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maevesheart · 1 year ago

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FOOLS - PART I

CORIOLANUS SNOW X CAPITOL!READER

note: continuing to use the mars family for reader, but different storyline than tolerate it.

PART I // PART II // PART III

summary: only fools would fall for coriolanus snow, and you’re the biggest fool of them all.

wc: 5.1k

tw: fingering, pet names, curse words

The sound of your blinds being torn apart pulls you from your peaceful slumber, and the now streaming sunlight causes you to rub your eyes and yawn.

Today was the announcement of the Plinth Prize, all of your fellow classmates would be seething when your name fell from the lips of Dean Highbottom.

The thought made you grin.

You had never once missed classed, and your grades were the very highest they could possibly be. The only thing standing in your way is Coriolanus Snow.

The boy who is just as intelligent and cunning as you are.

Rumors had been spreading for weeks as to who was going to win the lavish prize money, the most common names falling from lips were yours and Coriolanus.

It infuriated you.

The Mars family was the highest esteemed in all of the Capitol. Who deserved the prize more than you, of course, Y/N Mars?

Your Avox quickly left the room as you stood up from your massive ornate bed, feet lightly padding on the cold marble floors.

You made your way into your closet, where your long plum-purple colored dress hang. It was to your mid-thigh, a large bow sat on the back that draped to the floor. It was beautiful, made custom for you.

You slipped on a pair of thin tights and some black heels, allowing your Avox to meticulously curl your hair and do subtle yet elegant makeup upon your face.

You made your way down the marvelous marble staircase outside your bedroom, meeting your father and mother at the bottom.

“Here darling,” your mother smiled, placing her string of pearls around your neck, and delicately sliding in matching Pearl studs to your ears.

“Oh, mother, your pearls?” You smiled, your mother wore the pearls throughout the war and claimed they were what kept you all afloat.

In reality, it was your fathers expansive fortune and manufacturing company that produced the capitol’s guns and bombs, but the pearls were touching.

“Thank you,” you smiled, giving her a kiss on the cheek.

The ride to the Academy was short, and soon you waltzed into the building followed by your doting parents.

When you three entered the gathering room, where all of the Capitol’s brightest and richest stood, you father dispersed to speak to Serbo Plinth, and your mother found Mrs. Crane.

You quickly found Clemensia, your closest friend, and the two of you eased into simple conversation, discussing who you thought would win.

Clemmie assured you that the prize would soon be yours as the both of you made your way to fellow classmates Felix, Festus, and Arachne.

Arachne and you offered each other a quick hug before Felix and Festus were complimenting your dress and how marvelous it was.

“Thank you, boys,” you smile, loving the attention.

As you continue to indulge in their compliments, you feel a light touch on the back of your elbow, Coriolanus Snow now by your side.

“Finally, the Star pupil.” Arachne snottily says, looking down at Coryo’s shirt.

“Arachne,” he nods, smirking as he feels the annoyance radiating off your body.

“We were just talking about how lovely Y/N’s dress is, Coryo, don’t you agree?” Clemmie sets the bait. She has this feeling that Coriolanus and you have some deep set feelings for each other that have yet to reach the surface. You think it’s all just her imagination running wild.

But Clemmie doesn’t know about the few nights the two of you have spent together, in the back of your car, in your bed, anytime the two of you had been alone.

No one knows. And you plan on keeping it that way.

You feel Coryo’s eyes take over your figure, pausing briefly as he sets his sight on your cleavage peaking out.

“Yes, you look quite nice, Y/N.” He smiles, hand secretly toying with the end of your curls down the middle of your back.

Before you have a chance to react, Sejanus has found his way to your other side, offering you a slight peck on the cheek as greeting.

“Sejanus,” you smile, patting his arm.

The two of you were close, as you found Festus and Felix’s distaste for him to be rather childish and ignorant.

He was a nice, respectable boy. And your father and Serbo Plinth had worked closely during the war, your families were allied. Something that was especially so important now.

Coriolanus felt a tinge of jealousy as you leaned in to peck Sejanus’ cheek back. Everyone knew the two of you were close, yet it was still anger-provoking whenever he truly saw how close you two were.

Before Sejanus could fully join in the conversation, the familiar sound of Panem’s anthem began to play, signaling for you all to take your seats.

You sat between Clemmie and Coriolanus, eyes focused in front before you heard Sejanus offer a quick apology to Coryo, about something you failed to decipher.

Dr. Gaul’s sinister laugh boomed throughout the hall, and your eyes widened with shock.

She spoke of her responsibilities and how you all before her were the leaders of the new generation. You looked over to Coryo with confusion splayed on your face, his eyes wide and frantic.

Dr. Gaul stepped down from the podium and moved away for Dean Highbottom, who was once again drunk off morphling and slurring his words.

“I cannot believe they continue to let him speak in public,” Clemmie whispers, shaking her head.

“And here sit our own 24 top prospects, all waiting to hear the results of hard study in this prestigious institution.”

Your heart races as he continues to ramble on, “eager to learn who’s won that Plinth Prize, no doubt. And a golden future. However, I am here to tell you that there has been a change this year. One final assignment to prove your worth.”

Clemmie slumps back into her seat, you hear Festus behind you suck in his breath. This was it.

“…the prize will now be determined by who is the best mentor in the Hunger Games.”

The silence that follows is deafening. Against your better judgement, you are reaching for Coriolanus’s hand, and intertwine your fingers.

You knew how bad he needed this prize. You were one of the only people who knew.

His eyes flicker down to your hands twisted together, and he offers you a slight smile, but you know he is freaking out to his core.

Dean Highbottom announces how he will assign the tributes, and soon comes to sit in front of you all when the anthem once again plays out.

“Coryo..” you whisper, he looks over to you and you shake your head, a silent apology. He nods, accepting it, and shrugs. What is he supposed to do but pray he gets a good tribute from One or Two?

You and Sejanus secure the tributes from District Two, most likely his fathers doing.

You untangle your fingers from Coriolanus and reach across to grab Sejanus. You give his arm a squeez, assuring him that you are there.

He continues to look straight, obviously torn by this revelation.

Coriolanus finds himself even more annoyed, watching you fawn over the boy next to him. You were holding him first…

He immediately snaps himself out of it. He was showing weakness. He reminds himself that weakness is a curse, and there is no room for that in success.

Finally, the runt girl from District 12, belongs to Coriolanus.

He looks to the floor, shaking his head. You refrain from taking his hand again, knowing he would most likely shoo it away.

You and Arachne giggle as the girl floods the screen, wearing a rainbow dress. One quick glare from Coriolanus shuts you up and forces your eyes back on the screen.

Soon, the girl is shoving a snake down another girls back, and Coriolanus is quick to his feet, watching with rapt attention.

She starts to sing, a somber tune that you had never heard before.

“Singing?” You question, Arachne quickly adding in, “is she out of her mind?”

Coriolanus ignores you this time, eyes straight ahead.

Her singing is enchanting, and you focus in, laughing when she screams profanities into the microphone.

“Well, she’s obviously mentally ill.” Arachne claims, Sejanus still staring straight ahead, and your eyes trained on Coriolanus.

All of you quickly disperse out of the hall, your fathers hands are on your shoulders, shielding you from the press as you make your way to the car.

Once safely inside, he is stern and stoic, unwavering in his stance, “no. You will not do it.”

“Daddy, it’s just one games. We meet with the tributes maybe once, never let them get too close.”

You were fighting a battle already lost, you knew.

“Absolutely not Y/N. I will not have you frolicking around with district.”

He is seething, obviously feeling deeply betrayed and upset with Serbo, how could he not have told him?

“Please? I know I won’t win the prize, but it’s good experience.”

Your father can’t argue there. If you are to one day rule his empire with your siblings, then he must allow you to get some experience under your wing.

“Alright. But as soon as something goes wrong, which it will, you are out of the contest. Understood?”

“Understood.”

You’re laid in bed, a book propped up on your chest, trying your hardest to distract yourself from the confusing day you’ve had.

A light rap on the door shakes you from your focus.

“Come in,” you say, body slightly turning to see who would come this late in the night.

The gold handle of your massive white door turns, and to your great contentment it’s Coriolanus who silently walks in, shutting the door tightly behind him.

It wasn’t unlikely for Coriolanus to come to your home, usually you two worked on homework or studied together, but he never came at night.

The sight of his deep eye bags made your chest sink. You knew how he must be feeling.

“The Avoxes let me in,” he murmurs, making his way over to your bed.

He sits down on the edge next to you, and you feel the mattress lightly dip to support his weight.

You sit up, leaning your back against the headboard, and place your hand on his shoulder, soothing it up and down his back.

His back was to you, lightly hunched over.

“I talked to Tigris,” he speaks after moments of silence.

You hum, “what did she say?”

You lightly crawl over to him, wrapping yourself around his back, hands snaking around his waist and pulling him closer to you.

His body was warm, but you could feel his spine lightly stick out his back and the thought made you want to cry.

You place your cheek against his shoulder blade, and close your eyes, his presence easing you.

“She told me I should get the girl to trust me. Saying she’s probably so scared and feels alone right now.”

“I would be too,” you hummed back, eyes flitting up to get a better view of his face.

From your position, you can make out the trace of his nose and his light eyelashes, the moonlight coming in through your large windows accentuating his features.

He places one of his hands over yours, entwined across his lap.

“You will win, Coryo,” you assure him, a small whisper falling from your lips.

You weren’t confident, but he needed reassurance, and who were you to deprive him of what he needs most?

He doesn’t say anything, the two of you sitting in silence for a few moments.

He then turns around, glossy eyes staring straight into yours.

“Oh, love,” you coo, taking his cheek in your palm, and pulling him into you, wrapping your arms tightly around his body, one hand on the back of his head.

Coryo didn’t cry. That was weakness, and Coriolanus Snow did not show weakness.

“I need this scholarship, Y/N,” he quietly peeps, head buried in your shoulder.

You say nothing, hand massaging his scalp, and the other lightly rubbing his back.

You let him compose himself before he pulls back, and you lightly tug his arm, scooting over and giving him room to slip under the covers next to you.

You curl around his body, him only wearing a white t-shirt and loose lounge pants.

You place a small kiss to the back of his neck, assuring him you’re there as you begin to hear his light snoring fill the room.

You wake up to an empty bed. The only sign of Coriolanus even being there is the lingering scent of his cologne on your bedsheets and the light indentation in your mattress.

You want to cry. Of all the times you had consoled him, held him, given him the most sacred parts of you, he up and leaves, like you mean nothing.

Obviously you had to mean something if he kept coming back, right?

You care for him, deeply, and despite your agreement to keep your sexual relationship hushed, you cannot help but to want to care for him.

You hastily get dressed and ready, and throw a few books into your pack, rushing down to the kitchen. You have Cook pack a blueberry muffin into your pack, knowing Coryo won’t have the means for breakfast.

You have the driver take you straight to school instead of your usual stop for coffee.

Entering the classroom, Coryo’s usual seat next to you is bare. He’s never once skipped class. Why would he start now?

The screen in your classroom brights up, showing Luvky Flickerman outside the monkey cage at the zoo, where the tributes fall into.

A bright red uniform sticks out, and you’re on your feet, prying for a better look.

Dean Highbottom is watching unimpressed, Sejanus on your other side shaking his head in disbelief.

You realize it is Coriolanus and a gasp falls from your lips, he is standing with Lucy Gray, his tribute, and watch as he places his Grandma’am’s precious rose in her hair.

You couldn’t believe him. He left your bed to go be with that… that district slut!

Distaste brews in your mouth as he takes her hand and parades her around to all the young children. Clemmie watches as a scowl takes over your features.

He smugly looks into the camera, and you feel as if he’s directly looking to you, as he gives his cunning responses to every question Lucky throws his way. You know Dean will be far from pleased.

Before you know it, Coriolanus is entering the classroom, and you give him the meanest stare you can conjure.

Sejanus starts to stick up for him as Coryo takes his seat next to you. You side-eye him as he sits down, wanting him to know how stupid he is for putting his life at risk.

“Have you lost your mind?” You whisper through gritted teeth.

He doesn’t answer you, giving you a snide look before turning to the sound of Dr. Gaul entering the room.

She waltzes in, congratulating Coryo for his initiative. You scoff, and he looks down on you, eyes narrowing.

Dr. Gaul promptly leaves, and a silence engulfs the room.

Soon, your fellow peers are whispering to each other, trying to figure out how Coryo ended up in that cage.

Sejanus is silent, eyes on his shoes.

You stick your hand deep into your pack and pull out the muffin from earlier, not wanting it to go to waste.

Without another word, you shove the muffin into Coryo’s hands under the desk, and catch his eyes softening as he looks over to you.

“Dean? May I be excused?” You keep your composure, quietly slipping out of the classroom.

Clemmie watches Coryo, how he lightly shakes his head before shoving the muffin into his pack and jumping to his feet, rushing to follow you out the classroom.

He finds you in the library, your pack sitting at a mahogany table which gives you away.

He sets his down on the same table, and sets off between the rows of hardback books to find you.

This library was sprawling, three-stories of endless books, it could take hours to find you.

“Y/N?” He quietly calls out, hoping you’re nearby.

He hears a scoff a row over, quickly darting down the isle to find the one that the noise comes from.

As he rounds the corner, there you are, leaning against the wall at the end, arms crossed against your chest.

He thinks he sees a tear stain down your normally perfect makeup and complexion, and crosses over, hands falling on your face.

He turns your head in his hands, checking for signs of pain.

“What’s wrong?” He sounds worried, and you laugh, pushing him off of you.

His face twists in a mix of confusion and anger, hands falling to his sides.

You shake your head, biting your lip as you look up. You’re no longer upset, just majorly pissed off.

“You left my bed, to go greet your bitch from the districts.” You spit out at him, eyes narrowing as you watch him comprehend your words.

He knew you could get jealous sometimes, but didn’t realize it went quite this deep.

“Y/N/N—“

“Nope. I don’t want to hear it.” You hold your hand up, silencing him. You close your eyes, sighing.

But before you can open them back up, you feel Coriolanus’ lips on yours, molding together like they do so perfectly.

His hands grip your face, pulling you into him, your hands gripping onto his biceps.

The kiss is passionate, the air being sucked out of your lungs.

He only kisses you like this when he’s hungry for you, absolutely starving. When he needs you like a feral animal.

He knows what it does to you.

You use all your strength to pull back, hands resting on his chest to keep him from lunging back in.

“I’m sorry,” is all he says, “you know I would never touch another girl. Especially one from the districts.”

You nod, knowing that while your jealousy was just, it was also a little exaggerated.

The familiar sound of lunch time’s bell rings out, and Coryo backs off of you, and the two of you head for the cafeteria.

You walk with him until you spot Clemmie, excusing yourself from Coryo’s side.

You follow Clemmie to your usual table, parting with Coryo, you two girls sitting with Arachne and Livia, who both have lots to say about their chances in the games.

You ignore them, peeking over to where Coryo sits, across the cafeteria. Sejanus is sat across from him, the two of them deep in conversation.

You watch as they pack up their lunches, and stand from their spots, rushing to the nearest exit.

You stand to follow, and Arachne trails after you.

You follow them all the way to the zoo, and you once again brew anger in your core.

Arachne kneels before her tribute and begins to tease her with the food, and you watch with the audience as Coryo gives his full lunch to Lucy Gray and Jessup.

You come up to his side and snake your arm around his, plastering the most sickly-sweet smile on your face that you can muster.

“And who might this beautiful girl be, Coriolanus?” Lucy Gray asks, a slight smile pulling at her lips as she eats.

Coriolanus is taken aback by your display of affection and sudden appearance at the zoo. You’re the last person he would have expected to show up.

“This is my classmate, Y/N Mars.”

The words my classmate falling from his lips when describing you does not settle right in your stomach. But you two haven’t established what you are… just that you want each other all to yourselves.

“Splendid to meet you, Lucy Gray. That dress is just gorgeous!” You claim, talking with your hands.

Coriolanus holds back from rolling his eyes, remembering the snide comments you made at the reaping about her dress and how she must be mentally unhinged.

“Thank you, Miss Y/N.” You watch like a hawk as Lucy Gray scarfs down her sandwich and then eyes your spectacular ruby ring upon your middle finger.

“Beautiful ring,” she compliments, Coryo’s eyes flickering down to the present you received for your 17th birthday.

“Oh! This old thing, it’s quite small, I believe. I think I’ll ask for a bigger one next year,” you smile, watching Jessup and Lucy Gray’s faces twist with slight envy.

“Right,” Lucy Gray slightly smiles, sitting down.

You and Coriolanus look over to Arachne, who is waving food in front of her tribute’s face, obviously taunting her.

You purse your lips, undoing yourself from Coryo’s side. “I’m going to tell her to stop it, she might get killed over there.”

Coryo nods and watches as you make your way down to Arachne’s side.

He doesn’t want you to get too close, knowing that Arachne and her tribute are a seam ready to burst at any moment.

Just as he’s looking back to Lucy Gray, he hears your shriek and spins around, immediately at your side.

Arachne is on the ground, choking on the loss of air, a glass bottle sticking out from her neck.

“Y/N!” He screams, next to you in seconds, trying to pull you away from the monkey cage.

“Help!” You screech, using your red Academy coat to try to stop the blood.

Coriolanus falls on top of you to shield you from the gun shots that ring out, heading straight past your head to the tribute behind bars.

“Oh, Arachne,” you smooth her hair down, your eyes teary and glossy, watching as she lays limp, no longer struggling.

Peacekeepers and Sejanus reach you two at the same time, Sejanus pulling you up off the ground, and into his chest, Coriolanus watching as the Peacekeepers escort all of you away.

Coryo seethes with envy, watching you tuck your head into Sejanus’ chest as he hauls you away, loud sobs falling from your lips.

He shouldn’t be jealous, Sejanus is just comforting you. You had just watched your close friend die, how could Coriolanus be jealous while you grieve.

As the three of you renter the Academy, Sejanus stops walking, halting your movements as well, coming face-to-face with your father.

“Mr. Mars,” Sejanus nods, and your father is quick to lift you into his arms, silent whimpers coming from your lips.

“Thank you, boys,” he nods to Coryo and Sejanus, and the two reluctantly continue their movement back to the cafeteria.

“C’mon darling, let’s go home,”

Coriolanus had gone back that night to visit Lucy Gray, to make sure she was alright.

“You must love her, Coriolanus,” Lucy Gray spoke, lightly smiling while shaking her head.

“What?” He cocked an eyebrow.

“Your friend, Y/N. You shielded her body with your own. I saw the way you watched to make sure she wouldn’t get too close to Arachne.”

The wheels in Coriolanus’s head were turning, reenacting the events of earlier that day.

“And I gather she likes you just as much,” Lucy Gray finishes, “she sure doesn’t like you spending so much time with me,”

“Nonsense, Y/N is a close friend, that’s all.” He dismissed the topic like it wasn’t anything at all.

“Alright then, but I’d imagine she won’t wait these entire games for you to admit your feelings. That other boy, the one who held her, he seems quite keen as well.”

With that, Coriolanus felt his jaw tighten, angered by the idea of anyone touching you other than him. Especially Sejanus Plinth touching you.

With a quick nod, Coriolanus turned on his heel, and began his venture to your penthouse.

It was pitch black out, yet Coriolanus found himself scaling the outside of your building, finally rapping his knuckles against the pristine glass covering your window.

He sees straight in, you curled up under your silk sheets, hair around you like a halo.

He had snuck in through your window countless times now, and he lightly pressed on the bottom, and the window gave way, allowing him just enough room to crawl through and lightly pad to your bed.

He slipped off his shoes and opened the covers, sliding in and curling around you.

His finger traced shapes onto your skin, trying his hardest to calm both himself and you.

You lightly started to stir, and finally turned to face Coryo, he gave you a small tight-lipped smile, propping himself up on one elbow.

“Hi, Y/N/N.”

“Hi, Coryo,” you smile, nuzzling in closer to him.

The two of you sit in comfortable silence, your head on his chest, listening to the beat of his heart.

“I was so scared,” you murmur out, Coriolanus sensing the vulnerability in your voice, something you normally only let him see.

He pulled you closer into him, softly smoothing your hair.

“I won’t let anything ever touch you, Y/N.” He states like it’s the simplest thing in the world.

Coriolanus had declared his feelings for you vaguely a few other times, usually only when he was buried inside of you.

This was different. You were barring your soul, showing him weakness.

“Do you mean it?” You whisper out, lightly pushing off his chest to look him in the eyes.

“More than I’ve ever meant anything else.” His eyes are stern, his face unwavering.

A smile starts to overtake your lips, and Coriolanus places his hand on your cheek, lightly bringing you down to his level.

You lightly move his curls out of his face, and the two of you lean into each other, lips meeting halfway.

This kiss is different than your others, it’s slower, not as heated. It’s a kiss that two people who love each other would share.

“It could’ve been you, Y/N. How could I have lived with myself,” he lightly huffs out, in between quiet kisses.

“But it wasn’t me, Coriolanus. It wouldn’t have been your fault,” you reassure him, hand finding his under the covers.

“My father is removing me from the mentorship. Highbottom is finding another student to take my place. Nothing can touch me now,” you smile, despite being deeply upset by your father removing you from the possible achievement of a lifetime.

“I’m sorry,” he coos, genuine feeling in his words.

You fall back into him, lips connecting once more, his hands roaming, pulling you into his lap, legs going to either side of his hips.

The kiss is still the same, but now his tongue finds its way into your mouth, somehow bringing your lips even closer together.

His hands are all over you, groping your ass from over your silk pink pajama shorts, another hand gathering a fist full of your hair and wrapping it throughout his fingers, pulling you as close to your body as possible.

He had never been so vulnerably affectionate before, but the thought of losing you to someone else wrung his heart dry. He wanted you all to himself.

Soon he was pushing your shorts down, helping you quickly discard of them.

You weren’t wearing any panties, and Coryo felt himself getting hard at the sight of your bare mound.

“Fuck,” he curses, eyes dark and filled with lust. He watches as your tongue darts out over your bottom lip, and he pulls you back into him, sticking two of his fingers into you at the same time.

His lips on yours stifles your moan, and the sound of his fingers pumping in and out of your slick folds is the only thing to be heard in your large bedroom.

You start to squirm above him, the feeling of his fingers inside of you being immensely pleasurable.

He then uses his thumb to start massaging your clit, a pit beginning to form deep in your core, threatening to soon burst.

“Fuck, Coryo,” you moan, your head finding place in the crook of his shoulder.

He kisses up your bare shoulder, entwining his free hand with one of yours, “say you’re mine,” he groans, feeling you start to grind down on his fingers and slightly on his bulge.

“I-I’m yours, Coryo—“ you mewl, lightly biting his shoulder to stop from waking your parents.

“You’re mine only,” he quietly tells you, fingers picking up a faster pace as you become undone.

“I’m gonna come,” you pant, and with one last circling of his thumb, you come undone on his lap, spilling all over his fingers still deep inside of you.

He tenderly pulls them out, as you sink down into his chest, and bring the two fingers up to his mouth, sucking off all the juices that he could never get enough of.

You watch with blown pupils, he quickly reconnects your lips, and you taste yourself all over his mouth.

“I love you,” he says, pulling back, tucking your hair behind your ears.

Of all the times you’d been intimate with Coriolanus, he had never been this gentle and caring.

“Do you really?” You ask, refusing to believe his confession. You had only been waiting for those three words to leave his mouth for what felt like eternity.

“I do, really, how could I not?” he grinned as you smiled, pecking your lips. “I love you, Coriolanus. I’m yours,”

He grins at your confession, a sense of pride overcoming his being knowing that he’s won, no other man will touch you for as long as he lives.

“You’ll stay this time, right?” You ask, all walls down, barring the most vulnerable corners of your soul.

“I wouldn’t dream of leaving,” he assured you, kissing your shoulder.

Only fools would ever fall for Coriolanus Snow and his cunning love spells. But you were the biggest fool of them all, weren’t you?

#imagine #angst #smut #coriolanus x y/n #coriolanus x oc #coriolanus imagine #coriolanus fanfiction #coriolanus smut #coriolanus x you #coriolanus x reader #coriolanus snow #coryo snow #coryo x reader #coriolanus snow x reader #maeve writes 🎀

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jewellery-box · 2 years ago

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Printed cotton day dress with sleeve inserts

American, ca. 1833

Frequently satirized by caricaturists, enormous gigot, or leg-of-mutton, sleeves were the defining characteristic of women's fashionable dress at the height of the Romantic period around 1830. Ballooning out from the shoulder and tapering tightly at the wrist, their exaggerated proportions deliberately evoked similarly voluminous sleeves of the late sixteenth century and enhanced the ideal hourglass silhouette with its small waist and full, rounded skirts. Crescent-shaped down-filled pads often kept the sleeves properly expanded; pinned to the corset underneath, they could be used interchangeably with different gowns.

Most unusually, this floral-printed cotton day dress retains its sized linen sleeve supports that were clearly intended to be worn with this dress. Attached to the interior shoulder seams with tape ties, they are an exceptionally rare survival of an undergarment with its original attire.

Although British cottons continued to be imported into the United States in the post-Revolutionary years, it may be that this sturdy twilled cotton with pink, blue, and green blossoms and meandering vines set off against a rich, brown ground is of American manufacture. By the 1820s, the domestic printed cotton industry had increased significantly from its tentative beginnings in late eighteenth and early nineteenth centuries, with large firms established in New England and along the Hudson River. Floral-patterned cottons were a perennial favorite for day dresses in the 1820s and 1830s, especially for the warmer months from spring to early fall. Probably made by the wearer herself rather than a professional seamstress, the gown and its sleeve inserts demonstrate that American women were well aware of, and followed as closely as possible, current fashions from abroad.

Cora Ginsburg

#victorian #victorian era #victorian fashion #19th century #fashion history #historical fashion

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almostarts · 9 months ago

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Gaetano Pesce (8 November 1939 – 3 April 2024)

Moving against the stream of rational, functional modernism in the 1960s and early 70s, Mr. Pesce experimented with materials and production methods to create furniture pieces imbued with political or religious meaning for brands from Cassina to B&B Italia.

Many would go on to become icons of Italian design including the Up5 chair – an innovative vacuum-packed chair designed to resemble a female prisoner – which he designed for B&B Italia precursor C&B.

Pesce moved to New York in 1983 and began to move away from mass production to create "standardised series" in everyday materials like resin, adapting conventional production techniques to create varied and imperfect outcomes.

The result are pieces such as the 1884 Pratt chair, which toe the line between functional design and decorative art, helping to create a new category that would later become collectible design.

Mr. Pesce was born in the Italian city of La Spezia in November 1939, only two months after the start of world war two.

As was common at the time, he trained in both architecture and design, studying first at the University of Venice and later at the Venice Institute of Industrial Design.

Among his architecture projects is the Organic Building in Osaka from 1993, with its plant-covered facade made of orange fiberglass that served as a precursor to today's vegetation-covered green walls.

But Mr. Pesce's most pioneering and well-known work happened in the world of design. In the late 1960s, he became one of the leaders of Italy's Radical Design movement, rejecting modernism's rigid focus on forms dictated by function.

Instead, Pesce focused on the idea that functional objects, much like art, could carry a deeper message.

One of the most famous examples is the controversial Up5 chair from 1969, which manufacturer B&B Italia describes as "the first product of Italian design with a political meaning".

Rest In Power !

"Up 5 & 6" Dressed Up Chair & Ottoman, 1969 – 2014, Polyurethane foam, fabric, Height: 40.5 in (102.87 cm)Width: 47 in (119.38 cm)Depth: 51 in (129.54 cm)Seat Height: 16 in (40.64 cm),

“Square Airport Lamp” (1986/1994). Photography by Elizabeth Carababas/The Future Perfect. Light sculpture consisting of a flexible rubber membrane studded with small light bulbs. Although made from a mold, no two lamps are alike, due to the imperfections that arise from the hand-mixing and pouring of colored urethane. H 92 - W 65 Cm,

"Feltri" Armchair for Cassina, 1980 -1989, Felt, Fabric, Resin, Width: 156 cm, Depth: 80 cm, Height: 129 cm, Seat height:42 cm, Courtesy: Oldera,

"Pratt Chair #7," 1984 2018 (purple), 2018, Transparent polyurethane, :93 x 53 x 53 cm. (36.6 x 20.9 x 20.9 in.),

"The Cabinet of The Tired Man," 2018, Photo: Courtesy of Salon 94 Design and Gaetano Pesce,

"Tramonto a New York" three-door screen, for Cassina, Made of coloured resin, hinges and feet in burnished brass, Width: 221, Height: 199,

"Organic" Building, Osaka, Japan, Completed in 1993 to embody the corporate ideal of Oguraya Yamamoto Co., Ltd,

"La In-Portante" Modular Bookshelf from the "Abbraccio" Series, 2010. Comprising 57 adjustable polyurethane resin shelves. Produced by Le Fablier, Italy. Polyurethane resin, painted wood, lacquered metal, 86½ x 118¾ x 16⅞ in. (219.7 x 301.6 x 42.6 cm) Courtesy of Sotheby's,

La Michetta Modular Sofa,Compostion of 8 by Meritalia, Structure in Lacquered Wood Seat with Elastic Belts, Flexible Polyurethane & Fiberfill Padding, Dimensions: W370 x D245cm,

Unique 'Ireland' table, Made of polyurethane and metal. The table was made and exhibited in 1996 by Gallery Mourmans, Knokke-Zoute, Belgium. It was part of a series of 'EU tables', where all 15 member countries were represented as a table, in this case Ireland. The top of the table has the shape of the outlines of the country and it stands on legs in the shape of question marks. W.80.71 in;H.28.74 in;D.57.09 in; (W.205 cm;H.73 cm;D.145 cm), Courtesy: Incollect.

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yetanothergreyjedi · 1 year ago

Text

Shopping bit I didn't write earlier:

Continuation from this post

Damian ran his fingers across another mass produced shirt. The quality was inferior to his clothes back home, but he didn't know enough about textiles to know exactly how it was inferior. Well, aside from the lack of light armored padding, but these were civilian clothes.

He tossed one with a creature on it to the pile.

His father smiled at the choice. "Do you like tigers, Damian?"

"I have never encountered one."

Danny snorted, taking a short break from glaring at nearby shoppers to check the exits. Damian wasn’t sure if it was because he anticipated they'd been followed, if he sensed something specific, or if he was just wary of Gotham in general.

"Have you ever been to a zoo?"

"I have not."

There was a beat of silence.

"Danny? What about you?"

"Huh? Oh... a long time ago."

"There's a zoo in Gotham, if you two think you would like it."

"I would enjoy it." Damian agrees, and Danny doesn't answer. Bruce prompts him and he agrees as well.

Damian picked a few more items and marched to the dressing room. He discarded a few items but kept most of them and was still unsure about how he felt about manufactured clothing. He liked that he could have animals on them, but he was pretty sure that was Mother and Grandfather being uncool and not a fault of handmade items.

Damian emerged and placed the items in the cart.

"Alright!" Father clapped, "Your turn, Danny."

"What?"

"Time to get your things!"

Danny just stared. Damian huffed and started in the direction of the teen items. He couldn't see a purpose in Danny avoiding his father’s attention. It was weird and Danny hadn't given a reason. He supposed it could be an advantage if his father had ignored him, but he hadn’t. He seemed determined to keep him from fading into the background, and Damian was glad. He wasn’t sure how long he could've kept up the ruse in that case.

Danny was still not shopping, so Damian searched the stacks of clothing. He spotted it immediately; a pristine version of a shirt worn until threadbare, repaired until it couldn't be anymore.

Damian grabbed it and threw it at his brother. Danny caught it, confused until he looked down and recognized the NASA logo with a small smile.

"You're being ridiculous." Damian informed him, then looked out over the pile with malicious intent. "If you don't choose, I will."

Danny was, occasionally, very predictable.

@hypewinter @halfblackwolfdemon this is for you guys, the other post was getting a bit long💕

---

What do you think Bruce would be thinking around this point?

#dpxdc #dp x dc crossover #grey writes

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oh1thehorror · 11 months ago

Text

Wrote a silly little fic about my best girl Ito and the trans experience :P I also wanted to explore the friendship between Jekyll and Ito, and Rachel and Ito.

This thing is filled with scientific and historical inaccuracy; it’s not a source of information, it’s a story. But I hope you enjoy because I enjoyed writing it ^^ ♥️

Category: Gen

Fandom: The Glass Scientists (Webcomic)

Relationships: Dr. Henry Jekyll & Virginia Ito, Rachel Pidgley & Virginia Ito

Characters: Virginia Ito, Rachel Pidgley, Dr. Henry Jekyll

Language: English

Word count:3,184

Summary: This won’t do, at all. She needs to investigate a solution to this feeling, naturally. Maybe if she can pinpoint the exact source of perplexity and worry, she can go about systematically and logically eradicating it? Yes, logic always works to help her calm down, just solving the problem like it is a maths equation or a chemical reaction can work wonders.

Wait. A chemical reaction?

OR Virginia Ito does some research- with the help of her two friends, Henry and Rachel. She also learns about acceptance along the way.

Can I prick your finger for science? (For self discovery?)

Ito doesn’t know what’s wrong.

She feels it; with every fibre of her being, brutal and cold, hugging at her shoulders and arms and stomach and legs, but she doesn’t know what it is. She’s been scrutinising it in the mirror for at least 10 minutes now- she’s wasting precious time when she should be studying- and she still can’t quite place her finger on it.

After all, there is no way it can be that same feeling of dread she’s been feeling for years, every time she looks in the mirror. No, it can’t, because she’s got long hair now, and everyone calls her Virginia, and ‘she’, and her life’s amazing because she can go out in amazing dresses.

But when she strips it all away, and stands with only soft linen covering her body, she feels something wrong. It makes her shameful, and a hint helpless, and she can’t stop looking at all the things wrong with her body.

Oh. It’s back. It’s stalking her. It’s not going away.

Which is honestly so rude of this feeling, curling itself dully in her stomach, trying to make her feel horrible about her body. How dare her mind play tricks on her and tell her she isn’t a woman? when she’s so clearly standing in front of the mirror, with shoulder length hair and a soft smile and a closet of warm colours that skirt her ankles.

This won’t do, at all. She needs to investigate a solution to this feeling, naturally. Maybe if she can pinpoint the exact source of perplexity and worry, she can go about systematically and logically eradicating it? Yes, logic always works to help her calm down, just solving the problem like it is a maths equation or a chemical reaction can work wonders.

Wait. A chemical reaction?

Of course, if the source the feeling stems from is this uncomfortableness in her own skin, is the doubt that she is really a girl because she looks like a boy beneath the layers of cotton and padding, then the solution would be to modify some part of her to change that, would it not? And is the human body not just a cluster of chemical reactions? Surely there was something organic that meant she was born this way, with spindly arms and a disappointingly flat chest, and differentiated her biologically from, say, Rachel? Right, and in such a case, all she would have to do is understand this compound to manufacture it artificially, and, in theory, once she’d prevented the compound in her body right now that made her look this way, and replaced it with said compound, it would work?

It seems too far-fetched, and Ito is a chemist, not a biologist. But then again, a society for rogue science seemed too far-fetched and yet here she was. What could she truly call impossible anymore?

“Doctor Jekyll?”

“Please, call me Henry.” He smiles at her, calm and practised, that same smile he’d given her the day he took her hand and led her to this palace of wonder. “Can I ask you a question?” She starts, looking up from the old notes he’d shown her, staring at him across the phials lined in metal on the table, one or two bubbling with some mediocre experiment she’d sought after to keep her excitement momentarily distracted.

“Of course you can, Ito.”

“You’re a biologist, right?” She approaches the subject cautiously, like she’d learnt to over the years, after the rejection and disgust of her own people, frowning in some places over her conduct towards the incoming topic, of the eagerness to change into something they thought her not. But they are gone now- and despite England itself being so uninviting too- something tells her, maybe, she can find peace here.

“I have studied biology and medicine, this is correct.” Henry raises a tentative eyebrow, as if contemplating her words, and what she may ask of him.

“Well…I’ve been thinking.” Pause.

“This is the perfect place for that, go ahead.” His ease relaxes her shoulders slightly, but there’s still the edge of fear about what he might do when she next asks, “This is an absurd topic,” Ito prefaces hastily, nerves getting the better of her.

“We’re rogue scientists, I’m sure it’s not too absurd.”

“But, say a..if a man wanted to appear as a woman- likewise, a woman wanted to appear as a man- and by this I mean, sound like, feel like, look like; is there, hypothetically speaking, some sort of biological chemical which differentiates the two and could potentially be…replaced?”

Henry studies her face carefully for a moment after she’s finished speaking. She cannot bring herself to meet his eyes, lest she find disgust or anger there like she had so many months ago, but she is certainly aware of his measured movements, of the stiff way he gives her his full attention and places his hands on the desk. Hot shame flushes her cheeks and regret roils inside of her, threatening to tear open her heart.

But then, respite, as he sighs softly. “Yes, I suppose.” Henry explains carefully, taking a seat opposite her. It’s all Ito can do to keep her breath from catching and her hands still. She glances up at Henry (mentor, kind of saviour, friend), and studies his eyes for a moment or two to find no hate all- surprisingly- just confusion and some concern.

“Biologically speaking, development of gendered characteristics begins when a child comes of age- when their body begins producing amounts of substances called hormones. Female hormones produce the desired effects of a woman’s body and emotion. Male hormones produce a deeper voice, more hair, a difference in emotion- anything that is different between me and you, is different because of the levels of each of these chemicals in our bodies. However, Ito, there is not much more I can tell you about them. They are a fairly new discovery, with very little knowledge surrounding the subject.”

Silence befalls them when Henry finishes talking, and Ito thinks on his words for a while. Soon, the atmosphere grows awkward, stiflingly so, and she can feel the way Henry’s gaze worries over her with healing curiosity.

“Forgive me for asking,” he clears his throat, voice stilted, weary. “What sort of research do you plan on undergoing?”

“I’m studying change.” Ito replies, somewhat uneasily.

“Change how?”

She panics, glancing away and racking her mind for the best way to explain. So far, and by his reaction, Henry has in no real way given her reason to worry at all, or let the feeling of her stomach roiling with fear latch itself to her. It infects her now, though, like growing disease, and she really dreads her downfall if she so much as opens her mouth.

“My hair wasn’t always this long.” She murmurs softly, a hand instinctively hovering near her hairdo. She meets his eyes begrudgingly, if somewhat fearful, and begs him silently to understand what she means. The last time she said it out loud, a world seemed to end.

Henry opens his mouth as if to press further, ask again because he didn’t quite understand. But then, she spies understanding dawning in his eyes like resolute kindness, and he nods gently, some semblance of a reassurance playing the smile on his lips. Something eases in Ito’s chest, like the world has lifted its fear from her shoulders.

“I see.” Is what he says next. “I won’t pry. But..” He looks like he’s contemplating something for a moment or two. Ito holds her breath, waits for ‘but I wouldn’t want you in the Society anymore’ or ‘but such conduct is improper and you’ll always be a male beneath it all.’ What she gets is; “You’re safe here. And so is your secret with me, if you want me to keep it.”

“Please do.” She answers hurriedly, anxiety still ebbing at her skin, she’s so sure her ears are deceiving her.

Again, Henry gives her a nod and that smile. “For what it is, you are a really courageous young lady, Virginia. And I’d hate for anyone to harm you so, if you find yourself ever in trouble, please don’t be afraid to speak to me.”

Ito lets out a shuddering breath at that, and the last whispers of panic fall away like snow sliding from glass. Henry’s smile is genuine, and that seeps out into his words, the way he looks at her like he means what he has said. Ito cannot seem to comprehend it, but at the same time, what is there to imagine?

“Thank you.” She feels something like tears blur her eyes and wipes them away hurriedly. ‘Lady.’ She seems to realise belatedly, as she sits there and looks at him. ‘He called me a lady.’ Her heart skips a beat, and then Henry chuckles slightly, getting up from his seat and returning to his work. “You’re very welcome, Virginia. I wish you the best of luck in your research and change. I’m sure you’ll do some marvellous things.”

Previously, Ito had convinced herself- ever since that fated day she left Japan and never looked back at the faces of the ‘family’ who hated her- that she would not rely on the validation of others for her comfort or happiness; that she was a woman no matter whatever anyone said or did or called her. She still retains that sentimentality, of course, but Henry’s words loosened something against her heart.

It felt good to be seen for who she really was.

Her mentor’s words had left her puzzled, she will admit. The substance she was looking for certainly existed biologically, but contemporary discovery meant that there was very little information on it, despite her searching for hours in local libraries for any type of biological papers on the topic. It made Ito somewhat distraught and her patience thin in some places, but the prior feeling of dread that had her so disgusted with herself had dulled down to manageable, so at least that was a plus.

Her excitement had been insatiable so that she sprung to work as soon as she could, grabbing her cloak and making for the libraries on foot, after she’d assessed every book on human biology available within the Society itself. The walk had served another purpose too; Henry’s reassurances had left her head reeling oh so delighted, but paranoia had followed it and some good old, polluted air was in order to clear her thoughts.

It hadn’t done much; perhaps given her space for a few epiphanies, none of which she could really claim because most of her walk was just the numb thought of hiding herself, of the way Henry had reacted with the most genuine attitude, of whether or not he meant it at all and she was truly safe.

This was proving quite difficult. Perhaps it would be safest for her to fall back on that mentality; if Jekyll did tell the other Lodgers (she doubts he would, inside, he’s too kind-), and they all gave her difficulty for it; well, it wasn’t new to her, was it? Would it hurt like her ‘family’? She doubts it, with how new this all is to her. Alas, no matter their reaction, she’d stick to her ideology through the thick and thin of it; once it came down to it, Ito didn’t need anyone to love herself.

As she traverses the hallways of the Society, back up the winding steps to her laboratory, she spots Henry midway to her room, walking somewhat briskly. For a moment, Ito is shocked (she’s not sure why; he is the leader of this place, after all- it’s only natural for the man to be working), but then she regains her composure and he waves warmly at her. “Good afternoon, Virginia. Is your research going well?”

“Well, not…I don’t have much information.” She replies, trying to avoid stuttering as her thoughts slot appropriately and calmly back into a coherent fashion. The way he treated her, his words, the distinct calmness in his voice of speaking to a friend made it impossible to think that she had worried over him betraying her like that. He did, after all, vow to her safety. (Who's to say he’ll be the only one like this? Is there good to this world?)

“Then you get your own information.” He reassures, and Ito’s mind stills, focuses solely on her project. He’s right; this is her passion and she won’t spend it worrying away about the possible perceptions of herself from others. “Is that not what rogue science is?” She finishes, not missing a single beat.

Henry smiles at her. ‘Yes.’ She thinks. ‘Acceptance is possible.’

Exasperated, but with newfound energy, Ito pushes open the door to her lab, fingers already coming up to frantically undo the broach holding her cloak around her shoulders.

She hisses in abrupt pain as something pinches her finger, and when she draws back, there is red beading at the very tip of her forefinger. It seems she was too frantic, because now she is bleeding lightly.

Ito rolls her eyes, sucking on the blood flow to stop it whilst she hangs her cloak up. Then, she walks over to her desk, arrayed with notes and the stray pages of copied out biology papers, a few phials nested amongst them.

Hold on. Blood.

She draws her finger back expectantly, and frowns down at it for a moment before something clicks. Of course! Blood transports every substance in the human body one way or another, and therefore must include hormones. The logical solution would be to study the reactions of human blood to distil it and gain a better understanding of the substance hidden within it.

Ito takes a clean phial and holds it under the running drip of her pricked finger, letting some of the liquid gather enough so she can test it.

Now, she wonders; will blood from other people breed the same results as her own?

“Rachel!” Ito calls out, hurrying down the corridor as she spots the day manager, strolling about. Rachel looks up with a confused squint of her eyes, and then smiles when she clocks Ito’s excitable figure walking towards her.

“Hello Virginia, I trust your day is going well.”

“Why yes, thank you. It quite is; it’s going fairly better because you’re just the person I need right now.”

Ito swears Rachel looks a hint nervous at her words, something red at her cheeks. It’s only faint. “I see. What would you need me for?”

“Can I prick your finger?” Ito asks, without quite thinking it through, far too excited about the breakthrough she’s looking for. If Henry’s previous words are anything to go by, to study the differences between what makes a female and a male, she’d need a sample or two of blood that wasn’t hers. And Rachel had been one of the kindest people to her since she’d arrived. And this really didn’t seem like a crazy request. Nope.

Mmhmm.

Oops.

Rachel gives her a weary look at this, eyes scrunching slightly at the corners. She seems slightly taken aback and yet not too surprised. “You want to prick my finger? For?”

“A blood sample; I’m researching something.” Ito beams, trying not to let embarrassment consume her, though she’s sure her cheeks are burning scarlet.

“Well,” Rachel blinks, and it seems to fall into place, now. Perhaps she was used to this sort of request from the other Lodgers? “I certainly prefer that wording…what are you researching?”

“Change.” Ito replies as easily and steadily as she could. She’s not wrong; it’s what she’d told Henry. But she doesn’t quite want this to escalate like that conversation had- not yet at least. Not from paranoia or anxiety but…she doesn’t know. It’s ok.

“The changes in biological structure.” She finishes, explaining away the blush on her cheeks somewhat proudly. Rachel chuckles softly. “I see. Well, yes, I suppose you can prick my finger.”

Ito gives a nod of thanks. “But Ito, please, next time just ask for a blood sample.”

Virginia blinks owlishly. “Asking someone to prick their finger is so much more fun.”

Rachel rolls her eyes in mock annoyance but there is no real hint of the emotion there.

Ito’s heart flutters at the encounter. With time, she finds that perhaps, she can tell Rachel.

“Henry…” Ito greets her mentor, one morning over a cup of tea, with the sweetest smile she could possibly muster because she’ll be very close to figuring this out and cannot contain her hope. Also, because she loves making Henry confused but unrelated.

Henry lifts an eyebrow in confusion. “Virginia?” He prompts cautiously, placing his teacup back on its saucer. The ceramic clinks against itself. “I have a request.”

“This early in the day?” Henry huffs lightheartedly, “What would you like?”

“Can I prick your finger? For science?” Ito doesn’t give herself time to hesitate, holds up a finger innocently in demonstration and stares Henry down.

He stares back, eyes wide in half suprise, but honestly, what was he expecting? “Pardon me, please rephrase that?”

“I would like a blood sample…for my research.” Ito elaborates, sheepishly shrugging her shoulders and lowering her hands.

“Well,” Henry sighs, his familiar smile making home on his lips. “Certainly an odd way to ask.”

“You and Rachel are no fun.” Ito informs him as he goes back to sipping his tea.

“Yes, yes. You can have a blood sample, Miss Ito.”

Ito is sure she’s spent more time than strictly necessary and healthy in close proximity to her desk, writing out notes and observations, so much so that it’s maybe the early hours of the morning.

Her lab, and herself, right now, are not the prettiest of things they could be; dyes staining the cuffs of her dress shirt- she’ll keep this one for experiments, she supposes; table scattered with filter parchment and observation reports; frantic notes scribbled into her book in hopes of her groundbreaking discovery.

She is right on its door- so much so that she can feel the end of her days dreading her dress, or her hair, or the mirror. It’s at her fingertips now, with distilled blood smeared over pages and dyed to identify the substances.

She’s pinned the chemical structure, the slight differences between female and male. The blurred line in between is tangible. Anything like this is tangible, truly: all she needs is the correct chemicals, varying amounts of carbon and water and phosphates, the make-up of her wants.

What she’s really missing is none of that; just to scrutinise it long enough until all her pieces fall together in the puzzle, slot into a wider picture and give her the right scope.

Bingo.

‘Well,’ She thinks, as it all lines up and the melody flourishes with the final shift in view and recipe. ‘This- change- is who I am.’

Ito smiles. It’s maybe the widest she’d ever smiled. She can’t wait to tell Henry.

#the glass scientists #tgs #the glass scientists fanfiction #fanfiction #fanfic #writing #tgs henry jekyll #tgs rachel #tgs ito #trans fem character

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empirearchives · 2 years ago

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Empire style evening dress from the Napoleonic era, circa 1810-1812

American or European

Source: The Met

Fine Indian muslin used in the Empire period was manufactured and embroidered in India and exported to Europe and America. The finest and most sheer cottons were coveted because for these qualities.

The Empire silhouette is readily identified with its origins in the chiton of ancient Greco-Romans, which was a tubular garment draped from the shoulders and sometimes belted beneath the bust. Several re-interpretations have occurred throughout costume history but none have been as notable as the period bridging the rectangular panierred skirts of the 18th century and the conical hoop skirts of the 19th century.

The neoclassic style was adopted in all forms of decoration after the French Revolution and was upheld during the Napoleonic Wars partly due to Napoleon Bonaparte's (1769-1821) alliance with Greco-Roman principles. In fashion, the style began as children's wear made from fine white cotton, but was adopted by women in the form of a tubular dress with skirts that were gathered under the bust with some fullness over a pad at the back. As the style progressed the skirts began to flatten at the front and solely gather from the bodice at the center back. The style persisted until the 1820s when the waist slowly lowered and the skirts became more bell shaped.

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lonestarflight · 2 years ago

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Skylab 2 (SL-2) Saturn IB (SA-206) inside the Vertical Assembly Building (VAB) before its rollout to LC-39B. The Apollo Spacecraft onboard isn't the SL-2 Command and Service Module (CSM-116) but the Facilities Checkout Vehicle (BP-30/SM-015/SLA-10) to fit-check the milk stool integration with pad facilities.

"SA-206 was originally manufactured in 1966, delivered to KSC in December 1966, and erected on LC-37B on January 23, 1967 for AS-206 mission (this was before the Apollo missions were re-numbered) with LM-1. It was destacked after Apollo 1/AS-204 fire, which killed three Astronauts when a spark ignited the oxygen inside the capsule during a dress rehearsal.

LM-1 mission was reassigned to Apollo 5, which used the Saturn IB (SA-204) intended for Apollo 1. SA-206 was returned to Michoud (S-1B-6), Huntington Beach (S-IVB-6) and Huntsville (S-IU-6) during March/April 1967 for storage. The stages were refurbished and tested in 1971-72. Then delivered back to the Kennedy Space Center by August 1972."

SL-2 was launched on May 25, 1973.

Date: January 1973

NASA ID: 108-KSC-72C-3982

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metallicshimmerclaws · 3 days ago

Note

put that down , you don't know what it does. [ from viktor! ]

↪ Making demands .

The bear frowned, a scowl of disgust formed on her lips as she shoved nose plugs into her nostrils. The water pollution and recent chemical spills had made each “clean up” of the River Pilt more disheartening. Along with many others, the woman had a fine woven net to dredge a small area of the river nearest the factory and market square. The majority of debris pulled to the surface was a scrap bits of screws, metal savings, solidified lumps of Shimmer, broken beer bottles, needles, discarded knifes and small dead water creatures. Despite having thickened paw pads on her palms, she pulled on some thick heavy duty gloves to sift through the mess to see if anything was salvageable.

Scrap metal, unless in pristine condition, was not worth pennies and or the effort the recycle process due to the inflation after the winter months had culled a number of ill individuals. The Chem Barons had since declared there was a labour shortage – even when young orphans were employed. With the spring melts and the snow dumped itself into the river and obliterated any defences installed the year previous. The Sump had become clogged with raw sewage and a number of homes. Built from timber and sheet metal had been washed away into the Sump then disintegrated when the materials came into contact with the various chemicals - which contributed to the water contamination.

Contents dumped into a small lead bucket, and started the process of picking through each item and sorted them into salvageable, or waste for incineration. Each object plucked through was unfortunate but not unexpected, this continued as the hum of chatter had become a rush that matched the current of the river.

The woman’s eyes narrowed as her gloved fingers brushed over a small rough blue stone in a somewhat spherical shape. It seemed to fizzle in her fingers and rolled into the palm of her hand. ‘Hmm.’ Her eyes squinted, there seemed to be runic carved into the surface of the stone. Brows furrowed as she removed a glove and held it between her claws in a pincer-like grip. The net balanced on top of the bucket, she pulled out the plugs, whatever this was – it had a scent. Perhaps this could be an item that could be sold? It was different than the usual debris but also different from everyday items. ‘Huh.’ The scent was familiar, but how, where from?

The stone seemed to be almost hypnotic. She exhaled, a slow realisation drawn that this object was of arcane. However it wasn’t natural, as though it was – manufactured. The bear placed it between her teeth, replacing the glove before rolling it back into her gloved hands.

Manufactured arcane. Should this safely exist? The thought skittered through her mind. A fist closed around the runic stone. Where do I put this, do I report this; who to? Do I keep it? The thoughts swirled around as a stern voice cut through her thoughts.

The bear’s ears twitched, her head and body turned to face the stranger. She eyes looked the thin, wiry man stood in front of her, leant on a walking cane – dressed in a white, gold and burgundy uniform –– Piltover Academy. The woman scowled for a brief moment. Like the runic on the stone, this man with golden eyes seemed familiar. His accent, a Zaunite twang.

She closed the gap between herself and the man. ‘I can guess what it does. Manufactured arcane – Hextech. This stone is unrefined, does the Academy have a habit of dumping prototypes into the river, or just arcane related projects?’

The woman sighed, she knew her curiosity and questioning could land her in Stillwater if she pushed too far. If he was from the Academy it was very likely he was in a higher caste than she was. Even if he was of Hyploid caste, he would automatically be of higher rank within the caste.

Reluctant, she opened the fist and handed the man the rough Hextech rune stone. ‘If I find any more sir, I’ll bring them to you.’ The woman glanced over her shoulder to ensure no-one had stolen her net and bucket, which often happened if the items were left unattended.

‘I’ll be at the end of the bridge, given most of us aren’t allowed to enter Piltover without the relevant paperwork.’ A rhetorical statement about Zaunites that the pair both knew.

#poking the bear | ursula answers #byteing: viktor #byteing #// she found one of the original hextech stones from early series 1 - that ended up in the river at some point

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heich0e · 9 months ago

Note

I very much want to hear about the insane thrift haul!

omg OK so for context i love thrifting but i own wayyyy too many clothes so i have been good lately and have NOT been thrifting. however!!! the weekend before last i ruined my fav jeans (not thrifted) and rly needed to replace them because i wore them constantlyyyyy. so i went to my fav thrift store (which i frequent so often i know the staff by name L M A O) and my expectations were honestly low—

because these were like the PERFECT jeans. ankle length, baggy, high waist, ACTUAL denim w no stretch, in a nice light wash. they were expensive when i bought them—but they lasted me FOREVER and i wore the HELL out of them—and i knew i could get another pair but thought i'd tryyyy to find them thrifted just on the off chance.

i like to thrift jeans in the men's section as they are often better quality, actual denim, and vintage, plus they're usually priced more reasonably than women's clothes. and as soon as i stepped up to the rack i found basically. an EXACT REPLICA. of my favourite jeans. EXCEPT!!! THEY ARE ACTUAL VINTAGE!! in perfect condition. the thrift store doesn't have fitting rooms so i had to take a gamble on them but when i got them home and tried them on they were a PERFECT fit too. they're probably from the 80s/early 90s based on the brand and tag and i swear to god they fit like they were MADE for me. and i paid less than the price of a 6-inch subway sandwich for em.

i was riding a real high after finding these, so then i braved the women's section where i found:

a GORGEOUS midi dress. it's not vintage but it's from a nice brand WITH THE ORIGINAL TAGS STILL ON IT?? it has with short sleeves, a tie-belted waist, a pleated skirt, and it's a light cornflower blue with a pretty floral pattern!!

THEN!! i found an absolutely unreallllllll vintage, faux-suede-ish 2-piece co-ord set in a rly rly nice camel-y toffee colour. it has a pair of high waist, wide leg trousers + a button-down overshirt kind of top (it also had shoulder pads and beading all along the collar and pockets of the shirt, but i have since removed those lmaooooo.) it is a little bit yee haw but i'm SOOOOOOOO into it and it fits me PERFECTLY.

then i was getting rly bold so i was like ok lets check the ladies pants section just to see what's up. i found a nice (non-vintage) ecru coloured pair of jeans: high waist, wide leg, good quality denim. they didn't look worn at all. i didn't quite recognize the brand enough to say whether or not they were actually ""good"" but i was like fuck it we ball and got them too. i get them home, look up the brand. these jeans... are basically brand new..... still available on the manufacturer's website........ for $118 United States of American dollars.

i also got a little wicker basket for my board games if that is of interest to u... but that one is not as exciting hehe.

END OF THRIFT HAUL if u made it this far i LOVE U

#liv got mail

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magicaldelicacy · 1 year ago

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Chii from Chobits

Costume made and worn by me. Photo taken by mizfitpeep on IG at Anime NebrasKon 2023.

This costume didn't come about because I wanted to cosplay Chobits specifically, but because I was in the mood to make a frilly dress with big sleeves. I did some research to find characters who wear that sort of outfit, though I ultimately settled on this Chii design, Maid Alice. I hadn't thought about Chobits in a long time, but it was just what I was looking for, so I decided to make it. The original artbook illustration shows Chii from behind, but there is also a figure of this outfit, which gave me a reference for the front.

I used polyester poplin fabric for the dress and bows with some cord sewn on for the piping. The ruffle trim came off of a premade spool. There are three layers to the skirt, each with ruffle at the hem: the pink top skirt and two white ones underneath, the lower of which is a half-skirt in back. The shoulders have foam pads inside to keep them poofy, and the dress snaps to the collar to keep the sleeves from sliding down. The apron is interfaced for stiffness, and the bow tails have a layer of felt for thickness. The buttons are glass beads that I painted and glued on. I already owned the heels, and I bought the petticoat and stockings as they are.

The wig is an Epic Cosplay Nyx in Natural Blonde with additional wefts. I'm happy with my styling on this wig. There are two polystyrene balls in the front to give the hair its rounded shape going into the two hair ties, which I made using white foam and pink pleather. I bought the ears second-hand, so I'm unsure of who manufactured them. I found the way that the ears distorted my hearing very disorienting, which made wearing the costume less comfortable than it would have been otherwise.

#my costumes #cosplay #anime nebraskon #chobits #chii

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macaronis-telegraph · 2 years ago

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What are some interesting and lesser known titanic or WW1 facts?

Apologies I took so ridiculously long to answer this! Been coming up to crunch time with a huge project I've got at school... But some of the things I've been researching recently can answer this question! Bearing in mind that what is interesting to me may not be interesting to everyone else, but anyways.

First World War Fact!

Disposable menstrual management products as we know them today actually owe a lot to the First World War:

Due to the shortage of materials such as cotton and wool that affected both sides of the war, alternate materials for making field dressings were sought out. One of these was Cellucotton, produced by Wisconsin based Kimberly-Clark, and field dressings made of which came about alongside the American introduction to the war in 1917. Kimberly-Clark came to notice that nurses at the front had been using their cellucotton field dressings as menstrual pads, and, after the war, decided to pivot their production to this market, and rebranded themselves as Kotex.

Kotex wasn't the first disposable menstrual management product out there, but it was the first with a widely successful marketing campaign, and made strides by getting the product out of just catalogues, and onto physical store shelves. While there's of course a lot of discussion today about the environmental impact of disposable sanitary products, their widespread adoption to begin with had a multitude of positive impact on those who used them, including aspects of hygiene, ability to travel, etc.

(One of the other cotton alternatives used in field dressings was sphagnum moss! In brief, sphagnum moss can absorb up to 20 times its own weight in liquid, has antiseptic properties, and brought with it an enormous campaign of allied volunteers on the home front to collect the moss and manufacture it into dressings. I stumbled upon menstrual pads made with sphagnum moss too, dated 1919! But I don't know much about that endeavor and want to find out more.)

For a Titanic Fact:

The interview with junior wireless operator Harold Bride, taken aboard the RMS Carpathia upon returning to New York, and printed in the New York Times, is one of the most referred to interviews surrounding the event. The acquisition of this interview is widely attributed to a Jim Speers, and much of the literature I've read regarding this interview credit the interviewer as such. The problem is:

No one named Jim Speers was working at the New York Times in 1912.

The actual interviewer who urged his way aboard the Carpathia (alongside Guglielmo Marconi himself!*) to get that interview was a man named Isaac Russell, who was actually acting against his assignment from the NYT that day. His name was not published with the article, and thus fell unknown until Russell's own unpublished manuscripts came to light. Where on earth the name Jim Speers came into play though, and why this nonexistent man started getting the credit, I've not gotten to the bottom of.

*Marconi's intentions were very much out of concern of not hearing from his operators, while Russell, whose act of getting an interview BEFORE encouraging Bride to get his injuries treated feels rather exploitative to me personally... but I digress.

#if anyone wants to know more let me know!#I can send some cool sources #trying to keep this from becoming an academic essay oops #wwi #rms titanic #if any of my classmates are reading this they can 100% identify me by this post oh no #cw menstruation #asks

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writernopal · 2 years ago

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Happy WBW, lovely! Not sure why, but today I'm asking about fashion?? What does the fashion-- I'm talking high, street, or anything else-- look like in your world(s)?

Happy WBW, Tori!

I answered something similar to this here, but I'll add a little more since I didn't talk about fashion overall.

To summarize, it's all over the place haha. Some of this is purely self-indulgent/anachronistic, but also because despite being a medieval-ish setting, this is also a setting where magic exists AND also one where there is a wide variety of cultures and people who live in varied climates with access to different native fibers and manufacturing techniques. Not to mention there are significantly different body shapes. That is, not everyone has proportions, sexually dimorphic traits, or limbs that fall into the usual humanoid shape, so naturally, their fashions would be different. And even amongst people of the same race, there is a huge variety in what they wear depending on where they live. However...

We can assume the following:

Humans: Garments are similar to what you might find in 17th-century European fashions for those that live in large cities or relatively populous areas. Stays, padding, shifts, petticoats, hoops, bonnets/caps, etc. Of course, the materials, colors, etc all vary by region, wealth, occupation, you get the idea. For those that live most remotely (countryside, small islands, etc), their clothes are homemade and focused on durability rather than on a fashionable shape (which the aforementioned is considered to be), so are more gender neutral. Trousers, durable shirts, cloaks, ponchos, and usually some kind of durable leather shoe (can be a sandal or boot depending on the climate), and head coverings are popular.

Lizardfolk: Each house has a style they prefer. House of War prefers styles similar to traditional Thai dress, the House of Law prefers styles similar to 17th-century Japanese garments, and the House of Dreams prefers styles similar to Mughal period Indian fashion. Their winter wear, when they have need of it, is heavily inspired by Mongolian fashion. Additionally, corsets are favored by women of the Holtep Empire. These are not the undergarments you might imagine for people, nor are they worn all the time, usually only for special occasions and usually only by the nobility. They are worn with special robes that expose the midriff and are made of steel. They are more like armor than anything else, and unlike human corsets are meant solely for aesthetic purposes; they don't support breasts (bc they don't have any) and are intended to emphasize how small a woman's waist is. It is the most desired of traits in the Empire.

Dwarves: Heavily inspired by a variety Native American dress. I am still fleshing this out a bit, but their clothing is focused on durability, ease of movement, bright colors, and heavy decorative elements.

Elves: Probably the widest variety because of how scattered their kingdom is. They are known to borrow elements of the fashions listed above. However, their 'base' is most similar to ancient Mayan and Aztec fashion.

#thanks for the ask!#nopal answers #aasoaf #aasoaf lore #fashion lore #wbw

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uncaaj · 1 year ago

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Fanfic: Blade Runner Starring Donald Duck Chapter 4 - Voight-Kampff (DuckTales x Blade Runner)

READ NOW ON AO3!

The McDuck Corporation was easily recognizable from the air. It was the only place around that had any fire left, figuratively and literally. Columns of fire shot out from the pillars below, as much a part of 5Y manufacturing as the countless number of hapless souls working their lives away underneath. At the center of it all was a great dark pyramid, standing tall and true with a dollar sign etched into it bordered by orange light. If the fire stacks and winding pathways below were the veins of McDuck Corp, here was the heart. I set the spinner down on a platform near the pyramid’s summit, watching the breeze kick up stray particles on the pad.

McDuck’s office was a short elevator ride away. It was a huge place with hardly enough furniture to fill it properly. Columns with geometric ridges dotted the space all around. It looked as if it was split into four separate rooms based on the layouts in each of its corners. Overlooking it all was a massive window letting the golden light cast everything in a rich hue.

I saw a barn owl preening itself on a perch on the opposite side of the office, which intrigued me. They were supposed to be extinct. It jumped up and flew over to another perch across the span of a conference table under the window.

“Magnificent creature…” said Feth.

“Do you like our owl?” said a female voice, the owl’s head turning toward its source.

Me and Feth followed its gaze and shadowed in dim orange...she approached, dressed in black faux leather, walking to me with all the air of a dame who knew what her purpose was in life. A luxury that McDuck could no doubt afford.

“It’s artificial?” I asked. Of course, it was, but basic human decency dictated you ask anyway.

“Of course it is.”

“Must be expensive,” said Feth.

“Very. I’m Daisy.” She held out her hand.

I shook it. “Duckard. This is Feth.”

She nodded to him and Feth waved. She looked back at me. “It seems you feel our work is not a benefit to the public.”

“Replicants are like any ol’ machine,” I said, “they’re either a benefit or a hazard. If they’re a benefit, it’s not my problem.”

“May I ask you a personal question?”

I stuffed my hands in my coat pockets and leaned against the table. “Sure.”

“Have you ever retired a human by mistake?”

I had to pause to recollect all the dusty memories. “No,” I answered.

“But in your position, that’s a risk?”

It was, but the Voight-Kampff had been so highly tested that the older model replicants could be picked out like a cherry on a white tablecloth. 5Ys, on the other hand…

Before I could answer, another voice came upon us. “Is this ta be an empathy test? Capillary dilation of th’ so-called blush response? Fluctuation of the pupil? Involuntary dilation of the iris?”

Someone had clearly done their homework. “We call it Voight-Kampff for short,” I said to the older Scottish drake walking toward us, his intricately carved cane clunking on the floor every other step.

“Mr. Duckard?” said Daisy, “Dr. Eldon McDuck.”

The head honcho himself, dressed in a finely tailored black suit. Almost nobody could get an audience with the richest duck in our world, but here we were.

I held my hand out, and got that cane pointed at me instead. “Demonstrate it. I want tae see it work,” said McDuck.

I cleared my throat. “Where’s the subject?”

“I want tae see it work on a duck. I want tae see a negative before I provide you with a positive.”

“What’s that going to prove?” I asked.

He sniffed. “Indulge me, lad.”

I raised an eyebrow. “What, test it on you?”

“Try her,” he said, turning his head to Daisy.

I gave her a glance. She was pretty, unassuming. I shrugged. “It’s too bright in here.”

McDuck pressed a button on his cane. Nearly all the light was wiped from the window as a shade lowered dramatically over the opening. You know you’re rich when you can turn the searing sun on and off at your will.

Daisy sat down across from me, while McDuck retreated to the other side of the space. I unpacked the box and set it on the table. It was just like riding a bicycle, getting this old puppy running again. Her pupil shrunk in the frame, green iris piercing and mysterious.

“Do you mind if I smoke?” Daisy asked, already reaching into her bust.

“It won’t affect the test,” I replied. Satisfied, I sat down as she was lighting up a Lucky Strike. “All right, I’m gonna ask a series of questions. Just relax and answer them as simply as you can.” I turned to Feth, who had plopped himself in a chair next to me. “Watch and learn.”

I retrieved a sheet of paper and began. “It’s your birthday. Someone gives you a calfskin wallet.”

“I wouldn’t accept it,” she said. “I’d also report the person who gave it to me to the police.”

The gauge moved halfway to one end, the dial moving just as powerfully. The lowest intensity questions were always a revealing point to start on. I continued, “You've got a little boy. He shows you his butterfly collection plus the killing jar.”

“I’d take him to the doctor.”

Again, the gauges swung to one side but not as enthusiastically. “You're watching TV. Suddenly, you realize there's a wasp crawling on your arm.”

“I’d kill it.”

Same thing. Quick response too. “You're reading a magazine. You come across a full-page nude photo of a girl.”

“Is this testing whether I’m a replicant, or a lesbian, Mr. Duckard?” she asked. I couldn’t tell if she was offended or just genuinely curious.

“Just answer the question, toots. You show it to your husband. He likes it enough to hang it on his bedroom wall. The girl’s on a bearskin rug.”

“I wouldn’t let him.”

“Why not?”

“I should be enough for him.”

Fascinating. They don’t usually answer that way.

This continued on through hundreds of questions, hundreds of varied responses, each more telling than the last. At last, I had run out of questions to ask, except for one, at the bottom of the last page. “You're watching a stage play. It shows a banquet in progress. The guests are enjoying raw oysters.”

Daisy grimaced slightly. The needles moved accordingly. I continued. “The entree is boiled dog stuffed with rice.” The needles moved again, but less so. She didn’t say a word.

I was exhausted, both of questions and with this charade. I switched off the box and leaned back.

Eldon McDuck was walking over again. I didn’t know what to tell him. As if he read my mind, he turned to Daisy and said, “Would ye step out for a few moments, lass?”

She nodded, putting out her cigarette, and rose from her seat. We waited for her to make the journey well out of earshot.

McDuck was looking at me knowingly. What was going on? I met his eyes. “You wanna tell him, Feth?”

Feth gulped. “Um...she’s a replicant, isn’t she?”

McDuck cracked a slight smile. “I’m impressed, lad. How many questions does it usually take to spot ‘em?”

“I-I don’t get it, McDuck,” I said.

He rested his chin on his fist. “How many?”

“20 or 30, cross-referenced.”

His hands fell authoritatively to his sides. “It took more than a hundred for Daisy, didn’t it?” His eyes gleamed behind his Pince-Nez glasses.

“She doesn’t know?” I hissed.

McDuck looked toward the window. “She’s beginning to suspect, I think.”

“Suspect?” I balked. “How can it not know what it is?”

“Commerce, Duckard. That’s our goal here at McDuck Corporation. ‘More human than human’ is our motto. Daisy’s an experiment, nothing more.” He shuffled closer to me as I looked off past him, faint rays streaming in past the shade to illuminate the scientific mind of a generation. “We began to recognize in them some strange obsessions. After all, they are emotionally inexperienced, with only a few years tae store up the experiences which you and I take for granted. If we gift them the past, we create a cushion or pillow for their emotions, and consequently, we can control them better.”

“Memories,” I said, looking up to him. “You're talking about memories.”

McDuck tipped his hat to me.

I looked back to where Daisy had gone. Implanting memories...heaven only knew where they obtained memories from, and how they were extracted. It was an experiment, all right, one that had me thinking of an old movie with a guy with bolts in his head.

My stomach knotted up and my shoulders became heavy. This was the 5Y in action, and the fact that I was gonna have to retire four of ‘em had fully sunk in.

#ducktales #donald duck #fanfiction #disney ducks #duckverse #blade runner #fethry duck #scrooge mcduck #daisy duck #noir #crossover

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