#Sartorial-Self

[krakenshaped]

how bout aster's bestie sartorius for them char reqs :3

Walks in wearing a shirt that says "I ♡ Saiou Takuma"

[theunimpairedcondition]

The dykey urge to wear a muff pocket hoodie

[oopnik-fashion]

Let’s Start Your Stylish Journey With Co-Ords Set.

🙌Embark On A Sartorial Journey Of Self-Expression With Our Impeccably Stylish Co-Ords Set.✨

[searchingforserendipity25]

genuinely do think garak would do very brisk business if he invested in fun socks. for one things, humans love fun socks, this is known widely across the quadrant. starfleet regulations will accept little variation, but socks with fun patterns are nearly invisible inside their boots, so they get an unspoken pass, and everyone who likes fun socks will casually check if other people do have fun socks. they're small, they're cheap, they're low-commitment if you should find yourself facing a storefront of fun socks sold by a guy who may or not be an enemy operative (one can easily tell themselves buying a pair or five of fun socks will not directly finance the cardassian union, probably, while a big commission may have more a moral heft to it). thirdly, have you seen the patterns on the things he makes? there is a groundbreaking fun socks designer trapped inside that dissociative spy, and he's begging to come out with spectacularly intricate and creative pattern schemes. fourthly, the ego death implied in this singularly successful sartorial venture would fix him via breaking his sense of self faster, and also make him exponentially more well-known, well-liked, and well-off. lastly, most importantly: julian bashir would be incredibly not-normal about garak's clothiers and its new feetwear collection. i stand my case your honor.

[solarmorrigan]

My Favorite Sweater (is Yours)

For the @steddie-spooktober day 29 prompt: Sweater Rated: T | Words: 495 | CW: None | Tags: established relationship, Eddie Munson loves Steve Harrington, the intimacy of learning someone's wardrobe Divider credit: @steddiecameraroll-graphics

Eddie loves learning new things about Steve. All his little quirks, his habits, his likes and dislikes; even the things Steve does that annoy Eddie are still hoarded away like a dragon with gemstones. It feels like a privilege to see Steve unguarded, just happy and existing in a space with Eddie.

He learns how Steve takes his coffee in the mornings, how he moves his lips when he reads, how he can (and will) recite statistics about any basketball team you can name, how he’s willing to start a physical fight over who gets to drive when they go to run errands. He loves all of it, but he especially loves learning the language of Steve’s wardrobe.

No stranger to sartorial self-expression, Eddie has long used his clothes to shout to the world about who he is, what he likes, and just where people can shove it if they take issue with it. Steve, on the other hand, is a little more subtle. It had taken Eddie a little while to realize, but where his own clothes reflect his identity, Steve’s reflect his mood.

Jeans and polos are, of course, the baseline. Eddie can’t say he sees the appeal himself, but he likes them on Steve (though he likes them even better off Steve, it must be said).

T-shirts are for Getting Shit Done. Eddie is less fond of these; they’re a great look for Steve, but there is a higher than normal probability that Eddie is going to be made to clean something, or be asked if he wants to go for a jog when Steve is wearing one.

Henleys are fun; they’re light and casual and easy, and they often mean that Steve is up for anything. Henleys are date nights and day trips and adventures – exploration with only a minimal amount of complaining.

Sweatshirts are for down days. On days when Steve doesn’t feel well, when his body hurts or his head aches or he’s feeling anxious and withdrawn, he reaches for a sweatshirt.

(Addendum to the above: days when Steve wears Eddie’s sweatshirts are great days. Steve in Eddie’s clothes means he wants Eddie’s attention, and Eddie is more than willing to give it to him.)

There are other moods, other nuances—button-ups and tank tops and running shorts and sweatpants and the Exceptionally Tight Jeans—but Eddie thinks his favorite days might be the days when Steve wears sweaters.

Sweaters are for good moods and good days. They’re softness and warmth. They mean that Steve is feeling affectionate and sweet, that he wants to be wherever Eddie is, preferably cuddled into his side like an overlarge housecat. Sweaters mean that Eddie will get to end the day curled up on the sofa with Steve, or snuggled together in bed, held safe and close like something precious.

Sweaters are everything Eddie hadn’t known he was missing and everything he never wants to be without again.

The sweaters are Eddie’s favorite.

[camisoledadparis]

Oscar Wilde, one of the most iconic figures of the late 19th century, was renowned for his wit, literary genius, and distinctive fashion sense. A master of the three-piece suit, Wilde's personal style blended Victorian sophistication with a flair for individuality. Often seen wearing tailored waistcoats and meticulously cut jackets, his ensemble became synonymous with the dandy aesthetic, which celebrated refinement, self-expression, and the rejection of conventional norms. His sartorial elegance mirrored his literary works, which challenged social conventions and championed the pursuit of beauty and pleasure.

Wilde's influence on fashion extended beyond his own wardrobe. He became a symbol of the Aesthetic Movement, where the emphasis was placed on "art for art's sake." His popularity and unique style made him a trendsetter, and his influence continued into the early 20th century. Wilde's legacy as both a playwright and fashion icon remains cemented, as his works and personal style continue to inspire modern fashion and culture. 

[choerypetal]

Desire / Sejanus Plinth

Summary: Being mindful of your shared history with Sejanus outside the confines of the academy, and recognizing Sejanus's aspiration to earn his father's approval, fostered a connection built on both sincerity and responsibility—underscored by a commitment to honesty.

themes: a little bit of plot for our sweet boi, but also sejanus being a top especially in his reaping suit just hit different, also him wanting to make snow jealous is my favorite kind of trope to write. hope you'll enjoy!

ps: english isn't my first mothered tongue, so i appoligze for any grammar errors, and do not copy nore plagiarized my work as it can be ban and even flagged in the process.

Sejanus adorned his finest attire during the reaping ceremony, adhering to the unspoken mandate of sartorial elegance that accompanied the invitation. As you entered the room, it was evident that a touch of fashion was not merely a suggestion but a prerequisite. Among the myriad of ensembles, your dress, gracefully embracing your curves, stood out, capturing Sejanus's attention irresistibly. His mother, keen-eyed even from a distance, promptly intercepted you, urging you to approach. "Ma, I can handle introductions myself." He would nonchalantly assert, feeling a subtle warmth in his cheeks, a blend of casual demeanor and sly embarrassment. Despite the prevalent animosity toward his father among classmates, Sejanus was determined to earn at least a measure of pride, not only for himself but for his mother and, undoubtedly, for you. 

"No one here actually likes him, but they do enjoy his money. You know what that’s like don’t you Crane?" Sejanus experienced a surge of excitement upon encountering you before the ceremony. Despite his own preoccupation with Festus, who had drawn him into the commotion, Sejanus redirected his focus entirely upon your presence upon his confession. Observing you engage in lively conversation with Clemensia, your laughter echoing the essence of the girl you were meant to be, captivated Sejanus. He was determined not to be caught casually biting his lower lip, his gaze fixed entirely on you. "If you'll excuse me. I have some business to attend to." He said, patting Coriolanus's shoulder before making his exit. 

"Love the dress, Y/N." Clemensia exclaimed, the first to spot your arrival, closely followed by Sejanus, of course. Her hands extended for a warm hug, accompanied by a smile radiating both dignity and excitement for the impending reaping ceremony. In contrast, a subtle nervousness crept over you, realizing that you were about to embark on mentoring, not to mention meeting individuals from various districts. The persistent perception that the denizens of the districts were mere facades of Panem's reality added to your apprehension. However, if Sejanus possessed the capacity to illustrate a different perspective, he was unafraid to reveal the true face of his home, the authentic image of the people in Panem. This authenticity stood in stark contrast to the superficial facade maintained by figures like Snow himself. 

With a self-assured grin and his hands casually tucked into his pockets, he navigated the crowd with a demeanor that, although his mother would disapprove of as being somewhat untidy, was a conscious effort to seamlessly blend in with his fellow Capitol residents. Despite the need to appear approachable to those more economically inclined, he made it a point to maintain an air of confidence. "Y/N..." The sound of your name lingered in his voice, each syllable carefully pronounced and laden with unspoken sentiments. It was evident that he was already aware of his deep admiration for you. "You look absolutely stunning, as always." He confessed, catching Clemensia off guard, prompting only a smirk in response, and a subtle nudge in your direction. You, in turn, rolled your eyes at her suggestive insinuations. "Not too shabby yourself, Sejanus." You remarked with confidence, extending your arm for him to escort you to the rear of the seating area before the commencement of the ceremony. Sejanus's objective was clear – to have you all to himself. Even if it meant adopting a somewhat disreputable approach, as long as it emphasized his protective stance towards you, it was the only thing that truly mattered to him. 

Admiring the lipstick, he took care to express as he leaned toward you, his arm still securely around your waist, now slightly tighter. This gesture intensified as he noticed another man casting a similar glance at a couple they had initially deemed an unlikely match. The boy was still rooted in the District, while he himself leaned toward someone of significant affluence. Sejanus, despite his opposition to the existence of the Games, reluctantly embraced the charade, aware that any objection on your part could lead to your parents considering the possibility of severing this relationship. Thus, Sejanus and you began to outwardly portray a facade, a carefully constructed illusion that placed both of you in a delicate position. "Loving the new suit." You remarked with the same tone he used upon admiring you. 

A chuckle escaped from Sejanus's lips as you imitated him, recalling how his mother had instructed him to maintain a gallant demeanor and remain discreet in your presence. Despite the guidance, he couldn't help but relish the desire to savor every inch of your skin from the moment he laid eyes on you that morning. The subtle choice of wearing his favorite dress for the reaping ceremony didn't go unnoticed, and he felt compelled to at least graze your soft skin and press his lips against your ear, whispering your name while you attempted to resist. Your attempts to push him away only resulted in a smirk from him, fully aware that you secretly enjoyed every moment of his advances. Whether the affection unfolded in public or private, Sejanus delighted in the sight of your eyes, a blend of embarrassment and passion, pleading for him.

"Sejanus..." You quietly called his name as he leaned in to inhale the fragrance of the new perfume he had purchased for you the day before the reaping. You could sense his lips curving into a sly smirk, observing your cheeks turning a softer shade of pink, a reaction honed through enduring constant teasing during your stay. "People are going to be watching..." Your voice softened, and the notion seemed to further entice Sejanus. His fingers loosened their grip on your waist, trailing from the back of your dress to your neck, where they lingered, pulling you closer. He stole a few quick kisses on the crook of your neck, the softness of your voice amplifying the intimacy of the moment. However, a growing awareness crept in—someone was indeed watching. Snow, who had a chance to witness the two of you, gazed uncomfortably from his seat. It wasn't a curious look but rather one filled with distaste and regret, recognizing that Plinth had found an effortless path to the Academy and now someone he was beginning to relish. And Sejanus was enjoying every bits of it. 

"Don't worry," He chuckled, his voice deepening with the palpable tension between the two. He didn't mind the risk of being caught, not even a reprimand from his father lingering in the back of his head. It was enough, at least for a fleeting moment, to make his father proud by embodying the facade of the man he was expected to be. "If someone is supposedly watching us right now, then I'd be more than pleased to give them a show." He wasn't entirely wrong, and Snow himself could almost gasp, but he refrained, knowing that any reaction might lead to both of them getting caught in the act. "Just for a few moments before the reaping, will you?" He insisted, a gentle reminder for you to remain composed and gracefully acknowledge anyone present, despite the growing prominence of blush on your cheeks. The alcohol in the room served as a preferred distraction, selected by the teachers. 

Sejanus’s hand trail down further the back near your arse. Even thought he struggled a bit to reach for a tease, he managed to travel his fingers towards your thighs. Luckily the dress being long enough and you being accustomed to being seated far for the time being. His eyes winded in surprised yet not so much, when noticing  the absent of your underwear only to be revealed. As the warmth touch of his fingers against your cold skin, send you a sense of shiver, his thumb teasingly brushing on your clit as your tried your very best not to hold on your whimpers. “Seja–” You of course tried to sound as oblivious from his action, even thought it was a constant routine whenever you had to chance to meet. All could Sejanus do was to make a sign of being silent, and his smirk being more pronounced by the circular motion of his tumb soon before he could feel your arousal being wet. “Already wet for me? I’d take that as a compliment.” He said with obvious sarcasm and tease in his voice. 

Of course Sejanus only used this tactic when you were to the point of orgasm. How you had already gripped your helpless fingers by one of the fabric of his pant. Although he had promptly said no to even touch his private part. As it being said and ordered that today– It was him who was in charge. Not only for that but to also make a father proud. A father he could care less of his own child but also be delighted to know that at least his kid, made something so unexpected that Sejanus could perhaps feel at ease for the time being. “You know..” His voice lingered as his eyes darkened by your plea of wanting him more. But as time went short. He confessed. “I don’t seem to be hating the idea of being in charge more.” 

“After the reaping, see me at the Lab.” He informed briefly yet fully aware of what Sejanus had in plan after the reaping ceremony. And as everyone began to notice Dr. Gaul’s presence along with Casca Highbottom, it was suggested that the reaping was officially starting. Therefore, Sejanus promptly smirking to himself as he had completely forgot to realize that you’d had to be wet during this entirety on the ceremony. Making you feel dirty and yet keeping a class only you was able to do so. “It’s time darling.” He said and escorted you back to your seats. 

It was when you arrived next to Snow on your left, that he too took notice farewell of the marks left from Sejanus. Which luckily you managed to cover with strands of hair before walking further to the front row. To which he then couldn’t help to ask if you were okay. Poor him– Sejanus laughed to himself upon seeing his classmate being yet so confused and disgusted by seeing the most beautiful girl of Panem assisted with someone such as Sejanus himself. “Ready for the ceremony, Snow?” Was what you said to him before he could even let the question of Sejanus’s hickeys. Of course by being his honest self simply smiled at you and nod rather uncomfortably. “Very, but wouldn’t they notice?” 

"What's there to notice?" Your question carried a subtle touch of sarcasm, eliciting a sense of pride in Sejanus. The moment you turned to your side, he couldn't help but feel a surge of satisfaction, nudging him with a slight smirk before he could release a soft chuckle.

"No, nothing. Have a splendid reaping, Y/N." Snow uttered with a hint of shyness this time. As you acknowledged his modest response, Sejanus leaned in once more. "I need to make these marks more pronounced." He retorted with a smirk. Once again, you quietly nudged his side, both of you sharing a laugh, only for Casca Highbottom to redirect your attention to the unfolding reaping ceremony. Little did anyone know, you would later become Sejanus's complete distraction and source of enjoyment, allowing him to savor every moment according to his desires.

[beyond-mogai-pride-flags]

Legal transitioning flag (left) and sartorial transitioning flag (right).

Legal or judicial transition: Changing one's legal gender/sex marker or gendered name. Not everywhere it's changeable, some places require proof of social or medical transition, however, there are self-id laws allowing anyone to change genders in documents, or abolishing gender in documents, except for passports;

Sartorial or vestiary transition: Changing one's clothing gender. This might be seen as cross-dressing or transvesting, however some see this as a form of transition, especially of a trans* person, such as a transvestite or transvestic folk. Not necessarily leading to corporeal or physical changes in one's body, however some use it in addition to accessories and wardrobe, their hairstyle or to change the usual amount of body hair.

These can be contrasted with social transition and medical transition. Not everyone who medically transitions is willing to transition sartorially, not everyone who transitions legally ever transition socially. Everything is possible.

[emby-m]

Seventh in the Putting Alice into Norton's Skin Lines series

Mining Director/Plutone/Plutocrat & New Bride/Eurydice/Auloniad

Design and backstory under the cut:

Setting/text notes:

The skin line is based of L’Orfeo, the Monteverdi opera, which is………… remarkable. For an asymmetrical horror game with dollies as the characters to use.

It pretty straightforwardly follows the usual myth of Orpheus, but in this skinline version, the love Eurydice has for Orpheus is so overwhelming that Plutone becomes jealous that Orpheus could bring out that kind of devotion in this pretty bride and distracts Orpheus with a commotion behind him so she has to stay in the Underworld. Eurydice becomes a treasure he passed over, but one he now wants to own.

Did my best with the text – this set of lyrics was taken from Early Music Vancouver’s copy and translation and edited; the Italian is a bit stilted but I tried to make it rhyme. 

Norton’s design:

The longer I look at this design the more I’m convinced whoever designed it was quite smart and operating more within Nort’s character than you’d expect

I’m a little sad they didn’t go with “Plutocrat” as the name for this skin – a Plutocrat is a person who buys societal power with wealth, and also contains “Pluto,” the god of the underworld!

If his ideal self is a white mining director, then it makes perfect sense for the waistcoat and jodhpurs – he would likely see his “betters” in the mining camps in their sportswear and in a state of casualness other situations would not allow for. Then you just bling that out because that’s wealth, right? He wouldn’t know the subtle, great-renunciation sartorial cues that would’ve been present.

I had to change surprisingly little tbh… it’s definitely discordant but it works well that way.

Alice’s design:

Eurydice’s (Little Girl’s) skin is, to my eyes, based on a christening gown and a first communion gown, so I figured the next logical sacrament would be a wedding dress… Eurydice also dies (in myth) during their wedding party, so having Eurydice be a new bride makes some sense.

The dress is based on ~1905-1910 style wedding dresses with a high, arched sash at the back and a long veil with orange blossoms (orange blossoms, real or wax replicas, were common for bridal headdresses up until maybe the 1930s)

Would Eurydice be surprised that she was the object of the God of the Underworld's affections? Would she be pleased? All interesting questions...

[matthew2641]

Chiaroscuro of the Self: Identity, Agency, and the Aesthetics of Fragmentation

Will Graham is depicted as a paragon of perspicacity, a being whose intellectual acumen borders on the preternatural. As a criminal profiler, his ability to navigate the nuances of human malice and the labyrinthine recesses of the human psyche earns him a particular reverence within his professional sphere. To interpret Will as habitually slovenly or disorganised is to miss the profound dietetic necessity of his outward presentation. His dishevelment is not the consequence of negligence but a semiotic of psychic erosion, an effigy of an unravelling self.

The series' evocation of tenebrous aesthetics, like its muted colour grading and stark chiaroscuro compositions, punctuate its visual rhythm and underscore this metaphysical decline. Here, Will is made an occupant of interstitial limbo, a cinematic purgatory where he hangs suspended between self-possession and gnawing annihilation. The careful interplay of light and shadow serves more than an atmospheric purpose but also articulates a visual topology of instability, in which Will's ontological moorings loosen, his very being liquefying into the mise-en-scène.

Will's domestic sanctum, far removed from the ornate and baroque indulgences of Hannibal's, operates as a spatial synecdoche of his fractured psyche — an environment of negation rather than affirmation. Sparse in decoration and furnished with minimalist restraint, the space is bathed in sterile, clinical lighting that denudes all pretensions of comfort. Such monastic austerity is an architecture of dissociation, a tangible manifestation of his struggle to reconcile the acute sensitivity of his nature with the brutality to which he is inexorably drawn. It is within this hollowed, effectively voided space that we first begin to grasp the depth of his profound disconnection from the world, a man seemingly out of sync with himself and the structures that surround him.

His clothing, similarly to his dwelling, possesses an intentional laconicism and asceticism. Will’s wardrobe, functional yet carefully curated, comprises loose, slightly rumpled shirts paired with darker tones and jackets. The subtle neatness of his ensemble, though never impeccably polished, conveys an effort — perhaps unconscious — of one striving to maintain an illusion of control amidst an inner chaos. These sartorial choices, devoid of affectation or stylistic flourish reflect his ongoing struggle to meet the demands of his role as a criminal profiler and the deep isolation and subsequent emotional numbness that incessantly haunt him. His attire, thus, functions as a visual lacuna, a cypher for a self in perpetual deferral, neither fully realised nor consciously articulated.

As Will’s ontological instability deepens, so too does his physical appearance shift, each unravelling in tandem with the tempestuous storm that churns within. This correlation reaches its apotheosis following his incarceration and subsequent liberation, both facilitated in part by Hannibal Lecter. In this aftermath, we are offered a reinvigorated Will Graham — one marked by an eerie lucidity and a newly acquired, calculated intent. His outward countenance, once marked by erratic vulnerability, now betrays an unnerving precision, executed with near-methodical deliberation.

A pivotal moment in which this transformation is made apparent occurs during his visit to Hannibal's office in Yakimono. Having orchestrated Hannibal’s demise and raising a gun to him, Will now freely enters the very locus in which his psychological dissolution was enacted. In this moment, he stands in stark contrast to his formerly beleaguered self. Now immaculately attired — his hair trimmed, artfully tousled, and his jacket draped insouciantly over his arm, an aesthetic refinement that is as performative as it is declarative. Here, he presents an image of disarmament tinged not only with menace but a wry theatricality.

This shift is further sublimated through the show's cinematography as Will, approaching with a studied composure, is momentarily eclipsed within Hannibal's shadow. A visual gesture, where a seemingly willing act may be more aptly understood as Will's devourment and assimilation into Hannibal's ideological edifice.

These accentuations insinuate Will's transformation not as a triumph of agency, but a convergence of fate, a predestined transfiguration inscribed within the series' dialectic. This fastidiously curated appearance then becomes a chilling veneer, an external mask of a man who, in his own quiet surrender, succumbs ever more fully to the capricious darkness dwelling within him.

In this, epitomizes the show's ontological thesis: identity is neither fixed nor self-authored, but an intersubjective construct forged in the crucible of external inscription. His arc embodies a dialectic of self-negation and reconstruction, wherein agency becomes indistinguishable from coercion. Will Graham emerges as both subject and object.

[jbaileyfansite]

GQ Magazine Interview (2024)

It’s about four hours before the Los Angeles premiere of Wicked, and the actor Jonathan Bailey, who’s playing the male lead Fiyero in the feverishly-anticipated movie musical, is busy… playing Lego?

“I’m currently constructing,” he tells me, “the Atlantic Ocean of a globe, which I'm building as I travel around the globe [for Wicked].”

In a sunny Santa Monica hotel, in the middle of a whirlwind international promo tour for Wicked—director Jon M. Chu’s screen adaptation of the megahit Broadway musical, starring Ariana Grande and Cynthia Erivo—the award-winning star of Bridgerton and Fellow Travelers says that playing with Lego has become one of the things helping him stay centered. “Lego’s 18+ Adult level, that's what gets me going these days,” he says.

It is, after all, a high-stakes moment for Bailey. Fan expectations for Wicked are sky-high, and every detail of the project’s rollout has been the subject of intense scrutiny.

Even Bailey’s seemingly innocuous decision to wear shorts to a photocall for Wicked in Australia made waves, and photos of Bailey in black pleated shorts and a sheer black long-sleeved polo by Giuliva Heritage quickly went viral—the gams seen ‘round the world.

“The idea of a very relaxed, elevated day look is something I've always enjoyed,” Bailey tells me, about the fit. “And of course, in Sydney and down under, we should be showing down under.”

“It's funny,” he continues. “Sometimes, you feel like what you decide to wear chooses you. The waist, the cut of the trouser, the pleat, and the waist—it made me feel very elegant.”

When the photos spread on social media, comments sections buzzed with people wondering about Bailey’s leg workout. Inquiring minds want to know: how does the Winkie prince get those legs?

“Well, they should be dancing from a very young age,” he says, laughing. “It's encouraging your sons to dance and do ballet. I played rugby growing up as well, and I play a lot of tennis now. I did ballet for a good few years, and I think the way that the body responds to that and gymnastics, I think, that's the key… Lots of handstands and deep squats.”

Another moment on the press tour that’s already gone viral is a video where Bailey talks about a small travel mishap during pre-production, in which every part of his Fiyero costume wound up stuck in airport limbo—except the footwear. "There's an amazing photo,” Bailey teases in the clip, “that no one's ever gonna see of me, in nothing but my boots, which sort of felt right for Fiyero somehow.”

When I bring it up, he reiterates firmly: “Never to be seen.” But maybe, I propose, that photo finally makes an appearance in a future museum retrospective on his career, the kind London’s Victoria and Albert Museum does for Britain’s most iconic performers? “Literally, let's not get ahead of ourselves,” he says, laughing. “There'll be maybe some shed in the Cotswolds that will be some sort of weird relic to my former career. Maybe it will be laminated there.”

It’s been exciting to watch Bailey’s red-carpet evolution in the last few years. Early in his career, the actor mainly stuck to more traditionally buttoned-up suit-and-tie looks. But recently, there’s a newfound confidence and playfulness to his red carpet style, a willingness to flip some red carpet traditions—and a frisky inclination to show off that body.

Part of that confidence has to do with just how fit the actor is. “I probably am in the best shape I've ever been,” he says. But it goes deeper than that: “I honestly think it reflects a confidence in identity, in one's self,” he says. “You realize how important it is just to be completely yourself.”

“Jonny is a whimsical, mischievous delight, so we try to show that through his sartorial choices,” says Emma Jade Morrison, his stylist. “He is joyful and cheeky, with an old soul, so I love to modernize classic shapes through colors, materials and saucy bits of skin.”

For the Los Angeles premiere of Wicked last night, Bailey once again turned heads in an exciting ensemble—this time, in custom Versace, in a slinky, body-caressing chainmail shirt paired with immaculately white trousers, ruby-red slippers and a poppy boutonniere. (The cherry on top? A mischievous tuft of chest hair peeking out from that Versace shirt.)

“It was Donatella’s idea to allow me to wear the chain mail, the iconic Versace chain mail,” he says. “It's so part of the Versace DNA, and I wanted that DNA pumping around my veins tonight. It's a beautiful thing to wear.”

Bailey, who calls himself “obsessed” with the ‘90s, remembers the iconic image of Kate Moss in a Versace chainmail dress from 1999. “The thing that I remember is the way that it clings to the form of the body. It feels sculptural and sexy,” he says. “All I can see is the way she moved, [the way it] caressed every nook and curve and cranny… I'm excited to be celebrating nooks and crannies tonight.”

“From my moodboard, Donatella and her team honed in on two images of Errol Flynn and Cary Grant and put their iconic Versace twist on them,” Jade Morrison tells me. “We kept the shapes classic and the shirt a bit slouchy to stay true to Jonny’s style. There is literally no material as sexy as Versace chainmail and using chainmail felt like a princely nod to the Winkie Prince.”

“We loved the red slippers with the poppy—as Dorothy says, there’s no place like home, especially since the LA premiere was the weekend before Remembrance Day in the U.K.,” Morrison continues. “Versace also made us a Winkie Prince bomber—a perfect ode to varsity jackets of the 1930s and something that Fiyero would absolutely wear himself.”

“That's the thing about Wicked, and that's the thing about Oz,” Bailey adds. “It's like visually and thematically so inspiring to so many generations that when you work with creators like Donatella, and you work with fashion houses who have so much to say and [we have] so much respect [for] and so much in archive that we feel so nostalgic about these fashion pieces, it's like everyone just goes off like fireworks. And you come up with something incredible.”

Last time Bailey and I spoke, we were doing a mini pub crawl through Manhattan’s West Village with his Fellow Travelers co-star Matt Bomer last year, to talk about their work on the acclaimed series. During that interview, Bailey talked about the tricky balance he had to strike in order to shoot Wicked, Bridgerton and Fellow Travelers simultaneously. Now, with the benefit of hindsight, he sees how the projects inadvertently informed each other—and emboldened him as an actor.

“I just look back on Fellow Travelers with such fond memories,” he tells me now. “The confidence in telling that story, I think, is actually present throughout Fiyero. Wicked is so about identity. The resonance of the themes is even louder I think on film... Playing Tim [on Fellow Travelers] just beforehand allowed me to sort of maybe expand the part in a way that I wouldn't have done otherwise.”

At Wicked’s Sydney premiere last week, Bailey experienced a full circle moment that left him in tears. “I sat with my sister, who’s based in Sydney, and had my two nieces watching it for the first time in front of an audience. And I felt a volcanic sense of emotion,” he says.

“Me and my sister went to the back and had a pint and we both just had a good cry. What Jon Chu has achieved in this film is exactly the sort of cinematic experience, that my whole entire family loved [when I was] growing up, and it's what inspired me in the first place to want to [become an actor].”

At 36, Bailey is a veteran of the stage and the screen—he’s stolen scenes in Phoebe Waller-Bridge’s acclaimed pre-Fleabag series Crashing, held his own with Patti LuPone in a revival of Stephen Sondheim’s Company, and broken hearts in his award-winning turn on Fellow Travelers. But he’s hardly jaded and still finds himself overcome with emotion during various career milestones. “The wonder hasn't left me,” he says.

It’s that same wonder he hopes to impart to young viewers watcing Wicked. “The idea that some lads somewhere might turn to their mom and dad and go, ‘I really want to dance’? That's what it's all about.”

“And also,” he says, with a laugh, “they'll get bloody good legs in the process.”

Source

[cobragardens]

Aziraphale's Ascot: An Analysis

What's most interesting to me about the ascot Aziraphale is wearing when he turns up in Crowley's car in 1967 is that it's very fashionable.

An ascot (American), or day cravat (British), is a band of material meant to be worn inside the shirt collar, terminated on each end with a long wide tongue of that same fabric.

The band goes around the back of the neck, and the tongues are tied in the front and tucked into the open neck of a collared shirt. An ascot displays a wide sweep of color just below the wearer's face to flatter their complexion and show their personality.

And the late 1960s was the ascot's peak of popularity. The Duke of Windsor wore them; the mods wore them; British Invasion bands wore them. Fred wears an ascot in the Scooby-Doo cartoons. Lance Corporal Shadwell wears one. They were a huge trend.

On the surface this doesn't seem like Aziraphale at all. His previous appearances indicate his stylishness in ancient Rome is merely serendipitous overlap of Roman fashion with his personal preferences for white robes, blond hair in a Brutus cut, and gold wing-themed jewellery. In 1601, 1793, 1941, and all contemporary scenes, his style is decades to more than a century off the fashion of its time. We know he's into bow ties by 1941, and he's hardly one to adopt a style merely because it's popular; so why the ascot in 1967?

One possible explanation is that Aziraphale misses the clothing of the Victorian period and leaps at the chance to wear something that harks back to a time when he felt at home, sartorially speaking.

I don't think that's it, though, at least not in Show Omens. For one thing, traditional ascot ties (what a British person would call an ascot or an ascot tie, rather than a day cravat) are not at all the same accessory as the ascots of the 1960s: they're formal rather than semi-casual daywear; they're made of thicker silk, often with a woven rather than printed pattern; and they're worn outside the shirt and collar. More importantly, we've got two scenes of Aziraphale in the Victorian period, and he's not wearing an ascot tie in either of them: he's wearing a long cravat tied in a wide bow, a precursor to his bow ties.

I therefore propose a different explanation for the ascot of 1967.

As Aziraphale has clearly never been anywhere near a polyester fibre in the whole of his celestial existence, and as he always affects an appearance of idle hereditary wealth, we must presume that this--

--is silk. (In fact in the 1960s, a silk ascot in light colors was a signal of upper-class status.)

And we know Aziraphale likes silk, because by 2023 he's been wearing a silk velvet waistcoat for 200 years.

I again advance the argument that, despite himself, Aziraphale is a voluptuary by nature: a person who directs their energies toward the pursuit and enjoyment of pleasure, especially (but not solely) sensual pleasure.

He can control his appearance at will, and yet he has a barber; that means he enjoys the pleasure of a haircut and maybe a hot shave. (I have similar suspicions about his manicured hands.) The barber has recommended new cologne, which means Aziraphale has an old cologne, which means he likes to smell beautiful scents. He eats for sensual pleasure. He drinks for sensual pleasure (much more so than Crowley, who drinks for the pleasure and escape of inebriation). He listens to music for sensual pleasure. He attends the theater for pleasure. Reading is as much a sensual pleasure inside your own head as it is intellectual self-stimulation (which is its own kind of pleasure in turn); and believe me, collecting books is as much a sensual pleasure as a logistical and a philosophical one.

Aziraphale even agrees to an Arrangement with a demon to give himself more spare time for his pursuit of human pleasures. And then he and the demon become friends, because what could be a greater pleasure than indulging yourself in the good company of someone clever and kind and beautiful, who flirts with you and tells wicked jokes you mustn't laugh at--except perhaps for the pleasure of making that person smile in return?

Fun fact: The silk of which casual ascots are made is finer than the silk of either traditional ascot ties or neckties, because ascots/day cravats are made to be worn inside rather than outside the collar.

In 1967, instead of his usual crisp bow tie around his usual tightly buttoned collar, Aziraphale wears an open collar and a day cravat because the fashion of the 1960s lets him keep silk against his skin.

And there's one other thing, too. Compare Aziraphale's ascot to Lance-Corporal Shadwell's, or to the standard ascot knot:

The edge of Azirapale's ascot sits below the edge of his shirt collar where it should sit above, and the cascade spills almost an inch in front of his Adam's apple instead of flush against his neck. Aziraphale has tied his ascot low and loose.

It allows him to bare more of his throat to Crowley than has been sanctioned by custom for 2,000 years.

How long after Aziraphale reverted to bow ties did Crowley think about that?

[promptsforyourwhumpfic]

The Grand A-Z List of Whump 3/3

This list contains 194 items listed R to Z

As always, I heavily encourage people to research topics thoroughly when writing as it is important to avoid stereotypes/misinformation. This list's intention is to not glorify/romanticise sensitive topics in any way.

This is a comprehensive list of injuries, Illnesses and tropes - including those from the Whumptober 2023 trope vote!

All submissions are listed in italics, and those who wanted to be tagged will be included at the end. If you have any more submissions: please send them via DM/my ask box.

[A-H] [I-Q] [NSFW List]

List below the cut:

R

Rabies

Radiation Poisoning/Exposure

Radio Silence

Ransom Note/Video

Rashes

Recovery

Reducing breaks or dislocations (bonus: out in the field with no painkillers available)

Reflection

Rejection

Reluctant Caretaker

Reluctant Whumpee

Reminded of trauma

Reopened Wound

Repressed Emotions

Repressed trauma resurfacing

Rescue

Rescued by the enemy

Rescues gone wrong

Respiratory Distress

Restraints

Reuniting

Revenge

Ringing Ears

Ritual sacrifice

Rockslides

Role Reversal

Rope Burns

Running fingers through hair (maliciously or comfortingly)

Running Out of Air

Ruptured eardrum

S

Sacrifice

Sadistic Choice

Sartorial constraints

Scars

Scoliosis

Scraped Knees

Scratched corneas

Scratches

Seasickness

Second impact syndrome

Secrets

Sedated

Seeing double

Seizures

Self esteem issues

Self induced injury to escape

Self sacrifice

Self-aid

Self-inflicted injury (to escape)

Semi-consciousness

Sensory Deprivation/Overload

Sentimental Items

Separation

Sepsis

Servitude

Setbacks in recovery

Severed Artery

Shaking Hands

Shipwreck

Shivering

Shock

Shock collar

Shot (gun, arrow, dart, etc...)

Shrapnel (blast/wounds)

Sick/injured at a party

Skull fracture

Slapped

Sleep Deprivation

Sleep Paralysis

Sleeping in the cold

Sleeplessness

Smashing their head into a wall

Smoke Inhalation

Snake Bites

Sneezing

So sick they can barely even stand or stay awake

Significant other taking care of wounds

So weak they have to hold on to something or someone to walk

Solitary Confinement

Special object being ruined/torn apart

Spinal Cord Injury

Split lip

Sprains

Stab Wounds

Stabbed (sword, spear, knife, TRIDENT!, etc...)

Stabbed through the back by the only person the whumpee trusted

Stage fright

Stalking

Status epilepticus

Stiches

Stings (insect, creature, plants)

Stitches

Stoic/Defiant Whumpee

Stoic/Rude/Harsh Reluctant Caregiver!Mentor & Ball of Sunshine Hurt!Mentee (platonic)

Stomach ache

Stomach Ulcers (a cause for vomiting up blood)

Stomach virus

Straight Jacket

Strangling

Strangulation resulting in bruised or swollen vocal chords and loss of voice + the process of regaining your voice and everything that comes with that trauma.

Stress (this could induce headaches/general illness)

Stress Position

Stumbling

Sucking chest wound

Suffocating

Sunburn

Super glued to toilet

Surgery

Surgery gone wrong

Surrendering

Survivor's Guilt

Swollen Lymph Nodes

T

Tachycardia

Taking the bullet

TBI (traumatic brain injury)

Team as a family

Team has a certain amount of time to get to their Whumpee before they’re killed

Team teaming up to take care of sick teammate

Temporary Loss of Sense(s)

Tendonitis

Tetanus

The Final Straw

Thrown from an explosion

Time Loop

Tiny whump

Tonsillitis

Tooth knocked out

Torn Ligaments - Achilles, Meniscus etc.

Torn Muscles

Torture

Touch Aversion/Touch Starved

Tranquilizer Dart

Trap

Trapped (whether this is after an explosion, car accident, natural disaster…)

Trapped Limbs

Trapped underwater

Trauma reveal

Tremors

Trust Issues

Truth spell/serum

Tuberculosis

Twisted ankle

U

Undead (vampires and ghosts and zombies, oh my!)

Unhealthy Coping Mechanisms

Unresponsive

Upper respiratory infection

Used as bait

Usually big, strong and boisterous whumpee becomes quiet and weaker as the whumper conditions them.

UTI (Urinary Tract Infection)

V

Vampire whump

Vampires Thrall

Vehicular Accident

Venom

Vertigo

Very badly hurt and on life support - with slow recovery

Virus

Visions

Vocal chord paralysis

Vomiting/Vomiting blood

W

Waterboarding

West Nile virus

Whip scars

Whipping/Flogging

Whumpee being psychologically tortured via fake escape scenarios so when they are actually getting rescued they don't believe it. bonus point if they still don't think anything is real.

Whumpee dreams of a loved one happily inviting them “home” (They're actually dying IRL)

Whumpee getting the upper hand over whumper.

Whumpee stabbing whumper or beating their head into the ground over and over while sobbing, even when they’re clearly dead because they NEED to take their emotions out.

Whumpee turned Whumper

Whumpee watches caretaker take a bullet/hit/poison for them.

Whumper turned Caretaker

Whumper turned whumpee

Whumper with a crush

Wincing/Flinching

Wing whump

Wisdom Tooth Removal

Withdrawal

Withholding Medical Treatment

Witnessing. (Whumpee sees someone die in a brutal way. Whumpee sees someone get possessed/turned into a zombie/some other horrifying thing and they just stare horrified.)

Working for the enemy

Working through injury/illness

Working to Exhaustion

Wrists rubbed raw

Wrong Place, Wrong Time

Wrongfully Accused/Arrested

Wrongfully fired

X

Xeroderma. (Extreme sun sensitivity)

XMRV is a newly identified human retrovirus that is similar to a group of mouse retroviruses (called murine leukaemia viruses, or MLVs)

Y

Yellow Fever

Z

Zombie virus, etc.

Zoonotic Hookworm

Zoonotic illness (It’s a disease carried or transmitted by animals to humans like tularemia or psittacosis)

Zosler (Shingles)

Zygomycosis (Fungal infection)

TAG LIST: Thank you very much to the following people for submitting ideas! (I apologise if some tags did not work, I'm not sure why tumblrs not letting me tag you!)

@I-eat-worlds | @greygullhaven | @letsgowhump | @cyberwhumper @firapolemos05 | @originaldeerhottub | @whumpilicious | @drawing-dinos82 | @carenrose | @stellarinuscronicles | @gottheseasonalblues | @marvelflame2010 | @sowhumpful | @avamcu | @courtneygacha | @lordofthewhumps | @autismmydearwatson | @kuddelmuddell | @the-most-handsome-ginger | @whirls-and-swirls | @painsandconfusion

[cressida-jayoungr]

18,19, and 23 for the costume saks?:D

18. What is your biggest costuming pet peeve?

Wrong hair. This can take a few forms. There's the "I refuse to get a period hairstyle" attitude that was common in the 1970s and 80s, for example. (And its immediate predecessor, the "I don't care what century it is, I'm going to have a beehive" from the 1960s.) Like, this hair is not making even a token effort to be 1930s:

These two are supposedly from the 1950s, and they're not fooling anyone.

Men get it too, of course.

And then there's hair flowing loose when it shouldn't be. For example, French hoods with no hoods:

Another manifestation is what Frock Flicks calls the Great Bobby Pin Shortage. I mean, compare these two wearings of the same dress:

I just think the look on the left (Maximilian) is so much more interesting, and immersive. The one on the right (The White Princess) also loses points for obviously trying to "sexy it up"--although I do like the necklace.

19. What is your costuming guilty pleasure?

Oh, that's easy: the 1982 Ivanhoe. As I've said elsewhere, the costuming is solidly Ren Faire level. The synthetic fabrics!

The glass gems from the hobby shop!

I can practically smell the hot glue gun that was clearly used to construct this headdress.

Then there's whatever this thing is...

Actually, his costume's not bad, but her pink polyester veil ... oof.

And yet, I love it all out of proportion to what it deserves. It seems clear the costumers actually knew which rules they were breaking: the silhouettes are broadly right for the late 12th century, and at least the women wear veils, even if they're synthetic and improbably colored! I get the feeling they did the best they could with the budget and materials available. And I can respect them for that.

23. What's your favorite black and white costume movie?

Definitely Roberta. The whole thing is about a fashion house. You've got Ginger Rogers, Irene Dunne, and numerous models swanning about in the height of mid-1930s glamor, plus Fred Astaire being his usual sartorial powerhouse self in the menswear department. The finale is even a fashion show!

Thanks so much for the asks, @pilferingapples!

[nintendo-b1tch]

Part 2 to this!

Hope this is good! Enjoy!

Criticism is always welcomed!

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

With a light, melodic laugh escaping your lips, you found yourself immersed in the joyous atmosphere as you gracefully unloaded the much-needed supplies from your trusty steed, Epona. The day had taken its toll on all of you - the brave heroes who had decided to embark on this journey alongside you. Yet despite the weariness that permeated the air, you couldn't help but feel a sense of contentment as you showered Epona with affectionate strokes, expressing your gratitude for her unwavering assistance.

As the equine steed nuzzled her snout against your cheek in response to your praises, a ripple of amusement coursed through your being. It wasn't lost on you that your fellow companions' curious gazes lingered on your figure, causing an enigmatic smile to grace your lips. With a graceful turn, you faced them head-on, causing their eyes to dart away in a hurried motion. Another lighthearted chuckle escaped your throat, like a herbaceous fragrance permeating the crisp forest air.

It was evident, almost palpable, that they were bewildered by your sudden change in attire. Gone was the elegant dress that once adorned your form, replaced by a humble, handcrafted tunic woven by the skilled hands of warriors. Its simplicity was complemented by the presence of sturdy trousers, concealing the chain mail that offered a protective layer beneath your cloth armor. Leather gloves adorned your hands, accompanied by wristbands that spoke of your prowess and dedication. Despite the transformation, you retained the familiar hairpin, a comforting reminder of your identity.

Finding yourself adjusting to the unfamiliar garments, you couldn't help but reflect on the myriad of emotions intertwining within you. Change can be disorienting, and while you embraced this new attire as a symbol of your evolving role, there was a lingering sense of unease. However, in the grand scheme of things, your sartorial shift seemed trivial compared to the magnitude of the task ahead.

With steadfast determination, you resolved to focus on aiding your companions in setting up the camp for the night. As you moved with purpose, your gracefulness in each step serving as a testament to your unyielding spirit, you couldn't help but appreciate the camaraderie that had formed among this group of heroes.

Time was the first to approach you, he smiled at you as he spoke softly. You could see he wasn't one to be very expressive yet when he was with you, he was the most expressive person you ever met.

" Could you help collect firewood? "

" Of course! "

As Time observed you collecting firewood, a warm smile spread across his face, indicating his approval and appreciation for your efforts. Though normally not an expressive individual, Time seemed to open up and reveal his emotions whenever he was in your presence. It was as if you had a special connection that made him feel comfortable showing his true self.

Intrigued by the soft melody resonating in the air, Time couldn't help but become curious about the song that had captured your subconscious mind. The tune, a beautiful melody you had dreamt of the previous night, wafted through your thoughts, filling your mind with harmonious notes. You absentmindedly began to hum the enchanting melody while your hands deftly gathered as much firewood as they could bear.

Unbeknownst to you, the humming gradually transformed into whispered lyrics as the song unfolded within your thoughts. It was as if the music had taken on a life of its own, flowing effortlessly from the depths of your soul. Time, entranced by the combination of your actions and the ethereal sounds emanating from your lips, found himself captivated by this unexpected performance.

As the instrumental melody within your mind continued to evolve, a surge of emotions coursed through your veins. The soundtrack of your dreams now filled the air, carrying with it a crescendo of emotions that compelled your voice to increase in volume. The once delicate and hushed humming evolved into a resounding voice, harmonizing with the imaginary accompaniment.

Caught off guard by the sudden amplification, you finally noticed Time's inquisitive gaze fixed upon you. His eyes sparkled with curiosity, his smile widening as he soaked up the musical display unfolding before him. It was as if your uncensored expression of the song had transported both of you to a realm where time stood still, and nothing else mattered except the harmony that enveloped you.

" Day to night, dark to light,

Fall the sands of time...

Let the years, like the gears

Of a clock, unwind... "

The older man froze in his tracks when he heard the piercing sound of your whispered lyrics floating through the air. It was as if he had turned into a statue, with his muscles tightening intensely. His grip on the wooden object loosened, causing it to clatter and echo in the silence of the grassy surroundings.

" In your mind walk through time

Back to better days...

Memories, like a dream,

Wash tears away... "

As his hands clenched into tight fists, his mind began to race, summoning forth a torrent of painful memories locked deep within the recesses of his consciousness. How could you possibly know about that? His past adventures resurfaced, each scar and wound resuming their places at the forefront of his thoughts.

" Like a star in the sky,

Darkness can't reach you...

Light the night, joy is light,

Till the new dawn... "

His cheeks were wet with tears. In that fleeting moment, you finally realized that he was not by your side, prompting your gaze to shift towards the older man in question. The atmosphere between you both suddenly became heavy, filled with unspoken emotions and unexplained sorrows.

" Time? Are you okay? " you inquired, concern lacing your voice as you tried to understand what was going on. It was not uncommon for him to be quiet, but this silence felt starkly different. It was not the tranquil silence he often embraced, but rather a silence that held the weight of unexpressed feelings. His usual composed demeanor seemed shattered, and the stillness that enveloped him caused your own steps to falter.

A mix of confusion and worry welled up within you, making it difficult to comprehend the sudden shift in his demeanor. You racked your mind for any clues, searching your memories for any hint of what might have caused this unusual display of vulnerability. A sinking feeling settled in your chest as the uncertainty grew, gradually intertwining with your genuine concern for his well-being.

" Tha-that song.... " he mumbled in a barely audible tone, his comment causing a sudden wave of tension to flood the air. Your heart skipped a beat as you quickly gathered your thoughts, desperate to clear any misunderstandings.

" Huh? Oh, I had the most vivid dream last night, " you began with a touch of excitement, your voice laced with wonder. " In this dream, there was a legendary hero, burdened to relive the same three days over and over again. It was both thrilling and heartbreaking to witness his struggle. But you know what made it truly remarkable? A mischievous spirit, unlike any other, forged an unexpected friendship with the hero. They both possessed these incredibly powerful items, each with its own unique aura. "

Pausing for a moment, the realization struck you like a bolt of lightning.

" Wait a minute, your face tattoos... they reminded me of one of those enigmatic items! I can't help but draw parallels between the hero's journey and your own enigmatic presence. I apologize if I'm going off on a tangent here; I tend to get carried away when something captivates my imagination! "

Caught off guard by your passionate rambling, he shook his head, his voice now filled with a mix of resignation and a hint of longing.

" I... nevermind, let's just focus on getting back to camp. " His hands instinctively began gathering fallen wood, the roughness adding another layer of reality to the deeply emotional atmosphere. Tears silently streamed down his face, yet he persisted, determined not to succumb to his raw vulnerability. As he wiped away the evidence of his pain, a small token of solace appeared—a delicate silent princess finding refuge behind his ear, its presence soothing his wounded spirit.

And then, it happened. His gaze met yours, and in that single moment, those shimmering orbs of yours radiated warmth. Your beautiful smile, so genuine and full of understanding, seemed almost otherworldly in its ability to reach deep into his soul. Unprepared for such a connection, his cheeks flushed a soft rose hue, a mix of bashfulness and delight intertwining in his heart.

In that moment, as you both crouched down to collect the scattered firewood, an unexpected connection sparked between you. The warmth of your touch sent a tingling sensation across your skin, and an enchanting blush spread across your cheeks like a delicate sun-kissed hue. It was a small and innocent gesture, seemingly insignificant, but to him, it held immense significance.

The way you bashfully reacted to the accidental touch only endeared you further to him. It was as if you were a delicate flower, gently swaying in the breeze, and he couldn't help but be drawn to your captivating vulnerability. In that instant, he realized just how much he longed to see you in such a state of innocence and openness, even if it meant being vulnerable himself.

However, as soon as his mind dared to wander into the realm of fantasies, he mentally reprimanded himself. How could he even think of such intimate desires? He chastised himself, almost metaphorically slapping his own thoughts away. It was unthinkable to allow his mind to wander down that path when his feelings for you were still transitioning and evolving.

But despite his best efforts, his heart refused to obey reason. It continued to beat wildly against the barriers of his chest, reminding him that he couldn't deny the depth of his growing emotions. He found himself falling, captivated by your mesmerizing presence, just as someone would fall for your beauty and allure unmatched.

The realization struck him like a lightning bolt, illuminating the depths of his infatuation. The more he got to know you, the more he couldn't resist the gravitational pull of affection that was drawing him closer and closer. Your beautiful self had cast a spell upon his heart, captivating him completely.

Although his mind knew it was unwise to allow his thoughts to wander down such intense and passionate paths, his heart had already made its choice. There was no denying it anymore; he was undeniably falling for you. And just like Legend, his fall was swift and all-encompassing, leaving him yearning for a future where he could cherish you, hold you close, and revel in the beauty of your connection.

So, as he gathered the scattered firewood with you, he knew deep within himself that his path had diverged. No longer could he pretend to be untouched by the whirlwind of emotions that swirled within his being. He had fallen, and now it was up to fate to decide if his feelings would be reciprocated.

You were not just an ordinary person but an extraordinary individual with an unwavering determination and a compassionate heart that was always ready to lend a helping hand to others. Your compelling strength of character was simply irresistible, making it hard for anyone, including him, to not be captivated by your charm. The value that your vibrant energy held was truly remarkable, even though you had only been a part of the chain for a relatively short period of time.

To everyone's astonishment, you decided to undergo rigorous training in sword combat under the guidance of Time and Warriors. And when the moment of truth arrived, both of them were taken aback by your extraordinary talent and skill in wielding a sword. Your proficiency in combat was beyond impressive, leaving a lasting impression on the two heroes who had seen their fair share of formidable warriors.

As he walked alongside you, he found himself lost in a sea of contemplation, completely submerged in his own thoughts. The sight of you, with your radiant smile and a gentle tap on his shoulder, brought him back to the present moment. And in that very moment, you placed the firewood against the ground and began speaking again. The angelic quality of your voice resonated deeply within him, leaving him bewildered as to why he was falling deeper in love with you. It was not just your enchanting voice, but also the little habits that you possessed, the habits that you were unaware of, which he found endearing and utterly lovable. All these intricacies and qualities that made you who you were had a profound effect on him, solidifying his adoration for you.

Yet, no matter how much he tried, he found himself unable to fully embrace his feelings for you. His heart remained locked, trapped in the memories of his previous love, Malon. The weight of her untimely death had left an indelible mark on his soul, making it nearly impossible for him to open himself up to another person.

The grief that consumed him after losing Malon had been overwhelming. It consumed his every thought, preventing him from moving on and finding happiness with someone new. The love he had once felt for her was unmatched, a love so profound that it felt as though it could never be replicated or replaced.

In his mind's eye, he could envision Malon's disapproving gaze upon him. She was always a strong-willed woman, never afraid to challenge his stubbornness, especially when it came to matters of the heart. Her scoldings echoed in his mind, reminding him of the lengths he would go to protect himself from the pain of loss.

However, amidst his internal struggle, you remained patient and understanding. " Time!! " Your voice broke through his reverie, bringing him back to reality. It was then he noticed the tears that had silently trickled down his face, only to be wiped away by your gentle touch. Concern etched upon your face, your genuine worry for him was evident.

Surprised by your perceptiveness, he realized that you saw through the facade he had so carefully constructed. He had always been adept at hiding his problems, shielding himself from others, but somehow, you had managed to see through his walls. It was a humbling experience, knowing that no matter how hard he tried to keep his struggles hidden, you saw him for who he truly was.

Your question hung in the air, poised delicately between the two of you.

" What's wrong? I know you're hiding something, " you gently prodded further, your concern coupled with a hint of amusement. It was as if you understood the depth of his pain and yet refused to let it define him.

From the moment you entered his life, everything changed. The formidable walls he had meticulously constructed, in a desperate attempt to shield himself from the pain of losing Malon, could no longer withstand your presence. You effortlessly shattered those barriers that surrounded his delicate heart.

" It's nothing...it's just bad memories... " As he whispered those words to you, admitting that these were nothing but painful memories, he couldn't help but lean in and tenderly press his lips against your forehead. It was a moment filled with an unexpected display of affection that caused your face to flush, a deep red hue covering your cheeks.

Deep down, he knew that he couldn't reveal the truth to you. You were too pure, too innocent for him to expose the darkness that haunted his past adventure. He was the boy you dreamt of, the one who had traversed through treacherous paths and faced unimaginable perils. Yet, even amidst his own internal battle, he couldn't bear to burden you with his haunting memories.

Later that night, as the darkness enveloped the world, he found himself unable to sleep. Restlessly, he shifted in bed, his eyes fixated on the expanse of the night sky. The starry canvas above seemed to hold some sort of mysterious allure, captivating his attention to no end. Little did he know, his solitude was about to be disrupted by an unexpected intrusion.

Startled, he suddenly jolted as a voice pierced through the silence, shattering the tranquility of the night. Never had he anticipated encountering another person awake at such a late hour. It was as if this voice came from an invisible companion, a presence that he had not accounted for. The shock on his face was evident, and he struggled to comprehend the situation at hand.

" It happened to you too, huh? " The voice belonged to none other than Legend, who had silently taken a seat nearby, hugging his knees tightly against his chest. His gaze remained fixated on your slumbering figure, leaving an air of intrigue hanging in the air.

Confusion danced across Time's face as he responded, " How did you...? "

A mischievous smile crept onto Legend's lips, his bluntness revealing more than the words he uttered.

" Oh, I can see it written all over your face, Old Man, " he quipped, clearly relishing the element of surprise he had just bestowed upon his companion. The unspoken bond between them transcended mere verbal explanation.

Curiosity piqued, the protagonist couldn't help but wonder why tears had welled up in Legend's eyes during their first encounter with you. It was a question that had lingered in the back of his mind, but had never been addressed before.

Breaking the silence, Legend finally found the courage to open up, albeit momentarily diverting his gaze.

" The song they sang when we first heard them... It reminded me of the darkest time in my adventure, " he revealed, his words laced with a tinge of vulnerability. Evidently, there was a tale of anguish and adversity that lay hidden beneath the surface, a story that he was not yet ready to unravel.

Moved by his companion's admission, Time sat up and reached out, placing a comforting hand on Legend's shoulder. It was a gesture of solidarity, an unspoken understanding between fellow adventurers who had braved the trials and tribulations of their respective journeys.

" Same here, I can only hope this is a two time occurrence "

[justjenah]

Cowboyification as Harm Reduction

I find Michael’s cowboyification to be fascinating.

It would be incredibly easy to reduce his choice to embrace being a cowboy as simple machismo or toxic masculinity. But I would argue it’s much closer to a form of harm reduction.

When it comes to accusations of machismo or toxic masculinity, Michael’s own actions repeatedly seems to defy those claims.

When we see Michael and Mike in Latvia, in seasons four and five especially, Michael is incredibly open with Mike about the fact that he struggled and likely engaged in self harm.

See episode 58 for example:

Mike: This afternoon you mean. Why are we eating breakfast at 1 in the afternoon?

Michael: Because I waited for you, dipshit. Yes, I am always in pain, and I self-destructed just like you did and that’s how I know that it’s pointless. You can see the scars on my chest it’s not like I’m coverin’ ‘em up. Yes, I’m in pain, but I also grew the fuck up. You can look into the darkness, you have to it’s healthy to look, but you can’t stay there. There is no home there. There is only wilderness. My advice is come inside ‘cuz people are waiting for you there.

He doesn’t tell Mike to bury his feelings or to get over it. He tells him that it’s dangerous to live in your regret.

Michael is honest about the fact that he too felt crushed under the weight of the violence and tragedy he experienced. He’s perfectly willing to talk about it and willing to share his experiences.

There is an argument to be made that Michael’s cowboyification is harmful as it feeds into his tendency to be self sacrificial to protect those people he considers “his”. And while I think there’s some truth there I think it glosses over the fact that this is a trait that already existed.

An episode 46 Mikey runs into tier 2 without a second thought upon seeing a picture of Edgar’s corpse.

In episode 49, The Princess Daffodil Experiment, we learned that he is planning to be the first human at Base to be consolidated with the calculators and is later upset when he realizes that it will be Edgar who ends up testing that aspect of the technology on himself out of necessity.

I think in actuality, what the Cowboy identity does is give Michael focus, and helps him remember he has people to live for and to work in service of.

If we look at the Michael iteration from the 101 timeline, we find a Michael who is mostly unable to function. He sleeps most of the day, drinks to excess, and is overall deeply unhappy. He has very few if any enjoyment in his day to day except perhaps drinking with Boris. Mike makes reference to the fact that he half expects to find Michael dead, not from time travel murder shenanigans, but from excessive drinking. This is not a moral judgement of him but an observation that this looks like another form of self harm.

Given Mike experiences a similar period of heavy drinking and deep emotional distress that impairs his ability to function in seasons 4 and 5, it doesn’t feel like a stretch to assume that without his cowboy persona Michael likely would not be able to handle the demands of being alive, never mind corrections and unraveling time travel mysteries.

In fact Cowboyfication brings with it some real net positives. Michael may have a self sacrificial streak like all Mikes Walters (species) but as a cowboy he allows himself some selfish pleasures. He learns to hunt and goes out boar hunting with Boris. He learns how to cure meat and seems to take some pleasure in cooking. He cultivates a relationship with the neighborhood crows, and takes joy is developing a sartorial identity. He even allows himself to fall in love again, something that is difficult to imagine him doing for himself without becoming a cowboy. Loving Sly openly is a real act of self love and a recognition that he too deserves something in his life that is in service to no one but himself.

Cowboyification brings with it an ability for Michael to enjoy life while still acknowledging the hardships and tragedies that befall him.

It isn’t perfect by any means but in issues of mental health, it is often more important to find strategies that improve quality of life and reduce harm. Expecting a cure is not just unrealistic but often actively harmful.

When comparing 101 Michael to the cowboy we all know and love it feels clear that this is a great example of what harm reduction looks like: imperfect but meaningfully better than the alternative.