#Yves Mendes

[akiphotos]

Yves Mendes

[crookedkryptonitebeliever]

Tw: Parent trauma stuff, a vent post because damn my mommy and daddy issues are flaring up during my exams

Yves will talk to your parents for you.

As much as he wants to have you solely rely on him for your emotional, physical, and spiritual needs, he isn't selfish enough to deprive you of the experience of having a healthy and loving relationship with your family. Or at least, have a successful reconciliation with them and move on from the hurt.

He knows that people with good bonds between their initial caregivers would go on to live longer, happier, and have an overall peaceful mind; something that Yves wants you to receive. And it's something he could afford for you, why wouldn't he let the love of his life have something wonderful like this?

Yves already knew your history, the fights, the tears, the anger you held for your parents, and their refusal to admit their wrongs. But he wants you to confide in him organically, he doesn't want to force such a change in you. So he waited, stayed by your side, and observed, allowing you to slowly warm up to the idea of using him as a diary.

He would listen with no judgment, engulf you in a cushion of comfort and solace as you cry in anguish over the painful feelings you harbored for your parents. Yves would stay silent, cuddling you if that is what you needed and pressing soft kisses on your head whenever you're overwhelmed with your emotions. Only when you've calmed down, will he gently pry.

He has to dig through layers of resentment and agony, ignoring the red herrings and false wants. No, you do not truly want your parents to die a horrific death for what they did or didn't do for you, that's not your ultimate desire; try again. It doesn't matter how difficult it gets, Yves already knew the answer but you don't. He's trying to get you to realize what you actually need.

And you just wanted to feel loved, heard, seen, and protected for once by the adults who were supposed to teach you how the world works. You don't even give a damn if they gave you a sincere apology or not, all you needed was their acknowledgment that they were imperfect, you wanted their willingness to change, and them to be there for you while there is still time left. You wanted them to look at the mirror and see all the ugly parts they've been pretending not to notice, just like how they've been holding up a mirror against you all your life and nitpicking on all your flaws no matter how inconsequential.

You wanted to move on. Not alone, but with them. But they're stuck in the past, prickly and resistant to improvement. And it appeared to be a herculean task for you to do alone, an impossible mission, even.

Yves will absorb all of it with a sympathetic gaze, stroking your hair as you lay against him, completely drained of energy yet free from the burden plaguing you for years. Perhaps even decades. He will thank you for exploring this topic with him, it has taken a toll on you. But to heal, is to feel.

He will review all the information he has gathered on you, your family, and their dynamic, past and present. He will assess if this bond is salvageable or mangled beyond repair; Yves isn't going to blindly play family counselor, he knows there are just some relationships that aren't worth saving or not feasible to exist. If it's the latter, he will focus more on enriching your life to dull the pain of the past; it will no doubt always be there, but it will shrink with the joy he nourishes you with. At the same time, Yves would be cursing your family with a taste of his wrath, making the option of death appear to be a more merciful one. You wouldn't know what he did, but all you needed to know is that they're absolutely out of your life.

However, if the relationship is still viable, just severely damaged, Yves would do anything in his power to mend it. Just like how he would sew up holes in your clothes or fix any of your items that are broken with his excellent craftmanship, he would execute a plan to rebuild the bridge they charred.

They still cared for you, but they chose the wrong way to show it. Or they had their own demons to deal with which unfortunately roped you into a hell that you shouldn't have been in. Or that's just how they were taught by their own caregivers and they didn't know anything outside of it. As long as there is that weak pulse of genuine parental care and love for you, Yves will do anything to resuscitate it.

With his vast wealth, he could easily eradicate issues stemming from financial pressure. With his near infinite contacts, your parents have no problem getting the means to survive another day with their disease- they could even receive a cure for it. With his influence, their perpetrators could finally be brought to justice. With his shrewdness, Yves would orchestrate occurrences daily to teach them valuable lessons and correct their viewpoints. He would only make himself known if it's necessary, otherwise, your parents may think they're on a lucky streak or finally maturing as adults. Or if they're superstitious, a sign from a higher power to reach out to you and talk.

However, Yves wouldn't let them open the conversation with you just yet. They have to prove themselves, that they could pass his discrete battery of tests. Even if they did well, Yves would enact one last checkpoint: he would personally pay them a visit and talk.

The atmosphere must be calm, but not too lax to the point your parents feel comfortable disrespecting Yves. It has to be polite, warm, and cordial, but not too much lest they fail to subconsciously perceive what a threat Yves could be. There must be discipline, on both sides, no exceptions.

Yves have already taken their hunger, thirst, and sleep levels into consideration. The temperature, the smells, the humidity, the lighting, and the hormones present in their bloodstream on that day as the smallest variable could throw his entire plan off. As a failsafe, he would prepare cups of their favorite hot beverages and tea-time snacks laced with drugs that would allow him to control the situation better. It will have no adverse effects on their health, it will only serve to influence their mind however Yves sees fit. But he really didn't have to go this far, they trusted him to the fullest as Yves always had their best interest in mind. They're quite fond of him too, so it would be a difficult feat to shake him off their good graces.

It started off with a light-hearted conversation about general topics, just to ease your parents further and to fully prime them for the transition to heavier ones. Some discomfort was expected, maybe they tried to change the subject or divert his attention to something else, but Yves is unwavering. He would be gentle, yet firm. Using his body language and even minuscule actions such as picking his cup up without drinking from it to manipulate the situation. Implicitly reminding them who is in charge of the entire scene. It's almost like a spell, they couldn't bring themselves to leave even if they had a history of running away at the first sign of discomfort.

Yves will hear what they have to say. It's nothing he hasn't heard or seen before, this is only to give the illusion of a fair playing field. But his intention was never to take anyone's side, but to give you what you wanted out of your parents.

Once they're done, Yves would take a sip out of his tea. He would then lay out your deepest feelings toward them, the rage, the sorrow, the push, and the pull. Perhaps they were neglectful without intending to, money was tight and they had to put food on the table. Maybe they went through worse and resented you for having a better childhood than they did. They dismissed your hardships as something trivial, and sent a message that you just weren't that important.

You felt like you were never good enough under their outrageous expectations, you felt like their love was conditional and your worth was tied to what you could do for them. You felt betrayed because they broke your trust by telling your relatives your secrets, you felt like they only had you because everyone else was having babies and they succumbed to peer pressure. You felt discarded when they both divorced, or they remarried and had children outside. You felt less important than their booze bottle. Your views don't matter, only the opinions of others do. You were forced to be another parent for your siblings: children you never asked for. You felt unloved, you felt unwanted, you felt abandoned.

He made sure to speak in a language, pace, and tone they understood. It will be absolutely direct, with no room for misunderstandings and Yves would be happy to clear up anything over and over again.

It's difficult. It's frustrating but achievable. He has to keep a poker face as they try to deflect, defend, and twist. And for each attempt for them to escape these strong revelations, Yves would have something to counter it and ground them back to Earth. No one can leave until Yves thinks the outcome is satisfactory. Let the room flood with tears, let their voice go hoarse from yelling, it doesn't matter to Yves, he has his eyes constantly on the prize.

Eventually, he gets what he wants out of this meeting. Your parents would be as exhausted as you when you first vented to Yves about your relationships. They're finally accepting that they're also human with the most hideous of faults. And also accepting that they have the capacity to change for the better before it's too late.

They passed. His final test, they passed.

He would end the discussion, scheduling another meeting but with you this time. The dates he chose are very strategic, as a confrontation too soon or too late will render their 'training' ineffective.

Yves wouldn't be in the room, at least not visibly. He still has eyes and ears to watch over you, but his conceivable presence will affect the process. It has to happen without his obvious coaching, but Yves has the ultimate control.

You will be tense and they will be on edge, so he ensured that both sides are sufficiently groomed (with or without knowledge) before commencing.

It could take anywhere from a few hours to a few weeks for you and your parents to get on the same page, going through most, if not, all five stages of grief. It is a death of the past, and the birth of the present, after all.

His green eyes will be staring at the screen intensely, having his ears carefully listening to every single detail. Yves would be working tirelessly to puppet the stage, nothing is done unintentionally; not even that one green leaf that blew past the mildly smudged window. Everything happens for a reason, and that reason was Yves's puppetry.

In the end, he would succeed. You and your parents would break down crying, holding each other and promising to do better while they could still feel what it's like to breathe. Due to the tremendous emotional toll it has on each other, Yves expected that you will experience aches on your body. You would receive nightly massages from him.

Slowly but surely, things will change. Yves encourages you to call them as much as you can, likewise, he would encourage them to contact you too. Dinners, lunch, and brunch with everyone would be frequent. You would have the family that you deserved, but never gotten.

And Yves would smile, joining in pictures and conversations between you and your parents. Enjoying the quality time he gets to spend with you.

Your father would sling an arm around his shoulder, while he gracefully crouches down to his level. Your mother would grin and have her hand holding you by your arm as the entire family looks into the camera lens.

Yves is also happy to receive the blessing to experience the domesticity of a nurturing family he never had.

[milksockets]

yves saint laurent 'barbaresque' a/w 1958-9 in world of art: fashion since 1900 - amy de la haye + valerie d. mendes (2021)

[suddencolds]

Fool Me Twice | [6/6]

Part 6 is finally here! 🎉 (6/6 feels so surreal to write.) I think this will be the last installment out of this mini-arc, but I definitely want to write more of these two in the future (+ have a lot very loosely planned, if I can ever get around to writing it).

Part 6 ft. fake dating, cold-induced exhaustion, and questionable decisions

You can read part 1 [here]! The other parts are listed in my [fic masterlist].

—

Yves isn’t sure what he expects.

He wakes up early to shovel snow from the front porch, makes breakfast, weighs his options over breakfast, and then—maybe ill-advisedly—texts Vincent before he heads out for work.

Y: tell me you got some rest last night! 

V: Of course

Y: more than 3 hours? 

V: Do you even need to ask?

Y: i’m sure no one would mind if you took the day off Y: give someone else a chance to be the most irreplaceable person in the room for a day!  Y: i swear i’ve never seen you take a sick day

V: No need. I’m feeling a lot better today

It’s said with such conviction that Yves thinks he has no reason to question it. It isn’t like Vincent to be outright dishonest, after all. If he’s claiming to be feeling better, he must be at least on the mend.

It’s for that reason that Yves resists the urge to go out of his way to check on him. The office building is spacious enough that neither of them has a reason to cross paths, usually, except potentially at lunch.

And either way, it’s nothing Yves should have to concern himself with—Vincent can take care of himself. He can, and he will, Yves thinks. Perhaps in the future Yves will be able to take him out for a proper dinner, as a way of showing his thanks. But until then, things will be back as they’ve always been, barring the unusual circumstances over the last few days. Yves will go back to regarding Vincent as nothing more than a colleague—as someone he cares about to the appropriate extent, as someone whose life he’s in only tangentially.

And Vincent doesn’t need anyone—least of all, Yves—to look out for him. Yves likes his coworkers, but he knows better than to confuse civility with friendliness. He and Vincent certainly aren’t close enough to be properly considered friends.

It’s with that reassurance that he goes about work for the first few hours of the day. It’s easy, as always, to fall into the flow of it. He’s a little more tired than usual—he finds himself stifling a yawn into one hand during the morning team meeting—but not quite tired enough to be nodding off, at the very least.

Work always feels longer when he’s tired, though it’s never too long of a stretch until lunch. As a general rule, he likes to tackle the more difficult work in the morning, after he’s had his morning coffee, and save the more structured, less demanding busywork for after lunch. It’s interesting, but it’s work nonetheless, and all in all, it goes by especially slowly. He very pointedly does not allow his mind to wander. Halfway through his morning, Laurent shows him some of the ridiculous emails he’s gotten from a particularly standoffish client, and Cara comes over to peek over his shoulder and laugh with him about Laurent’s businesslike, unwavering civility, and the morning goes by faster after that.

It’s only when he’s a few steps away from the break room that he hears—or, rather, overhears—

“I’m sorry,” someone says, from the other side of the door. It takes him a moment to recognize the voice for who it is—the new hire. Angelie. Right. It’s not that he means to eavesdrop, but he thinks it’s strange that she feels the need to apologize at all. It sounds like the kind of apology that she really, sincerely means—not one given out of thinly-veiled obligation, not one exchanged only as a business courtesy, and that makes him pause.

He wonders what it is that she thinks she’s done wrong. Maybe if he sticks around, he can reassure her afterwards—he knows how intimidating it can be to be new. “When I asked you for help, I didn’t realize how much work it’d be.”

“It’s— it’s ndo problem, snf-!” Whoever she’s talking to says. As if Yves doesn’t know immediately; as if Yves hasn’t been thinking—or rather, trying not to think—about said person all morning. “I’m used to it.”

“Still, if I had known how long it’d take—”

“It’s really okay, Angelie.” 

“You’ve been such a big help to me. I didn’t know until Charlotte told me you’ve been here all morning trying to—”

“It’s fine. This isn’t any sort of special circumstance. I’mb - snf-! - frequently here early. J-just a second—” For a moment, Yves wonders if they’ve lowered their voices to speak more quietly, but then the reason for the lull in the conversation becomes evident. Vincent coughs—harshly enough that, even through the wall, it sounds almost certainly painful. When he speaks up again, his voice sounds noticeably hoarser than before. “Sorry. I— coughcough - I’m happy to be - snf-! - of assistance, really.”

“Thank you,” Angelie says. “I honestly don’t know what I would do without you. I think I’m good from here—but um, if you don’t mind me asking…”

She hesitates. For some reason Yves can’t quite parse, she sounds uncertain.

“What is it?” Vincent says.

“Um, are you okay?”

All of a sudden, the apology makes sense.

“What?”

“You— seem—”

“I’m fine,” Vincent says. 

“Okay.” A beat. “Do you need cough drops? I have a whole bag at my desk. I always get sick when I’m in new places, so—it hasn’t happened yet, I mean, but I wanted to be prepared in case it does. If you want any, I have a ton to spare.”

Yves hears the static whir of the coffee machine as it comes to life. 

“I appreciate the offer, but I’m okay,” Vincent says. “Though, you should - hH… hh… hH-hih’GKT-! snf-!” The sneeze doesn’t sound relieving in the least, and the sniffle which follows seems as good as useless. “You should keep your distance.”

“Well, the offer still stands if you end up needing them later,” Angelie says, sounding uncertain. “Thanks again for all the help.”

“It’s no problem. If you run into any issues later, don’t be afraid to reach out.”

He hears footsteps, receding—Angelie is going back to work, he realizes. And, judging by the sound of the coffee machine, Vincent is still here, making his usual morning espresso.

Yves really shouldn’t interrupt. He should turn around and head back to his office desk. Really, it’s none of his business if Vincent is okay. It’s none of his business whether or not Vincent got to the office early today, as usual, despite working so late last night. It’s none of his business whether or not Vincent is feeling well enough to be here in the first place. Perhaps he should go back to his desk—perhaps he doesn’t need coffee as imminently as he’d thought.

Against all logic, he finds himself on the other side of the break room door.

At the sound of the door opening, Vincent looks up. Yves catalogs his appearance in silence. His hair is as neat as usual, his jacket ironed, his tie perfectly straight, but there’s an unusual flush high on his cheekbones, a paleness to his complexion.

“Yves,” Vincent says.

His voice practically cracks on the syllable, as if he’s just a few conversations away from losing his voice. He sounds so distinctly unwell, Yves realizes.

And he looks exhausted. The dark circles under his eyes are even more prominent than before, and when he lifts his elbow to his face to muffle a few harsh, breathless coughs into his sleeve, there’s an uncharacteristic sluggishness to the motion of it. When he lowers his arm, there’s a thin sheen of water to his eyes—from the sheer force of the coughing fit, perhaps. His eyes are a little red-rimmed.

Vincent sniffles, though the sound is so congested that Yves isn’t sure it’s made any difference at all. Past them, the coffee machine beeps to signal that it’s done.

Yves pushes the door shut behind him. His mouth feels dry.

“I wadted to - snf-! - properly thank you for last ndight,” Vincent starts. “I realize that—” His eyes water, and he blinks, reaching up with one hand to rub his nose. “That you - hH-hHih…” He veers away from Yves, steepling both his hands over his face as his shoulders jerk forward with a forceful, “hihH’GKT’ShhuH!” And then, just a few moments later, another - “hH… hiIH… HIIh’NGKTshHh!-!” The sneezes—even stifled—sound loud enough to grate on his throat. It’s no wonder his voice sounds off. “I realize that you ended up staying a lot later than you planned to.”

Yves stares at him. Is this really what Vincent thinks he wants to hear?

“And I apologize if I came across as…” Yves sees the moment Vincent’s gaze unfocuses. He sees the way Vincent tenses, cupping a hand over his face for another, “HIh’Gktt! Hh… hHh… hiih—!”

The look of ticklish desperation—his eyebrows creased, his expression slack—doesn’t let up, even as his breath settles. Vincent rubs his nose with the bridge of his index finger, sniffling again, as if to coax out the sneeze that his body seems so adamant on denying him—

“hiHH-’IksSHuhh! … hHIH… Hh… hh-hIih—HIih-TSCHhuuh! snf-!” A soft, almost imperceptible exhale. “Excuse mbe, I...” His voice practically gives out on that note, and he takes a halting step back, veering aside with another fit of coughs.

“You said you were feeling better,” Yves all but snaps, when he’s done.

Vincent looks off to the side. “I’m not as tired as I was yesterday,” he says. “So, in that regard.”

He turns aside to lift the coffee mug from where it sits on the machine. There’s a slight tremor to his hand when he picks it up, before he steadies it—indicative of one too many cups of coffee, perhaps—or, knowing Vincent, probably a lot more than that.

“In that regard?” Yves repeats. “So you’re feeling worse off in every other regard?” 

He doesn’t mean for it to come out so accusatory, but a part of him feels—betrayed, maybe. By the dishonesty of Vincent’s response, by the intensity of his own worry.

“That’s not what I meant.”

Vincent looks like he’s about to say something more, but then he’s hurriedly setting his coffee down, raising both hands to his face, again, for—

“hiIH… HIIH’GK-t! Hh! Hih… HIih’IZSCHhuh!” A single, breathless, “Sorry,” and then - “hhH-! snf-…!” Yves watches his expression crumple as he jerks forward, his eyes watering. “hiIH-NGkt-! Hh…. HHh… hiIH-!... HH‘IIKTCHhuhH-!”

The sneezing fit is punctuated by another round of coughing, which all but confirms that all this sneezing is making Vincent lose his voice faster. 

Yves passes him a coffee napkin. Vincent eyes it for a moment before taking it, gingerly.

“You shouldn’t be here,” Yves says. “You’re clearly unwell.”

“I’m fine. I had a couple calls this morning.”

“You didn’t think to cancel?”

“They were urgent.”

“And what do you think our clients would think if they see that you’re clearly coming down with something?” 

“I took medicine to suppress the symptoms,” Vincent says, glancing off to the side. “A few hours ago. It’s - coughcough - just starting to wear off.”

“I don’t get it,” Yves says, feeling the frustration build in his chest. “You’re not going to recover quickly if you keep pushing yourself.”

“It’s just a cold. There’s nothing I can do but wait it out.”

“There are plenty of things you could do. You could take a sick day, for one. You could head home early. You could even get more than a few hours of sleep, instead of—” Yves looks toward the coffee mug in his hands. “—insisting on taking cold medicine and keeping yourself awake with caffeine. Just how many cups of coffee have you already had this morning?”

“I’m fine, Yves. 

“As you’ve said,” Yves says, a little bitterly. “Though, even if you insist on lying to everyone else, at least you should be honest to yourself.” 

Vincent is quiet for a moment.

When he speaks, his voice is carefully even. “Is that why you’re so upset?”

“What?”

“It’s because I told you I was feeling better.”

Yves supposes that’s part of it. But another part of him is frustrated—with himself, first and foremost, for putting Vincent in this situation in the first place, for inconveniencing someone he’s already indebted to, only to have to watch from the sidelines, guiltily, with no way to help. Back then—with Erika, with crew, with university; with the cheating, and the aftermath; with the apartment hunting, with the start of his job, with everything else—Yves has always disliked the revelation that there’s nothing he can do.

“You’re free to lie to me,” he says. “I know we’re not close. But I care about you, which is why I asked.” 

“I don’t think you understand.” Vincent takes a measured sip from his coffee. His hand trembles slightly when he lifts the cup, and Yves has the sudden urge to take it from his hands. Vincent sighs. “Do you know why I told you I was feeling better?”

That seems obvious enough. “Because you wanted me to stop asking.”

“Because I don’t want it to be anyone else’s problem,” Vincent snaps. “Especially not yours.”

Before Yves has the time to fully process that statement, Vincent continues. “I don’t want my assignments to be work on someone else’s plate. I don’t want my health to be someone else’s problem. You already stayed so late last night—you went out of your way to get me dinner. How could I possibly ask any more of you?”

The sentence seems to grate unpleasantly against his throat for the way that he winces a little, turning aside to cough harshly into his fist. “I’m not feeling well today, but I knew you’d be worried if I told you. And how could I knowingly take up more of your time? After everything you’ve done for me already?” 

His sentence tapers off into another coughing fit, which he emerges from with another wince. It must hurt his throat to speak.

“I wasn’t being honest when you asked me how I was feeling,” Vincent says—finally an admission, but hearing it now doesn’t make Yves feel better at all. “But it would be selfish of me to make this any more of your problem than it already is.”

In lieu of responding, Yves takes the coffee cup from his hands and sets it down, gingerly, on the countertop. He takes another mug—unwraps an herbal tea bag from the cabinets, while he’s at it—and fills it to the brim with warm water, for the tea to steep. He stirs in a spoonful of honey. Steam rises from the cup in white wisps, and with it, the faint smell of chamomile.

When the tea is ready, he holds the cup by the rims, turning the handle outwards for Vincent to take. Vincent regards it with confusion, his eyebrows furrowing slightly, and for a moment, Yves wonders if he should clarify that it’s meant for him.

But then he takes it. Watching him lift the cup to take a sip—seeing the brief, miniscule flash of relief as his throat dips with a swallow—makes something tighten in Yves’s chest.

It takes everything in him not to cross his arms outright. 

“You are really a hypocrite,” he says. 

“What?”

“You helped Angelie, just yesterday. You helped me when I was just starting out. Both of us made our work—and our training, and our inexperience—your problem.” For all the things Yves has asked of him—for all the things he’s seen others ask of him, however inordinate—Vincent has never once complained. 

“You’re always taking on things for other people, because you know you’re capable of doing them,” Yves says. “How is it any different if it’s you?”

Vincent doesn’t say anything, to that.

“You’re harder on yourself than you are on anyone else,” Yves says, with a sigh. “Even if you tell me not to worry, I’m still going to worry about you. But it’s not a burden to me.”

Something in Vincent’s expression stills. 

“I know I can’t change your mind,” Yves says. “But you should get some rest—whenever you can. You’ve already done more than enough, I promise. I—or anyone else on the team—can take up anything that can’t wait until you’re feeling better.”

Vincent turns away, his shoulders trembling on an inhale, and Yves barely squeezes in a preemptive “Bless you,” before—

“Hh… hiIH’EKkTSHuhH! Hh… hh… HiIH’IIKKtsCHuhH! snf-! ”

He lifts his free hand up to cover, his eyes squeezing shut as he muffles the sneezes into his wrist. It’s a miracle that the tea doesn’t spill, Yves thinks.

When he emerges, a little teary-eyed, sniffling, he really does look tired. He says, “I don’t understand why you care so much.”

Isn’t it obvious? Yves opens his mouth to say just as much, only…

…Only, Vincent looks genuinely stricken.

“I like you,” Yves says, because it’s the truth. Because he wants, suddenly, for Vincent to know it. “Do I need any other reason?”

“That seems… impossibly simple.” “It is,” Yves says. For a moment, he wants to tell Vincent just exactly how simple it is, just how easy Vincent is to like.

“I didn’t intend to worry you,” Vincent says, looking off to the side. “I didn’t expect for anyone to be worried in the first place.”

Yves—who frequently worries about people, whether they want him to or not—laughs. “If you don’t want me to worry about you, you should hurry up and get better.”

At this, Vincent nods, contemplative. “Duly noted.”

“Which means getting some proper rest.”

“I’ll consider it.”

(Yves half expects that to be a lie. But when he gets to work the next morning, Vincent’s desk is unoccupied, for once, and there’s a small packet of cough drops leaned up against his desktop monitor—so he had asked Angelie for them yesterday, after all—and a stack of files set off neatly to the side, marked For Later.

Yves supposes he can deal with that.)

[c3stlav1e]

˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥ THE COLD WAR RETURNS: ON THE BIGGEST RED CARPET IN THE WORLD.

written by EnVieOus

The Met Gala, taking place the first Monday of May each year, is undoubtedly one of the most watched events of the year in the realm of the filthy rich and those finely attuned in to the lives of celebrities. Celebrated in New York City and hosted by international phenomenon Vogue Magazine, recent years of the event have seen more and more internationally recognized celebrities welcomed to grace the number one red carpet of the fashion world, something that gives us Kpop fans a reason to cheer. While a swath of idols were seen at this year's gala, 3 that never fail to catch my eye were La Vie's Anya, Star, and Mari.

from left to right: Anya Na in custom YSL, Star Shinawatra in custom YSL, Mari Bang in Schiaparelli haute couture '21

Anya and Star both stunned in custom Yves Saint Laurent, unsurprising from the luxury brand's princess and her closest confidant. While this was Star's debut at the Met, this is the third year in a row that Anya has been invited by the designer house.

However, Lovies were left with plenty of questions when the group's maknae Mari arrived later than the former two in a striking yet conflicting outfit by Schiaparelli. Although the three only briefly passed on the carpet, no acknowledgments were shared.

To older fans, this icy greeting is hardly news. Its been recently made clear that tensions between La Vie and their maknae have been raised ever since she first made her solo debut in the American music industry back in 2021. Some fans had bashed the idol for "abandoning" the group to focus on western fame and validation.

Lovies were led to believe that things were on the mend between them all when Mari returned to the group for their most recent comeback celebrating the group's 7th year anniversary, making it the first OT6 comeback in nearly 2 years. The group released a 2 hour long documentary highlighting the group's history and the album's making which had an emotional segment on Mari's absence, how it had effected the group's dynamic, and her intentions to right any wrongs in the hearts of her members and her fans. It was all very touching.

And yet, almost a year later, we are seeing the conflict back in full swing. 4 days before the Gala, La Vie posted a teaser for their newest comeback to all of the group's socials. The teaser very notably only featuring 5 of the members (missing Mari once again), much to the disappointment of hopeful Lovies everywhere.

"Teaser ; White Swan" posted to La Vie socials on May 2, 2024

While this in itself stirred up controversy, nothing would compare to the shitstorm that arose when 2 days later, Mari dropped a teaser for her newest single, set to release only a week after the rest of the group's mini album.

Teaser posted on May 4, 2024 to Mari's Instagram, @ maribang, captioned " ugh, what a b!! SOMETHING NEW COMING TO U JUNE 4TH "

Fans and netizens have conveyed a wide range of emotions the past few days, from outrage to disappointment to jumping for joy, and this most recent interaction (or lack thereof) has only added to the overflowing dramatics of the public's opinion. Calls for Mari's official removal from the group have only increased since her apparent cold shoulder on the carpet. Some are blaming conflict between Rainbow Entertainment and MGM, Mari's record label in America, for the issues, fruitlessly arguing that the girls would never want to treat each other so coldly of their own accord.

After years of this drama, the people are beginning to demand answers, but the radio silence on both ends continues. Was it simply an accident, where one didn't see the other? Or a blatant cold shoulder between former best friends?

Let us know what YOU think here !

Click to read more comments...

ltov6: this is a reachhhh!!!!!! they were on the same part of the carpet for like .2 seconds before star and anya were rushed off. don't put words in their mouth!!

bangbangmarmar: anyway. mari outsold on her own, she doesn't need those washed up bitches🙄🙄

expensiveanya: well my princess was serving as per usual so that's all that matters🤭

lvis6: wait... SHES THE BLACK SWAN!!!! ot6 cb is coming!!!!!!

feelinlikepsychoo: good god can they just kick her out already...... like they clearly do not need her. dragging their name down for no reason.

2sunz: if sol was there she wouldve straightened them out fr. acting like children without their mama

lovelylovie: to everyone saying she probably didn't know... she's literally dressed as a black swan. she knew.

[rjthirsty]

Leni Klein (IkePri AU)

Who is Nokto without Leni? And who is Leni without Nokto? It only made sense to me to have Leni designed next in my character commissions because the twins need each other. I had to go with something different than Licht, it sounded too masculine to me, and I spent a ton of time researching names to find something I liked.

Her design was also very important, because while the twins have a lot of similarities, they also make a point to be different from one another. I wanted them to have some similar designs, but be different enough that they're their own people.

Art done by @nakitamelo commissioned by me.

Name: Leni Klein Gender: Female Age: 26 Birthday: October 9 Appearance: 5'2" (157.5 cm), Small boned and thin-framed, Silver hair, Red eyes

Leni Klein is the sixth born of Rhodolite's royal family, known as the Sixth Princess. She is a lone wolf, preferring solitude over the company of others, and often thinks her existence is a curse to those around her. Leni and Nokto are twins, but an event in their youth drove them apart and they rarely speak now. She is a skilled swordsman, and adept at combat and tactics, able to pick up the mantle of leadership if she so chooses to. However, her preference for being alone and desire to keep everyone much further than arms' length away leads her to being unsociable and curt with everyone. Since she rarely speaks except in matters relating to training or where required by her social standing, it's seen as a boon to have a conversation with her in any capacity.

Notes about Leni:

Leni's crest is a wolf, while her twin, Nokto, has a fox crest despite them being twins and birthed by the same woman. It would seem that crests are chosen rather than given to the children of the King, though there is no indication when this happens, or why.

Leni is an amazing swordsman, likely the best in the country. A fact that isn't well known outside of the royal family.

She prefers to exist outside of the spotlight and the crowds, adding to the "lone wolf" trope she has working for her.

Nokto and Leni have a tenuous relationship. They rarely speak to each other and it is strained even when they do.

Leni and Nokto were very close as children. An event drove them apart when they were quite young, and they've never mended the divide since then.

There are old superstitions about twins throughout the real world, and most of them are negative. Leni's backstory in the OG game covers one of these, and while it is important for her character development, I haven't yet decided how to implement it.

She gets along best with her older brother, Yves, who dotes on her, though she doesn't return the affection.

[tragicromanceisland]

Ice and Roses

Chevalier x female reader, Gilbert von Obsidian x female reader

Chapter One

It had been three months since you had left the comfort and luxury you had known in the palace. You had fallen back into your routine as a commoner with Rio by your side. The only difference is Rio was aggressively trying to convince you to date him.

You tried to tell him your heart needed time to heal. However, the extra steps Rio was pulling to woo you were slowly mending the cracks in your broken heart. Still, you weren't quite ready to date anyone.

In the three months, you still recalled the meeting before you left vividly. As well as how the people of Rhodolite seemed to be in awe of your choice of King. You knew it would have been well received had you chosen as the king since he was well loved by the people, and he too cared deeply for the people of this nation. However, you knew Rhodolite needed Chevalier’s intellect as well as his innate ability to always do what was best for the kingdom. That way, Jade, Benitoite, and Obsidian wouldn’t dare to take advantage of Rhodolite.

The whole room was hushed when you had spoken Chevalier’s name. Chev, of course, was not surprised. However, a few of the other prince's were as they felt Leon would have been the obvious choice, but none of them spoke out against your decision. You clearly saw and knew what they didn't.

"Thank you for your service as Belle (y/n). I'm sure I don't need to remind you of clause 99 or that your time here has come to an end.” Sariel announced.

"No, I appreciate you giving me the honor to become belle.” You then turned to the princes. They all stared at you. Some held a sadness to their gaze while Chevalier held the exact cold glare as when you first met him. "I wish you all a lifetime of happiness.”

It was the only thing you could say when you felt a heaviness in your chest and on the brink of falling apart. You curtsied and left out the door with Rio behind you. You left all but one stunned.

Before you stepped away from the closed door, you heard Yves and Jin go to your defense and rag on Chevalier. Surprisingly, you even heard Clavis say a few choice words. However, it was behind you now.

“Let's go home.” Rio spoke softly.

Home.

It almost seemed foreign to you as the palace and the men residing in it had become your home. However, you were foolish to believe such a fleeting fantasy. It was always going to end this way. In a way, becoming Belle was the best and worst thing to ever happen. You met some amazing guys, and yet you were never going to be with any of them no matter how your relationship deepened with them.

You shook the recollection. It would have been kinder if they had erased your memory.

"(Y/n), how about taking a break from shelving the books. Let's take a walk, I'll treat you to lunch as well.”

Your eyes fell to the pile of books in front of you. Rio was always looking out for you.

"Alright, let's go.”

Rio grinned as he held out his arm for you. Giving him a small smile, you hooked your arm with his as you left the shop. Stepping out into the plaza, you noticed it seemed busier than usual, but you weren't sure why. It wasn't a holiday, and you even noticed some of the palace knights. You furrowed your brows considering the possibility that something big must be taking place.

"Oh, you know what? I just realized we should go this way.” Rio announced, heading in the opposite direction of the knights.

You knew Rio was only trying to protect you by walking in the other way. You went along with it as you both neared one of your favorite lunch spots. Rio opened the door for you as you stepped inside. Rio followed in after you and the door closed behind him. The hostess recognized you both and began chatting with you as she sat you at a table on the second floor.

The two of you were discussing new book shipments that should be arriving later. You didn't want to alarm Rio, but the books you ordered were from Benitoite. You just hoped Silvio didn’t show up, though you didn’t see why he would have any reason to do so. You had no idea how the other princes were doing since the ceremony of Chevalier becoming king. That ceremony was the last time you had seen all of them together. It was a bittersweet memory for you, as they all bid you farewell.

Rio noticed you seemed deep in thought about something but decided not to ask about it. He was certain it had something to do with recalling your time at the palace. If he could erase your memory himself, he would do so. Though he did know one man who could. Clavis was still working under his brother, and he was sure if he wrote him, he might be willing to do that much for you. He would have to contact him in secret. Then there was always the possibility you wouldn’t want to erase your memories.

After lunch, Rio took you for a walk through town, and you ended up brushing off the memories. It felt nice enjoying the warmth of the sun with your closest friend viewing the beautiful roses of Rhodolite. It wasn’t until you arrived back at the bookstore that you realized why there were so many palace knights. Rio stood in front of you as you peeked from behind him to see a long-haired knight. You immediately recognized holding a document as a few men were sprawled onto the floor unconscious and wounded.

“What are you doing here?” Rio questioned narrowed his eyes.

The guard showed indifference and met your gaze briefly before your eyes fell to the floor, averting his stare.

“His majesty wishes to summon the former belle to the palace for an upcoming event.”

“How dare he wish to see (y/n) after the damage he has caused!” Rio lashed out.

The guard immediately pulled his sword, the tip of the polished silver blade pressed at his adam’s apple.

“I suggest you watch your mouth. This is the king of Rhodolite you are speaking ill of.”

Your eyes widened as your eyes flit to the guard. The guard was seething from Rio’s outburst against Chevalier. You appreciated Rio’s willingness to stick up for you.

“I’ll go…”

The guard glanced at you before sheathing his sword and held out an envelope. You stepped out from behind Rio and took the cream-colored envelope with gold embellishment from Chevalier’s guard.

“His majesty would be pleased if you come and even said you may bring a plus one if necessary.”

You arched a brow, “Thank you for bringing me the invitation.”

He nodded as two more guards appeared and took away the men who were on the floor of the shop. You didn’t recognize them and had no idea why they would be in your shop to begin with. They didn’t appear to be people from Rhodolite.

“What a jerk…” Rio muttered. “Now we have a mess to clean up.”

You sighed. “I don’t even believe those two men were the ones to deliver the books I ordered.”

“You’re right, which makes me wonder, are there people still trying to pry into Rhodolite?”

“Chevalier wasn’t the popular choice, Rio. I’m sure he has enemies, even if I never really saw any of them alive at the palace.”

Rio scoffed. “That’s obvious enough since he would just kill them off the bat anyway.”

“Unless he deemed them to have information he sought.”

Still, this didn’t bode well with you, and on top of this, what the hell did Chev want you to attend an event for anyway. You were certain you were done with associated with him it was part of clause 99 after all. You thought back to Jin’s mother, who had been the previous belle who had fallen in love with the chosen king. Then, he thought to Chevalier’s mother, who was in a loveless marriage, all for the duty to the kingdom to produce an heir for the king. It was no wonder Chevalier found emotions pointless, seeing how his mother suffered from heartbreak.

You slid your finger under the opening of the envelope and pulled out a formal invitation with gold embossed letters. Not realizing something had fallen onto the floor from behind the invitation.

You’re cordially invited to the debut of the future queen of Rhodolite

Place: Rhodolite Palace

Time: Six o’ Clock

You couldn’t believe it.

Rio noticed the piece of paper and took it. He would look at it later and see if it was worth you even looking at. From the looks of it, the invitation alone had left you disappointed. Rio clenched his fist, Just how much longer do you plan to hurt her Chevalier?

Three months.

That’s all it took for Chevalier to move on.

You pressed your lips together, fighting the urge to cry. He wasn’t worth your tears anymore. In fact, you knew what would hurt Chevalier more than anything. If he was inviting you to see his queen. Then you would bring a plus one. You knew just the man to bring. The only problem is just the thought of being around that man made you shudder.

“Rio…tomorrow I’m going to get in touch with the one I’m going to take as my plus one.”

Rio’s eyes widened before he frowned. He had hoped that maybe you would take him, but he could see you were determined to make Chevalier jealous. This meant you still held feelings for Chevalier, and he couldn’t understand why.

“Very well, we should clean up and then lock up the shop for the night,” Rio announced.

You nodded. You knew this was Chevalier’s way of telling you to stop holding onto your feelings for him and move on. This would work out well so you could show chevalier you had moved on, and he means nothing to you. However, the painful squeeze on your heart told you that was far from the truth.

[brookstonalmanac]

Birthdays 8.1

Beer Birthdays

Henry Hess (1859)

Frederick Gettelman Jr. (1915)

Robbin Bain, Miss Rheingold 1959 (1938)

Five Favorite Birthdays

William Clark; explorer (1770)

Jerry Garcia; rock guitarist, singer (1942)

James Gleick; writer, journalist (1954)

Mary Harris "Mother" Jones; labor organizer (1837)

Herman Melville; writer (1819)

Famous Birthdays

Tempest Bledsoe; actor (1973)

Tommy Bolin; rock musician (1951)

Jim Carroll; poet, writer, actor (1950)

Claudius I; Roman emperor (10 B.C.E.)

Coolio; rapper (1963)

Rick Coonce; rock singer, drummer (1947)

Robert Cray; singer (1953)

Richard Dadd; English artist (1817)

Dom DeLuise; comedian, actor (1933)

Suzi Gardner; rock musician (1960)

Arthur Hill; actor (1922)

Francis Scott Key; poet (1779)

Howard Kurtz; journalist (1953)

Jean Baptiste Lamarck; naturalist (1744)

Sam Mendes; film director (1965)

Maria Mitchell; astronomer (1818)

Jason Momoa; actor (1979(

Taylor Negron; comedian, actor (1958)

Michael Penn; singer, songwriter (1958)

Yves Saint-Laurent; fashion designer (1936)

Park Si-eun; South Korean actress (2001)

Robert James Waller; writer (1939)

Tom Wilson; cartoonist (1931)

[haruhar-u]

after I told my irls the lore they said to imagine Chev and Yves having a singing battle with the Shawn Mendes song about treating someone better as the music…..

[yarnnerdally]

Congrats on your follower milestone! May I request Nokto + remembering please. Thank you so much! 😊

Hi dear! I'm so happy you requested this. I may make hearts hurt. This is fine. I didn't make myself tear up writing this NOPE

Like I Do

A Nokto Klein x MC fic

Rating: T

Tags: Angst, hurt/comfort, memory loss, spoilers for Nokto and Licht's routes, dreams

She walked along in the garden, arranging the settee area for tea. He'd seen this dream so many times before. He knew her. Of course he knew her; this was the love of his life. But her physical form was hidden. Her voice was nothing more than a feeling in his heart. Every embrace was everything and nothing at once. She is his everything but she's not there. Why can't he see her? He just knows that once he sees her, he'll feel complete. No one knows him like she does. He'll feel whole again. Suddenly Licht is there in his dream. And their mother. Licht prostrates himself between them as their mother's arm comes up and suddenly the figure he knows and doesn't know is there. Her hands are delicate, dainty, but firm and sure on his and Licht's arms. Their mother's figure dissolves away. Then Licht. Then his love. Nokto woke slowly, his body tired. It wasn't as if he'd been entertaining anyone, but the carriage accident a month ago had left his body bruised, a little broken, and he was on the mend still. He sighed heavily, pushing himself up in bed as he pondered his plight. This wasn't the first time he had the dream and knew it wouldn't be the last. He never remembered the dream but the unease and frustration he felt at something unresolved lingered, chafing his confidence. Shaking off sleep, he went to the window and parted the curtain to look out at the garden. The sun had just risen but he saw her out there, tending to the settee and table for the tea time she would have later with Yves and his twin. His brow furrowed as he tried to place why, every time he looked at her, that same frustration was there. The same damn feeling. He always saw something in her eyes that he couldn't place and he prided himself on knowing everything, taking particular delight in riling her up. It was a something that he saw in everyone's eyes when they looked at him but her's was... sadder. No one could ask him why but he wanted to get rid of whatever was causing that sadness. The sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach told his subconscious it was because of him. The notion alone made the sinking worse so he closed the curtains, allowing the dark to take over his senses again. He held onto the curtain and closed his eyes, the sensation of fabric between his fingers setting off something in him. His mind drifted, a memory of deft fingers unlacing a black bodice just enough to get it off her body. The luxurious feel of the deep, red skirt. The softness of the ruffles that teased his chin as he nipped at her collarbone. 'Nokto.' He was alone but it sounded and felt so real. He knew that voice. It was her voice. The piece he was missing... was her.

[arte-e-homoerotismo]

Carlos McClendon (12 de outubro de 1923 - 16 de julho de 2008) foi um designer e dono de loja americano. Ele é provavelmente o modelo "desconhecido" mais famoso de George Platt-Lynes, aquele que enfeita a capa do mais recente livro de mesa de centro de George Platt-Lynes. McClendon teve relacionamentos com Christopher Isherwood , George Platt Lynes e Denham Fouts . Ele teve encontros com Monroe Wheeler , Lincoln Kirstein , Paul Cadmus e Bernard Perlin .

Carlos McClendon nasceu em Bakersfield, CA em 12 de outubro de 1923 e viveu os primeiros anos de sua vida no sul da Califórnia. Ele frequentou escolas em Long Beach e mais tarde obteve um BA pela UCLA. Durante e imediatamente após seus anos de faculdade, ele trabalhou no departamento de design do MGM Studios. Durante esse período, ele também foi dançarino da trupe de dança Marie Bryant.

Christopher Isherwood conheceu McClendon por meio de Denny Fouts e John Goodwin na década de 1940, quando McClendon visitava frequentemente a praia em Santa Monica. A amizade continuou muito depois de McClendon deixar Los Angeles no início da década de 1950.

No início de 1950, McClendon mudou-se para Nova York, onde rapidamente se tornou uma força influente e pioneira no varejo boutique, antes que a palavra boutique fosse de uso geral. Sua loja, chamada Chequer, na esquina da Third Avenue com a 50th Street, era especializada em objetos, móveis e roupas exclusivos de lugares como México, Haiti e Marrocos, que ele escolheu em suas viagens. A loja foi um sucesso imediato, notável pelo "olho" especial de McClendon para o belo e o incomum, e ele contava com Greta Garbo e muitos dos criadores de tendências de Nova York entre seus clientes regulares. A loja também inspirou vários imitadores.

No final dos anos 60, ele voltou para Los Angeles e abriu a Chequer West em Hollywood e duplicou o sucesso de seus anos em Nova York. A exclusividade de seu inventário e o fino acabamento de suas roupas feitas à mão rapidamente atraíram uma clientela de estrelas como Barbra Streisand , Candace Bergen e a bailarina Nora Kaye . A boutique apresentava modas nos tecidos mais fabulosos do leste do Extremo Oriente. Designs exclusivos da Costa Oeste pelo proprietário Carlos McClendon e por JoAnn Lopez. As especialidades eram vestidos longos e sem ajuste requintados para mulheres e belos caftãs e robes para homens, todos de materiais incrivelmente lindos como tecido sari indiano, chiffon tie-dye, seda bordada persa, tecidos antigos e seda com padrões de colagem. Cada um era único. Os vestidos custavam de US$ 120 a US$ 500 e os caftãs e robes de US$ 40 a US$ 300. As camisas masculinas foram desenhadas por Ken Scott e por McClendon em estampas e cores sólidas muito coloridas, com preços entre US$ 20 e US$ 60. Para os homens, também havia gravatas de 41/2 polegadas em estampas de seda e lã pura e coletes bordados do Afeganistão. A boutique era uma delícia para dar uma olhada. No pátio dos fundos, havia peças de mobiliário incomuns pintadas à mão por Micela Livingstone. Nas áreas frontal e superior, havia uma vasta seleção de presentes importados estranhos e maravilhosos, novos suéteres, cachecóis e joias e intrigantes bugigangas de todos os lugares.

A empresa Mendes em Paris se tornou um complexo internacional de produção e marketing que fabricava roupas de nomes como Yves Saint Laurent , Rive Gauche, Givenchy , Nouvelle Boutique, Jean Muir, Christian Bailly, Roland Chakkal e a estrela em ascensão da Terra do Sol Nascente, cujas roupas foram trazidas pela primeira vez para Los Angeles por Carlos McClendon, da Chequer West.

Jobey Baker foi um ator e artista que, na década de 1970, tornou-se joalheiro. Seus pingentes e anéis em marfim gravados com prata, com preços de S190 a US$ 2.000, estavam na Chequer West. Também estava em exposição o rag chubby de Carlos McClendon, uma jaqueta incrível feita de restos de tecidos orientais e costurada com o efeito de pele fofa. Com ela veio uma longa saia jeans, aparada novamente com os restos em babados estilo calipso.

Em 1976, Pamela Dewey criou uma nova coleção chamada "Addables and Wadables" vendida na Chequer West. A designer tinge à mão saias de cambraia de algodão, túnicas e tops em cores de picolé, permitindo que a usuária usasse "a moda como um acessório, misturando-os da maneira que a mulher deseja". De acordo com Carlos McClendon: "Quando conheci a Sra. Dewey em um desfile de moda experimental, pensei que ela tinha um talento especial. Suas roupas são animadas, alegres, muito elegantes, mas relaxadas. Ela tem um feeling para o que as mulheres da Califórnia querem agora. São roupas muito liberadas". O grande sucesso de Pamela Dewey foi uma mistura que ela rotulou de "o meio-vestido", que consistia em duas metades verticais separadas que amarravam nas laterais para se tornar um vestido convencional. As metades podiam ser trocadas para criar diferentes combinações de cores. Cada metade custava US$ 25.

McClendon se aposentou em 1986 e se mudou para Pojoaque, onde continuou como um apoiador anônimo das artes. Ele se mudou para Puerto Vallarta em janeiro de 2008 para passar seus últimos meses no Oceano Pacífico que ele amava.

 Morador de Pojoaque/Nambe desde 1986, morreu de causas naturais em 16 de julho de 2008, em Puerto Vallarta, México. McClendon não deixa sobreviventes na família, mas um grupo de velhos e novos amigos. A cremação ocorreu e suas cinzas foram espalhadas no Novo México de acordo com seus desejos.

Carlos McClendon by George Platt Lynes 

[crookedkryptonitebeliever]

Best and Worst of Both Worlds (Part 25)

Tw: Some harsh words from Yves, homewrecking allegations

short chapter guys

damn yall this was originally suppsoed to be a "yes" option, but beyond 21 voted yall voted for a 'no', guess u guys still simp heavily for Yves to sacrifice entertainment

but 2 be fair, the outcome is pretty similar to this

emjouy

Part 26

"Well done, (name)." He praised, not out of malice or sarcasm, but out of genuine proudness. Yves was happy that you've been engaging with your critical thinking, that is something Yves does not witness very regularly.

You felt a load taken off your shoulders, finally, you have done something right today. That has to quell some of his anger, right? You hope.

You sighed and asked him if there was anything you could do for him now.

"I would very much appreciate your company. Your first class will begin 25 minutes later, I would love to hear your voice until then." His sensual, caring demeanor is back. You are so glad to hear him purr again. You agreed much to his delight.

You looked at Evangeline as she stared at you expectantly. You shook your head, gesturing that Yves does not wish to talk to her.

However, Evangeline did the unthinkable and snatched your phone out of your hands. You gasped, trying to grab it back, but all she did was pull it away from you.

She pressed the Speaker button so that you could also hear the conversation between her and Yves.

"Hello, Sir Yves? Yes, this is Evangeline. First of all, I would like to say (name) is a wonderful friend! They are also very lucky to have you as their partner."

Yves did not reply. You gave up trying to take it back, you paced around while letting her deal with the mess she created.

"Secondly, I am thankful that you have allowed my father to work alongside you. You have treated us well and we are grateful for that."

"Are you finished?"

Her blue eyes widened in shock, taken aback by the unexpected animosity from Yves. She cleared her throat and said yes.

You heard him pouring something into his glass.

"I find it quite interesting that you chose to forcefully take the phone out of their hands. You chose to switch their speakerphone on without consulting me beforehand. What was your rationale behind them?" She stiffened up a bit but eventually composed herself enough to provide a coherent answer.

"Well, I have been noticing that you and (name) are going through a rough patch. So, I offered to be a mediator. I was trying to create an open environment with adequate space for communication between (name), you, and I."

You are not sure how to feel about Evangeline's formally chatty side. You know this will not end well, because she did not once say an apology.

"Evangeline. I have worked with your father for years. I fully expected him to have taught manners. At least, fundamental ones. But I was proven wrong today by your audacity." Her smile completely dropped off the face of Earth, now replaced with a neutral but somber look.

"Deepest apologies for my offenses, Sir Yves," she spoke with clarity.

"How dare you attempt to meddle in our relationship, manipulate (name) into thinking you're helping, but all you did was nothing except drive a wedge between us? How dare you invade our privacy and touch (name)'s personal items without their permission? I am exceedingly disappointed with you, Evangeline. You were taught better, I am in disbelief that you have decided to disgrace yourself like this. To disgrace your father's name." Your jaw drops to the ground as you hear Yves dish out his scoldings to Evangeline. She seems to take it like a champ, though.

"I am sorry, sir Yves. I don't know what has gotten over me." She replied to his devastating verbal blow.

"I do, Evangeline. You take pleasure in appearing as the savior to everyone. Your intentions were never to mend or strengthen my bonds with (name), it was completely self-serving." Her gaze was downcast as soon as he told her his thoughts.

"You are too undisciplined, too careless to consider the consequences of your behavior. All was done in favour of feeding your inflated ego. You're selfish." He spat.

"You're right. My apologies. I will do better." You looked at her, she smiled back at you as if she's having a friendly conversation about the weather instead.

"I wouldn't be surprised if the rumors surrounding your homewrecking tendencies have their merits." She gasped at his remark. You did too.

"Sir Yves, I... I don't think it's fair for you to--"

"Stay away from my (name)." He interrupted her, mid-defence.

"Dear, turn the speakerphone off. I would like to talk to you in private, please." Yves reverted his tone back to the honeyed version that makes you weak in the knees, in a good way.

You did as you were told and brought the phone back up to your ear.

"(name), I do not like Evangeline nor do I trust her." Your eyebrows shot up in shock, you don't get to hear him express his disdain for someone so directly. Not even Montgomery received such hatred from him. "I want you to reduce the time spent with her."

You were expecting him to tell you to cut her off entirely, seeing that he suspected you were cheating on him with Evangeline earlier.

"I allow you to remain acquaintances, solely because you still need a degree of social interaction each day to maintain your health. You don't have friends on campus other than Jones's daughter."

The last point reminded you how awkward you are.

"It's not good to isolate yourself, (name). Even if it is just for a few more days." He added. "I would prefer it if you could befriend other students. Perhaps even join a club. But in the meantime, if you cannot help it, go ahead and interact with her. Remember not to take the friendship too far."

You told him okay.

"You still have 20 minutes left, (name). Tell me about your dreams last night." You thought it was an odd prompt. But regardless, you looked up and started to retrieve patchy memories of what you witnessed in your slumber. You began giving him the gist of it, then slowly built up until the conclusion.

That was all you remembered. You don't know what else he wanted.

"That's fascinating, dear. What do you think it all means?" You hummed and spewed out your theories, no matter how strange, idiotic, or random it is, Yves enjoyed listening to it. He was recording everything down, noting that you managed to take his bait.

Eventually, you found that you couldn't stop blabbering from topic to topic. It felt nice to let out your true thoughts, even the most atrociously boring ones-- these are things that you refrained from telling Evangeline about because you think she's probably not interested. Yves is like your journal and you still to this day could not comprehend how his influence managed to make you bleat like a goat. Like you had no shame.

The thought of Evangeline completely slipped your mind. You walked away as a chatterbox, A bag of now cold fried chicken and waffles in one hand, a phone in another.

The blonde watched you slowly disappear into a building where your class would be. Her lips are pressed into a thin, fine line. She pulled her phone out of her tote bag and unlocked it, dialing a number that you might have seen before.

[bonesofchaos]

his gifts lie in transmutation and reanimation, magicks of his parents combined, may their souls rot. but where his father was deranged and his mother a coward, yves seeks to help those who are like he is. witches who have been shredded, who have been soul-cut and scarred.

childhood trauma can damage the soul bond between witch and familiar, warping the shape. it can prevent one from forming entirely, or kill the familiar while leaving the witch alive but halved.

yves can undo the damage, he can heal the scars and mend the bond, because what is necromancy but the touching of souls? he can do for others what can never be done to him, unnatural as cause of damage was. he can reanimate dead familiars, he can soothe the screaming and fix the souls torn to ribbons by hands too heavy to hold them.

[purelymacabre]

his gifts lie in transmutation and reanimation, magicks of his parents combined, may their souls rot. but where his father was deranged and his mother a coward, yves seeks to help those who are like he is. witches who have been shredded, who have been soul-cut and scarred.

childhood trauma can damage the soul bond between witch and familiar, warping the shape. it can prevent one from forming entirely, or kill the familiar while leaving the witch alive but halved.

yves can undo the damage, he can heal the scars and mend the bond, because what is necromancy but the touching of souls? he can do for others what can never be done to him, unnatural as cause of damage was. he can reanimate dead familiars, he can soothe the screaming and fix the souls torn to ribbons by hands too heavy to hold them.

[arte-e-homoerotismo]

Carlos McClendon

Carlos McClendon (12 de outubro de 1923 - 16 de julho de 2008) foi um designer e dono de loja americano. Ele é provavelmente o modelo “desconhecido” mais famoso de George Platt-Lynes, aquele que enfeita a capa do mais recente livro de mesa de centro de George Platt-Lynes. McClendon teve relacionamentos com Christopher Isherwood , George Platt Lynes e Denham Fouts . Ele teve encontros com Monroe Wheeler , Lincoln Kirstein , Paul Cadmus e Bernard Perlin .

Carlos McClendon nasceu em Bakersfield, CA em 12 de outubro de 1923 e viveu os primeiros anos de sua vida no sul da Califórnia. Ele frequentou escolas em Long Beach e mais tarde obteve um BA pela UCLA. Durante e imediatamente após seus anos de faculdade, ele trabalhou no departamento de design do MGM Studios. Durante esse período, ele também foi dançarino da trupe de dança Marie Bryant.

Christopher Isherwood conheceu McClendon por meio de Denny Fouts e John Goodwin na década de 1940, quando McClendon visitava frequentemente a praia em Santa Monica. A amizade continuou muito depois de McClendon deixar Los Angeles no início da década de 1950.

No início de 1950, McClendon mudou-se para Nova York, onde rapidamente se tornou uma força influente e pioneira no varejo boutique, antes que a palavra boutique fosse de uso geral. Sua loja, chamada Chequer, na esquina da Third Avenue com a 50th Street, era especializada em objetos, móveis e roupas exclusivos de lugares como México, Haiti e Marrocos, que ele escolheu em suas viagens. A loja foi um sucesso imediato, notável pelo “olho” especial de McClendon para o belo e o incomum, e ele contava com Greta Garbo e muitos dos criadores de tendências de Nova York entre seus clientes regulares. A loja também inspirou vários imitadores.

No final dos anos 60, ele voltou para Los Angeles e abriu a Chequer West em Hollywood e duplicou o sucesso de seus anos em Nova York. A exclusividade de seu inventário e o fino acabamento de suas roupas feitas à mão rapidamente atraíram uma clientela de estrelas como Barbra Streisand , Candace Bergen e a bailarina Nora Kaye . A boutique apresentava modas nos tecidos mais fabulosos do leste do Extremo Oriente. Designs exclusivos da Costa Oeste pelo proprietário Carlos McClendon e por JoAnn Lopez. As especialidades eram vestidos longos e sem ajuste requintados para mulheres e belos caftãs e robes para homens, todos de materiais incrivelmente lindos como tecido sari indiano, chiffon tie-dye, seda bordada persa, tecidos antigos e seda com padrões de colagem. Cada um era único. Os vestidos custavam de US$ 120 a US$ 500 e os caftãs e robes de US$ 40 a US$ 300. As camisas masculinas foram desenhadas por Ken Scott e por McClendon em estampas e cores sólidas muito coloridas, com preços entre US$ 20 e US$ 60. Para os homens, também havia gravatas de 41/2 polegadas em estampas de seda e lã pura e coletes bordados do Afeganistão. A boutique era uma delícia para dar uma olhada. No pátio dos fundos, havia peças de mobiliário incomuns pintadas à mão por Micela Livingstone. Nas áreas frontal e superior, havia uma vasta seleção de presentes importados estranhos e maravilhosos, novos suéteres, cachecóis e joias e intrigantes bugigangas de todos os lugares.

A empresa Mendes em Paris se tornou um complexo internacional de produção e marketing que fabricava roupas de nomes como Yves Saint Laurent , Rive Gauche, Givenchy , Nouvelle Boutique, Jean Muir, Christian Bailly, Roland Chakkal e a estrela em ascensão da Terra do Sol Nascente, cujas roupas foram trazidas pela primeira vez para Los Angeles por Carlos McClendon, da Chequer West.

Jobey Baker foi um ator e artista que, na década de 1970, tornou-se joalheiro. Seus pingentes e anéis em marfim gravados com prata, com preços de S190 a US$ 2.000, estavam na Chequer West. Também estava em exposição o rag chubby de Carlos McClendon, uma jaqueta incrível feita de restos de tecidos orientais e costurada com o efeito de pele fofa. Com ela veio uma longa saia jeans, aparada novamente com os restos em babados estilo calipso.

Em 1976, Pamela Dewey criou uma nova coleção chamada “Addables and Wadables” vendida na Chequer West. A designer tinge à mão saias de cambraia de algodão, túnicas e tops em cores de picolé, permitindo que a usuária usasse “a moda como um acessório, misturando-os da maneira que a mulher deseja”. De acordo com Carlos McClendon: “Quando conheci a Sra. Dewey em um desfile de moda experimental, pensei que ela tinha um talento especial. Suas roupas são animadas, alegres, muito elegantes, mas relaxadas. Ela tem um feeling para o que as mulheres da Califórnia querem agora. São roupas muito liberadas”. O grande sucesso de Pamela Dewey foi uma mistura que ela rotulou de “o meio-vestido”, que consistia em duas metades verticais separadas que amarravam nas laterais para se tornar um vestido convencional. As metades podiam ser trocadas para criar diferentes combinações de cores. Cada metade custava US$ 25.

McClendon se aposentou em 1986 e se mudou para Pojoaque, onde continuou como um apoiador anônimo das artes. Ele se mudou para Puerto Vallarta em janeiro de 2008 para passar seus últimos meses no Oceano Pacífico que ele amava.

 Morador de Pojoaque/Nambe desde 1986, morreu de causas naturais em 16 de julho de 2008, em Puerto Vallarta, México. McClendon não deixa sobreviventes na família, mas um grupo de velhos e novos amigos. A cremação ocorreu e suas cinzas foram espalhadas no Novo México de acordo com seus desejos.

Back to window | Carlos MacClendon par/by George Platt Lynes 1947

[hillzhqs]

how do we apply + mw?

shoot me a dm & i'll link you to our discord server. there, you can find the application page where you'll just send your apps in that channel!! as for most wanted, here's some from me + our members! : lexi underwood, deepika padukone, taylor zakhar perez, julia dalavia, suki waterhouse, jennie kim, tommy martinez, angelina jolie, matthew gray gubler, idris elba, joshua orpin, catherine zeta jones, bradley cooper, jeremy allen white, ricardo hoyos, chloe bennet, rachel mcadams, brenton thwaites, meghan fahy, daniel ezra, nico tortorella, isis valverde, lucas bravo, issa rae, kahara hodges, jon bernthal, bahar sahin, omar appollo, yves mathieu-east, pete davidson, ben barnes, nikki thot, shawn mendes, keith powers, keith powers, eddie lie, cody christian, kendrick sampson, taylor zakhar perez, d'pharaoh woon-a-tai, francisco lachowski, froy gutierezz, rafael silva, xavier serrano, zayn malik, josh heuston, elle fanning, sobhita dhulipala, florench pugh, chace crawford, ekin koc, aubrey plaza, channing tatum, alex fitzalan, melisa asli pamuk, shay mitchell, angela bassett, xolo mariduena, sasha luss, janelle monae, sarah michelle gellar, nina dobrev, peyton alex smith, daniel sharman, nick creegan, simone ashley, jessica alba, rami malek, ryan gosling, quintessa swindell, and oscar isaac!