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marypsue · 7 months

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In that vein (hah), I just have to take a moment to gush about the costuming in The Lost Boys because. Have you seen the costuming in The Lost Boys. Like each costume standing on its own without anyone in it still gives you a sense of a whole character, which is important because some of these characters don't get, uh, lines. We have to be able to distinguish them immediately by visuals, and the thing is, we can, because they're not just dressed to look attractive, they're dressed with the purpose of establishing character.

Like, consider Michael. They kept it very simple for him, on purpose, he's a regular everyman kind of guy thrown into a Situation. But also, he's trying too hard. The white t-shirt, jeans, and leather jacket call back to James Dean, Rebel Without A Cause, but the leather jacket's brand new without a scuff or a crack, not broken in, and it sits uncomfortably on his shoulders. The earring doesn't suit him - it belongs to somebody else, a funhouse mirror version of himself that he's tempted by, but also it literally belongs to somebody else. Who gave him that earring? Star's implied to have done the piercing, for him, which also tracks - the earring's a little piece of someone else, someone darker and wilder, that's been dug right down into his flesh by his association with Star. It's tasted his blood.

It's also a little piece of the boys' uniting aesthetic bleeding over onto him. There's a magpie sensibility to all of them, but then each of them are visually distinct as themselves within it.

Star's clothes have 80s cuts but form a 60s hippie silhouette, solidified in time. She's the most colourful of them all, her white tops signifying a flash of innocence, but at the same time as she climbs on David's bike, she pulls on a big black jacket that almost envelops her, a little piece of his shadow falling over her and devouring her light. Again, it doesn't quite fit her, like she's playing dressup as a darker, wilder self just like Michael is.

And speaking of David. That boy is chin to toe wrapped up in black. The coat references batwings, which is a great detail. And those gloves! He doesn't touch Star; he doesn't touch Michael; he doesn't touch the world, except through a layer of darkness. It's real Old West, white-hat-black-hat level symbolism. Except.

The real villain of the piece isn't the dangerous, sharp-edged boy in black - although of course you need to look out for him, they don't call him 'dangerous' for no reason. The real villain of the piece is the most perfectly conventional, middle-class, unassuming, don't-look-twice take-him-home-to-mother normal guy imaginable. Grey and beige. Business casual.

It's the perfect camouflage for a predator.

(And then also like. I can't wax as poetic about it right now because my brain cells are otherwise occupied. But please consider how much character is there in, like, the Frogs' army-surplus duds and Sam's terrible, incredible shirts.)

#the lost boys #costuming is characterisation. thank you for coming to my TED talk #is any of this coherent. have i just been swept away on this movie's tide of sensuality homoeroticism and oily sax man music #this is why in my 'michael turned sooner and everything went to shit' fic I have him collecting embellishments left right and centre #he's really truly fitting into the pack now. not just playing dressup #also something something borderline anachronistic details something something timelessness something

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crazyinluvfix · 21 days

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PROLOGUE

FATAL ATTRACTION - a stiles stilinski story

summary: Sera Salvatore moved to Beacon Hills for a break from the supernatural. But her life was once again turned upside down when she and her two best friends get thrown head first into a world of werewolves and mystery. But it’s hard for her to protect her friends when a single werewolf bite is what could kill her for good…

WARNINGS: mentions of blood

a/n: this is just the intro ! future parts will be longer, that’s where the story really begins ;)

series masterlist

1.8k words

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Beacon Hills was supposed to be a sanctuary from all things supernatural.

After what felt like over a century (because it was), Sera Salvatore needed a break.

Which was admittedly a little hypocritical considering she herself was a vampire, but she was desperate for an escape from all the drama and chaos that her family - namely her brothers - had brought to Mystic Falls. So she decided to start afresh, again.

After only one year of living back in her hometown, she picked up and went to the furthest most point in the continental United States, which just so happened to land her here. From Georgia, all the way to sunny California. It would be a nice change.

She was fortunate enough that she could pass as quite young whenever she settled in a new place. With the help of makeup, clothing, and a healthy amount of dishonesty she managed to blend into freshman year at Beacon Hills High without anyone even batting an eye.

It was now one year ago today that she had started her first day, which turned out to be a breeze.

January 3rd, 2010

“You’re humiliating,” I expressed my annoyance flatly as I stood by the door, waiting for my brother to let go of my jacket that he had been straightening before I left the house.

He patted my shoulder with a motherly smile as if he was sending his child off to kindergarten, then took a step back to play the role further.

“Have you got everything?” he asked as he nodded to my bag.

I let out a breathy chuckle. I didn’t hate him as much as I let on… mostly.

“I packed you a blood bag for lunch,” he continued, that smirk of his right at home on his smug face - never a dull moment.

My hand reached for my keys on the side table as I walked backward towards the door, shaking my head to stop my lips from forming a smile of their own. “How thoughtful,” I retorted sarcastically.

But just as I was about to step outside I stopped to say one last thing, “Thanks for helping me move in and all,” my tone was much more genuine than it typically was when speaking to him, but I really was grateful.

Moving across the country would’ve been infinitely harder without his company on the road, and without being able to play the little sister card and sit back while he does the heavy lifting. But… and I would never admit it… but even now, starting a new school was just as scary as it always has been and a part of me liked that I had my big brother there to see me off.

I quickly cut our sappy little chat short with another comment, “But, I expect you to be gone when I get home.” I arched an eyebrow and pointed a finger at him.

He was definitely the fun brother, but with fun comes impulsivity - a trait that must be genetic, and must have skipped my twin - and with impulsivity comes a long string of ‘animal attacks’. And that was exactly the drama in question that I wanted to escape, so I had brought along a surplus of blood bags to hold me until I found a more permanent solution.

He held his hands up in surrender, “I’ll be out within the hour.”

“Okay. I’ll see ya,” I said finally as I stepped outside, hiding from the brisk winter cold in the confines of my leather jacket.

My words were met with another smile and a nod from my brother before he spoke again. “Tell me how it went when you’re home.” The protective mother was back. But this time, it wasn’t just a joke, he was lucky we had no witnesses since he’d hate to ruin his tough-guy persona.

I almost laughed at him again, but I didn’t. As humans me and my brothers were incredibly close, but over time that faded. Me and our other brother never really settled that, but over the past year back in Mystic Falls me and the eldest fell back into old patterns.

“I will,” I gave in with a joking eye-roll. “Bye Damon,” I waved his way.

“Bye Seffie,” he returned, getting a kick out of my suddenly sour face.

Seffie. A nickname he saddled me with at the age of 4 and has stuck with me ever since. But my real name was a mouthful, so I chose to go by Sera - a fact Damon will insist on disregarding for the rest of our eternal lives.

As I walked away my once friendly hand gesture turned into a middle finger as I heard him laugh behind me and shut the door as I made my way to my new school.

The moment I stepped foot in the doors I noticed some heads turn, some overheard whispers from passers-by that fuelled my ego just that bit more as I walked up to reception and signed in.

First-period English went smoothly, then it was History which ironically was focused on the confederacy (not me and my siblings' proudest fight). And it was safe to say the teacher was thoroughly impressed with my knowledge on the subject, little did he know I quite literally lived it.

But after class was when my day took a turn.

“1076, 1076,” I repeated under my breath as I went to scour the halls for my new locker, but the break rush made my search all the more difficult with what felt like a million people charging around.

But finally, I seemed to be in luck as I read the numbers to my right; 1080, 1079, 1078, 1077, and…

Crash.

I took a deep breath and a frustrated sigh at the smug-faced, blond jock who had just practically booked it into my side, knocking all of my books out of my hands, and causing me to jump at the deafening sound of them hitting the tile floor. ‘Great,’ I thought satirically. The prick didn’t even bother to look back! Let alone be kind enough to help me pick them back up again.

But someone else did. In fact, two other boys seemed to have played witness and immediately came scrambling up to my side.

“Hey, uh-” the one with darker features and a crooked jawline, giving him a somewhat goofy smile stuttered, stopping after his friend who stood politely next to him not-so-subtly jabbed him in the side with his elbow, causing him to bring a hand to it and shoot his friend a glare.

“What he meant to say was, do you want a hand with that?” The slightly taller friend with the buzzed brown hair asked after his friend's failure to do so.

I could do nothing but laugh slightly at both of their clear excitement and reply with a smile, “I’d love one.”

Picking up books was a simple task that I most definitely could’ve done myself in probably half the time, but nothing compared to watching them both drop to the floor and bat at each other's hands in a frantic competition to ‘help the most.’ My smile grew wider and I brought a hand up to rest on my forehead. This was already a refreshing change since none of the boys back home would have ever done the same.

Soon, they both stood back up in front of me, proud looks on both of their faces as they put the books in my open locker for me.

“Thank you,” I chuckled in response.

“No problem,” the more hyper one added before quickly speaking again at a constant, lightning pace. “I’m Stiles, by the way,” he gestured to himself, “and this is my buddy, Scott,” his hand moved over to pat the other boy on the shoulder.

“Nice to meet you, Stiles and Scott,” I nodded back at them, still trying to bite back an amused grin, “I’m Sera.”

“You’re new here right?” Scott spoke again with an innocent look of pure curiosity.

I put my hands together behind my back and rocked on my heels slightly, “Mhm, started this morning,” a somewhat nervous chuckle left my lips, which the one called Stiles seemed to pick up on because he quickly interjected.

“I mean, we’d be happy to show you ‘round if you wanna hang with us,” he offered, a hopeful shrug on his shoulders and a pout on his lips.

“Wouldn’t we, Scott,” he then batted the back of his hand against his friend’s arm, glaring at him to respond.

Scott quickly blinked and nodded rapidly, “Oh, yeah, of course.”

I bit my lip in contemplation, they did seem awfully nice. “I’d love to, but I’ve gotta go to the office quickly, but maybe I’ll catch up with you guys later,” my counter seemed to be accepted without a second thought as I studied their expressions.

When I stepped backward I noticed how they didn’t leave just yet, so I said, “Bye boys, I’ll see you around,” with a small wiggle of my fingers as a wave.

“See you around, Sera,” Stiles repeated as he and Scott both mimicked my step back, his hand raising up to do a little salute before we turned our backs to each other.

I could not help the quiet giggle that escaped my mouth after I was out of their eyeline, but I also could not help but hear what they were saying to each other down the hall.

“Why the fuck did you salute?” Scott whispered, hitting Stiles back in retaliation for earlier.

“I- I don’t know, okay?” Stiles replied slightly panicked.

My smile grew. What idiots.

As for the conversation with the receptionist, it went smoothly with a little help from my immaculate ‘people skills’.

“I’m sorry but we insist on transcripts. And your immunisation records seem to be missing,” the lady said, peering over her glasses as she looked through my files.

My sigh was followed by me leaning forward, looking into her eyes as I watched her pupils dilate - she just had to make this more difficult.

“Please look again, I’m sure you’ll find everything you’re looking for.” A proud smirk laced my lips as she did exactly that, nodding and sending me on my way. Too easy.

During lunch, I did end up joining the boys at their table, taking a seat next to Stiles and definitely not missing the wide-eyed look he gave to Scott, along with his stuttered breath as I leaned over him to reach my pen that had rolled across the table.

The portrayal of vampires in Twilight had always annoyed me due to its incredible inaccuracy, but it was beyond amusing how easy it was for me to read their minds, even without special powers.

That day had ended with new numbers in everyone’s phones and Sera scoring a new ride to school and back every day in her new friend’s beaten-up old Jeep (which she thought had enough charm to distract from the deafening sound it made when running).

And from that moment forward, the three were inseparable.

ੈ✩‧₊˚

hope you enjoyed !

this was basically to just tell you what to expect from the rest of the series. might not post it all on here unless you want me to so check out my ao3 and wattpad ( @crazyinluvfix ) like and comment x

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abyssal-ambience · 3 months

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prefacing this with I'm not necessarily punk, but I like customizing my clothes. and i wanna help other people find stuff for battle jackets! (and other stuff) I'm not the authority on this, but I still want to give my two cents!! also don't expect much more to this, my profile is pure cringe.

If anyone is starting out and I can help, I'd like too!!

The spike/stud dilemma

one of the biggest issues i've noticed is "where do I find studs/spikes without fast fashion??" which is totally fair. something like that shouldn't have to be a minefield. obviously if you buy from a small business that re-sells them from aliexpress you're still indirectly supporting aliexpress.

im sure there ARE slow fashion alternatives and if anyone knows some please let me know so I can add it!!

BUT here's what I'd recommend.

-goodwill bins, sometimes they have old clothes or broken belts, very rare though. also any thrift store or reclaimed craft store.

-Local businesses, sex shops

-metal paper fasteners

-borrowing. it's inevitable, I know. JOANNs is definitely the best selection imo, but Hobby Lobby is better to steal from. Because They are Terrible. Michael's is OK but less selection usually. They use peal off tags usually which are easy to remove.

-also if you're feeling extra insane, hot topic uses mainly ink tags, which can be removed with heat (look up tutorials on) or just cut off a stud/spike belt. their studs are pretty easy to remove. same with bracelets, they break a lot. ofc it depends on the place whether they use beep beep tags.

-ask people for broken shit!

TEXTILES (the easy part)

-fabric samples are easy to find for free online. get whatever colors you want, i usually stick to black, white, grey and 1-3 other colors. they're usually pretty small so order around until you find the right size. you want cotton and linen, usually upholstery if you're painting on them. if you're not or you're ok working with leather, leather is easy to find too. A lot of companies mentioned how stretchy your material is something not stretchy most cases.

-FACEBOOK!! A.K.A the boomer method. This is where I got almost all of mine!! I recommend downloading FREEBIE as well! I got mine thru that, it links to facebook, nextdoor, and so on. Ofc you can pay for them- but you don't have to! I have lifetime supply of textiles basically bc of this. A lot of people get them for hobbies or work.

-the goodwill bins!!!! you can absolutely find fabric there, it's pretty common actually

-you don't need to steal this tbh it's easy to find second hand and less wasteful

PAINTING

-Facebook, goodwill, or reclaimed/used craft stores if you have them

-borrowing (same places)

-use something like Painter Eye (AR tracing app) and draw out any complex band logos etc.

-you can also use sharpies or whatever nobody's stopping you

Other stuff

-one of the best ways to find stuff is just GO FOR A WALK! Find little shiny objects!

-hardware stores are good so are army surplus

#diy projects #punk #crust punk #battle jacket #crust pants #crust punx #local music #diy punx

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butchkelev · 8 months

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My pronouns are he/him/his/himself. I’m largely T4T/NB ⚧️

THIS BLOG IS HOSTILE AGAINST TERFs & “RAD”FEMS

I’m on testosterone, I’m blue collar. I love leather, military surplus, denim, and teasing. I’m a submissive sensual butch castro clone fag pansy library-faring dog guy, a stone carved out of c-ptsd and demisexuality. My sexual labels mutate yearly. I struggle with waves of sex-aversion. I pack. I don’t shave. Please don’t send me sexts unprompted- this now goes for everybody.

Please consider donating to my top surgery fund! It is the only “monetization” i have of the work i put on here, and it is a surgery i’ve desperately needed for years 🪬

Hard limits: breeding, pregnancy, cum play, scat, urinal, detrans, feeder/ee, worship, any sort of breast/nip/etc play on me. Not a hard limit, but i frequently am averse to penetration in me. If you’re into these, you can follow me; this is moreso a “don’t tag reblogs from me with x” guide.

I use terms like: hole, vag, tdick, dick, cock, cunt, chest. NEVER refer to my chest as tits, boobs, breasts, etc., and don’t call my vag a pussy. ANY message, tag, or comment addressing my chest gets you blocked immediately. You can call me faggot, butch, man, dog, dyke [when with other dykes], pup, or boy. Don't call me puppy, daddy, or twink.

MINORS 🚫 DNI; 18+ ONLY 🔞

I don’t vet the people I reblog from, but I do look over who follows me and block liberally.

My main's butch4[poet name]

#trans nsft #t4t nsft #(see the trans nsft tag for all my photos)#blog mythos #<- kind of explains me? my relationship with kink? anything goes

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green-eyedfirework · 30 days

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Dick’s head was killing him.

He focused on that, not on the cage he was trapped in or the burning sensation under his skin or his dry throat or the useless panic button on a suit Dick wasn’t wearing, because he thought—foolishly—that he wasn’t in any danger as a civilian in Gotham in broad daylight.

One year in Bludhaven, and he’d apparently lost his self-preservation instincts.

They’d gotten him in the shadows of a dark alley, drugged him before he could put up a fight, and when he’d woken up, he’d been half-naked and shivering with a thick band of leather around his throat, duct tape across his mouth, and his hands bound behind his back.

Given time, Dick would’ve been able to slip through the ties, but then they’d dragged him out of the cage, injected him with something that burned, and ziptied his ankles too before he was thrown back in.

Whatever it was, it was fast-acting, and Dick’s general apprehension at being kidnapped slid to a sharper dread when he felt the needles prickling all over his skin. It was going from uncomfortable to unbearable faster than he would like, and since he hadn’t told anybody of his visit, this was unlikely to have a swift ending.

Bruce was also out of town, which was the whole reason he was visiting in the first place, except if Bruce was there he would’ve promptly freaked out and checked whatever subcutaneous tracker he’d installed without Dick knowing and then Batman would’ve showed up to rescue him.

Dick tried again to get a grip on the zipties. No Batman. No distress signal. No one who’d suspect he was in trouble until far, far too late.

His fingers slipped, too sweaty and dangerously weak. Dick felt like an overcooked noodle and trying to shuffle forward, closer to the bars, made the world spin around him.

Not good, something pinged in the back of his brain, as a door screeched open somewhere in the warehouse.

“—to worry, our operation should be wrapped up by the end of the week. Security should be minor—intel says that the Bat is out of Gotham—”

“There’s always a few birds flitting around,” a low, gruff voice said. Dick instinctively tensed. It sounded vaguely familiar.

“Well within your capabilities I would assume, sir.”

A grunt. The booted footsteps were echoing in the large warehouse, sounding far away.

“There was, um, a minor matter with the issue of your payment—”

“What issue.”

“A slight shortfall in liquidity, sir. We assure you, you will be paid in full, and to compensate you for the inconvenience, we are pleased to offer you one of our specimens.”

There was a stretching silence. Dick was beginning to feel…itchy, but rubbing his cheek against his shoulder didn’t help.

“If I wanted a goddamn sex slave, I wouldn’t get one from Gotham.” The derisive tone sparked another note of recognition, and Dick’s head was pounding but he registered the fear. The knowledge didn’t come with it, not with the distracting pain, all Dick knew was that he should be very, very afraid.

“These are unique,” the milder voice said. “Cultivated to show extreme sensitivity to touch. All have already been given our cocktail, and can be activated with a second dose. You can choose whichever one you like.”

“Perks of the job, is it.” The voice was sardonic.

“Given the lack of need for training, we have a surplus of supply. As long as your demands aren’t…unreasonable, we can accommodate them.”

His skin felt like it was buzzing. Like there was a static field just above its surface, and no matter which way Dick twisted, it wouldn’t go away. He couldn’t help the wordless snarl of frustration.

He was getting distracted. He needed to get out. Dick tried again to grip the zipties.

“How many do you have?” The footsteps were getting closer, moving between the rows of cages. Several were empty. The few that were occupied had occupants slumped over or curled into a corner. Dick could hear ragged breathing and quiet whimpers, but nothing more.

The drugs. Extreme sensitivity to touch. That didn’t sound like anything good.

“Twenty or so, currently. Are you looking for anything specific?” There was only a noncommittal hum as the two entered his row.

The cages were low to the ground and all Dick could make out was about three-quarters of their legs. Both wore boots, both had thigh holsters, one of them was significantly more armed than the other judging by the—

Orange.

They had orange detailing on their boots.

Dick inhaled sharply. It could just be a coincidence. Maybe they were common boots. Maybe they weren’t what Dick was imagining, what Dick was dreading, but it was too late, the pieces were already beginning to click into place. The voice that Dick now recognized, the infamous color scheme, and the way the man stopped at Dick’s sudden, sharp breath.

The man crouched until he could see through the cage and Dick met a one-eyed, two-toned mask with sinking despair.

Dick held perfectly still. Maybe he wouldn’t be recognized. Half-naked and bare-faced was certainly not a common look of his, and his general dishevelment and the binds would contribute to the unfamiliarity. He could not be recognized. He didn’t even want to imagine what would happen if he was.

“Mr. Wilson?” the mild voice asked. “Is this the one you would like?”

“Yes,” Deathstroke replied. “Yes, he is.”

Dick had just enough presence of mind to scramble back when the cage was opened, but all his muscles seemed to be moving on a delay, and he couldn’t stop the other man from reaching in and grabbing him by the ring on his collar and dragging him out.

“It’s to keep sensation from his skin,” the man explained—Dick noticed that he was wearing gloves as he brought out a syringe. Dick tried to writhe away but the man held him easily in place as he injected the syringe in. “He’ll be absolutely desperate for it soon.”

Deathstroke just watched as Dick futilely cursed the man behind his gag. This drug burned even hotter, like he’d been injected with lava, and soon Dick was trembling all over, writhing even harder with the urge to claw his skin off.

“There,” the man said, voice still mild but eyes flashing cold and cruel. “Yours, to do with what you like. Your shift starts at seven, you are free till then. If you have any questions, please do not hesitate to ask.”

Dick was beginning to feel lightheaded.

“I think I’ll manage to figure it out,” Deathstroke said, and there was a hand on Dick’s shoulder now. Dick’s muscles locked up, his focus narrowed to the burning point of the warmth of the grip.

Dick wanted to run. Dick wanted to scream. Dick wanted to—lean further into that grip, get closer, feel more—

He went ice-cold underneath the increasingly painful heat.

Extreme sensitivity to touch. Dick thought that meant—pain, jumping at the slightest of flinches, not this burning desire to be close to someone, a yearning, buzzing need to feel human touch. Not something that twisted up his control until he moved easily with Deathstroke’s manhandling, looking up at the mercenary and not even trying to get free.

“This collar suits you,” Deathstroke said quietly, “little bird.”

There went Dick’s last hope that all of this was just an unpleasant coincidence.

#my snippets #implied noncon #sladick #cuddle pollen #kidnapping

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according2thelore · 3 months

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watching season 1 of gilmore girls is just an exercise in gut-wrenching angst when you live with the knowledge that jarpad was 18 when it premiered. like, that's the face of the kid that john winchester told to stay gone for good if he left. that's dean's baby brother. that's the kid who's about to be alone for the first time in his actual life (bar some very specific small blips along the way). i'm cry 😭 thank you to the wb for this gift that we must bear like a thousand-pound cross

LITERALLY

like this sammy??? this sammy right here????

this kid steals dean's flannels even though they don't reach his wrists because they're "more comfortable." he can't keep a pair of pants longer than six months because he grows like a goddamn weed.

this is his big brother's leather jacket!! dean stole it from a surplus store in kentucky and sam wears it everywhere!!!! you cannot tell me otherwise!! they steal it back and forth all the time, but dean doesn't actually want it back bc sam wearing his leather jacket makes him sweat in weird places, which is totally unrelated, okay?

this kid has dreams!!! he writes everything down in composition notebooks stained at the corners with dried, rusty blood from a werewolf four states and five schools ago.

he's been storing his money from pool hustling in the canvas lining of the duffle bag that holds all of his possessions.

this little guy????

the people they save cling to sam like fucking vines, white-knuckled fingers in his sweatshirts because if someone this bright, this innocent, can survive this, they can, too. nothing bad can possibly happen to this kid, because the older one is snarling and spitting and chewing through bone.

because this is just a kid!!!!!! and this kid should be saved, not saving. he's got a pimple on his jaw that's been there for months, and he sweats through almost every shirt he puts on.

LIKE THIS FELLA RIGHT HERE??????

this kid keeps wiping angry tears out of his eyes because no one in this family cares if he's happy, as long as he's here. sam's got money in his bag, and dean won't look him in the eye, and dad is telling him to get the fuck out.

he's telling him that he might as well not even be a part of this fucking family, if he's not going to fight for it. like sam hasn't lost litres of blood for this family, like he wasn't weaned on sweat and stale coca-cola and what adrenaline tastes like when it's the only thing keeping you conscious.

this kid is too big to fit into a queen w dean but goddamnit he's going to, anyway, lazy long limbs splayed on a couch while they watch a re-run on a spotty, fuzzing tv in skin-melting, stifling motel rooms.

having access to video footage of J2 at pre-series ages makes me howl at the moon. because!!!!! like!!!!!! these kids were CHILDREN!!!!!!

anyway. you get it, anon. you know the vision.

dean winchester and i see each other: i would also want to pinch his cheeks and tuck him under my arm and ruffle his hair and buy him milkshakes and new sneakers and cut his silly bangs.

-lizzy

#these anons are kicking me in the ribs while i'm down #and i am so grateful <3 #ask box #kissing each anon on their forehead #lizzy writes #kinda?#samdean #also kinda #lizzy answers

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