#and some of them are not found in any biography about him at all

[marzipanandminutiae]

Dear marzi, for reasons of trying not to give period characters too modern fetishes in my smut, may I have some recs as to where I may find some of that olde fetish content you've previously seen?

On the Wikipedia page for the "corset controversy," unfortunately!

Historians have been taking obvious tightlacing fetish letters seriously for...way too long. And sometimes still are. Confirmation bias is a hell of a thing. Of course, there's no way to 100% tell which letters are fetish fuel and which are real, but generally any that use particularly heightened language or common erotic tropes- or that seem to fly in the face of evidence from extant garments, unedited videos, stock and advertisements from real corset companies, etc. -are to be viewed with suspicion.

(The same is true for letters used now to claim that nipple piercing was a real Victorian trend- for, indeed, the only source is anonymous magazine letters and many of them fall into the same obvious patterns as the tightlacing letters. One DOES describe the alleged process in detail...but it's basically the same as the process for ear-piercing, a service jewelers did commonly offer back then. Just applied to nipples. So whether it's real or not is still uncertain, but it's highly doubtful that large numbers of Victorian women were running around with nipple piercings given that no extant nipple rings have been found, such piercings are never mentioned in letters or diaries or other more concrete sources, etc.)

Besides that, I've seen glimpses of most modern fetishes in various sources:

the Psychopathia Sexualis, a medical manual of "sexual mental illness" (in heavy quotes because things like homosexuality and gender variance are mentioned under that heading), talks about everything from a fetish for tight boots and gloves on women, to bloodplay (initiated by a woman, actually, who wanted to drink her husband's blood), to force-femming, to some very elaborate femdom scenarios that I hope the sex workers in question were paid well for. Of course, since the cases are anonymous, these are also difficult to confirm- but clearly someone had THOUGHT of them, since they're written into the book.

And I've seen at least some of them in other sources, too, including some of the magazines that published the nipple piercing and tightlacing letters. The Englishwomen's Domestic Magazine was notorious for its letters on tightlacing, tight gloves, spanking, etc.

Photographic porn was definitely a thing almost as soon as photography came into being. A lot of it is pretty vanilla, but I could swear I'd seen piss kink photos (with urine painted in after development) before the blog where they were hosted went defunct

James Joyce's letters to his wife get into farting and scat fetish territory. Yes, really.

Speaking of letters, there was one man living here in Boston who, in the late 19th century, wrote letters to his wife describing erotic dreams of her as a giantess who pissed on him and then ate him. I cannot remember his name and it's going to drive me insane all day, but he was the head of Boston's censorship organization, the Watch and Ward society and these letters were first released by his own children for an unauthorized biography written five years after his death. Guess there was little love lost there.

BDSM is old. Like, really old. Old, to quote the sacred texts, as balls. I'm pretty sure there are sexual flagellation texts going back to the Renaissance, but don't quote me on that.

Basically, Rule 34 can be back-applied, too. If it existed, there was a fetish for it, probably. Of course, things that specifically involve modern technology or properties are out, but beyond that...the sky is the limit

[firewalkzwit]

chemical world || simon / john q. x reader (dinner in america)

just a blurb because im up the ass with school and the one-shot i wrote was rubbish sorry. "x reader" might be a stretch its just hqs and stuff i think of simon with song sneaks in the middle coz when do i not

Chemical World - Blur

Simon of extreme hedonistic beliefs above all prioritises nothing other than pleasure, and takes pride in the aesthetic disruption this signifies. Having a shower around won't be enough to pinch his personal hygiene urges, even if it is for the sake of others. He'll bathe if he can and if he wants to.

This obviously extends to his deliberately controversial haircut. It amuses him to watch the discomfort and confusion it creates in those who see him. It's neither a mullet nor a mohawk (matter of fact, he despises either of the groups who wear such hairstyles), but rather his own third thing.

Obviously he's slightly taken aback when you fancy him for it. Not that it has ever prevented him from getting laid (he would have eventually buzzed it if it did), but the occasional compliments and caresses on his greasy hair from your tender hands never fail to remind him that he too is just a mere mortal beneath things like female affection.

Saints - The Breeders

He praises womanhood just as much as he teases it. There is an adolescent air in the way he speaks derogatorily about your mother, or even when he gets turned on out of insulting you in bed. Still, slurs that come and go only wind up humiliating him when he kneels before you, eyes wide open and hungry.

He's very versatile in that department, he'll take any place in bed as long you ask. Nothing is more arousing than your gratitude. He won't be picky about how you express it, but he has favourites; the scratching of nails in a useless attempt of grabbing the wall makes him feel like he really did his job well.

I Am the Resurrection - The Stone Roses

Not having to be functional to work timings or tedious 9 to 5-s allows Simon to have an ample disposition to, what he calls, "fuck around" any day, anytime. Although he resents the fact that you occasionally choose your adult responsibilities above him, he'll hardly hold you to it for too long. Instead, decompression is highly recreational and experimental. A wide range of psychedelics, psychotropics, psycholeptics... all to be found in some dubious corner of his backpack.

Frankly, open-mindedness is one of the few must-have traits to date him. He wont tolerate uptight or rigorous personalities. This does not imply that it was ever a requirement for you to be an avid drug consumer, but he'll take no reprimands if he chooses to pop a Percocet.

Simon's open-mindedness policy is fairly restricted when it comes to music. Not that he only listens to one genre, as his enthusiasm for punk has inevitably derived in enjoying all of those that influenced or derivate from it, but he believes most are acquired tastes. Sonic Youth, Dinosaur Jr., Melvins and Fugazi sit around in his record collection.

He loves it when you ask about his records, and far from judging you if you ever don't know, he'll sit down on the floor with his back rested against the bed and his records in hand. Encyclopedic narrations of the socio-cultural context of the origin of most of his favourite bands could be biography-worth if it weren't for all the "fuck"s between them.

"Fuckin' Christ, Pink Flag? That fuckin' invented post-punk. Would I care for that shit if it didn't? Probably not, but because of fuckin' Wire now I have to give a fuck about these snobby fucks from Bauhaus and the idiots in PiL."

Strange - Galaxie 500

The record player in your room is mostly crowded around by his own collection, which was homeless up until recently. There's many things Simon likes about you, but taking in his records was to him what to others is a ring on their finger.

In a relationship with someone who thinks music is sacred, you cannot miss his gigs, they are mass. He loves to parade you around backstage to his bandmates and sing to you when they play, loves that you take your friends with you; so they can see you seeing him. Nothing makes him feel more desired than spotting you in the crowd mouthing his lyrics.

Post-shows getting wrecked in a local bar until they kick you out is his favourite thing to do, but he'll take backseat sex if he sees you're in the mood for it, subtly letting everyone know as he guides you holding you by the wrist. On colder seasons, the night dew will curtain the windows of the pick-up truck he borrows just in hopes that you'll give him the special look, inviting him for a quickie before heading home letting you pick the radio station.

Just Like Honey - The Jesus and Mary Chain

[nicksbestie]

hi! i’m not sure if you’re requests are open, but if they are could you write one where chris’s gf is a little and she’s scared to tell him? thank you so much 💜💜💜

We Should Talk - C. Sturniolo

Summary : Chris discovers something that you weren't ready to tell him yet, and a tough conversation ensues.

Warnings : 1634

Word Count : Crying, mentions of anxiety

Pairing : Chris Sturniolo/Reader (romantic)

A/N : This is an age regression fic, which is purely safe for work and innocent. Any hate/disrespect towards me, my work, or readers, will not be tolerated.

Chris had a lot of social media. Of course he did, his entire job was on the Internet.

He had to have a social media presence to continue to keep that career afloat, but there were some apps that he just didn’t see a purpose in keeping. Every now and again he would redownload some of them just to see what all was going on in their fanbase on those specific apps, but he never really stuck around for long. One of those apps was Twitter, and it was arguably one of the most toxic platforms he had ever seen. Their fanbase wasn’t terribly chaotic, but the app just had so much discourse going on in it at any given point in time that Chris had never felt like it was worth it.

 However, he was intrigued, so he had decided to download it and make a burner account so he could be private about his existence on the app, not wanting his notifications to be filled and his direct messages to be completely clogged. That did wonders for his ego every now and again, but he also never checked them and eventually it got overwhelming. But as he finished setting up the app, he saw something unrelated to his fanbase that he wasn’t expecting, at all.

When you finish setting up your account, the app asks you if you would like to sync your contacts. Chris had no issues doing this, as it would make it easier to view some of his friend’s profiles without having to search for them. To put it shortly, he wouldn’t have to go stalking. But one of the accounts that popped up after his contacts finished syncing caught his attention. It was an account covered in pastels, and the biography under it was very… interesting. 

“nxsl agere <3 big age __, little age __. obsessed with my daddy who doesn’t know he’s my daddy… yet? nsfw dni!!!”

The thing that really threw him for a loop was that when he looked to see which contact was linked to this account, he read the words “in your contacts as : my girl .” He was confused when he saw this, and curious as well, having not known about this account. He thought he had known about all of your social media, as he followed you on everything except Twitter, but he had still seen your personal Twitter account, but he had no idea you had another one. He wasn’t angry or anything, not being a controlling boyfriend, just more intrigued than anything else. He had never seen an account like this, so he began to scroll through it. 

He simply became more and more confused as he looked through the account. He saw a ton of posts about childlike things, coloring, shows, even pacifiers and bottles, and he found so many tweets in what seemed like baby talk, nearly all of them referencing your “daddy”. He really just didn’t understand what that meant until he scrolled through some replies on a post about an ask game, where your mutuals could ask you any questions, and one of them had asked you if you were single. You had of course replied with no, and the same person had asked if Chris was your carer. He didn’t really understand what that meant, but as he saw your reply, it seemed to fall into place.

“i think of him that way, but he doesn’t know. i hope he’ll be my daddy eventually!”

Daddy? The thought of it threw him for a loop. Chris was completely uncomfortable with any sort of daddy or parental kink, but there was something about this that really made him think it had nothing to do with sex. He hadn’t seen anything inappropriate at all, and he had been scrolling for a while now. So he wasn’t grossed out, because even in the biography of the account it says that it wasn’t sexual at all, but he didn’t know what to make of it. Finally, he turned to Google for help.

With the help of an Internet browser, he was able to decipher that the word “agere” was an abbreviation, for a thing called age regression. He continued to go down the rabbit hole of research and articles, and the more he read about it, the more the account made sense. He wasn’t confused or weirded out, if anything he felt sad that you hadn’t been able to come to him about this. He didn’t know how long you had been hiding this from him, and his heart hurt at the fact that you felt like he couldn’t know about it. He only felt worse for you when he saw some sad tweets, deciphering through the baby talk, seeing you upset that you were alone. 

When he found out that it was normally caused by a lot of trauma or mental health issues, he realized that it really did fit his girlfriend. You had been through a lot in a short amount of time, and he couldn’t blame you for feeling so desperate to find something that helps you. He was happy for you, more than anything, because clearly this was helping you for the majority of the time. You of course had your sad moments, but he felt like there were a lot of good moments to outweigh them. From your account presence, you seemed like you were genuinely a lot happier, filled with pure and childish joy. The more he understood, the more he wanted to be there for you, to fill that role that you clearly also wanted him to do.

 So, then came the problem of how is he going to bring this up to you? He didn’t know how he was going to move forward with this information without scaring you off or causing you to panic. You weren’t home right now, you had gone off to hang out with a friend after work, and he was expecting you back quite soon, so that only gave him a little bit of time for him to figure out how he was going to approach the situation. By the time he heard your car pull into the driveway, he was thinking that the best idea was probably to just sit down and talk to you about it, so that was exactly what he was planning on doing. 

He greeted you the same way he normally did, hugging you and telling you he missed you, and he waited until after you’d eaten and were curled up in bed together, enjoying the time you got to spend relaxing with each other to bring it up.

“Babe?” 

“Yeah?” 

“Can we talk about something? It’s not bad at all, though.” 

You were definitely on edge a little bit, despite his reassurances. 

“Sure, what’s up?” 

Chris didn’t move any part of him from the way he was, not wanting you to sense a change in body language and freak out.

“So I downloaded Twitter today and decided to set up an account, and you know how it asks you if you want to sync your contacts?” 

“Yeah.. what about it?” 

You were thinking that your personal account had been linked to your number, not your secret one, so you were on edge, but hadn’t figured out why he was bringing this up yet.

“Yeah. So, an account linked to your number came up, one that I didn’t know existed.” 

Your cheeks immediately flushed red and you broke eye contact, knowing exactly what he meant now. You could feel the tears coating your waterline, anxiety building in your chest, feeling like a bomb ready to explode. You waited for the ball to drop, for something terrible to come out of Chris’ mouth, but he simply just held you closer.

“I think we should talk about it, okay?” 

Nothing but a short “I’m sorry” slipped through your lips, and Chris looked confused at your response.

“For what, baby? You did nothing wrong, I’m not angry at you.”

The realization that he had probably, if not definitely, seen everything, caused a couple of the tears to fall from your eyes, as you desperately tried to stop them from becoming full on waterworks. Chris let out a soft hum, pulling you impossibly closer, wiping tears off of your face.

“It’s okay. I promise, it’s okay. You don’t have to talk much, I can. I did research on my own, I think I understand what’s going on, I just want you to tell me what you want from me, okay? I want to be here for you, I want to help wherever I can.”

The lack of judgment, the pure acceptance, the increasing love, made you unable to hold in any emotion any longer. You cried, and Chris simply held you, letting you cry all of your feelings out.

“You’re safe with me, okay? I’m not going to judge you. I know you’ve been alone in this for a while, and that can change if you want it to. Do you want that?” 

He didn’t get a verbal reply, but he could feel the nod against his chest. 

“Okay. Do you want me to be your daddy?” 

Another nod, and you pulled your face away from his shirt, feeling bad when you saw the giant wet patch, and he immediately reassured you.

“Don’t worry, babe, it’s just a shirt. I can change. It’s okay. Everything is going to be okay.”

“Thank you.” 

His smile was bright, as to soothe your fear, but his eyes showed sympathy.

“You don’t need to thank me. I’m more than happy to be here for you. I love you, and you’re going to be okay.” 

As you whispered your own confession of love back to him, you knew it was true. 

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[writing-with-sophia]

How to get into the mind of a character? Honestly this can be for your OWN character or a fictional character. I'm wanting to write for characters- headcanons and fanfictions- and I'm so afraid I'll write them so uncanny to how they actually are.

How to get into the mind of a character?

To get into the mind of a character, you have to understand that character, believe in that character, and even "live" the character's life. But we all know each individual is different, and we cannot live different lives. A normal person who grew up in peacetime cannot fully understand the hardships of a warrior, and a doctor cannot know the thoughts of a mafia boss.

So, how can writers create believable characters? How can they possibly offer a believable soldier, cop, detective, alcoholic, or any given character type if they themselves haven't lived as them? How can they possibly offer a believable character in a situation that they've never been in?

Here are some tips you can use to get into the minds of characters:

Tip 1: Observe real-life people

To create well-rounded characters, observe real people around you. Pay attention to their behaviors, mannerisms, speech patterns, and thought processes. Take note of how they express emotions, handle conflicts, and make decisions. Drawing from real-life observations can add depth and authenticity to your characters. You can also search for novels and movies with different themes, study how characters with different pasts, biographies, occupations, and personalities act, behave, gesture, and speak. The best way is to prepare a small notebook and a pen so you can carry it with you wherever you go.

Tip 2: Create a detailed character profile

Develop a detailed character profile that includes information such as their age, background, beliefs, values, goals, and fears. Consider their relationships with other characters and how these dynamics influence their thoughts and actions. Delve into the character's past and explore significant events that have shaped them. Consider their upbringing, traumas, successes, and failures. These can provide you with a roadmap for understanding the character's mindset.

Tip 3: Use internal monologues and journaling

Imagine the character's internal thoughts and dialogues with themselves. Consider what they might be thinking in different situations, their hopes, dreams, and fears. (And why do they dream of that? Why are they afraid of that thing? What in the past made them afraid? Always asking questions.) Writing internal monologues or journal entries from the character's perspective can help you delve into their mindset and gain insight into their unique voice.

Tip 4: Consider their external influences

Characters are influenced by their environment, culture, and society. Reflect on how external factors such as family, friends, societal norms, or even the story's setting impact their thoughts and behaviors. This will help you portray their worldview more accurately.

Tip 5: Study the source material

If you're writing about an existing character from a book, TV show, or movie, immerse yourself in the source material. Pay attention to their dialogue, actions, and interactions with other characters. Take note of their personality traits, motivations, and backstory. This will help you develop a strong foundation for understanding the character. For example, recently I suddenly became interested in Nightwing (do you know him? Nightwing from the Batman series!), and I wanted to write a few short stories about him. So I found all the comics and movies that featured Nightwing and watched them one by one. I don't take notes because I have a pretty good memory (especially for characters I like), but I still recommend taking notes on special things to note.

Tip 6: Practice free writing

Set aside time for free writing exercises where you write from the character's point of view. Allow your thoughts to flow without judgment or editing. Just write, write, and write. You can reread and make corrections after you're done. Remember to gather your posts in one place; otherwise, you'll lose or forget them (like me!).

Getting into the mind of a character is an ongoing process that requires continuous exploration and refinement. The more you invest in understanding your character's thoughts, feelings, and motivations, the more compelling and authentic your writing will become.

Additionally, you can read my articles on how to write an effective character here:

How to create a superbad villain

How to make a villain's appearance memorable

Basic questions for your character

Describing a villain's appearance in a natural way

Create an effectively past for character

Common character motivations

How to create a good main character

How to avoid the instance where a secondary character stands out more/ is more lovable?

Character flaws

Writing a good Anti-Hero

Character positive traits

How to write an elderly main character?

Protagonist who is a ballerina

How to write a believeable egotistical character

[pub-lius]

hiiii :3

i just read your response to an ask about your reason for disliking ron chernow’s alexander hamilton book, and i wanted to ask if i can still use it as source for some info. i’ve done my fair share of research on various topics and my opinions/what i’ve read differentiated strongly sometimes from what he wrote, but some things are just hard to come by (as somebody not from the US who doesn’t have local resources and has to rely on stuff i can find online). what do you suggest i do if i want more accurate info? i know the founders archive but other than that i haven’t found a lot of trustworthy sources concerning the amrev that aren’t $300 textbooks?

idk- sorry this is really long :,) i’m not sure in im making any sense haha

Girl have you seen the length of my posts? This is not long at all, and you make perfect sense.

And if you have seen my posts, you may notice that Chernow is my most frequent citation because of how valuable his biographies are as sources. He does intensely thorough research and his index and bibliography are so extensive, I can’t even make a joke about getting them as a tramp stamp.

Chernow is a great source and I do recommend any starting Hamilton scholar to get a copy, if you have the means and patience. The downfalls of it are its a hard read and his personal interpretations are heavily skewed and biased in various directions, which is only different from other historians because he doesn’t give proper evidence and substantiation to these claims. All you need to have in order to recognize this is basic critical thinking skills. Tl;dr: Chernow is a great source, he’s just fucking annoying and I hate him.

One very good thing about Chernow is that his book is so (painfully) extensive, that it can serve as a source for more than just Hamilton, so there’s no shame in using him as a source for *checks notes* how the island of St. Kitts and Nevis was formed from a volcano, if you’re into that.

I see your inability to access US propaganda and I raise you youtube documentaries. That may sound crazy, but you can put it on in the background and cross reference between them (usually repeated details are closest to the truth). They can also be entertaining, especially if they’re from the 80s (i love the 80s). Additionally, if you’re looking for archives, @maip--macrothorax can tell you all the benefits of Internet Archive (if they aren’t too busy borrowing all of the books on there /lh). You can also find a lot of things on the Library of Congress’s website, and also my favorite governmental department:

THE NATIONAL PARK SERVICE!!

Go to the national park service, it includes all the battlefields, important buildings, where important buildings used to be, the houses of historical figures, and really pretty parks (also like mount gaymore (rushmore) and shit but wtvr). They have tons of information and great archivists and librarians and i long for their jobs. Also, American Battlefield Trust, Mount Vernon, The Museum of the American Revolution, etc. also have great sources and tons of information- along with wonderful reenactments that they have on youtube!!

I also do my best to make these sources as accessible as possible, so if you do some perusing you might be able to find some of this stuff here, but I am always happy to answer asks with links or research though I am very slow (sorry). And of course, my dms are open and I probably wouldn’t be totally infuriated if you found me at my local library and asked for directions to the non-fiction section. I am the personal librarian of tumblr.com, so ask away and I’ll be there!!

[spoiled-fawn]

Part 1: Meeting John Price

Western AU; Mail Order Spouse Trope

WC: 3,131 CW: None

AN: My beloved! John Price! Would love to hear your thoughts and comments, as well as any questions. I hope ye enjoy <3

Please see the following for the explanation and precursors to the scene!

Introduction, Biography

--------

Truthfully, you’re glad you didn't have many friends in town, as it meant no one to share unnecessary secrets with, nor did it spread any word of what you were up to in your free time. 

However, that isn’t to say that you trusted at least some people in the small town you lived in, such as your boss.

A scapegoat for you to write your correspondence letters was that you simply had to stay late on the farm, working extra long hours because of something that was messed up, or because you knew your parents wouldn’t argue with the fact that you were getting more money.

Feeling that you were a decent enough candidate for John to consider since you are working as a farm hand already, you decided to write your first correspondence the next day. Once sent, you received a letter back from him four days later and by god, did he sound like such a gentleman. 

You were able to soon confide in him on how you wanted to leave town, start fresh, but stick with what you know since you did work on the well-known “Loyal Laswell Farm,” and help out around their farmhouse with common jobs such as sewing, cooking, and even making a dirty barn looked organized- a man’s dream spouse.

With only two weeks passing and less than a handful of letters to be traded, you already had money and an open invitation to John’s ranch. Through your correspondence, John stated that he had already known of Kate Laswell, her having been a long ago buyer from him and even she had sought out advice on taking care of her lambs long ago. 

John connected the dots and realized that you were the trusty youngling that she hired early on; He already trusted your morale if Laswell had kept you after all this time. (And if Laswell did gloat about you once in a while, that was a secret between her and John.) After finding out about the mutual connection, you confided in her. 

Kate, already knowing of your family’s vices, was pleasantly surprised by your major turn of life events and how quickly your fate had been granted to you in the form of Price. She made sure your head was screwed on straight enough that if it didn’t work out, you could mail her and she would help you figure it out from there…

Kate’s wife chimed in and said you and Price would be a great fit.

The two women gave their aid to you in the form of gifting you your favorite horse to ride off on during your long journey. You only brought a handful of items from your parent's house, slowly, and used the remaining amounts of wardrobe you kept at the farm to pack up. With two bags packed and some food, feed, a gun being courtesy of Laswell’s wife, and a celebratory pack of cigars for John (Kate’s wedding gift), you were on your way. 

It only took you a week by horseback, luckily traveling near the Oregon Trail that had already had sorted paths cleared and lived-in, you only needed to stop when you and your horse did. You were able to send John updated letters, but were not able to receive them due to constantly being on the move. This left you daydreaming about him.

John wrote that he is originally from Deadwood, South Dakota. He comes from a long line of lawmen and followed in their footsteps in his early adult life. However, as John became sheriff and notorious for his hardened but fair demeanor, he began to see the justice system slip through the cracks right in front of him. Murderers would walk away and many left unjustly prosecuted in other cases. It angered and dwelled on him so much that he retired early on. John soon found his solace in the quiet mountain town of Pitkin, Colorado. John describes himself as a proud man who is protective and respectful, an old soul who loves his whiskey - and is looking for his strawberry wine. He is a weathered man who can fix any problems of yours, all at the cost of a shoulder to lean on and someone to spend the rest of his days with.

Coming into Pitkin, it brings forth a small town nestled within luscious green mountains and a strip of shops down the main road that highlights most of the town's activity. Riding through, you were an obvious sight to be had; a new face set out on a horse with minimal bags packed on the back. You didn’t seem like a traveler, no, you seemed like someone who was on a mission to find something- someone. 

Smiling and giving small nods towards those who stare, your cheeks have a faint blush from the attention as you ride down the strip and toward the end of the town. Soon, the signs have a label of a bull, a common connotation of a ranch, causing you to garner up a bit more hope and hold your head high as you click your horse into a canter. 

The sound of your horse's hooves thundering on the ground cannot beat the thrum of your heart; riding over the hill, you’re greeted with a breathtaking view of the Alpine mountains that dip into a valley with an absurd amount of leveled planes that make you believe the land was spread flat by an inviting entity. Your eyes come into focus on small black dots that move before you make out to be the shape of cattle grazing across the green and flowing grass.

There sits a house atop the hill that is before the dip of the valley, where a fence surrounds a large barn that is directly adjacent to the house. You bring your horse to a slow walk as you take in the view of the wooden house; it's a cabin-styled home but large in the additions that have been formed around the sides, making it one of the bigger houses in town. The barn rivals its size by double, and the open stalls along the side let you glimpse into the hay-filled homes of horses that linger near the fences. You have to do a double take when you see movement in the barn that is all too human-like, then pulling the reigns of your horse once a few feet away from the entrance to stop and watch. 

A man stands, low grunts leaving him as he stretches his back before grabbing a hay bayle and beginning to break it up. He wears a worn-out pair of jeans and a cowboy hat as his low whistling breaks the silence between the surrounding horses neighing at your new appearance. In an instant, you know immediately this is John.

To your surprise, your horse greets the others in a sharp jeer of noise, causing him to turn around in surprise his eyes dart up at you.

For a second, you’re humored at the look he gives, not expecting something so sweet as you to ride into his ranch and most likely expecting someone within the town to come to bother him. 

But in an instant, he knows exactly who you are. 

After his shock wears off, he sets down the hay and reaches up to take his cowboy hat off and place it on his chest as he walks toward you. Letting out a low whistle, his eyes roam over you with an enamored stare. “God was just showin’ off when he made you, sweetheart.” Comes the low timbre of his voice, sending a small fire of desire shimmying through your vertebrae. 

A soft smile graces your face in return, halting your horse for the time being as he comes up to you. “Good morning sir, would I be right to assume that you are John Price, the owner of this ranch?” You ask after a moment of your eyes trailing over him, taking in his face and ice-blue eyes while he approaches to help you down from your horse.

“That I am, Sweetheart. And I suppose you’re the one that I’ve been lookin’ so forward to meetin’, that right?” He asks in return, a small smirk taking his lips while he helps you lower down from the saddle. You smile at the extended hand, taking it as you swing your opposite leg out of the stirrup while feeling the touch of his other hand coming to caress your hip in a gentle fashion.

"I hope you've been as comfortable as one can be on a week-long ride," John comments softly, keeping his hand on you once you're firmly planted on the ground as his eyes scan you from head to toe. "How you feelin’?" He asks sweetly, now finding your eyes with genuine affection in his tone.

In response to his lingering touch on your hip, and feeling it travel to your waist with a brief squeeze before he lets it fall, you give him a small squeeze of the hand you're holding to. “Not too shabby; was able to get a room a few of the nights along the way. I’m thankful for the good weather I had while getting here.” You respond as you shift your saddle-sore hips for a moment and reorient your limbs to standing. 

"You're not so shabby yourself, sweet thing'." He compliments softly as he releases you, then grabs your horse’s bridle and releases the bit before attaching his own lead to it, and a small feeling of surprise crosses your mind at how easily he handles new horses. Then, gesturing for you to follow him. "Come on. Let me show you around." John leads with comfortable confidence, letting your horse sniff him while leading him to an open stall with some water and feed. 

“Thank you for letting me bring my stallion here, Laswell gifted him to me when I was sayin’ goodbye. Said you may remember him from when he was a foal?” You prompt with a tilt of curiosity at the edge of your words while you join them in the stall to unload your bags and take the saddle off.

Looking back towards him, his eyes are looking over the horse for any identifiers, hints that would make him remember. “Not quite sure I remember this one, sweetheart. He got a name?” John asks in response once finished doing a sweepdown of his mane and a quick swipe of his hair coat.

“Laswell said he’s always been named Captain.” You answer curtly, now looking to see his reaction, if any.

It takes a moment for you to narrow in on the way the left side of his mustache twitches slightly before he breaks out into an all-out smile. “Well, I’ll be damned…” John trails out as he moves back towards Captain's head.

His blue eyes shine in the light of the barn windows, meeting yours for a moment while a boyish charm takes over his face. “This slick bastard got you all the way over to me?” John speaks with a gruffness that intertwines with amusement; the way his hands move to rub over the horse's forehead and nose showcases a glimpse of a gentle side reserved for his animals.

As you scrunch your eyebrows up in confusion, John catches your expression and gives a hearty chuckle in response. “I helped birth this one the day that Kate came up here to buy some lambs. Her wife was cryin’, thinking that him and his momma were gonna die.” He answers before moving to give Captain a pat on his chest, a huff of his breath coming out in response. 

“He had both him’s front legs back during contractions. Had to help the mare by pushing his fat head on in to get him to readjust. Kate and her wife saw the whole thing.” He finishes with a hum and a distant look in his eyes only for a second, now coming back to your side and picking up a bag of yours.

“This all you got? Woulda expected a bit more from a woman movin' out west, especially to the cold mountains.” He states with a cocked eyebrow, eyeing as you bend down to hoist the remaining bag over your shoulder. You both give Captain a farewell tap before exiting the stall and heading towards Johns's house.

You wait on replying for a moment as you take a longer look at the structure, noting the wooden panels that exude a warm and weathered patina, a testament to the house's endurance against the harsh elements of the wild. The front features a symmetrical facade, with a steeply pitched gable roof that displays a combination of wooden shingles and iron accents. Windows are evenly placed on the front-facing sides of the house, and shutters open to allow glimpses into the inside.

“Didn’t have a lot to bring if I’m being honest. Just packed up what I liked and wanted, then left.” You answer with a confident nod, leaving it at that. “I did plan on finding some new or old fabrics to start making winter coats for myself.” You add on quickly, thinking over how quickly the chill must set in within the mountain valley.

You follow John onto the front porch of the house, “Ah, you do some of that fancy work or just plain work?” He inquires while gesturing for you to step inside the entrance. You’re greeted by a spacious entryway, designed to be practical and modest. The floors, made of polished wide planks, creak softly under the added weight of yourself next to John, a new soul to provide protection to in the house.

To the front of the entryway, is his living room, its centerpiece being a grand stone fireplace, providing warmth and comfort during the chilly evenings. Leather upholstered furniture invites warmth to the house, and you can see a good amount of hides used as a rug and even a throw blanket over the couch, while ornate coffee cans and some intricately shaped vases linger around the surfaces. 

The sound of your mouth opening and closing resonates in the silence of you two standing there before John shuts the door softly behind you and ultimately snaps you out of your daze. “Um, just some plain work. Never had the time or materials to work on some fancy clothes, would rather make things I know I’m gonna use.” You answer while moving to face adjacent to where he stands in front of the door.

His eyes track your own as your attention comes back to rest on him, a small smirk tugging on the edge of his mouth. With a quick laugh, he moves to place his left hand along your back, his cold fingers sliding to the place between your shoulders. “Welcome home, Sweetheart.” He smiles while speaking softly, leaning over to place a light kiss atop your head. 

When he moves back from your space, which you want to ultimately follow as you feel his warmth radiate next to you and already adore the way his voice dips impossibly lower when speaking so gently, his hand slides down to the small of your back and gives a small tap to lead you forward. “Come on, let's get you settled in.” He beckons you while walking to a door that is adjacent to the entrance.

Walking in, John’s bedroom exudes a haven, signifying his rest and relaxation at the end of the day. The warm, earthy tones of the wood and furniture create an internal warmth, in contrast to the view of the surrounding mountains of green and glimpse over the cattle that wander the land, the windows laden with lace curtains.

The bed was the average size for the master bedroom; The double bed sat its headboard against the wall to the right of the entrance, facing the windows. A large red quilt adorns the bed while the bed itself is a robust wooden frame with upright pieces of carved and sanded wood posted taller at each corner of the bed.

In the corner is another stone fireplace, where an armchair sits to serve as a place for John to unwind, read a book, or reflect on the day. A well-worn wooden dresser stands against one wall, its surface adorned with a few cherished mementos - a faded photograph of him on a horse, a weathered pocket watch that has seen countless sunsets, and a small collection of polished rocks, each one possibly a reminder of a special moment.

"It's not much." He pauses before speaking again, his tone becoming more personal. "And I'd love to have you share my bed when you're comfortable. However, if you need time to adjust, I can set myself up in the living room. I don't wish to pressure you if you're not comfortable yet."

The sweet and respectful offer doesn’t fly over you, and a small smile rises over your lips. “Thank you, John. That’s awfully considerate of everything you’re doing for me. I don’t want to burden you with sleeping on your own couch, I wouldn't mind.” You answer while slowly walking to the dresser, placing your bag down by the foot of it.

“It may take a few days to adjust and get to know you, but-” you take a second to turn around and look at his form with a small shy smile, “I don’t think I’ll keep you waiting long.” You finish as a soft blush rises to the apples of your cheeks. Your hands come to interlace together in the front of your lap as his heavy footsteps make their way towards you with a bright smile that borders a smirk.

He stops in front of you, holding eye contact as he places your other bag down. “Ain’t no way in hell I’d be letting you sleep on the couch, sweetheart. But, I do look forward to hearing your answer. When you’re ready for it.” He speaks in a gruff voice, eyebrows raised to make sure you're taking his answer to heart and understanding, his warm hands moving to enclose both of yours within his grasp.

Bringing your hands up to his lips, you watch with rapt attention at his mouth puckering and in turn, making his facial hair move in the action, then leaving a warm and gentle kiss on the back of each hand.

His eyes don’t stray from yours while doing so, his blue eyes bring an inviting wave of ice- the kind you actively seek when you’re feeling too hot or need to wake up. “Now, how about I show you the rest of the ranch, babydoll?” He asks with a soft grin, pulling you just a fraction closer by the grip of your hands.

[kerizaret]

I have a hc that Saki picked up A LOT of various skills or knowledge while at the hospital that was just fun or distracting and a way for her to spend the days there and not be bored. Some of these are useful things, but others are just... completely random

Sure, she might've not had a chance to learn how to cook... But she can knit really well instead! The grandmas she met at the hospital were a huge help. All of l/n have at least one sweater hand knitted by her

Math was hard to learn when you didn't attend school a lot, but she found she's picked up learning languages a lot easier! So, she's been learning some by herself. She's really good at English and knows some Chinese too. She's even managed to pick up a little French because she thought it's classy. She's watched a lot of videos and movies and dramas or donghuas in original languages, and regularly listens to an English podcast on fashion. She ends up helping an embarrassed but very grateful Tsukasa with his broken English a lot later on, too, because she cannot listen to him. She's also practiced a lot of tongue-twisters which she can say really fast now, in all Japanese, Chinese and English

Also, sign language! She's learnt some basics of JSL

Obviously she's been following the trends a lot to see what's popular to wear right now, but then she got dragged into the hole that is fashion history... Now she can accurately describe you from memory what was commonly worn by any social class in various eras in Japan and also some in France (it's known as the country of fashion, after all! It's also part of the reason of her picking that language to learn), and knows the biographies of a lot of important fashion figures

She can fold very complicated origami deisgns by heart and also do miniature origami models. She's got boxes full of old origami sculptures(?) shes made over the years. She's also given a lot of them away to other patients when they were upset or when some were leaving the hospital, and also gifted some to all her doctors when she was finally discharged herself

She's TRIED to learn lockpicking, but the doctors once caught her sneaking out at night trying to pick at some medicine cabinet to practice and the conversation following it was so awkward that she didn't try it again...

She knows a lot about flower language (thanks to Ichika. They discussed that a lot whenever she came to visit her and brought a new bouquet in tow). She can solve a Rubik's cube in under a minute and shuffle cards really quick, too. She even knows a few card tricks. She can twirl a pen, which she later does A LOT in class, quote several poems from memory. She's learnt to write basic calligraphy

Because y'know, sometimes you need to do something new and/or time/thought–consuming to distract yourself from the bad and painful stuff. And in the end it's still something she can use now and be proud of and that she can share to make others happy, too. And just have fun

[mariacallous]

I’m afraid I shrieked when I read that Michael Cole – longterm publicist for the late former Harrods owner Mohamed Al Fayed – cannot come to the phone these days. If you covered a certain phase of British public life, you would know that Michael Cole could always come to the phone. Coming to the phone was what Michael Cole did, always to emit some hugely pompous shitblast in defence of his master, who is now the subject of multiple rape and sexual assault allegations. Alas, Michael is currently so shocked that no emission has been forthcoming. Instead, his wife was deployed to inform the press that Michael “is not giving any interviews or talking at the moment”. However, she did claim he found the women’s allegations “terribly distressing” and that “of course” he had been unaware of all of it.

From spokesman to sending out your spokeswife … I would say life comes at you fast, but of course it doesn’t. Fayed ran his entire race without his years of alleged sexual crimes catching up with him, and though he is not entombed in a pyramid on the roof of Harrods, as he wished, he certainly got away with it all. When he died, Cole rushed out to inform Radio 4’s Today programme that his former boss was “fascinating … larger than life … full of great humanity”. Yeah – not the third one.

According to the spokeswife, Cole is now in seclusion dealing with the incredible shock of the mounting allegations that Fayed was a prolific sex offender. Since the BBC documentary based on the testimony of 20 women aired, another 100 approaches have been made to the legal team who were already representing 37 women, and it is safe to assume there are many still too traumatised to make that call. I shall leave it to readers to decide whether Michael, a former journalist, has somehow forgotten about all the allegations of sexual impropriety made during Fayed’s lifetime that he personally batted away – or whether he is simply the worst publicist ever for having zero clue about any of his client’s alleged … what is the word? … “vulnerabilities”. Given that Tom Bower’s unauthorised biography, which detailed several allegations of sexual assault, came out while Cole was specifically charged with handling Fayed’s publicity, his lack of curiosity/memory seems sensationally remarkable.

But then, it isn’t remarkable – and it is unfair to single out Michael. The Times yesterday published a useful rundown of Fayed’s people, from the mouthpieces, lawyers and security henchmen to the doctors who performed “purity examinations” on young female PAs. When you see the vast scale of it all, “entourage” sounds too wan a word for this motley crew of enablers, enforcers and concealers, and for all the other motley crews that surrounded “larger than life” men, from Michael Jackson to Harvey Weinstein to Jimmy Savile. I prefer to think of such set-ups as the sex-case industrial complex.

Fayed’s isn’t even the only one in the current news cycle. Much has and will be written about the charges of sex trafficking, racketeering and transportation to engage in prostitution laid against the music mogul Diddy, real name Sean Combs. But for space constraints I want to focus on a 2016 surveillance video which surfaced back in May, in which a towel-clad Combs is shown throwing his former girlfriend Cassie Ventura to the floor in a hotel corridor, then repeatedly kicking her before dragging her motionless body back towards the room she has just escaped.

I wasn’t surprised that Cassie had long been telling the truth, despite Diddy’s serial denials. What took my breath away was what the location implied – the sheer number of people who must have been involved in justice not being served. What exactly is the process for covering up a filmed incident of serious assault by an international star in the corridor of a hotel owned by a major international chain? Let’s just say I imagine Diddy’s lot are quite familiar with it. But think of the hotel side. There are CCTV images – it is a whole department’s job to monitor CCTV. Were the management informed? Where were the police? Quite the mystery.

In Combs’s camp, you can only guess at how many of the sex-case industrial complex were called upon to do their special designated job to make it go away. Lawyers, NDA experts, crisis PRs – who knows the precise combination of moving parts, but they were presumably all working in perfect symphony to ensure that this ghastly footage never went anywhere until CNN published it in May, a staggering eight years after it occurred. Diddy’s powers were beginning to desert him – but even weeks before, a raid as he was about to board his private jet had resulted in the arrest of only one individual for possession of drugs. Not Diddy, you understand, but a former college basketball star player who was part of his entourage. “How did a college hooper become Diddy’s alleged drug mule?” ran a New York magazine headline.

The sex-case industrial complex is a place where everyone has their job, a whole interconnected corrupt society that regularly comes into contact with actual society – a boring place of rules and boundaries – but only in order to take what it wants and spin off back into the lawless ether again. Mohamed Al Fayed’s Harrods was also like this, according to multiple allegations. As far back as 1998, Henry Porter wrote in this newspaper of some investigative run-ins with Fayed’s people, stating that he had been “left with the eerie sense that we had been dealing with a foreign power: a fiefdom, which despite its real location in Knightsbridge, operated quite independently from the rest of Britain, with a security service of its own, an armed police force and a tyrant in command”. He was right, as all those shut down by the Diddy machine in recent years were too. We still live in a world of powerful men’s Neverlands.

[onepieceisreeeeaaalll]

Straw Hats Favorite Book Genres

I'm personally a bookworm and wanted to give my thoughts on this~

Luffy: Picture books, not because he can't read, but he likes looking at the funny pictures and making his own stories. He can be pretty creative about the twists and turns, even if they don't make much sense. He loves pirate tales and as a kid he would always put himself in the stories as Captain Luffy!

Zoro: This man does not read. However, he's always enjoyed action stories people have told him - full of adventure, daring fights, the rise and fall of character arcs. It enthralls him to hear it being told to him far more than if he ever attempted to read the same story from a book. That being said, if someone just started telling him a story they were reading, he'd act annoyed but then say, "Yeah? Then what happened?"

Nami: She is a sucker for a good romance. Specifically the ones where the main plot is fraught with danger, action and angst. She doesn't often take the time to read, and will sometimes take suggestions from Robin in her downtime.

Usopp: This boy loves urban legends and fairytales. He's always appreciated the way those stories can be both silly and dramatic, and he'll often recall them on his own adventures, making comparisons from what he remembers.

Sanji: He doesn't really care about reading now as an adult, but it was his escape when he was a kid. He loved to read about far away lands and adventures that involve groups of friends. He's always been seeking that found family dynamic and hasn't even realized he's fulfilled that dream. This is where his interest in the all-blue comes from! Sometimes he's been known to pick up a cookbook and tear it apart piece by piece, scoffing and insulted by how juvenile the recipes are, thinking of ways to make them better.

Chopper: This one's obvious, but the only books Chopper reads are medical books. He likes to expand his knowledge and continue training to best support his crew. He is more than willing to listen to the girls talk about their books, but those stories dont really tend to be his taste.

Robin: This girl loves mysteries. When she's not reading history or nonfiction, she eats up any mystery or drama she can get her hands on. She loves to try and guess the ending, always excited when she's correct. Robin loves to talk about the books shes reading and will gladly share her thoughts on the story.

Franky: He doesn't read anything aside from manuals. He's willing to hear someone talk about the stories theyre reading, but its just not something he personally gets. He'd much rather be working on new inventions, the Sunny, or making his own adventures. He does love to hear a good story from strangers at the bar, though, and will be completely enthralled in whatever they tell him.

Brook: This bag of bones loves nearly any kind of story. He doesn't often make time to read, but he's more than willing to read stories that provide some kind of inspiration for his songs. More than reading, Brook enjoys writing and reviewing the adventures that the crew has logged, reminiscing on their adventures.

Jimbei: Strictly non-fiction and history. He doesn't typically read, but when he does, he uses it as an opportunity to expand his mind. Biographies, informational books about new lands, you name it. He's not interested in reading something fictional, not really seeing the point in it.

[diazsdimples]

Oh James I'm so sorry you're in urgent care 🥹🫂🫂🫂 send you best tea and raspberry jam 💙💙💙

As for headcanons for you as buddietommy lover I have this one:

Tommy is the one to start talk about new kids, but he's insecure buddie will think he doesn't love Chris enough. Both Buck and Eddie lovingly call him idiot for thinking they don't see how much he loves Chris

And another one: Buck lets Tommy cook anytime he wants on HIS kitchen, but Eddie is allowed only if Tommy or Buck check his movements. He maybe better thanks to saint Linda, but not good enough for Buck to let him use his kitchen unsupervised

For bucktommy the one we talked about but more:

They adopt a lot of kids, and especially older kids and even some kids who has police arrest in their biography. It's hard work ofc but step by step their kids open up to them. Their son who they took when he was 14 and who was arrested for thief and fight was one of the hardest kids to show that they are actually not going anywhere. But eventually they found the way to get to him. now they look at their son who graduates with PhD in engineering they know they did good and all the hard work were worth it because you can save any child with giving them love in the right time

YEAH YEAH ALL OF THIS DI!!! Thank you to appealing to my Buddietommy natures 🥹

Eddie needing supervision is SO TRUE! He's better but they cannot and will not forget the Great Waffle Fire of 2024.

As for that Bucktommy kid one... stay tuned bestie 👀👀

[copperbadge]

hi sam! do you have any recommendations for good sources of info for someone who'd like to learn more about cons and con artists? Any format is fine, books, podcasts, youtube, whatever, i'm just having a hard time finding a good source that really digs into and examines the actual techniques and 'mechanics' so to speak.

It is a little bit tough because of course most scammers are also self-embroidering liars :D And my education was very patchwork. For specifically cons and con artists (outside of art crime, which generally doesn't touch the con world directly) I'd advise starting with "Titanic Thompson: The Man Who Bet On Everything" by Kevin Cook, which is a biography of one of the early 20th century's most preeminent con men; it's a good tale but it also demonstrates the general life trajectory of con men, which can be pretty grim. Most cons end up in prison, and even those that don't or that get out tend to die poor and alone, because they can't stop scamming.

The Mark Inside by Amy Reading is one that I don't remember vividly but I did write a review of here, and I think it's another good starting place. (All the links following are to reviews I did.) If you've ever watched The Sting, which is a movie about con artists and also kind of a good primer, it's based on The Professional Thief by Edwin Sutherland, which is an anthropology of professional crime in the early 20th century. While technically it was written less by him than by an anonymous contact of his in the criminal underworld, that doesn't mean it's accurate per se; we only have that writer's word that any of it is true, so again, read skeptically.

I'd have to look up which piece it was because there's been a lot about her, but if you give Doris Payne a google she's another great example of a fascinating person who is just a giant liar. She paints a very vivid picture of her own career, but if you read about her later years you do realize that she's still conning everyone (she attempts to swindle at least one journalist working with her) and has nothing to show for her career, which may be a pack of lies to begin with. A lot of her stories have been fact checked and found wanting. I'd read up on the life of Victor Lustig as well; he's most famously known as the man who fraudulently sold the Eiffel Tower (twice) but I don't have a good biography offhand.

In your reading you will probably run across Han Van Meegeren, who forged Vermeers and ripped off the art world with them, then was tried for colluding with Nazis because he sold Nazis many "Vermeers" -- he had to paint a Vermeer while in prison to prove he'd forged the ones he sold the Nazis. This is a charming story but until very recently it was not widely noted that Van Meegeren was ABSOLUTELY A BIG NAZI HIMSELF. I was suckered by the story for years and I know most people were, so if you encounter media about him that does not include this fact, and you're interested in his story, look for newer scholarship.

There's a tangentially related book, "Where The Money Was" by Willie Sutton and Edward Linn, that is the semi-autobiography of a bank robber and it's very fun and funny, so despite not being directly about crime, I'd recommend that one.

The Napoleon Of Crime by Ben MacIntyre is a biography of the man who Moriarty was purportedly based on; it's sort of related rather than direct, but I recall enjoying it and there's a fascinating example of the VERY rare times when art heists are for a specific piece rather than for a specific goal.

There's a podcast called Scam Goddess that I found...enjoyable and informative, but also not very well-researched. In particular some of the earlier episodes are really poorly fact-checked. That said, she reads out letters from people writing in to discuss their scams and she talks about a lot of famous scam stories, so as long as you listen with the knowledge that she's neither a researcher nor an expert you should be okay.

Provenance by Laney Salisbury and Aly Sujo is what I'll close with, because it's about the interplay between art crime and con artistry, but it's also a strong argument for not valorizing cons; it's a documentation of how a couple of criminals out for nothing more than a quick buck really fucked up the entire system by which we authenticate art, and did insane levels of damage to genuine art scholarship. This isn't a little guy punching up against millionaire art collectors or fat cat museums, the way the narrative is often framed; art crime like this, involving forged or altered provenances, really harms art historians and the study of art.

I think the study of confidence crime and art crime is absolutely fascinating. There's a lot to learn about social engineering and society itself. But I think if I can impart to you one piece of wisdom, it's that con men are never, ever out for anyone but themselves and have no qualms or hesitations about hurting you to get what they want. The romance of con artistry often fools journalists and sophisticated researchers as well, so it's very easy to get swept up in it, but you should approach the entire genre with the attitude that everything you read has a 75% chance of being a charming work of total fiction.

On that note -- you may enjoy the short stories of O. Henry, some of which are about confidence men; I can't recommend specific titles but his fiction is very enjoyable generally, at least in my opinion.

[harrisonarchive]

A style selection, 1956-1969.

A continuation of sorts from this post.

“[George’s] idea, which he ordered [in Liverpool in the 1950s], was a four-button jacket with cloth-covered buttons. Two breast pockets which were slitted (jetted) and in the shape of a bird in flight, the two side pockets corresponded. The cuffs had to be folded back with a cloth-covered button. His trousers had no pleats in the front, not normal in those days, and he was by far the very first person to have two slits at the bottom side seam of the trouser and he wanted them folded back with cloth covered buttons to match the cuffs on his jacket. The workshop queried the order when they received thinking we had gone bonkers. George got his suit and was pleased with the outcome. Later lots of guys were walking about town with cut back cuffs and side seams on their trousers, but George was the first.” - Rollo Torpey, The Beatles and Me (2015)

“At Iris’s 14th birthday party, I remember George turned up in a brand-new, Italian-style stuff with covered buttons. He looked very grown-up.” - Violet Caldwell (mother of Iris, and Alan, a.k.a. Rory Storm), The Beatles Monthly September 1965

“[George’s mother Louise] took an unusually benign view of George’s luminous pink shirts, yellow waistcoat, and drainpipe trousers.” - Pete Shotton, The Beatles, Lennon, And Me (1984)

“Going in for flash clothes, or at least trying to be a bit different, as I hadn’t any money, was part of the rebelling. I never cared for authority. They can’t teach you experience; you’ve got to go through it, by trial and error.” - George Harrison, The Beatles: The Authorized Biography (1968)

“At the Institute, George was known from the beginning as a way-out dresser. Michael McCartney, Paul’s brother, was a year below him. He remembers George always having long hair — years before anybody else did. […] ‘George used to go to school with his school cap sitting high on top of his hair,‘ says Mrs. Harrison. ‘And very tight trousers. Unknown to me, he’d run them up on my machine to make them even tighter. I bought him a brand-new pair once and the first thing he did was tighten them. When his dad found out, he told him to unpick them at once. “I can’t, Dad,” he said. “I’ve cut the pieces off.”’” - The Beatles: The Authorized Biography (1968)

“I’d started to develop my own version of the school uniform. I had some cast-offs from my brother. One was a dog-toothed check-patterned sports coat, which I’d dyed black to use as my school blazer. The color hadn’t quite taken, so it still had a slight check design to it. I had a shirt I’d bought in Lime Street, that I thought was so cool. It was white with pleats down the front. and it had embroidery along the corners of the pleats. I had a waistcoat that John had given me, which he’d got from his ‘uncle’ Dykins (his mother’s boyfriend), Mr. Twitchy Dykins. It was like an evening-suit waistcoat — black, double-breasted, with lapels. The trousers John also gave me, soon after we first met — powder-blue drainpipes with turn-ups. I dyed them black as well. And I had black suede shoes from my brother. […] That outfit of mine was very risky, and it felt like all day, every day, for the last couple of years I was going to get busted. In those days we used Vaseline on our hair to get the rock n’ roll greased-back hairstyle. Also, you were supposed to wear a cap and a tie, and a badge on your blazer. I didn’t have my badge stitched on, I had it loose. It was held in place by a pen clipped over it in my top pocket, so I could remove it easily, and the tie.” - George Harrison, The Beatles Anthology (2000)

“He was always a pretty snappy dresser, and he did always like that waistcoat look. And he used to wear a V-neck Fair Isle jumper. Sometimes he’d be a little too outrageous, like purple trousers with bright green, but it was fine. Everything seemed to be fine then.” - Pattie Boyd, interview for the British Beatles Fan Club

“The boys are wearing all sorts of fantastic clothes for their film and introduce a very new, unusual gimmick. If they’re wearing corduroy, for example, then they have corduroy boots to match. If they’re seen in velveteen suits, then they’re coupled with velveteen boots. George first thought of the idea two years ago, but when he put the idea to a local bootmaker, he told him it couldn’t be done. Well, that’s one cobbler that’s been proved wrong.” - The Beatles Monthly, June 1965 (x)

[michimonie]

I don't know, maybe it seemed to me, but for some reason Scrooge McDuck interacts with Daisy even better than with Donald sometimes... In old and modern stories, there are many examples of their friendship, and even confrontation, because of many things, such as Donald. Maybe McDuck sees something yours in her?

I can see that. There have been quite a few times where, for some reason or another, Daisy either has to prove herself or just accidentally does something amazing. A comic I was reading again recently was Uncle Scrooge IDW #39, where Daisy basically takes Donald's place in the adventure.

One part of that might come from the fact that (and people can totally correct me if I'm wrong) a lot of what Donald does goes unseen (PK, Double Duck, etc...) and the stuff that Scrooge does end up seeing isn't a lot compared to how much he thinks his nephew is "lazing around."

In contrast, (from what I've seen) Daisy, tends to have a more "go-getter" attitude, and often encounters Scrooge either through work or while planning something. She tends to have something going on or a goal in mind.

For a visual example, here's a possible idea of what Scrooge sees:

Graphs showing Scrooge thinking of Daisy as someone who works a lot, and Donald as someone who rests often.

Meanwhile, the reality is probably more like this:

Graphs now showing Family, Other (superhero, spy, hobbies, etc...), Work, and Rest. A more balanced schedule than before.

Definitely take my little doodle graphs with a metaphorical grain a salt, but I can see this being a big problem.

There are comics I wanted to mention, but couldn't find. They also showcase skills he probably sees often in Daisy:

One comic with Daisy chasing Scrooge across the globe, finding him no matter where he went and saving him from trouble, all so she could have the right to write his biography.

Another story featured scrooge going missing for a day so Daisy took over. When he was found in a chute and rescued, he saw what "terrible" decisions she had made, only to find moments later (through her added thoughts) that the decisions were making him more cash than ever. He was so impressed that he decided to keep her close (for fear that she might take his job someday!)

(If someone knows where to find these, or the titles, feel free to comment or reblog them!)

Whether Donald can do these things or not, he doesn't really have any reason or desire, so Scrooge never sees it happen.

I would also like to add that, while Donald is highly capable, it seems like he complains a lot more than Daisy, which could (unfortunately) give off a more "unwilling" or "lazy" feeling/vibe. For instance, the comic in the beginning of this post has Daisy in a whole adventure and I believe she doesn't complain even once (sassy, sure, but no complaints). In fact, she spends a good amount of that adventure excited.

Sorry for the longer answer! There's a lot to be said about this subject, and this is probably as much as I can add. If anyone else has thoughts or related comics to add, feel free to add to this. (I'm still pretty new to Disney Ducks)

[melanieph321]

Dusan Vlahovic x Reader - Boss Me Around Part 3/6

Reader is a former yacht girl now newly moved to Turin, Italy for her job as a real-estate accountant. There she meets Dusan Vlahovic, a former client of hers, a client she never thought to see again. However, with Dusan being Readers new boss their past becomes a liability. Nevertheless the spark between them still lives. This story is a romcom with both His and Her POV!

Enjoy!

Your first month in Turin was the perfect description of hell, and it made you seriously contemplate your life choices up until now. Your living hell situation wasn't because of your continuous struggle with the city's public transport system. No. Your living hell situation was caused by one man and one man only. Your boss, Dusan Vlahovic.

"Yeah, this is wrong. You'll have to redo it."

At this point you thought of him as a robot on autopilot, because every week when it was time to hand in your calculated reports of the companies revenues, Dusan seem to always find a way to belittle you by dismissing your work for the slightest and miniscule errors.

"It's just a spelling correction Mr Vlahovic. I'm sure you can interpret what I meant to write." It was strange, addressing him by his last name, however he made it very clear during your first week on the job that addressing him by his first name was a no no, and that he would  ignore you if you  did. To him Miami must have been a hallucination. A shame, because to you it had been very real.

"Interpret?" He frowned. He had been typing away on his laptop as you stood before him, presenting the weekly revenues. This was the first time he took the liberty to actually meet your eyes, however he did not seem happy to see you. "Interpret." He repeated, this time shaking his head with disappointment. "Y/N, you must not take your job very seriously if you're asking me, your boss, to interpret such an important document as the company's revenues."

His raised but steady voice, sucked all of the air out of your lungs and the room. And in the back of your head you prayed that you wouldn't shed a tear at the mercy of Dusan Vlahovic.

"I will not have it." He said, shutting his laptop.

"I...get that." You said, speaking through the sharp rasorblades that cut deep in your throat.

"Do you, Y/N?" He smiled, an evil and sarcastic smile. "Do you really?"

"Yes. I do. I really do. It's just that you've asked me to redue this revenue three times already and I'm starting to fall behind on other priorities."

"Then you must not be the greatest at managing your time, don't you think?" He leaned back in his desk chair, legs spread wide like some form of powerplay. It was only powerful to you because you had gotten to know the size of him more than once in Miami, and the memories of those nights now made you feel sick to your stomach.

"I want the papers on my desk before the end of this day, got it Miss Y/L/N."

"Sure." You muttered and with trembling hands went to retain the documents on his desk. You headed back to your office knowing that it was the last time your boss would ever get to talk to you in that way. You'd hand in your two weeks notice along with the revenue.

********************************************

Dusan took pride in being the first one to arrive and the last one to leave his office. It showed his commitment and the passion he had for his job. Others should take after him. Matter of fact, he should be working on a biography about his road to success. He came from humble beginnings in Serbia. Back then his dream had been to play professional football, but his parents had been right to push him towards higher education. Today he owned real-estate in three of the worlds continents. He was successful indeed. The only thing he felt to threaten that success was being taken care of. Yes, she put up a good fight trying to please his ridiculous commands but in the end she seemed to have had enough. Like any sensible person would. Dusan had found Y/N's two weeks noticed amongst the revisions of documents she had presented to him before she left for the day. He held it in his hand in the elevator on it's way down the now abandoned office building. He admired her calligraphy as it was exceptional. It was a shame that she hadn't gotten around to tell him about her higher education in accounting. Maybe then they could have avoided this mess in the first place. Then again, Dusan and Y/N hadn't spent their time in Miami getting to know each other. They had spent their brief time together getting to know each other's bodies. He suspected that she had previous experience with that sort of arrangement. Another reason he felt a need to get rid of her. What if the board found out that he had hired a former harlot as his accountant? It would be scandalous indeed.

Dusan stepped out of the elevator holding up his car keys in search for his Range Rover. It was Friday, which made the car harder to find, since a lot of his employees had the habit of abandoning their vehicles at the office and heading straigt to the bars in town. Dusan wasn't like that. He used his Friday's to unwind at home, not to party. He got into his car longing to cook the steak in his fridge that had been marinating over night. He would prepare it along with a homemade risotto, a recipe from a friend. He left the parking lot a happy man on top of his job and his life, that is, until a strange sight made him drastically turn his vehicle back around.

"Y/N, what are you doing?"

He had pulled up to the bus stop where she sat, arms crossed to shield herself from the night's cold.

"What does it look like I'm doing." She hissed. "I'm waiting for my bus."

"You don't have a car?" He  ignored the attitude she had spoken to him with. He assumed that her newfound confidence was fueld by her annouced resignation.

"No, I don't have a car." She huttured. It was a cold night, too cold for someone wearing heels and see-through stockings.

"Get in then, I'll take you home." He said. He was in a good enough mood to do her the favor. However she snorted in his face, shifting to face another direction. Away from him. "Is that a no?" He frowned. He wasn't angry, just annoyed.

Y/N turned to face him, clearly upset. "That was a hell no, Dusan. As in no fucking way am I getting in a car with you."

"Why not?"

"Why not?" Her eyes widened. "Dusan, you must not be aware of the type of asshole you are."

His shoulders fell. Thank God she couldn't see him through the cars rolled down windows. "Asshole?" He wasn't familiar with the term. Nor had anyone called him that before. He didn't like it. "If you're reffering to our encounter earlier today, you must know that I am in the position to give you my honest but objective opinion."

"Bullshit!"

"Pardon me?"

Y/N, stood but did not approach his car. "Your opinions of my work has not been objective and you know it." She said. "I've been living here for a month and almost everyone in your office has taken the time to get to know more about me. Everyone but you."

Dusan frowned. "I don't see how that has any relevance to...."

"You haven't tried to get to know me Dusan because you know me better than anyone up in that office. And pretending not to, makes me highly suspicious that nothing you've said to me has been of objective matter."

God she was gorgeous, he thought. The way she wasn't having it, the way she saw through his bullshit.

"Just admit it. This is about what happened in Miami, the fact that I didn't tell you that I was moving to Turin right after graduation."

"Y/N, you never even mentioned that you were a student when we met." Dusan yanked the handle to the car door, stepping out onto the street. "Or that you were applying for a job in accounting."

"Why would I?" She snapped. "You told me you were from Serbia, what are you doing in Italy, huh? And as far as I know I didn't owe you anything on that yacht but my company, that's what I was paid for."

He snorted. "You were paid to do a little more than that."

She gasped, and the slap was anticipated. Dusan rubbed his cheek to mend the pain. "I wasn't..." She stood trembling, tears streaming down her face. "I wasn't paid to...." She lowered her head to the ground, wrapping her arms tighter around herself.

"Fuck me." Dusan sighed. He wanted to offer her his coat, but something told him that his concern would be excused for pity. "Y/N, please let me..." He stretched out his arm, offering her his hand. "Let me take you home. The time tables for the bus are different during the weekends."

"Great." She laughed, although he was sure that she didn't find it funny.

"Great" He chuckled

"What's so funny to you?" She frowned.

"I just realized..."

"Realized what?"

"That I am...an asshole."

Her expression withred seeing his smile. She nodded. "You really are."

"Would I still be considered an asshole if I drove you home?"

"Yes." She said, but took a small step forwards. "But a less worse asshole than you were this morning."

He grinned. "That decides it then. Get in, I'm taking you home."

[theheathengold]

Hector Barbossa

a dependant rp blog for @godscobhhq

Basic Information

NAME: Hector Barbossa

BIRTHDAY: October 1

AGE: 50

HOMETOWN: Godscobh

ORIENTATION: Straight (In reality, Bi, but he's never experimented.)

NICKNAMES: N/A

Appearance:

HEIGHT: 6'0"

EYES: Blue

HAIR: Red-Brown streaked with gray

BUILD: Sturdy, was once well-built

RACE/ETHNICITY: White/ English-Scottish

FC: Geoffrey Rush

Personality & Behavior:

HOBBIES: Sailing, Fishing, Gambling

LIKES: Whiskey neat, the sunset over the ocean, the stray cats at the docks

DISLIKES: Brats at his favored bar, Sparrow, Clean cops who try to work around his shady deals.

QUIRKS: toys with his necklace when deep in thought, sings when no one is around to watch, spins his rings

STRENGTHS: Hard-working, Determined,

WEAKNESSES: Critical, Proud, Spiteful

Biography:

TW: Child Abuse, Alcohol abuse

As a child, Hector's mother told him that any good man born in this town sours. Something in the water rots them from within until nothing's left but the bad. His daddy had been a good man once. He'd been the Harbormaster of Godscobh like his daddy and his grandad. Like all the rest they'd gone bad.

Beat a boy enough and soon all that will be left are the scars.

Hector grew up never having seen the good side of his father. His mother died when he was young, and with her went all the good he knew. Edward Barbossa ran his home like he did the docks. Every rule was followed, and every task was completed by the day's end. If Hector made a mistake, it cost him.

Such an upbringing does not make a soft man. Even in his early years of adulthood, when he helped the old fishermen navigate the choppy sea, he was hardened to the way of the world. Nights not spent working, he found himself in the uglier bars that Godscobh had to offer. No point in brushing shoulders with the people that had enough money to look right past him.

Those days he was considered good-looking. At least, enough so to find his way into a few warm beds. Somewhere out there he probably had some blood running about that he wasn't aware of. Until they came knocking, they weren't his problem.

After his father's death, the title of Harbormaster fell to him. By then, he was in his thirties and had been working the docks for twenty years. It was a formality to consider other candidates. Harbormaster Barbossa had been a name on the lips of townsfolk longer than most had been alive. It was easier not to consider changing it.

Days were spent on the coast, monitoring shipments and sailors. Nights were spent looking for the bottom of a bottle, usually meeting sleep before he could find it.

Hector had made a place in life. With the mayor and the casino in need of discrete transport, his pockets were heavy with ill-gotten gains. No one questioned him, not when his word was law at the docks. He liked this quiet life. No one bothered him save for that brat Sparrow on occasion, but the annoyance was minor enough to ignore.

His mother said no good man ever survived in Godscobh. Good thing Hector had never been a good man.

[butternaife]

no time at all!-- PILOT

Welcome Home + reader

warnings: derealisation, could cause paranoia, not proofread lmao

notes: so here's the first little drabble of the story I'd mentioned earlier! I'm not new at all to writing, but please keep in mind this is the first story I've posted to Tumblr, so the formatting could suck really bad. 

I have SO many ideas for what I want to continue this with, please tell me if you want to see more. thanks for reading!!  please please please rb if you're able :3

part 2 is posted!

 ╔══•●•══╗╔══•●•══╗╔══•●•══╗╔══•●•══╗╔══•●•══╗

The sounds of the coffee shop around you filled the room; the everyday hustle and bustle of footsteps, casual chatter, and the clinking of porcelain cups were a familiar comfort, and god knows you needed it right now.

The face of the website you'd had open for several days now stared at you (through you?), the direct eye contact of the cartoon puppet mascots making you squirm in your seat.

Welcome Home! It said in bright pastel letters and a font you didn't recognize, though it sparked a deep sense of nostalgia in you; the whole concept did. In fact, that was the whole reason you’d found yourself falling down this rabbit hole of researching, trying any kind of letter combinations in the web address, scrolling through every page you could access with all the text highlighted.

You knew the secrets: the hidden messages, the png title responses in the guestbook, the audio mp4… and it thrilled you.

You hadn't grown up watching the infamous puppet show, of course, you doubt anyone has. Hell, part of you agreed with the people saying it didn't ever exist and all of this was just some online creepy pasta goosechase. Even though, it was so fun to play along, right? To be part of the community, or to be part of the joke, it didn't matter at the end of the day.

Whatever circumstances brought you to wherever you were mentally, and here to this cafe physically, this puppet show had you wrapped around its finger; you didn't really know if you loved the mascots, with their fun, bright designs and their bubbly personalities; something akin to what you'd grown up with, like you'd known them your entire life– or if they terrified you. The same traits that had made them so endearing made them so devoid of life, so lonely and cold when you’d think about it too long. Made to be loved by an audience just to be erased from history entirely- all to be excavated now, alongside these grotesque secrets and mysteries… like it was hidden for a reason. (Exciting, right?)

You scrolled absent-mindedly through the Neighborhood page, looking through all the biographies of the characters, picking apart the text in any ways you could, though you can only command-all and highlight for so long before it’s just a desperate attempt made in vain.

you already knew all the secrets

Home is where the heart is and Welcome Home's residents are the heart of the neighborhood. Even if you don't live there, you're still one of its most important denizens! But don't worry, with the help of this colorful array of neighbors, it'll feel just like home in no time at all!

Yeah, yeah, whatever, they love me.

What used to put a pit in your stomach didn't really do all too much now. The immersiveness wears off after a while. It used to fill you with questions: “am i important to them as the viewer? Are they sentient enough to understand? If they are… how do they feel about it? About me?”

Losing yourself in the story was easy initially, but the meandering possibilities became meaningless prompts. It was just a slogan now.

Your cursor hovers over the titular Home, a second delay in hesitation. Even if nothing else sent a chill down your spine, Home would never fail to unnerve you.

You click.

You're greeted by Wally, the PNG of him painting, the one you see plastered over every blog or post regarding Welcome Home. it was silly of you to expect anything else.

You felt yourself ease back into your chair; there aren't any more secrets to discover until the website is next updated.

As you half-heartedly scroll to click on the Good Bye!, a mystery in itself, you saw it.

Wally’s eyes had just followed your mouse, even by just half an inch, you Swear To God you saw them move.

An overwhelming tremor of sudden panic took over your body; you felt your heart fall deep into your stomach. With a loud thunk, you slammed your laptop closed. You felt the stares of concern burn into your back from the other patrons of the coffee shop, but you didn't care. Hoisting yourself up, laptop in tow, you hurry out through the door, only the greeting bell breaking the apprehensive silence youd left behind you.

Its nothing, you were just staring too long,

you'd thought, though partially drowned out by the sound of your footsteps and the deafening beating of your heart.

Of course you got freaked out, you were looking to be scared, so you came up with something to be scared of. That's all it is; made up.

It didn't really happen.

You had to tell yourself this several times as you walked to your car, trying to shake the image out of your head.

It's not real.