and alphas were to be introduced to each other. The pups were barely ten, dressed in their finest clothings and made to look presentable. That's when he first saw his ruins and he knew that he was never going to be the same.

Deleted Scenes | Stria (Asia117) | [33k] “Do you trust me?” asks Louis in a whisper, mouth pressed on the crown of Harry’s head. His voice has that raw quality to it that Harry has only heard a few times, and he takes a deep breath. “I do,” he responds, and he could add something to keep up the charade, tell Louis that of course he does, he’s here for him, to support him, but he doesn’t really feel like doing anything. He’s going away in a very short while, after all. He can’t find the strength to keep up the farce. “I told you everything would be alright,” says Louis. “I told you we will be alright. Do you trust me on this?” Harry hesitates. He feels Louis’ arms tighten around him, and he brings one of his hands over Louis’. He doesn’t want to lie, he doesn’t. Agent Harry Styles was injured on the job a few months back, and gets roped in one last mission before he can retire prematurely: playing house with Louis, a widower who has amnesia. The assignment seems simple at the beginning, but soon enough Harry's twisted in a web of his own making, and can't get out anymore.

you know it ain't fiction, just a natural fact | anditsonlyforthebrave | [13k] “Look, Lou” Harry whispers, “I can’t do it, and as much as I like having dinner with you, and hanging out, I think we should just do it without the tutoring part because I am not smart enough for school.” “That’s bullshit,” Louis answers quickly, “what do you like?” he asks, “I mean, other than football and asking me stuff about my family. There must be something else you’re good at.” “I play football and fuck, Louis. That’s it.” Louis definitely doesn’t flinch at that. He does not. --- Harry is the golden boy of the college football's team, Louis is their professors' golden student and they definitely don't have anything in common. Falling in love would be dumb.

what's left of my halo's black | LiveLaughLoveLarry (SoLongAndThanksForAllTheFic) | [22k] As Harry sucks lovebites into Louis’ neck, Louis hopes that one day those marks will cover the way he can still feel Alex’s handprints burned into his flesh. As Harry’s nails drag scratches along Louis’ back, Louis hopes that one day the scabs on his heart will heal and drop away just like the scabs on his skin. As Harry fucks him down into the mattress, the bed shaking with every thrust, Louis hopes that one day his mouth will forget the shape of Alex’s name, won’t trace it over and over as the heat builds inside him, won’t want to scream it when he comes. Maybe one day he’ll open his eyes, as he slowly floats down from his post-orgasm haze, and won’t expect to see Alex’s face smiling back at him. But today is not that day. A year after a devastating breakup, Louis is still trying to put himself back together - but getting over a breakup is hard when you work as a wedding planner. Thankfully, his coworker Harry is the most supportive friend Louis could ask for. But Harry has some secrets of his own, and they send Louis' world spinning off its axis all over again. Based on the song "Holding On To Heartache" by Louis Tomlinson

Hold You With My Hands Tied | LetTheMusicMoveYou | [12k] “There’s a club in town called Habit, and they’re looking for a bartender to cover evenings and weekends. No previous experience required.” Harry furrows his brows. He’s never been to Habit, but he certainly knows what type of club it is. BDSM. It’s not the ideal position for an Omega surely, but beggars can’t be choosers he supposes. He tilts his head to the side. “And they would be ok with an Omega filling that role?” Janet scans her eyes over the job description before nodding. “Yes, actually it says here Omegas are preferred but not required.” Harry sighs. “When do I start?” (Or the one where Omega Harry loses his bakery job and is forced to take a temporary position bartending at a local BDSM club. It turns out to be not so bad. Especially when he catches the eye of the owner Louis, who also happens to be a gorgeous Alpha).

#28th appreciation #fic rec #monthly fic rec #my fic rec #my reads #monthly reads #larry fics

[elvenbeard]

Olives

Summary: V somehow survived a gig some deemed unsurviveable. Now all he needs to do is find his way back home - easy, right? (Post-Sun-Ending, Chapter 1/?, 4778 words, Kerry Eurodyne/V)

V pulled himself through the open hatch with all his might, groaning in pain, greeted by the blazing South California sun and a cloud of dust and sand stirred by the impact. He managed to only just find enough purchase on the hot, smooth metal to wriggle himself out of the escape pod and sat down at the rim of the hatch to catch his breath. His legs dangling into the capsule still, he once again made sure he had everything on him that he needed. An old-fashioned but hard to trace GPS tracking device in his pocket, the key to a car he still had to find, his sunglasses, his phone, his gun… Yes, that was it. Everything else would stay. His hand found the side of his chest, pressing down on his hurting ribs. Not everything had gone to plan. But things rarely did. In the grand scheme of things though… he’d pulled off the impossible. He laughed, almost desperately, closed his eyes and let his head fall back, feeling the suddenly so intense weight of his own body, gravity pulling him back down from the most insane high he’d felt in a long time.

Slowly and carefully, he pulled his legs up and swung around, slid down the side of the spacecraft, and landed more harshly than he would have liked on the rocky desert ground. He hissed, stumbling forwards, but managed to catch his balance only just. An annoying but familiar scratch made itself noticeable in his throat, maybe intensified by the sand surrounding him, and V pulled together all his willpower to suppress the urge to cough. He breathed slowly, deeply, and that alone hurt his ribs more than enough. He swallowed, even though his mouth was dry, then turned to walk around to the pod’s other side. He opened the cover of a small control panel and entered the code he had memorized to set up the self-destruct protocol. His fingers lingered on the “start” button for a moment longer as he once again went through all steps in his mind, making sure he’d thought of everything. He nodded to himself, then started the timer. Seven minutes. Enough to get himself into some distance from this thing, but hopefully not long enough for the SoCal military to find it. He was certain they were on high alert already. V put on his sunglasses, took out and turned on the GPS tracker, then started marching north.

The GPS signal showed that the car was a little over three miles away. Not too bad. Since he was not quite dressed in anything resembling hiking gear, he would still raise eyebrows if he ran into anyone, so he stayed away from the roads. The shuttle was already out of sight, had disappeared behind a hill, when the explosion tore through the silence of the desert. V was drenched in sweat, the sand he stirred up with each step sticking to his face and clothes, his head and eyes hurt, and his chest was sore. What he should have been thinking about was the next steps of the plan: how he’d get across the border, what to do if things went wrong, getting the data to Mr. B, getting rid of the car… but instead his thoughts revolved around how much he hated it that for safety reasons he couldn’t call Kerry yet. Tell him he was fine, all things considered. He hadn’t dared to promise it, but he’d come back in one piece. The thought to be finally able to tell him the whole story, explain why he’d been so distant lately, was the only thing that kept V going now.

In the distance, at first not recognizable as such in the heat haze, a gas station appeared. The GPS seemed to be leading him directly towards it. V was overcome with a sudden sense of dread. Again, for safety reasons (or so Mr. B had said) it had been better for him not to know where the getaway car would wait for him. V had expected it somewhere out there, maybe covered with a tarp, parked under an overhanging rock… not at a gas station, where not only the car would be hidden from view, but all kinds of undesirable people too. He slowed down just slightly, turned off the GPS tracker and slid it back into the pocket on his cargo pants. As he got closer, he saw that the windows of the shop were broken or boarded up, the road sign pointing to the station itself so scratched up by sand it was barely legible. There were no visible vehicles, but the walls of the building were, as he’d expected, covered in Raffen tags and symbols. The wind howled through the abandoned carcass, and V unholstered his Kenshin, just in case. He scanned the area for movement or other signs of life. There was a security camera above the entrance to the shop and another at the corner of the adjacent garage, but neither had power. The gas station seemed positively abandoned. Just in case he ducked as best as he managed to with his bruised ribs, peering around the backside of the building. If the Raffen Shiv used this as a hideout or meeting place, they weren’t here currently. Or ideally, Mr. B’s people on this side of the border had taken care of them before placing the car.

Still careful, but slightly more at ease, V made his way to the back entrance of the garage. The door was unlocked, the interior dark. His optics adjusted to the low light conditions quickly, but he still took off his sunglasses to look around. Dust and more dust covered the old tools and rusty machines this former repair shop still stored. At the heart of the room waited his ticket back home. A light blue Archer Quartz, old, but kept in good shape. V couldn’t help but chuckle. It looked a lot like his first car that he’d parted with not long after accepting the job at Arasaka. It wasn’t exactly the same, a newer model than his, but still. His heart sunk though when he remembered who had picked and placed the car here, who’d been playing mind games just like this with him for the past three months. V walked around the car, scanned it for any unwanted modifications, hard- or software that shouldn’t be there. Trackers, traps, anything… but it appeared clean. Before getting into the car, he carefully and slowly opened the garage gate, the area out front still quiet and abandoned. Only then he dared to unlock the driver’s side door and got behind the steering wheel. He didn’t need to adjust much, and he was thankful for a sixpack of water bottles waiting for him on the passenger seat. Without losing any more time he turned on the engine and set out.

The dusty desert highway had seen better days. The first road sign V came across was so covered in graffiti it was barely legible. He only just could make out “Night City – 29 miles”. At least he vaguely knew where he was now. Not long after the sign a couple of armored Militech SUVs breezed past him, heading south. He was sure to know where they were going and surprised it had taken them so long – but sometimes even V was granted some luck it seemed.

This little convoy remained the only other vehicles he encountered all the way up to the border station. His heartbeat sped up at the sight of Night City’s neon lights in the distance, gleaming bright even in the daytime. The line at the crossing was short, and V joined the queue like anyone else just passing through would, winding the window down as it was his turn.

“Good day,” the border patrol officer said, “Got anything to declare?”

“No, sir,” V said as friendly as he managed.

“What’s the purpose of your visit?”

“Comin’ home, visited family in L.A.,” he lied through his smile.

The soldier looked over his car briefly, but V knew this was routine. He had nothing to worry about yet.

“How long were you gone?”

“Two weeks,” V said, having memorized all important dates of his fake family trip to a T.

The officer looked something up on the data pad he was holding, taking a little too long for V’s taste, but he was good at not showing his growing nervousness. That was probably the most valuable skill his time with Counterintel had taught him. After a solid minute the soldier finally looked up from his datapad, turned it around and held it out to V.

“Please scan your SID-chip, sir, then we can proceed,” he said. V did as he was told, placing his thumb on the screen until a blip and green popup said the scan had completed.

“Thank you… Mr. McFarley?” the soldier said as he looked at the datapad, “Like the senator?”

“You wouldn’t believe how often I hear that,” V played his part, “Not related by blood or marriage.”

“I see…”

He tapped around on his screen a bit more, looking over the edge of the pad at V occasionally, who always just smiled and nodded back at him.

“Are you alright, sir?” the soldier then suddenly asked, taking V off guard.

“I am, yes?” he said after a moment of hesitation, his throbbing ribs and head saying otherwise.

“Just making sure. No offense, but you look a bit pale,” the soldier said.

“Just tired from the long drive,” V said, adjusting his sunglasses. Then, finally, the soldier stepped to the side.

“Everything in order,” he announced, lowering his datapad, “Welcome home.”

“Thanks, have a good day,” V nodded and sighed in relief as he left the shadow of the checkpoint, no obstacles between him and Night City anymore now.

He breezed past the Biotechnica protein farms on the left, the solar power station on the right. So many memories flooded his mind it made him dizzy briefly. It felt like all this had happened in a different lifetime – and well, in a way it had.

V pulled his phone out of his pocket, keeping his eyes on the road as best as he could as he finally turned it back on. Immediately he was flooded with missed calls and messages. It took less than ten seconds before he received a new incoming call, caller ID obscured, voice garbled as he picked up almost automatically.

“If someone could’ve done this, it was you,” Mr. B said, V recognizing his voice even through the distortion by now.

V had all manners of replies ready at the tip of his tongue as he finally crossed over the city limits and entered Santo Domingo. How one of their first conversations had been about V being a disappointment to him for example. He swallowed down his anger and took a right turn, first heading to the drop-off point for the car.

“I guess you don’t want me to send you the data right now, right?” he then asked.

“Yes, too insecure,” Mr. B said, “When can we meet in person?”

V wanted to get this over with as soon as possible.

“What about right after I dropped the car off?” he suggested, suppressing a cough, “I can be at The Afterlife in 30 minutes.”

“No, not there,” was the reply, and V’s palms grew sweaty, “Too many curious eyes. And I don’t want to crash the ‘welcome back’ party they’ll surely throw you?”

V scoffed. As if.

“Alright, have it your way then,” V said, adding ‘as always’ in his head, “Where and when?”

He pulled into the parking lot of an old auto repair shop, parked his car in a row of others that waited for “repairs”, and turned the engine off. He put the key behind the sun visor, grabbed his stuff and the two last remaining water bottles, then exited the car.

“Your penthouse, in an hour?” Mr. B then suggested.

“Absolutely not,” V snapped, not hiding his anger this time, “You can keep doin’ that kinda shit with the Peralezes and the likes, but I swear - …”

“I was joking,” Mr. B said calmly, “Besides… what would you do to stop us?”

V slammed the door of the car shut and started walking, leaving the premises of the repair shop without looking back.

“Where. And when,” V repeated.

 A brief pause of crackling static on the other end of the line.

“The North Oak Columbarium, in 30 minutes?”

V sighed. He would rather not. But it was not like he had a choice.

“Meet you there,” he said before hanging up.

His own car was parked in an alley a few blocks away. As he marched on, he pulled up his contacts. He checked the time, 5.32 p.m. – could be that he was busy, at the studio or another appointment, a few had been lined up this week… but V decided to try and give Kerry a call anyway. It rang a couple of times, and his heart skipped a beat at the sound of Kerry’s voice, but it was just the mailbox after all.

“Hey, seems like ya missed me. Leave a message, I’ll call ya back later.”

 “Hey, um…” V started out slowly, “Just wanted to let you know, I’m back. Got a few more errands to run, but I’ll be home in an hour or two, so…”

He scratched his head, grasping for words that could get across what he was trying to say, without making it sound too dramatic or causing Kerry to worry.

“There’s a bunch of stuff I gotta tell you that… I couldn’t really talk about ‘til now. Not ‘over-the-holo’ stuff so, I’ll see ya later. I hope you’re havin’ a good day!”

With that he hung up, half-regretting it immediately. I hope you’re havin’ a good day… how fucking lame. He had wanted to say how much he’d missed him, that he thought of him constantly, that he couldn’t wait to see him, hold him again, just how much he loved him. But the words just wouldn’t come out, and he didn’t know why.

“Fuckin’ hell…” V cursed under his breath, and this time he couldn’t prevent another onset of coughing from shaking his body. The pain in his chest was almost unbearable, for a moment he thought he would collapse right then and there on the sidewalk. There were certainly more pathetic ways people had died in Night City, but maybe he would make the top ten on the list.

“Breathe, breathe…” he repeated over and over in his head, maybe he even said it out loud. Sometimes he couldn’t quite tell the difference anymore. Living with Johnny in his head for over two months had left its mark in many ways. He’d been without his annoyingly charming remarks and unwanted but entertaining commentary for longer again now than he’d ever been with him. Yet it still felt like he’d left something behind that would remain a part of V for the rest of his life… however much of it was left. One thing was clear though, and Johnny would agree: he hadn’t come this far to go down without putting up one hell of a fight, at the very least.

He caught his breath again, bracing himself against a dirty brick wall, his other hand at his side, holding his ribs. He slowly stood up straight, took another few deep breaths, then continued his walk, a little slower than before but just as determined.

His V-Tech still parked where he had left it two days ago, as instructed. The driver’s side door swung open as V approached, and he got in carefully, putting what he had been carrying on the passenger seat.

“Let’s get this over with…” he said to himself as the engine sprung on and he turned to drive to North Oak.

On the way to the Columbarium V went through his mailbox, listening to all the voice and holo messages in chronological order. Incredible how much could accumulate over the course of less than 48 hours. He made a mental note of who to call back and when, who he needed to pay a visit sooner or later, too. Admittedly, he was surprised at how random some of the messages were, people checking in to make sure he was okay… as if they’d sensed what he had set out to do.

Then he got to Kerry’s missed calls, and his chest grew tight… they hadn’t been that long ago, from this morning, left probably before he headed out to the studio. V’s heart broke at how sad he looked, even if just briefly. He’d always been good at glossing over it. Sad about how little time they spent with each other, just the two of them… somewhere between the lines V could even read blame for being forgetful about things he’d promised to do and didn’t stick to. That one hurt the most.

“Don’t take this the wrong way…” Kerry said, but it was hard not to… even more so because he was right. V had been so swept up in preparations for this gig for the last weeks, and even before… The last time it had been just the two of them doing something together, nothing else coming up all day, had been almost a month ago, V realized.

The Columbarium came into sight, but almost automatically V’s eyes wandered to Kerry’s villa visible on the rolling hills beyond. He most likely wasn’t there, but briefly V was tempted to stand Mr. B up and drive home right away instead. It wouldn’t make any sense, obviously, and achieve nothing. So, he pulled over, eyes on his goal, and got out of the car.

He was early, but Mr. B usually was, too. Yet, when he took a quick look around the tall rows of niches, enjoying the cool shade and quiet, trying his best to be respectful about the people here to mourn their loved ones, he could not see him yet. V stopped at the center of the premises, turning back to the entrance, assuming he’d get a call directing him where to go and what to do, as usual. As long as that hadn’t happened yet though, he decided to pay an old friend a visit.

“Hey, Jackie,” he said quietly as he stopped in front of his niche. He hesitated, feeling silly to be talking to a pile of ashes that could neither hear him nor reply. But maybe that wasn’t the point.

“I know I don’t come by often. I’m tryin’ though. Maybe that counts for somethin’ in the grand scheme of things,” V said, then paused.

“I don’t even know where to start.”

He really didn’t. He took a deep breath, through his teeth, one hand at his side again.

“I still often think about our conversation back then. Before our big heist,” he said, “How you wished to die a legend, and how I kinda hoped it wouldn’t ever come to that, at least not yet… but I guess you got your wish granted, even if too soon. I didn’t know then if that’s what I would have wanted for myself, and honestly… I still don’t know if it’s what I want right now. Not for lack of trying.”

He paused for a moment upon this realization. Sometimes his situation felt so hopeless, so grim, only looking death in the eye still made him feel alive. Talking, walking, corpse he was… At least one thing was certain. After today, there was no way he’d end up being forgotten.

“You’re long gone, and I’m still standing, somehow, despite it all,” V continued, “I hope you’d be proud of how far I’ve come, ‘cause I sure as hell know you would have fought just as hard to make it here, had you been in my place. You’d probably be waiting at The Afterlife right now, disappointed as I walk in ‘cause even this crazy-ass gig didn’t kill me like it should’ve…”

V sighed and lowered his head.

“Maybe… I’m not done yet.”

His holo rang, ripping him out of his thoughts.

“See ya, Jackie,” he said, brushing along the edge of the niche before answering the call.

“Front third, turn left, the middle section,” the voice on the other side ordered before ending the call abruptly. V walked to the instructed area, recognizing it as the row where he once saw one of those glitching graffities. He no longer did. And he no longer believed Mr. B chose this spot at random, either. He awaited V there already, dressed in an all-black suit, fitting for the location. V was still covered in dust from head to toe, wore his combat boots, worn-out cargo pants, and a tactical vest over a tactical shirt. The hierarchy here, and who was the one to do the dirty work, was never clearer than in this moment.

“On time, as always. Perfect,” Mr. B said, intensely glowing blue eyes looking him up and down, “You look not nearly as roughed-up as I’d expected either.”

“Things rarely go 100% according to plan,” V said calmly, and Mr. B smiled coldly, fake almost.

“What matters is, the job is done, without raising alarms, and everything extracted you wanted,” he added.

Exhausted, physically and mentally, V didn’t want to engage in more small talk than was absolutely necessary. Small talk with Mr. B usually felt either like an interrogation, manipulation, or a mix of both.

“We’ll see about that,” Mr. B said, “Send me the data.”

“First,” V said sternly, “you tell me what happens next. ‘Cause you’ve been pretty damn elusive about just how exactly you’re gonna help me if I do this for you.”

Mr. B’s smile turned just slightly colder, sending a shiver down V’s spine.

“Don’t you trust me?” he asked.

“Trust gets you stabbed in the back quicker than you can say ‘Ceasar’,” V replied.

Mr. B chuckled.

“Fine,” he said, “Would an address suffice for now?”

“Of what?” V asked.

His question was answered by a notification blip and a map with coordinates showing up on his interface. An inconspicuous looking building appeared, not too far from here actually, in the south of Charter Hill by the looks of it.

“One of our many bases of operation,” Mr. B explained, “A small, brand-new lab we own, completely legal, up to the newest standards, not linked to any major corporations. You will find no better place to treat injuries of the brain, and we specialize in restoring damaged or even destroyed nervous systems.”

“How convenient…” V said slowly, the map minimizing and disappearing out of his vision again.

“We care for the people we invest in,” Mr. B said, “And if the data you have for us turns out to have been a good investment, we even more so have an interest to keep you around as long as possible.”

Or as long as I’m still profitable, V thought, but stayed silent.

“I am a man of my word, V,” Mr. B said after a short pause, “Are you one of yours?”

He wasn’t so sure of that himself anymore. But at least it used to be what V prided himself with, that he finished what he started, and that he kept his promises.

“Of course,” he said, feeling like he stepped right into the trap laid out for him, but tried not to let it show. He opened a secure communications channel to send the Crystal Palace client data to Mr. B.

“Much appreciated,” was the sly answer as the transfer was completed, “We will analyze the data and contact you in a few days about the next steps. Time, we tackle your little problem properly.”

“I’ll wait for your call,” V said briefly and with that Mr. B nodded, turned around, and disappeared around the corner. V lingered a moment longer, not even wanting to think about what they’d do with some of the world’s elite’s data, only glad that Kerry hadn’t been up there just yet. He still didn’t know if he wanted to tell him this part of the story, because he was so excited about the chance to play at the Crystal Palace one day, and V didn’t want to taint the idea to him.

He slowly walked back to the Columbarium’s entrance area, then got into his car. Despite craving nothing more right now than a long shower, V decided not to head back to Little China right away. Even if Kerry had already taken care of it, V was gonna go and get him his nasty olives. He’d shower him in them for the rest of his life if it meant it wasn’t too late yet to fix what he’d broken about their relationship recently. He turned the car around and drove back to Santo Domingo, stopping by Caliente’s to grab two cups of coffee to go. Then he headed to a nearby convenience store, picking up the biggest jar of olives they had on shelf, as well as some popcorn and a bottle of Bolshevik vodka.

Then finally it was time to drive home, the sun already setting. V sipped his coffee, hoping it would help soothe his still burning headache at least somewhat, but nothing seemed to help at this stage apart from trying to sleep it off. It wasn’t quite as bad as it had been with Johnny at times, but it still felt like the attacks were getting more frequent and worse the more time went on. It would have been the smarter choice probably to pull over and call Del for the rest of the trip, but V was all the way through Heywood already. Waiting for the cab to get here would take forever in the rush hour traffic. To distract himself from the pain he decided to try and give Kerry another call.

“Hey, seems like ya missed me. Leave a message, I’ll call ya back later.”

“Hey back at ya. Again,” V said, feeling a little more at ease now than during the last call, “Just wanted to say, I’m almost home now, just driving through Corpo Plaza. I’ve… been thinkin’ about you a lot, about us. I finally had a moment to listen to your messages from earlier today, too...”

He paused briefly, the endless ocean of neon lights breezing by not helping with his headache.

“I love you, Kerry, I hope you know that. ‘Cause I know I’ve been bad at showing it lately. So, I guess… I’ll see you soon!”

He hung up, then tried to call Rogue, but she was also busy, and he only reached her mailbox.

“Hey, I’m back. Guess you’ll have to deal with me a little while longer,” he said, “But I’ll give you a little break at least, take a bit of a breather. Depending on how things with the client progress, I might not be at my best for a while anyway. But we’ll see. Given how well things are running at the moment you probably won’t even notice I’m not there for a week or two. Just so you know… in case I don’t show up as regularly for a while.”

Not that Rogue would worry much if he went MIA for a couple of days, but he’d still rather tell her. Just as he hung up this call, he noticed a missed call from Kerry. Perfect timing.

V stopped his car at the last red stoplight before he would have reached the parking garage, pondering for a moment whether to call him back right away or to do it as soon as he was home. Maybe Kerry was there already anyway.

The decision was abruptly made for him as somewhere around the corner tires screeched, shots were fired, and police sirens began to blare. A blazing red sportscar covered in Tyger Claws imagery shot out of a side street, one ganger hanging out of the passenger side window firing a machine gun at the NCPD squad car giving chase. They were going way too fast to do anything about the sudden obstacle in the shape of V’s car appearing in front of them, still parked at the stoplight.

There were many pathetic ways to die in Night City. Being the victim of a car crash you didn’t even cause was surely among the top three on the list, especially right after pulling off the craziest heist a single merc had ever successfully completed. That was the last thought that went through V’s head as he braced himself for the impact.

(sorry for ending on such a cliffhanger... it's my specialty :D this is not a final version just yet probably, but I really wanted to share the angst... will put it up on ao3 when I'm 100% happy, maybe with some art or VP to go along with it)

>> Next Chapter

#cyberpunk 2077 #cyberpunk fanfiction #cp2077 fanfic #cp2077 #cyberpunk v #male v cyberpunk #kerry eurodyne x v #kerry x v #kerry eurodyne #mr. blue eyes #vincent ezaki #otp: to bad decisions #my writing #sorry this got loooong #I've been writing all day and chapter 2 is almost done-ish too xD #love is stored in the olive jar

[leonsliga]

a little evil thomats moment... lol mats was on another podcast and they were basically asking him why he dresses so simple (hey, I like it) and he explained he doesn't like expensive things, people could rob his apartment and there's nothing there, he doesn't even like expensive watches... vs thomas getting robbed of things worth half a million, including his rolex watches 😭

I love evil Mats and his simple but elegant fashion sense! (Well, it’s simple unless he decides to go out in that iconic green check coat—never forget 😍).

I swear, after Mats retires (I’ll never be ready for that day), he’s got a great career ahead of him as a podcaster. We always consider Thomas the more talkative of the two, and rightfully so, but Mats clearly has the gift of gab himself! Not only that but he’s got a great voice and an equally perfect sense of humor to match. He was made to create content in whatever medium he chooses.

Anyways, back to our regularly scheduled thomats talk 😅😂 I love that Mats, for all his fame and fortune, is really just a normal, down-to-earth guy. I 100% believe that if a robber were to break into his apartment, they wouldn’t find anything substantial—maybe a few designer clothes, but other than that, not much. Thomas on the other hand…I could see him owning a Rolex or two, and no one would know that better than Mats. The funny thing is, even though he likely owns more expensive things than his beloved Matsi, I could totally see Thomas surviving the whole deal. At least as long as the thieves don’t touch his horses, bunnies, or dogs lol. But who would have the audacity to rob those two legends anyway? 🤣

Seriously though, I love how Mats just takes any opportunity he has to sell Thomas down the river. He’s never above humbling his beloved Pausenclown, and that’s part of what makes their dynamic so much fun :)

#anon 💖 #thomats #thomas müller #thomas muller #thomas mueller #mats hummels #my asks

[mimikoflamemaker]

Faeruninan Writing Challenge - Day 3

First Encounter with Their Love Interest

Neve tried yet again to wipe some of the intellect devourer’s gunk off her pants. Without much result. She expected to be dirty after getting out of that disgusting pod and crashing the mindflayers ship. And usually she didn’t mind that much – a little bit of gore has never killed anybody as far as she was concerned. The bright morning light however, made it quite obvious how absolutely caked in dirt they both were.

And she would’ve likely felt a lot less bad about this if she wasn’t so done up before. She could tell that a lot of her hair came out of the updo she had meticulously put them into… when exactly? It was a morning much like this one, but she couldn’t really tell how much time she had been on board of the nautiloid.

How much time she had left before her transformation was complete.

Since she really didn’t want to face that particular problem right now, moping about her appearance felt like a reasonable choice. Because her clothes, while pretty, were going to be a bitch to clean with all the small leather pieces artfully stitched together and gilded with silver. There was a reason she wasn’t using it all that often regardless of its undeniable quality.

Neve reached to scratch at a dried spot of… something smeared across her shoulder and barely noticed Shadowheart stopping in the middle of their climb up the gentle slope.

‘Did you hear that?’ the half-elf asked.

Not wanting to be caught unaware, she opted for the vague sound of agreement, while quickly focusing her hearing on her immediate surroundings.

‘Hey! I need some help here!’ a male voice carried over all of the other sounds of nature and disaster, only proving how distracted she actually was that this somehow escaped her notice – the man clearly didn’t care about not attracting attention.

Hells. This was the last thing she needed right now. Both the lack of focus and clueless idiot to land them in trouble just by hovering nearby.

She weaved past Shadowheart and continued up the path. The sooner they deal with that the better. They could always feed the wreck another victim, if they won’t be able to get rid of him otherwise. Whoever comes over to investigate, likely will not care much about the manner of peoples deaths – rather about whatever valuables they might have carried.

The man calling for help was an elf. He was similarly disheveled to them and it was an easy guess that he too have survived the crash. Neve observed intently as they approached, trying to seize him up. Beneath the layer of grime, he was dressed in finery, a tad old-fashioned perhaps, but well-made nonetheless.

Wherever the guy was taken from, he clearly left some servants behind.

That at least explained the tone.

‘Come on, hurry up!’

Some very relived servants perhaps. As they closed the distance completely, Neve’s eyes never left the stranger. He seemed harmless enough at a glance, but she used the same façade often enough to not take it at face value. It was always better to expect the worst – it left much less space for being unpleasantly surprised.

‘I’ve got one of those… brain-creatures cornered’ he continued, motioning towards some shrubbery behind his back. ‘You can kill it, can you? Like you killed the others?’

Neve paused a few paces away from the strange elf. She wasn’t sure if it was something in his tone or the way he squinted, making his expression difficult to decipher, but it gave her a pause. It was enough to tell her that something was off.

And she was well and truly done with doing other people bidding.

‘Kill it yourself’ the elleth scoffed, not even trying to curb her tone into something pleasant. ‘You should have no problem with one, tiny brain.’

Something shifted behind his eyes – a flash of annoyance perhaps?

Good.

In hindsight though, she shouldn’t have turned away so early. Then again, she didn’t expect him to simply pounce, and herself being yanked backward and onto the ground, the cold steel of a dagger held away from her throat only by her hand instinctively closed around his wrist.

Oh no, he didn’t.

As soon as her back struck the ground she dug her nails into the sinewy underside of his wrist, pulling his arm even further away, while his other hand grappled for her, intent on keeping her still. He clearly did not expect her to put up much of a fight though and so, after jamming a quick elbow into his ribs, she was able to roll away, procuring a dagger from her boot as she rose to her feet.

‘This doesn’t have to get ugly’ she sneered as they stared at each other, ready to strike. ‘But test me again and I will eviscerate you...’

‘My, my you know some fancy words’ the elf tried to hide his own grimace behind a smile, but it did nothing for her. ‘I saw you on that ship. Walking around while I was trapped in that… pod. What did you and those tentacled monsters do to me?!’

Well he was no less confused than she was a few hours ago. And angry. Neve could relate to either of those feelings. She lowered the blade with a flourish, but didn’t sheath it completely.

‘You got everything backwards, I’m afraid’ she tried to sound a bit more civil. ‘I was snatched up – just like you…’

‘Don’t lie! I’m not an idiot! I saw- Ah!’

At this point the connection of the tadpoles was not a wholly unfamiliar feeling and Neve decided to latch onto it. If this was allowing her to see into his mind, she might as well try to find something of interest there.

Or maybe not, she realized, grimacing against a surge of discomfort. The elf thoughts were fragmented and chaotic – he clearly didn’t know what was going on. But in the moments she saw clearly, she realized that she was looking at the memories of the dark, busy streets. Or empty alleyways. Some of those images were clearly of places she knew as well – of Baldur’s Gate. She tried to hold the images for longer, hoping that they will form some sort of a cohesive story, but their tadpoles seemed to have a different idea.

Neve saw light – the sun she realized – and felt the rush of fear so primal, she physically recoiled from the sensation, snapping the connection before she could discern the source of the panic.

In front of her the elf shook his head, clearly disoriented.

‘What happened? What… I saw you. They took you too…’

‘Glad we have that out of the way’ she replied, briefly wondering how much he saw. Was he privy to the thoughts she had in those last moments before being captured? ‘And to avoid any further attempts at each other throats – these parasites the mindflayers planted in us? This connection was their doing.’

‘The worm’ the confused look on his face was gone as if it was never even there. ‘That explains things, somewhat’ He relaxed a fraction and also lowered his dagger in a mirrored attempt to appear less threatening. ‘And to think, I was ready to decorate the ground with your innards’ he let out a small chuckle, his lips bending into a charming smirk. ‘Apologies.’

Neve was well used to dealing with people that didn’t possess an honest bone in their body. It was always a game for two.

‘Given what just happened, it won’t be a stretch to admit that I would have done the same should our places have been reversed’ she offered, mimicking the coy expression.

‘Ah, a kindred spirit’ the elf smiled, relaxing even further. ‘I believe some introductions are in order then… My name is Astarion. I was in Baldur’s Gate when those beasts snatched me…’ the trailed off, his eyes trained onto her face. Searching for something. ‘Though I suppose you’ve already seen that…’

She wasn’t the only one afraid of her thoughts being left bare for others it seemed.

‘Only glimpses’ she replied. There was no need to feed the hostility for now. ‘I suppose the tadpoles control this things more than we do. I’m Neve. And I too was in Baldur’s Gate before crashing this thing’ she gestured towards the smoldering wreck. ‘Into the ground.’

‘Really? You weren’t slacking off it seems’ he pretended to look away from her, focused on picking a clump of dirt from beneath his fingernail. ‘So, did you learn anything about these worms while wandering the ship?’ he asked.

One less observant, might have think he was asking about the weather. But Neve felt his eyes on her the entire time. And the unbothered veneer he presented was as thin as her weaning patience.

There was no denying though, that other survivors should they found any, might have a better knowledge and resources to deal with their growing problem, even if they might not be willing to share at first.

She still remember what the gith warrior told her. But it did look like she decided to proceed to that creche without them.

‘I’m afraid I don’t have anything good to say… You see, if we don’t get them out quickly we’re going to turn into mindflayers ourselves…’

‘Turn us into -’ if she needed any other proof that the entire display she was seeing so far was just an act, the bitter and quickly cut off laughter was as unexpected as it was honest. ‘Of course it will turn me into a monster… what else did I expect?’

Neve folded her arms across her chest and watched as something fractured in his expression, too fleeting to make much sense of what it meant. If anything, she could extend a certain appreciation towards his ability to push the more desperate thought away. She held her own by the throat ever since she woke up into that blasted pod and she could the increasing desire to just scream her frustration out bubbling into the surface more and more often.

The attitude of those around her at least give her the motivation to not give into that desire. There were appearances to be maintained.

‘Although it hasn’t happened yet…’ he continued, clearly picking up the same trail of thoughts she had when she came to at the beach. ‘If we can find someone who can control these things there might still be time.’

She would have preferred to be rid of the parasite altogether, but any solution that works would be a welcome one. And she wasn’t beneath aligning with anyone who might bring something useful to the table. Regardless of how annoying they are bound to be the entire time.

‘Can’t say you’re wrong here, so I propose we’ll stick together. Searching for the solution will certainly be faster if we join the resources.’

Astarion smiled, a little sharper this time.

‘You know, I was ready to do all of this alone, but maybe finding some allies is not such a bad idea. And anyone who can crash the mindflayer ship and walk off seems like a useful person to know.’

Well there was at least some ground to an understanding it seems. It was always better to know she was being used upfront she supposed, instead of painfully coming to that realization years later when the chances for getting out dwindled almost into nothing.

‘Alright then’ Astarion’s voice brought her back to the present as the elf offered her a small bow. ‘I accept this arrangement. Lead on.’

Neve could only hope that she wasn’t going to regret it too much it later on.

#bg3ficfeb #bg3 #baldurs gate 3 #tav #tav x astarion #bg3 fic

[dreamdripdistance]

I'll always love a good Dizz tag rant about how much plastic fabrics suck ass <3

FVDSHKFBHDSUGDEWHJKFBZXJK im glad i have a brand!!! because like if someone doesnt need polyester for a specific purpose for its specific properties, why WOULD you prefer it over a natural fibre for an everyday use????

like. ethically sourced leather (which is a byproduct of the meat industry, cows are always going to be killed or will die for one reason or another, wasting their skin when it could instead be a Really good textile is STUPID and ILLOGICAL) or wool (something that will always be available as long as sheep roam this earth, and DOES NOT harm the animal and actually is integral to their survival!!) or cotton or linen or silk or whatever will always be a better, more ethical and healthier choice!!!!!

like just off the top of my head, linen is always going to be a better choice for bedding than anything else, especially in the way its literally a Stronger textile when wet, and its breathablity and antibacterial properties. all things you want when using and caring for your bedding????

cotton is GREAT for underwear and clothing kept close to the skin because of its breathablity. by the fucking way, ppl with vaginas? if youre wearing polyester underwear Every Day, i hope you know youre literally just inflicting yeast infections upon yourself??? like wearing cute lacy undies is great once in a while, but pleaaaaase. wear (loose fitting) cotton underwear to sleep, especially.

and also, wool is the greatest insulator that you could possibly get, and is key to making sure you dont also sweat (which can be dangerous and also gross even when its extremely cold), and is a great thing to use in your doonas if you can afford it (WHICH I CANT AND I CRY EVERY TIME)

like, yeah theres ethical issues regarding natural textiles, like leather dyeing processes (and that its an animal byproduct, which im not gonna talk about indepth bc idgaf), and the historically (and currently) evil practices being used to farm cotton, and the widespread fast fashion-ification of Everything rn even with natural textile garments.

but like. think about it in comparison to the mass manufacture and discarding of polyester fabrics, and the microplastics going loose in every single wash, and how polyester waste is literally just PLASTIC waste, so when your PU leather coat disintegrates, thats just going to go in the bin, where as a coat made of real leather is going to last for however as long as you can keep it conditioned and protected from damage (which can be fucking DECADES)

also, synthetics are Fine. like they have a time and place especially in the medical field and in situations where you reaaaally dont want anything coming in or out of what youre wearing. nylon was fucking revolutionary as the first entirely synthetic textile so like. i dont hate polyester? but again it has a time and place!!!

like, polyester is cheap as fuck, and if polyester or "cotton rich" (aka poly blend) bedding or clothing is all you can afford or find, then cool! im sorry about that, but i have no qualms about it! ive bought polyester clothing, like, my work pants are all polyester, because they were the cheapest dress pants i could get at kmart that were my size after trying and failing to find smth in an op shop! but like !!!!! AAAAAAAAAAAAAUUUGHGHGHGHHGHGHGHGHHHHH IF SOMEONE HAS THE MEANS TO BUY ACTUAL LEATHER (WITH NO QUALMS WITH REAL LEATHER OR W/E) AND THEN GOES TO DROP HUNDREDS ON A PU LEATHER (AKA PLASTIC) COAT, IM GONNA MAUL THEM!!!!!

anyways in conclusion, as i always say:

#(none of this post is pointed at u jess btw HAH) #literally though i saw a coat at rivers the other month and it was like. $150 for a fake leather coat. #and like. i have two real leather jackets and Both of those combined cost less than that #and every time i think about it i get saur mad #ANYWAYS SORRY I TOOK THE OPPORTUNITY TO RANT IM SO SORRY JESS GHJCKDBSGHUFHDSJFBDSVNDS THANK YOU FOR THE ASK IT MADE ME GIGGLE #asks #jessiesjaded #long post

[realcatalina]

King and his mother?!

In Christ's College Chapel, Cambridge is 16th century stained glass window, a rare example which survived nearly intact. It is thought to be done in 1505. On left is Henry VII. And the woman on right is Margaret Beaufort. In the most unexpected outfit.

Read further for more.

In middle is St. Edward the Confessor,

on left King Henry VII wearing his armour and crown, already grey-haired.

i just love the silvery part of his armour and also these portculises.

Green behind him probably has to do with tudor colours-green and white.

But it is the female figure on right which caught my attention. It is said to be lady Margaret Beaufort, who was very involved with Christ's College in 1505. Hence it is very logical to asume it is her.

However if you play with image a little bit to see the woman's outfit a bit better...you will realise woman is dressed extremely sumptuarily.

The cloak is held in place by white rope ended by tasle-standard design for female cloak of the time. But this vivid blue colour could be one of blues made using snails as dye...very expensive, on par with purple. The pillow beneath her feet is in same colour, cloth before hr crimson-also very expensive.

So what is the golden part? Her gown+wide sleeves of that gown.

Her headwear seems to be plain black, but otherwise it is pure sumptuousness...not at all what we would expect lady Margaret to wear.

Thus i questioned whetever or not it might be Elizabeth of York instead, however i doubt it because of the shape of coronet. It doesnt match Henry's crown and we have depictions of CoA in crown matching her husbands. Plus these wide sleeves are more consistent with 1510s, they wouldnt become part of English fashion until at least mid 1500s, after Elizabeth died. (As far as i know.)

But then Margaret and the college were in 1505, so it makes sense.

Yet I always imagined that her simple outfit we know from portraits had something to do with her swearung celibacy in 1499.

Can somebody please check records of her wardrobe? Because this is way after and she is depicted truly lavishly. But you know-she got her son on throne after years of struggles and worries. Which one of us wouldn't then want to enjoy her golden years?

You know we had similiar thing with Margaret of Austria. She had so many portraits of herself in simple outfit, looking like true mourning widow and didnt want to remarry after two dead husbands. So people mistakenly think that is all she wore all the time, even though it was not so.

Unfortunately the image is also bit dirty and scratched or worn of in places. I imagine that originally it looked more like this:

I know that at the very top we have lines consisting with white chemise, then black line which could be black kirtle, then line of large pearls(maybe ment to sit on edge of black kirtle) then golden line is probably edge of golden gown...but right under it imo is edge of ermine surcoat.

Which obviously would not be showing over lower parts of golden gown.But normally there is no band running across in middle of the chest-imo that is damage.

Then obviously her blue cloak is held in place by pieces of white rope(typical of the time)-ending in tassel.

That is how i interpret it and this is the best version i could come up with:

One more thing. I do not know which one of these is correct:

With or without u-band.

U-band on forehead occurs in gable hoods of 15th century. After 1505, the vast major women would long since have abandoned it. Like a decade prior.

Yet she was over 60, so i cannot rule out that granny who nobody would have dared to criticized-because she was mother of the king- would have gone around in something way out of fashion.

But then...she has no visible paste and that is consistent with 15th century too. Yet the gown is strongly against it.

So this is bit of contradiction, based upon just this small detail.

But who knows, maybe it is simply dirty in the most unfortunate of the spots and conicidently looks more like u-band, while it might be bit of hair showing.

I hope you have enjoyed this and tell me what you think.

#tudor history #margaret beaufort #henry vii #tudor fashion

[skippyv20]

Ban List for Sane People

Hi Skippy & Friends-Pilgrim with some thoughts after reading the dismal news headlines on this quiet August Sunday morning. All I can come up with for survival is to not support activities that are rotting the core of our countries as we the people are being hamstrung by leaders that seem to be wolves in sheep’s clothing. 1. Disney-any and all parks and products. The latest Twitter photos showing huge middle-aged men greeting small girls in front of a princess dress shop with bewildered parents is mind boggling. How can these families even walk by those huge monsters wearing ill fitted costumes, while entering the store? How can this slime ball company consider hiring these cretins because of new company policy??? 2.Ignore all Instagram influencer$$ posing in their bathrooms in all forms of undress or useless, ugly clothes, shoes and accessories that cost minor fortunes. How many more 100-million-dollar jets or mansions do the Kardashian girls need these days for being total narcissists, adoring and in love with their own newly augmented image? For sure, the ILBW will not be on my list of people to make super rich with this nonsensical system brought to you by questionable brand designers and administrators creating “fashions” which are not only ugly, but they are also worthless in the real world. At least Italy has the sense and courage to ban the last former husband of Kim as he parades his basically naked new wife in public places. I have had it with other people’s boobs & butts in my face 24/7.

 3. Shopping in designer stores where you might get shoved/hit/shot by a mob of bash & grab gangs. Our car was hit during our LAST trip to infested San Fran…we won’t set foot in that state now. If a store does attempt to stay open…how about showcasing & selling those clever knockoffs made in China-that would get those robbers really mad. Gumps, the once stately emporium since 1861, has decided to shutter it door, located steps from Union Square in San Fran…no one is safe from this illegal free for all right now.

4. Don’t invest in campus housing especially for sororities. In Laramie, Wyoming the Kappa Kappa Gamma sorority lost their lawsuit to keep non-females out of their dorms! A very big guy who “feels like a female” has talked his way into living with them, drooling while watching them…WHAT??? The court said they would not define what a woman is.

 5. Don’t book a campsite at the ultra-secretive 2,700-acre Monte Rio, CA club called Bohemian Grove, which is part of the Bohemian Club, the San Fran based non-profit that runs the more than 100 exclusive camps??? Don’t let anyone you like work there…the world leaders who go there don’t pay well as it is off the books…of course it is. They are also very demanding and have huge bonfires for very creepy things.

6. Don’t buy any super expensive mediocre artwork by (you know the name) a drug addict/cheating husband, who did shifty Ukranian & Chinese deals for his father’s coffers. This middle-aged man, lawbreaker is allowed to live in the White House, travel on Air Force One and spend over $15,000 a month on rent in Malibu with his security team also billing the same rent nearby and yet they want to arrest a former President of the US for questioning voting procedures in Atlanta?

 7. Don’t take the new tour just announced in NYC!!! This late night, free walking tour of rat hotspots is getting popular?? “The rats are like the new celebs.” proclaims the owner of the Real NY Tours. Time to go weed the garden as I ponder my one single vote. Over and out from a crowded Cape Cod.

Wow!  So much happening, and the world gets crazier!!!  Thank you dear Pilgrim!  Praying for better days!❤️

[blackyote]

Read on Ao3

_____________

Hunter stepped out of the bathroom, impulsively tugging at a cuff to straighten his sleeve, then glanced down to check that the tuck of his hem wasn't sloppy. It felt strange, wearing something so breathable. He was used to a couple layers between himself and the world, but the others had encouraged him to try new things when they went shopping for human clothes and, well, this one had been hard to resist. It was a white "button up" (they were called) with a repeating pattern of Flapjacks flying across it.

Er, cardinals. Not Flapjacks. Those were pancakes. Which were not birds.

He mostly had it figured out.

Being new to this whole "fashion" thing, Hunter understood that some clothes looked better together than others, but he couldn't begin to tell you why that was. It made sense to him to just grab what he liked, and what he liked happened to be a pair of purple pants. (This delighted Luz for some reason.) Even if the colors were a lot louder than his usual white and gold, they were able to pull the outfit together with a red leather belt and white "loafers."

Things were more fashionable if they matched, apparently.

Walking out of the dressing room, waiting for his friends' reactions, he might've imagined Willow's eyes widening, but the memory still made him blush. This one was a keeper.

Even just looking at himself in the bathroom mirror now, he couldn't help but smile. He looked like himself, but a newer, freer version. Maybe it was just a facade for the moment, but if he looked the part, maybe the rest would follow. Earth Hunter got to be useful, but he could have a little fun, too.

When he exited the hallway to the den, however, Hunter stopped short to find everyone right where he'd left them.

"Uh, guys. I thought we were going to dinner." Luz had even told him to wear his new clothes.

To his left, everyone's favorite lesbians were in the kitchen: Amity perched on a barstool, phone in hand, with Luz cozied up beside. The latter turned to give him an apologetic smile. "Sorry, Hunter. Amity's not feeling great. I think I should stay home and keep an eye on her." Amity coughed weakly into her fist, expression unchanged.

Hunter raised an eyebrow, sensing something was off but not wanting to push. "Oh... Okay." He turned his focus to the den. "Gus?"

Gus draped an arm over the back of the couch, half-turning to see him. The television was tuned to the Discovery Channel, as it often was when he had control of the remote. "Sorry, bud, but they're about to show this whole documentary on human civilization and how they manage to survive their world's harsh environments." He grimaced, looking like he'd been caught red-handed. "Maybe next time?"

That didn't leave many people. Exasperated, Hunter put his hands on his hips. "Vee?"

The basilisk was looking cozy in an armchair nearby, laptop open in front of her. Given her pajamas, she seemed the least likely candidate. "Ah, sorry— my friend needed some help with a research project. Last minute thing. I can't tonight." She was quick to add: "But you should go out and have fun!"

"With who? You're all—"

Hunter froze, realization dawning as Willow walked up beside him. She had clearly gotten dressed as he had, opting for a rusty orange blouse and skirt combo, a red bandanna covering her ears.

She frowned at the leisurely scene before her, same as Hunter. "Hey, why isn't anyone ready?"

Luz waved off the question this time, distilling it to, "We all have stuff going on. But you two go! You can tell us how it is."

Hunter looked at Willow and shrugged helplessly. She met his gaze, cheeks coloring slightly, before turning back to Luz. Her eyes narrowed in suspicion. "Uh huh."

Hunter rubbed his neck, which suddenly felt warmer. "I dunno, maybe we should just wait until—"

"No," Willow said with finality. "If they don't want to come, that's their loss." She took his hand in hers. "We're going to dinner."

Now his face was warm, too. "Yes, Captain." Letting the epithet slip didn't help.

Luz tried to hide her snicker. "Just remember— take the bus six stops to 4th Avenue, okay? It's right there, you can't miss it."

"Got it." Still holding his hand, Willow made for the door, shooting Luz and Amity a cryptic look.

Hunter gave them a half wave as he passed. "See you guys later?"

Luz's grin was full of mischief, finally dropping the act. "Uh huh. Have fun on your date."

Hunter's eyes widened as he saw, too late, the trap he'd walked right into. He suppressed a squeak just as Willow pulled him through the door.

#the owl house #hunter toh #willow park #huntlow #luz noceda #the owl house fic #my writing

[louthegothartist]

I have an AU where Eithan took Heisenberg's deal and ended up working with him, staying a few days with Karl the two talked and planned, Karl asked about Eithan's life and the two swapped stories. After that at the end battle instead of giving baby Rose to Chris he handed her off to Karl despite what Chris tried to say, Karl raised Rose and told her as much about her dad as he could. In the few short days he got to know Eithan he learned so much about him, in this AU the other Lords ended up surviving (Aside from mother) and together they helped Karl raise Rose. Karl never wanted to be called 'dad' he didn't think of himself as father material and got the idea from Donnie to be called 'uncle' instead. Growing up Rose learned to embrace her powers and was taught to use them better then Umbrella ever would have taught her, after all, she's with a group of people who all powers of their own, of course she'd learn better from them. Rose chose to take her uncle's last name as well as her father's, choosing to go by 'Lady Heisenberg-Winters' instead of just 'Lady Winters.' Rose might have been taught how to get dirty and knows almost everything her Uncle knows about building and mechanics, but thanks to Auntie Alcina, she was taught to act like a proper lady, how to walk and act and how to be a girl...then after that she went right back to her uncle and changed out of the dress and back into her normal outfit to run around the factory in, including her dad's jacket. Angie was her playmate as a toddler as well as any toys and dolls that her Auntie Donnie made for her, then as she got older she got to play with her cousins, Bella, Cassandra and Daniela. Her uncle Moreau taught her how to swim as well. Growing up Rose was well loved and taken care of. Until at 16 Chris came looking for her and when he found her he kidnapped her to bring her back home and to see her mother. Rose was a little happy at first at being able to finally meet her mother, but soon hated her when she realized that her mother only loved her IF Rose turned into something her mother wanted her to be and followed the rules of umbrella corp. Escaping Rose made it back home to the village where Umbrella came after her once again, but Chris saw how loved and happy Rose was and that she was taken care of (As well as how much the other Lords fought to keep her with them) so they left. Sure they might come back for her in the future, but for now she's left alone. Here we see about a 11-12 year old Rose learning a new power that developed with her Uncle cheering her on, happy that Rose was getting the hand of controlling this new power like her others. I didn't want to give her a dress to wear since she grew up in a factory where running around in a dress or skirt wouldn't be safe. I looked at women's fashion from the late 1800's and found some clothes I could see Rose in (Like the pants she's wearing as well as the boots) The pants are my take of biking pants that women could wear while riding motorbikes and the shoes are women's Victorian Hiking boots, made for long walks in the mountains or on ruff and bumpy paths, perfect for running around the factory and village.

#resdient evil #resdient evil village #resdient evil au #karl heisenberg #rose winters

[pokemonlunarregion]

Growlithe and Arcanine top normal bottom shiny.

How to evolve: Dusk stone.

Region: A region of eternal night as scientists created plants that could grow in moonlight, though there is some places that try to create artificial lights for the plants that couldn't grow in the moonlight. The moon still changing to different fullness percents with times there is no moon visible.

Region name: Lunar region.

Type: Dark Ghost.

Ability: Growlithe Insomnia. Arcanine Cursed Body.

Description: They are Pokemon often chosen to be the ones to guard darker places like graveyards especially at night. With the belief that the darker elements or ghosts of those who have passed on will not affect these pokemon. While also being known to be great guard dogs so to speak. They are also very popular with the people who prefer the darker dress styles such as emo or punk, a famous fashion designer even made some very popular clothes based on these pokemon after seeing how much the certain demographic loved them. 

Growlithe is more tame compared to it’s evolution when needing to guard or protect something or someone. It is not afraid to attack to defend what or who it is protecting though those with bad intentions will prefer facing it over an Arcanine. It is known to enjoy the night and is seen more often in the wild after the sun has set below the horizon. In the wild they hunt in packs using the shadows of the night to their advantage to sneak up on prey or those trespassing on their territory. It will only go after trespassers on its territory in the wild if it feels threatened in anyway by whoever or whatever is there. In captivity it will patrol it’s home to keep those it cares for safe all night. If allowed to walk out of it’s pokeball it prefers to walk right beside it’s trainer. It is believed that the closer a Growlithe presses against you then the stronger the bond you have with it. A few people even try to compete with others to show off a stronger bond with their Growlithe compared to another trainer and their Growlithe, though these competitions are usually just done by trainers who have more competitive spirits to try to show they’re better than others instead of a professional competition.

Arcanine is more of a loner in the wild usually only making packs with its mate and pups until the pups are old enough to survive away from their parents. It will chase the pups out of it and its mate territory once they reach that certain age. In captivity parents with young children will prefer Arcanine over Growlithe due to that Arcanine will fiercely protect the young child especially at night. If it is guarding a graveyard then it will treat the graveyard as its territory and be more willing to be more aggressive than Growlithe will. It is known to chase after those with bad intentions snapping it’s sharp teeth at them until they leave the territory. Some people even hold belief that this pokemon can sense bad intentions within people and know who to go after. While it is known to be more aggressive it does have a softer side that it usually only shows those that it really cares about. It showing its softer loving side is how one knows that this pokemon cares and trusts you completely. It can become a lapdog in private with those it holds a bond with.

Lore:

Growlithe is said to have been born from the energy of graveyards when first created, and some believe that is why it and it’s evolution are often chosen to guard such places in the first place. It’s believed dark energy allowing it to handle such darker places as some believe it feels right at home there. Some believe it can influence its trainer a small bit as there have been cases of those with strong bonds with this pokemon will style themselves like it. Some Growlithes live out their entire lives, with the longest living one to be recorded as living for ninety years, without ever evolving. Yet it usually doesn’t care whether it evolves or not and will live its life however things go in it. For those trying to catch these pokemon they usually are told to wander into dark places at night in order to find one. With even a legend that if one comes up to you in the dark and acts very friendly towards you then you are destined to be its trainer. Since in the legend Growlithe is able to know if it is meant to be taken in by a trainer thus is able to sense when that trainer is near it. 

Arcanine in the past used to be exclusive to either the wild or protecting places like graveyards. So it has stories made about it to try to scare adventurous children from going to such places at night or causing any mischief in such places. Though it is not the only pokemon with such tales told about it to scare children from misbehaving in such ways. Those who own one to protect their family and especially their child prefer the stories of other pokemon to scare their children into not trying to misbehave in such ways, not wishing to scare their own children with the pokemon they’re meant to turn to for protection at night. Scary stories with it have died down compared to the past especially as the fact that it can become a lapdog has been known. Despite this it is still regarded as a fierce protector. And a pokemon that anyone going to places where it guards would rather avoid than try to go against it to do whatever bad they want to do.

Design inspiration: Emo Warrior Cats art especially Scourge ones, emo and punk styles, and squirrel tails.

Lunar region is a region that I have thought about making. I will be making more Pokémon and variants for this region.

#growlithe #arcanine #pokemon fan made region #pokemon lunar region #lunar growlithe #lunar arcanine #pokemon fanart

[weirdbrainweirdbody]

It's so cliche but my journey with clothes literally mimics my journey with mental health down to a tee.

When I was a kid, I just wore what my mother picked out or stuff I thought looked fun, I didn't care that much. But as I turned 10/11, my mental health started to go downhill real fast.

Then I was a tween, 11/12/13, my throat and arm raw, from screaming and scratching. I had intrusive thoughts that made me imagine, with my horribly vivid mind's eye, graphic images and a constant stream of yelling telling me that I should die, I was worthless. I wore black. Nothing but black. The only colour that was allowed was perhaps a bit of red on an otherwise black band tshirt, as a blood splatter. And the yellow stitching of my doc Martins.

I wore black gothic dresses covered in lace, and black band t-shirts with skinny black jeans, and black normie dresses paired with black tights and black lipstick and eyeliner like a raccoon, and I did elaborate gothic makeup of my eyes bleeding (black, of course), and I was so so depressed.

I said I wore it because it made me happy, and it did. It gave me a community where I knew people who felt as shitty as I did and still survived. But my first suicide attempt was in a black gothic dress, with a laced up back and a terrible amazon petticoat underneath.

Then at age 13, I discovered lolita fashion. I said I'd never wear it, it wasn't for me, my twin liked it and wore it and I liked it on them but never on me.

I tried it on once, just before my 14th birthday. That same day, I bought my first lolita dress.

It was nothing like what I'd been wearing. Where before there were blood splatters and sad faces and black black black, there were now blue bows and pink presents and purple squirrels eating a yellow and white birthday cake almost twice their height.

Around this time, my mental health started getting a little better. I'd ditched my abusive ex-friend for good this time, I'd been in counselling at least a year, I'd learned I was autistic and I was accepting what that meant for me, and what accomodations I needed to provide for myself. I started advocating for myself.

And I was hooked, I started collecting cute pastel dresses and bright decora tops and bows, a fairy kei tutu in yellow pink and blue, endless bows in every pastel colour imaginable, I adored it.

I still wore black a lot though, and I still self harmed regularly, still thought I was a piece of shit who deserved nothing, still planned what the note I left next to my body would say. And often, I'd have to take an alternative route home from school (once we went back after lockdown) so I didn't walk by the road. Someone would trigger my PTSD, and I'd be turned into a crying shaking mess.

But I wore pink and blue and yellow too. Not all the time, and I had barely any proper lolita coords yet, but I still wore it. And my mental health was still getting better and better, and I started to wear colour more and more, and my room was painted in pastel colours, and I started to collect cute plush toys and colourful clowns (I have 32 now).

I started EMDR at age 15.

I wore more and more colour and my mental health got even better and better, and now I like me as a person, I'm not perfect, but I'm feeling so much more okay than that screaming crying tweenage me dressed all in black.

I finished EMDR a few months ago. My triggers that once sent me into deep flashbacks do nothing to me, and my extreme reactions to things seem far more mellowed. It took a while after my EMDR finished for that to happen, and as it did I started to wear less and less black. Now, I pretty much don't wear it at all. It's all cute pastel dresses and skirts and shorts and bows and cardigans with rainbows.

The black in my room is confined to a single barely used corner that I'm going to clear out and give to a friend. Now, I wear the sweet lolita coords I once thought I'd never be able to achieve, the coords a younger me would've seen on Pinterest and thought they'd do anything to wear. Now a lolita friend, who I think has excellent coords already, tells me that they look up to my style.

Now I'm happy.

#tw suicide #tw suicide mention #tw self harm #tw self harm mention #idk just feeling self reflective tonight.

[cityandking]

32, 42, 46, 50 for daichi and bran!

oh the babes! ty! // super detailed questions about your ocs

32. What do they dress like? What sorta shops do they buy clothes from? Do they wear the fashion that they like? What do they wear to sleep? Do they wear makeup? What’s their hair like?

BRANWEN — dresses like a PIRATE! sturdy pants, good boots, shirts buttoned and/or laced just a little low. bandanas and jewelry and her coat, of course, can’t forget the coat. her fashion is comfort > everything (except for being A Little Bit Sexy) and she’s not picky about where her clothing comes from so long as she likes it. I don’t think she wears makeup too often, but she cleans up so nice when she does. her hair is an unrurly tangle of a mane but also I think modern au she’d have a really great hair care routine

DAICHI — grew up sort of wearing whatever was available, and then a uniform, and is only just now getting the chance to explore things like style and preference, only he’s been mostly tossed from one horribly high-stakes situation to the next so I wouldn’t say there’s a whole lot of experimentation going down. he really likes sneakers. he mostly wears robes. you know those videos of guys in modern hanfu/hanbok with tennis shoes on skateboards? that’s daichi minus the skateboard. he buys everything secondhand because he has no money so you can imagine the kind of stress he is under. he used to wear his hair in locs but then he died and had a Serious Haircut Moment and shaved it all off. it’s been growing back but it’s still short

42. What are their goals? What would they sacrifice anything for? What is their secret ambition?

BRANWEN — wants to be free and wants to be remembered. in that order, but only just. she’s loyal as hell and rather possessive but would sacrifice a great deal in the name of that loyalty for the right people (or person). her secret ambition is to find what lies on the other side of the water. but more than anything she wants to be a story people tell for a long long time to come.

DAICHI — dai just wants to get everyone home in one piece, which is proving to be a fuckin’ nightmare. he’s already given up plenty for it, up to and including some of his morals. as for ambitions, he hasn’t got any. he thinks he’d like to be happy.

46. Do they make a good first impression? Does their first impression reflect them accurately? How do they introduce themselves?

BRANWEN — introduces herself by her name, her title, or not at all depending on the situation. she makes pretty good first impressions; she’s charming and charismatic and self assured, and knows how to carry herself for different situations. she can lie or pull on a mask to a certain degree—she has an incredibly talented silver tongue—but for the most part, the first impression tends to be accurate, if a little impersonal

DAICHI — is an awkward dude, bless his heart. his first impressions reflect himself exceedingly accurately, which he’s pretty much made his peace with. he tends to be overly formal, though he’s getting better about it.

50. If they could only take one bag of stuff somewhere with them: what would they pack? What do they consider their essentials?

BRANWEN — her gun, her sword, a compass, her mother’s ring. clothes (her favorites) and food and the like, probably. rope? can never go wrong with some good rope. she’s pretty pragmatic; she’d take the things she liked of what she needed and maybe one or two other items for personal reasons

DAICHI — honestly just your standard explorer’s bag, plus his holy symbol and his dad’s letters. maybe a couple of the tchotchkes he’s collected during his travels; nothing like a noelty key chain to round out your basic survival gear. and the sneakers, obviously

#wahoo I started this and then fell asleep rip #daichi #branwen #I love them

[sol-flo]

the hunger games prequel is an aesthetic nightmare. a costume case study

^ fancy title for a glorified rant. idc.

hey so i watched the ballad of songbirds & snakes (2023) yesterday. if you don't know anything about the movie, it's bad. also it's the 10th hunger games and lucy gray is the district 12 tribute. she's culturally not really 12, but member of a roma coded nomadic group, and a well regarded (in the district) singer. we first see her at the reaping, and this is what she wears (she wears the same outfit for like half the movie because the games weren't fancy reality tv yet so she doesn't get costume changes or anything) (also kinda bad pic bc i wanted something horizontal also i can't find much better ones)

the second i saw this outfit i knew i was in for a bad time.

(btw i think this print on print blue dress over blue shirt on the left is great wish they'd gone for something like this instead)

here's the whole outfit, sorry for the vertical space i'm gonna take up:

(you can't tell from the pic but there are fairly tall heels on those boots. i'd estimate 5cm. pretty and good for performing, but you'd sprain an ankle really fast on that rubble)

now. why do i hate this. first off i think it's ugly. i don't really like the whole top being white because i think it looks a little disjointed — the swiss dot parts of the skirt look more off white / cream / ivory than the top part, and there's no lavender at all up top, and i think that looks awkward. not only that, but the dress coordinates very poorly with the stays. i think the stays are mostly nice (but you can tell they're not very stiff by the way they crease at the waist. which is nitpicky of me but i think they'd look nicer...); the cream is nice, but none of the colors in the print go together with the dress — blues and greens come out of left field, and the shade of pink is strange with the sunset-y colors too. the dark blue binding is very stark and doesn't match anything else in the outfit. the boots i have no complaints other than the heel, but they don't match the stays either.

anyway that's not the point though. a character can wear ugly poorly coordinated outfits and that's not a cinema sin. plenty of reasons to do that in fact, whatever, i'd just complain and move on. but what i actually take issue with is that she does not, in fact, have a reason to wear this specific combination of garments and it drives me up the wall. what she wears is distinctively fashionable to our 2020s eyes and entirely different from what every other district person in the movie is wearing. she stands out not only within her district but among all the tributes too (because they dressed the other 23 kids as street urchins).

here's the thing: the movie is kinda half-heartedly going for a more or less midcentury retrofuturism thing. kinda fallout-y. we don't linger for long at district 12 (and we barely saw it as of this first lucy gray scene), but they wear a lot of shirt dresses and 40s silhouettes in general (not too dissimilar from what katniss and prim wear for the reaping at the first movie). lucy gray might not be culturally 12, being forced to settle in the district by the capitol, but it's been at least ten years so the resources she has are gonna be similar. and even though the dress is her mother's, we see nothing like it anywhere else — when presumably other people would also still have access to surviving pre-war stuff.

so my pressing concerns with this are that these clothes look like they were made in our very own 21st century. i mean, they were, but uhh that's a bad thing for post apocalyptic speculative fiction set in an unspecified future?? the print on the stays looks digital (not hand painted, block printed or even silk screened). the tulle is synthetic, and the vibrant dyes look synthetic too. swiss dot, at least, can be cotton, but the outfit looks capitol, doesn't it? the other people on 12 are all wearing natural fibers, basically all cotton it seems, and blue is a common natural dye (shoutout to woad).

later on, she wears a bright purple dress. i'm talking very saturated. goldenrod crochet bikini. peasant-y boho blouse with clear machine embroidery and trims. also do you know how expensive broderie anglaise is? this bootleg 2006 vanessa hudgens shops at free people while everyone else seems unfamiliar with the concept of laundry.

and they don't even style her hair.

#can anyone hear me. it's so dark in here #effortpost #(btw my solution off the top of my head would be to simplify the textiles — give her chambrays and calicos for example — and use actual #handmade details for embelishment; she could maybe have simple bead and macrame accessories too for depth and texture; #and red would be a good color if you want her to stand out so bad. keep it looking fairly natural though and don't fully neglect the blues) #(stays absolutely have to go though. they're have such a specific silhouette i can't really see them working unless it's widespread yknow. #i think a quilted vest could fill their role well. or some other sort of bodice with hand-decorated elements #something she made herself for the stage that looks very distinctively her. but focus on the handmade) #(and of course background characters and other tributes deserved some attention. could be great for worldbuilding how the districts became #what they're like during katniss' era. even so close to the war they'd have some cultural differences and you just don't see that here)

[erik-powery-for-america]

Conversation starred. 

Conversation opened. 1 unread message.

Skip to content Using Gmail with screen readers

Search

Compose

Labels

Inbox

57

Starred

Snoozed

Sent

Drafts

1

More

Labels

Labels

000 EIN NUMBER REPLLC

123 Big Picture Creatives

AAA

BBB

Exxon

FAMILY

1

hashtag WEPA

PROGRESSIVE

RESUME

SAFELINK

1

TP

Tumblr

3 of 119

Inbox

Tumblr <[email protected]> Unsubscribe

Jun 9, 2023, 10:29 AM (23 hours ago)

to me

It's called fashion, sweetie.

Look it up. Or don't, it's totally up to you. I mean, we won't force you to do anything. Besides, there's no such thing as #fashion, not really, it's really something of a social construct. What looks good, and how much it is worth, is not much further than the imaginary—and beauty is in the eye of the beholder, after all. Then again, Edna Mode didn't get where she is by being so forgiving, warm, and wholesome about everything, and this is fashion, baby. This is basically survival of the fittest. It's dog eat dog. It's Battle Royale. So you can either go around being " " nice " " and telling everyone how great they look, how that jumper really works well with their hair, how they really look their very best selves in that jacket, how those accessories really bring out not just the best in the outfit, but in themselves. 

Or you can choose violence, and join the bloody dogfight that is fashion by throwing some serious shade, looking people up and down, and forming a mildly disdainful expression. Those shoes with that shirt?, you ask, how very interesting, you add. *smirk, slightly*

A little history. The French word mode, meaning "fashion", dates as far back as 1482. The English word denoting something "in style" dates only to the 16th century.

When you think about it, fashion is a little like the ultimate expression of human behavior. Fashion is a way of expressing that you are hip, that you are aware. That you are either an instigator of good taste and style, or someone canny enough to know and follow it. In either case, you are in. You are among the hallowed who know. People look at you and, without so much as a word, it is known to one another that you are kin. You are in. They, they are out. They are the other. And what could be worse than the other? *shudders*

At the same time, fashion has ballooned itself to become one of the farthest-reaching monsters of capitalism. The mass production of clothing is, often, mass human exploitation. The astronomical profits to be made from fashion help to widen the gap between the absurdly wealthy few and everyone else, while supposed good fashion and good taste frequently remain the preserve of the very wealthiest. The poorest are left to afford so-called fast fashion, made by those of the same class as themselves. While all this money is being made, as clothes are being produced on a huge scale and dumped and disposed at a similar rate, this entire process is having a catastrophic effect on the climate and environment, proving a huge drain on natural resources, and becoming ever-more unsustainable. 

That aside, we love looking funky fresh, and dressed up to the nines and beyond. It is simply called #fashion, sweetie, and the choice is yours. You can look it up, join the program, and join us in the trendy masses. Or, if you really want, you can wear that jumper with those shoes, and, well. The less said, the better.

We looked it up, in case you were wondering x

Fashinspiration

Everyone is wearing it @thatsbelievable

Everyone in 1898 is wearing it @lookingbackatfashionhistory

Amazingly eerie lacy shawl, depicting a spider on its web - perfect jorogumo vibes!

@tanuki-kimono

revolution in fashion: european fashion 1715-1815 - the kyoto costume institute (1989) 

@milksockets

My glasses! I can't see without my Jo Haemmer glasses! @wintercorrybriea

Jean Paul Gaultier: Spring/Summer (2009) @sevenfrncs