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[sugar-petals]

can you give us more thoughts about domestic yoongles? the taemin's one (wich I love) just made me miss the cat boy so much ;o;

i have a phd in househusband yoongi so let me fire out some ideas for ya.

myg at home headcanon

🐱 word count. 1.9k | fluff, slice of life, slight nsfw mentions, x reader, bullet points

The doorbell sound is a recording of Yoongi imitating a doorbell. He’s such a meme. Ceci n'est pas une pipe.

Seemingly, he teaches himself a new recipe every week. To perfection. Yoongi is very particular about sticking to the recipe and wielding his kitchen tools in the right way. He collects knives, olive oil, and still hates cutting onions.

He separates sleep time, work time, and couple time as the holy trinity. For each, he switches his mood.

Blushes easily no matter for how long you’ve been together.

Establishes his own radio show where he DJs at one point.

Yoongi keeps an extreme track on the garbage schedule. He knows exactly what is due when. Separating the trash is a must. That includes sorting out fake friends trying to get between your relationship. Your social circle as a couple is extremely deliberate.

Yoongi deems himself a terrible host for guests. Unless Hoseok is there to drag him out, it's true he rather stays in the kitchen or at the barbecue preparing the menu courses rather than making small talk. He leaves the hospitality bits to you, however you want to go about it.

What he lacks in conversing with guests, he makes up in bed, God is absolutely fair.

He sings and hums pretty often and has his own vernacular of extraterrestrial uwu noises. It's an alphabet that you have to yet decipher but it's incredibly cute.

Self-made paintings everywhere around his house. 

Yoongi hasn't gone clubbing since grammar school. The most he does is going to a restaurant at lunch with very close friends. And always in a work context. His private life is so secluded from everything else and paparazzi just don't spot him anywhere, Dispatch thinks he must live abroad.

Very well, he does consider his big ole house a separate country. It's a living organism with a studio, gym, trophy room, small-size basketball court, and vastly equipped kitchen. A home theater as well, he likes American movies (like Inception) and Korean action genres, and you can stream whatever you fancy in there whenever you like. 

Yes, he has underwear with cute little bears on.

There's even a little pond in the backyard. Yoongi, Pisces he is, likes fishes after all. Sometimes he sits at the edge of the 'Little Ole Min Lake (LOML)' and stares into the water for literal hours with his chin parked on his palm.

His fridge is so high-tech and futuristic, even Yoongi is rendered clueless by its AI sometimes. The washing machine, too.

Yoongi watches RuPaul’s drag race. What did you expect? He finds it so humorous.

Owns lord knows how many comic collections.

Favorite holiday destination: New York.

Christmas is basically 50% you unveiling new music equipment to him in the garage and Yoongi almost fainting at the sexiness of it. The other 50% is spent holding hands and orgasm after orgasm until the new year since you loose track of time.

Goes on long rants why he’d marry you again every weekend.

Making you presents is his specialty. Always accompanied with a hand-written note. He writes a lot of things by hand for you in general. Texting, basically never. Always on paper.

No sex without a blanket and socks on. Yoongi gets cold very very easily and just doesn’t like showing skin. You buy him a heated blanket for his birthday, he even uses it in his studio chair.

Chronically addicted to making out.

Matching black outfits and glasses.

Laughs at even your worst jokes or phrases you didn’t expect you even uttered.

Yoongi owns the phoniest, most secretive-looking black car ever and nobody knows about it. Even he forgets he owns it, in fact he genuinely acts like it just doesn’t exist. Hilarious. And that guy has a level 1 Korean driver's license. Which allows him to drive trailers and busses and fucking trucks, and construction machines, let that sink in.

It's really a genius curse. Yoongi being put to the test will always deliver but he won't choose to execute his full skillset if he doesn't have to. Well, pragmatic. He's not as phony as he thinks he is, which is even more hilarious.

He uses that behemoth of a car so scarcely because he'd rather have things delivered to his doorstep and he's stingy with gas. Also, he doesn't like traffic and driving because of the traumatic shoulder accident and his tendency to space out. Translation: You drive that thing... that monster... it really is an impressive, fast, and scary machine. 

If someone devious ever even remotely manages to invade his privacy and get past the doubly-installed security system, he has enough money to deal with it no matter what.

If it concerns your privacy, he's a red belt. And owns Jin's number if a taekwondo master is required. Jimin's if it needs someone with kendo skills.

If Yoongi needs someone to go on a complete rampage, Jungkook lives just down the block. He can sprint to Yoongi's bunker I mean mansion within 45 seconds. 30 if it's very urgent. 20 if the reward is an instant ramen splurge with Yoongi's black card.

He has a sexy, glamorous sword collection hanging on the living room wall anyways, so. Who the hell is dumb enough to mess with him and his expensive lawyer in the first place.

But just in case, who knows... Yoongi settles matters shruggingly, anonymously, and with cash and he's too exhausted for violence, but don't underestimate his deter-min-ation and network for emergencies. Also, he is Agust D after all.

He will bonk a naughty burglar or kidnapper across the head with a wooden cooking spoon or take him down by throwing a basketball if the situation requires it. Damn, his reflexes are so fast, a feral cat in motion. So, lean back and sip on your drink of choice. Things are cared for.

If Yoongi is the one being kidnapped or a highly skilled stalker invades the property at night when he's fast asleep (nothing can wake this man during certain hours, strong REM right here): Don't forget that honeyboy is a Dodgers fan. There are signed baseball bats everywhere in this damn house.

In that sense, your parents visiting you here for the first time thought you were an undercover thug couple. Not to worry mom and dad, you both just like sports very much okay.

Yoongi walks around in all black clothes and the rooms are all seemingly dark. Even if you live together, you don't know his skin care routine. It's clear to you he's some sort of vampire.

Since Yoongi always forgets to remove his makeup, you made it a habit to wipe it down when he's about to pass out. He won't lie, he enjoys that kind of affection.

Holly is your resident child. You're essentially a family.

He insists to tackle this by himself, Yoongi sees his therapist monthly. Not shifting responsibility is something he's stubborn about and he pours his emotions into writing. You will do conversation about deeper stuff, but he says it's mostly up to him and his own mind. He dislikes burdening you or opening up too much and it's something to respect rather than force him about. If he wants to share a thought, he will. It doesn’t mean he can’t trust you or sucks at communicating (we know that he’s direct). Yoongi simply can’t put that much pain in such few words nor should you alleviate it for him.

Calls from the manager faze Yoongi as much as Jimin is bothered by gravity. If he’s busy kissing your body slow mo, who the hell dares to disturb his worship. 

This man had so many let-downs and interpersonal catastrophes in his life, he's super discerning with people. Because he rolls that way, during their first meeting Yoongi uses his psychology certificate on your friends. You see him squint at them, he listens very closely. After they pass the vibe check aka meow radar, he befriends them, too.

Yoongi doodles Grammy trophies everywhere to manifest them.

Yoongi shaves his legs.

All the sex toys he’s ever bought are black. Gotta vibe in style.

He spends ridiculous amounts of time in the studio but he's yours for the remainder of the night, breakfast, and he makes a lavish lunch and dinner.

Um, consider his head parked between your legs. The Hongkong line was not a joke.

Doesn’t mind you squishing his cheeks whenever and for how long you like. 

Every other weekend he gets flowers, vouchers, and gifts — not because of fans, they don’t know where his house is, but because he donates so much.

Namjoon often drops by and cleanses the area with his crystals.

Yoongi is a photography major so you can ask him to take professional, ceiling-high black and white shots of you.

Feeding each other food lovingly. Man, this guy got lips.

He set up a library just for you, in the exact historical aesthetic you like the most. Send him the link to any book you want, it's basically in the online shopping cart already. As I said, he wants to make you presents like every week.

Sometimes he sits on the other end studying English videos and vocab while you read. And yes, he's already 95% fluent but pretends being merely intermediate. He knows technical terms even native speakers have never heard of.

He collects pajamas and earrings.

Swears on the phone.

Namjoon being the horniest member is a cover-up story. Yoongi masturbates almost unreasonable amounts of times, by himself and in your arms when going to bed. Not gonna lie, it’s a sight to see his hands at work. He’s almost equally obsessed with fingering you once you ask him.

Yoongi was the one asking you to move in and almost had a nervous meltdown before meeting up with you to tell you just that. 

He’s the little spoon and of course a sleeping burrito to hold tight.

Finds you equally attractive in any state or styling. Yoongi practices what he preaches, he always reacts the same and says the same. 

Jams out to outrageous beats Namjoon sends him by dancing in the studio. You walk in on him every time. Was embarrassed at first, now you dance along.

Has bought you a life-sized Yoongi pillow and customized you a giant Shooky to hug when he’s not at home over night.

Owned a wine cellar until he quit drinking. Turned it into a piano room instead.

Only you know Yoongi has a serpent and dagger tattoo.

Scrubs the bathroom religiously.

The house smells like restaurant food and his extravagant perfumes half of the time.

Sometimes he has to remind himself he’s married to you and not his coffee machine. He shall be forgiven. You can’t complain that he doesn’t love you enough, nor is he ever not adorable when drinking his latte.

Never wears short sleeves. It can be scorching and he’ll wear a jacket. 

Tell him and the cap stays on during sex.

He grows his hair out and puts it in a low bun. The bangs remain.

Yoongi has installed the most fire-proof building in the entire city it seems. That he wanted to be a firefighter when he was young definitely shows. Figures the house has to be protected from heat: His blasting studio music and Yoongi himself are just way too sizzling.

Still melts into a puddle when you kiss his nose.

Couple sunrise watching. 

© submissive-bangtan 2017-2021. all rights reserved. do not repost or translate. all depictions fictional.

[fortheheavenssake]

💜💜 PG MM Anon 💜💜 Interpretation Collection - 1

Anon said:

You go PG!!! 😊😊😊🌸🌸🌹🐼🐼🐝🐝👍👍👍💖💖💖🌻🌻🌼🌼🌼😊😊😍😍💜💜🌹🌹🌹🌺🌺🌺💙💙💙🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌹🌹🌹❤❤❤👍👍👍👍 Violets 🌼

Anon said:

💗🌲🌞😺 hi Skippy this is for PG and JG🏡🌲🥰🥰🧚‍♀️👑👑🐱🐰🦋🦋🦋🦋🦋🦋🦋🦋🐥🌺🌹🌼🌸💐🐿

*****. 💜💜PG INTERPRETATION OF MM ANON 💜💜

💜💜🙏🏻THANK YOU MM ANON🙏🏻💜💜

1.

PG re: MM ANON

Hidden depths , entertaining alliance

Wonder about part of a film, or Nespresso cameo? Hidden depths made me think of a wine cellar and maybe wine advert?

Markle Sparkles , well WORN

Double entendre , referring to the BBC show and public taking notice of articles on excessive jewelry she has but more importantly noting changes to engagement ring and asking why?

Antagonistic font wedding 2.0 l wonder she wanted that emerald tiara wasn’t allowed it and was angry, wondering if she will not be allowed to use the font kept in the Tower of London and she is throwing a fit over that!

Tight for nation of royals..

We have seen that and it will continue. They are closing ranks and even at events she attends or will attend it’s very frosty!

Wolffish ultimatum, SHIP out?

Definitely the financial reporting by Chris Ship, making the public even angrier. SHIP is upper case, several meanings to me, one be Patronship, l think especially of the theatre. Might she lose some of her ships?

A Firm distaste for Moniker is regarding using the name of the previous Duke of Sussex for Archie.

To be or not to be WAS the question

Seems that something was offered but she refused and there is no turning back!

I am no emsi but these are my thoughts.

PG😊GSTQAOBC 🇨🇦

Thank you….this is great!😁❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️

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20 notes

Jun 25th, 2019

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2.

PG are:MM ANON

Independence/Schoenberg lol sounds like it blithe and not even an issue anymore.

Diamonds are a friends worst girl

Hmmm is JM involved somehow, fake jewelry and lots of public notice about her jewelry

Evil is the route of all money Excellent news

I am wondering if money has been wired, notice the word route of money, nefarious people wiring or being wired money.

An Easter promise will miss the children, this is obviously the Cambridge’s tour that was announced, meaning the children will stay at home.

Will English girls receive a royal cheer?

This is clear reference to the women’s soccer team playing in the female World Cup.

A-tiresome LIST doesn’t impress this hallowed chapel

Whatever A listers she invites to the Christening are not worthy of the honour of either being a royal, fake we know, godparent or being in that Holy place.

Swapped insults receive a nations glee but a royal reprimand.

There may be some sort of public row??Wimbledon, if she crashed in the Royal box? Oh wouldn��t people love a good telling off by Catherine!!😁Who knows.

Thank you PG!😁❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️

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32 notes

Jun 25th, 2019

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3.

PG 😊re: MM ANON

MM Anon

MM ANON … Hickory Wood tests the public water. isolated arrogance fuels National distain. Privileged puppets pulling strings net a quiet insider. Back scratching … buy one’ get one free. Wolffish medication control kicks in. Conception Deception …Born in the USA??? Was possible …“My little President” shawl-y not !! A royal 2020 hatched ‘matched ‘dispatched.

Hickory Wood tests public water.

The two words are capitalized HW. I can think of only one HW in the news, friend of Epstein, l cannot figure this out at all.

Isolated arrogance fuels national distain

Distain vs disdain, mean to stain the honour of… disrespect for BRF , tradition. The word isolated confounds me, is the person isolated or are the behaviours isolated, meaning infrequent??

Privileged puppets pulling strings net a quiet insider.

This had something to do with Wimbledon, the word net. I cannot think …l am no emsi

Back scratching…but one’ get one free.

I wonder if this means not just one Obama daughter at Wimbledon but both.

Wolffish medication control kicks in.

LG supervision ensuring medical treatment and medication are kicking in, which is crude way to say, the medication (s) are starting to be effective for what they were prescribed for.

Conception.Deception.Born in the USA??? Was possible….

Did the surrogate fly to America and delivery the baby there? But was possible, meaning maybe some uncertainty.

“My Little President” shawl-y not!!

“My Little President” is an English animation, l can’t figure beyond that. The shawl may be reference for a Christening baby blanket or shawl that the O family gifts the baby.

A Royal 2020 hatched ‘matched’ dispatched .

Hatching, matching dispatching was a CBC show about ten years ago about a family that owned a bridal shop, ambulance service and funeral home all in one stop shopping😂

Hatched lI see this as a pregnancy ? Eugenie, Zara, Catherine,

Matched, l see as possible wedding for Princess Beatrice.

Dispatched l see as final of justice tied up for mm.

This is my best for a very confusing riddle

GSTQAOBC 🇨🇦

Thank you…interesting!😁❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️

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25 notes

Jun 30th, 2019

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4.

MM ANON INTERPRETATION

MM ANON … An independence collective four a small celebration …absolutely rejected by California dreaming,… two people’s separated by a common language. Must try harder. A steady drizzle followed by a gathering down-poor. Subjected,inspected rejected by a wolfish grin. Re-habitual behaviour causes confusion. A font-farewell.

It’s July 4th, Happy 4th to our American friends😊 🇺🇸! sounds like only four people to celebrate with, l wonder about only four at the Christening. I wonder if her mother, ie California, is unable or unwilling to come.

Separated by common language…sounds like some legal issues between the U.K. and the U.S. needed to try harder to settle.

Steady drizzle…down pot, not pour… steady dri0 drip in the media and a gusher is coming…also poor, she has no longer got endless money being supplied to her, hence poor, noted at Wimbledon she wore shabby, for Wimbledon clothes that she had previously worn.

Baby, subjected to DNA, results inspected, no DNA from Harry, rejected, not royal. Wolffish grin, LG has tightened things even further.

Font-farewell, NO LILY FONT!! Not a royal baby!

PG😊

GSTQAOBC 🇨🇦

Sounds great! Thank you😁❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️

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49 notes

Jul 4th, 2019

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5.

MM ANON, PG INTERPRETATION

Buzz lightyear phrase was ‘to infinity and beyond ‘ sounds like he may have already been Christened.lily font was used? I am baffled.

Little Lord Fauntleroy is an old English story. Concise involves a scheming woman trying to take the place of nobility for money. Sound familiar? Also a young lad who is taken under the wing of a benefactor. I wonder if the Queen, due to Christian charity will be the benefactor for this poor child.

Photos already taken, grim, stoic faces by faces by POW and DOC. As per usual photos are black and white and Instagram style.

We might see an earlobe? 🤪

Mm will be asked to move back to America. But she doesn’t want anything to stop her current path ie TIRADE.

Give a little take a lot, she may agree to a move but take ££££££££££.

I get no sense of , adoption, if surrogate, whose egg? Who knows?

Think of this as you will, l can’t get more out of it. I am VERY saddened if the Lily font was used…..we may have to breathe and take some awful tasting medicine, metaphorically, as this continues.

My prayer of protection stands firmly. Let’s support one another, this is not just social media interest. This is the very foundation of all we have ever known. The Queen is on every piece of money, coinage, stamps etc etc.

GSTQAOBC 🇨🇦

Thank you..interesting😁💜💜💜💜💜

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10 notes

Jul 6th, 2019

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6.

PG INTERPRETATION OF MM ANON

MM Anon

MM ANON … Week Foundations contravene building good relationships,Controversy ahead. Air brushed into infant history, well worth the millions. Total blackout at fortresses frog shack. The slow chip of de-Nile unearth a river of exposures. Photos Don’t lie…… unless you suppress the truth. An old AGE issue comes to light,but quickly buried.

Week foundations………the separation of the ‘fab four’ foundation contravene, means prohibition of conduct of order, there are issues, with the new foundation, we have seen unusual things like who owns the copyright to SR, or trademark. Does week infer problems arising soon? Like in a week?? Controversy ahead, maybe to some already here!

Air brushed infant into history well worth the millions. Photos airbrushed? Seems others have said they notice more than just that. Millions?? Surely photographer wouldn’t charge millions, surrogate?? Or another??? Or others even?? I am being very careful with my wordage.

Total blackness at frog shack……no one living there, so that continues.

Slow chip of de-Nile unearths a river of exposure photos don’t lie…..Nile river. Are we back to Morocco and that part of the world? Will photos be unearthed, term used in archaeology, unearth, clear photos??? Unless they are suppressed….who knows at this point.

An old AGE issue, evidence of real age comes out but quickly hidden.

GSTQAOBC 🇨🇦

Thank you..interesting😁💜💜💜💜💜

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30 notes

Jul 7th, 2019

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7.

MM ANON INTERPRETATION BY PG😊

MM Anon

MM ANON, Tangled up in BLUE ,films the southern district. Steering a path through double jeopardy will bring the scum to the surface. Immunity will be bought to bury embarrassment. Right … royally screwed Six ways from Sunday. A glossy editorial won’t hide past buried bodies. A safe full of secrets ‘and only one hidden kea

As l had submitted earlier the SDNY , Southern District New York is the largest and does the racketeering, organized crime, terrorism etc they are the elite in America. BLUE , old fashioned naughty films were called blue film….safely say any films they have are beyond the pale of naughty.

Slow solid case against JE has been built or is still to avoid double jeopardy with the case in Florida he got a slap on the wrist. I can’t believe this is involving mm…..this is much much MUCH worse than anything l had imagined

Immunity to avoid embarrassment….who gets immunity PA? I don’t know …

Right….royally screwed…someone Royal is in big trouble hence the of screwed, double entendre.

Six ways from Sunday….will something drop in six days from yesterday??

Big mm Vogue issue won’t hide things she has long long buried.bad things.

A safe full of secrets and only one kea…..kea is a bird in NZ…….major player in media is RM. That’s as big league as can get.

GSTQAOBC 🇨🇦

Thank you…great job!😁💜💜💜💜💜💜💜

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18 notes

Jul 8th, 2019

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8.

PG INTERPRETATION OF MM ANON

MM Anon

MM ANON, not so much ‘Humbug humbug as Humbert humbert. Love labours “lost”. Who was REALLY Directing the “Traffic”. NO CAMERAS’ a spoonful of sugars help the medicine go down. All the Presidents men’ and women!!! “ “we’re going to need a bigger yacht!!” “Well whats the real benefits of being mega rich.” Are you serious!! ……………“I’m untouchable “.

The film , Lolita , is about a professor who rents a room for the summer. The landlady has a daughter about 12. The entire film, she tries to seduce the man but he has no eyes for her. He has developed a totally sick perverse sexual obsession for the child.

Loves labour’s “lost” we have had this BRF from MM ANON.

It is from Shakespearean play where three men decide not to take company of women for three years to pursue studies. It’s kind of a bet, like that Seinfeld episode but nothing about any of this is funny.

Who was REALLY directing Traffic? Steven Soderbergh directed the film. His films are in the realm of sex, violence etc. Interesting, he also directed the film Sex, Lies and Videotape. Who REALLY directed , another double entendre from MM ANON, is LG directing the media flow, ie traffic?

No cameras, no photos at Wimbledon, her sugars are still 100% moving, working all the machinations going on.

All the presidents men and women! Many are working and have been to come to this point in the Epstein case. Also title of the old film about the two newspaper journalists who broke the watergate mess. Does this mean politicians are involved and we have high up people seeking immunity, especially women, refer the article posted today here about the four women recruiters of underage girls. This is all so perverse!

Need a bigger boat in Jaws because the shark was much larger than they thought, here the word yacht is used, l take this to mean, this goes deeper involving more people than first thought.

Benefits., being untouchable. The ultra elite are narcissistic, remind you of anyone?, get anything and l MEAN ANYTHING they want. Seems one has now been called to answer for his crimes…many many untouchables are quaking.

GSTQAOBC 🇨🇦

Thank you! Great job!😁❤️❤️❤️❤️

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18 notes

Jul 9th, 2019

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9.

PG INTERPRETATION OF MM ANON

MM Anon

MM ANON,… universal media backlash tells diva “ stop digging. ‘A Royal demands………“protocol,protocol,protocol !! Blog parties at royal residence enthuse laughter and contempt. Future monarchy enjoys riding this CREST. … “No worries” she’s never unattended with sophisticated surveillance. The southern district likes a deeper, longer shade of orange. A Malt-Tease Falcon.

She has been mercilessly criticized in the media, diva to stop digging herself in deeply and deeper dislike from the public and most royals too!

Protocol…….her outfit and conduct at Wimbledon we’re atrocious, someone gave her the gears for it.

We have heard rumours that the royals gather bi-weekly to read the blogs. Sounds like some are laughing, as we predicted here, and one person, hmmm who could it be finds contempt in the blogs.

Future monarchy riding high in popularity, especially Catherine, don’t we love💜💜💜💜💜 our Cambridge family? CREST capitalized, the crest of an ocean wave or mountain either way you’re high up ie popular, well loved.

A reassurance that she is well under supervision and never a second alone with that baby, which by the looks of today , would be ghastly unsafe.

SDNY, still strongly inferring there is some criminal conduct that she may trad3 the khaki dress for orange jumpsuit. When? Yesterday, it was six ways from Sunday, l proposed it might be six days from Sunday who knows. But certainly sounding dire for her.

Maltese Falcon is my favourite old films, all sorts of intriguing, unsavoury, grifters trying to get their hands on a worthless statue of a falcon. Here it is MALT-TEASE. Besides the obvious grifter connection, is she drinking a lot of malt liquor and eating Malteasers? Lol

GSTQAOBC 🇨🇦

Sounds great! Eating Malteasers!😂😂😂😂😂😂😂😂😂😂😂😂😂😂😂

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31 notes

Jul 10th, 2019

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10.

PG INTERPRETATION OF MM ANON

MM Anon

MM ANON …a tentative return for a final privacy. Boxed in on all snides. An offer of “Blockbuster”proportions sends the greys apoplectic. A Frogumental resentment causes more stroppy headlines. Media throws caution an ill wind. (Brothers in arms’ …… around each other.…) LG will enjoy a Stepford trouble & strife. August is a wicked month

Tentative return….possible that she will attend the finals to watch SW, she wanted pricey…no photos, so this use of privacy is referring being at Wimbledon. Yikes where will she sit? Might she bring two dollies and Malteasers? Oh that’s mean, sorry, not sorry 😮😊 Boxed in on all snides, she may be in the royal box or not but lots of side-eyes and tsks tsks A’s took place last time, people too polite to boo, but this could happen people are so disgusted with her.

‘Blockbuster’ , don’t know if it still exists due to my own health situation but that was a rental of movies DVD etc. So if this inferring she can watch a video of Lion King versus walking the red carpet and attending?? Oh , madness, and madness intertwined, greys is this reference to her real hair colour, that’s too easy. Not sure .

Frogmental, play on words, Frogmore Cottage and mental, as in mental state, resentment and ensuing behaviour of her part will bring more horrible headlines. Bad PR, lets think even two weeks ago, did we fathom things would have steam rolled as they have??

Media throws caution an ill wind, brothers in arms. Previous MM ANON used the phrase six ways from Sunday, l proposed that possibly six days from last Sunday something might big happen. I take this that the media, all together, brothers 8n arms, will let loose all the information they have been sitting on for so long, and the combined media will be scathing. Let’s be ready to hear things, even we had not fathomed!

LG will enjoy Stepford trouble and strife. Step ford wife, from film and tv show, wealthy neighbourhood, each man married to gorgeous, perfectly dressed, obedient , no mind of her own due to being brain altered into a robotic. So LG Cheshire Cat grin at her behaviours and his long work dealing with this mess is nearing an end. The only way she could be royal, would be the Stepford way, which obviously isn’t possible nor wanted🤓. God bless our LG!

August is a wicked month, hey not that wicked my birthday is in August! The cover of the book is a photograph done by Lord Snowdon! Book by Edna O’Brien. Woman separated from her husband, city she dislikes, finds herself living in a city she hates - a place that denies her past and offers no hope for her future. Determined to change her life, she decides to go south in search of sun and companionship. Is this foreshadowing. Going South? Africa? When is justice coming?? We wait and see.

I am nowhere near being an emsi247 , 💜

GSTQAOBC 🇨🇦

Thank you! Very interesting!😁❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️

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28 notes

Jul 11th, 2019

———————

11.

PG INTERPRETATION OF MM ANON , sorry it’s so late

MM ANON …Rumours are not rumours. “ The facts ma’am just the facts”. “It is twice blessed”… “every breath you take,I’ll be watching you”. Tunnel vision gives an odious perspective. ‘You can take a girl out of the yacht’but you can’t ……………… “. Witness for the prosecution will be her downfall …Testis Hostili.

I haven’t had a chance to read the blog to see if anyone else tackled this but l will give it a go.

Rumours are not rumours. What we have been hearing and talking about for so long is true. Everything is fake, a lie, no pregnancy, no happy romance etc etc.

The fact ma’am just the facts. Remember Dragnet, the old police show, one office went on to be Colonel Potter on MASH but l digress. The interview technique he used was pen and paper and that was his tag line, just the facts, no opinions JUST FACTS!! THEY HAVE THE FACTS, On our humanitarian.

Every breath you take….is from a song by The Police, my fave back in the day, Sting was the sing..interesting juxtaposition of words title…THE POLICE ARE WATCHING HER 24/7/365!

Tunnel vision….if you only see one way it’s extremely unpleasant , however there is only one way this will end for her..

You can take a yacht girl…..based on old line, which in i essence means you are what you are, putting lipstick on a pig, sorry pigs, it’s still a pig, so even given the family she never had😕🤮, million and millions of bespoke Givenchy etc, she still what she is a grifter, a user, vile,.

Witness for the prosecution will be her downfall. Is the MA, JM? Who ? I expect witnesses plural!

Testis Hostili DNA DOES NOT LIE, NOT A ROYAL BABY CASE CLOSED INFINITY!!!

GSTQAOBC 🇨🇦

Looks great! Thank you!😁💜💜💜💜💜💜

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36 notes

Jul 12th, 2019

:::::::

PG INTERPRETATION, PART I FORGOT

I forgot the twice blessed/blest. Another Shakespearean reference from The Merchant of Venice….what price is mercy….twice blest…meaning if you show mercy, the person shown mercy is blessed and the person showing mercy is also blessed. Sorry l forgot l am not feeling up to a lot today. GSTQAOBC 🇨🇦

That’s ok….it’s just nice having you here with us….no worries!😁❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️

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13 notes

Jul 12th, 2019

——————-

12.

PG INTERPRETATION OF MM ANON

MM Anon

MM ANON,Shallow Celebrity over military duty . Beyond-ce a joke. A nations distain is bulging. An astute idiot, or needy boy? Extravagant American psycho is victimised. 🎼The circle of strife🎼 …🎼 “THEY” are the champions 🎼… A dose of EPS and salts won’t stop this sour Apple. Bel-morale will offer a reclusive distance. It’s a ROYAL knockout for a disenchanted duo.

Shallow celebrity over military duty.

Harry spent years in the military from 2000-2015 and served Operation Herrick in Afghanistan until he had to be removed quickly for the safety of the unit because someone wrote back home and out came the secret. People are wondering what happened, where did the Prince Harry go, the one that was so beloved appears to have become a shallow celebrity. Lots and lots of international sadness.

Beyond-ce a joke.

That yellow carpet appearance was pathetic, the body language from Bey and JayZ was iced! Neither posted this internet crashing, according to moi, event. A joke indeed! But not funny.

A nations distain is bulging.

Dare l say the Commonwealth is bulging was well. There is so much discontent, ever downright hate for lack of respect and the comment she made to Pharrell, ‘they make it hard’ exactly who is they? When it all comes out, exactly what has the grifter done in the past to make life hard for many many many!

An astute idiot or needy boy?

With rumours of Harry disappearing for 48 hours, along with everything else, the public is desperately trying to discern who Harry has become.

Music the circle of strife, THEY are the champions.

Circle of life, song from Lion King, Champions obviously QUEEN😁

Lots of trouble with mm his wife/strife, we had that in an earlier riddle. Is the Queen , the they she referenced, or the entire royal family and it’s system? The Firm, thank God for LG!

A does of EPS and salts won’t stop this sour Apple. Apple is referred to Americans, apple pie, big apple etc. A dose is medication, EPS in psychiatric meds, l worked in adult mental health services for 20 years so l know a wee bit about this😉. EPS are extra pyramidal side effects of some psych meds, tremor, shakiness , torticolis, etc. Is she on anti-psychotic meds?? Nothing is stopping her!

Bel-morale…. play on Balmoral, offer a reclusive distance, is this for the Queen, her family, or will mm be there to distance her??

It’s a ROYAL knockout for a disenchanted duo. Why is ROYAL all caps? Wrestling sometimes a royal rumble. Will someone need to be knocked out with medication?? Either way, this duo could not be more disenchanted. I hope the end is near. I really and truly fear for our dear Harry’s sanity.

Thank you so much! Great job!😁💜💜💜💜💜💜💜💜💜💜💜💜

GSTQAOBC 🇨🇦

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31 notes

Jul 17th, 2019

———————

[notes-from-my-journal]

holy ground - t.h.

A/N: Inspired by Holy Ground by Taylor Swift (which she just performed live at the BBC Live Lounge beautifully). Feedback always appreciated! Xx

Word Count: 2.1k ohhhh yeah baby

Warnings: Angsty (possibility of continuation w fluff)

I was reminiscing just the other day

While having coffee all alone and Lord, it took me away

Back to a first-glance feeling on New York Time

Back when you fit in my poems like a perfect rhyme

Coffee before work was a morning ritual. It was a form of meditation, outside of the apartment. Your call times were all over the place, so it could be any time of the morning. Sometimes it was 5 am, sometimes noon. Either way, before work coffee was a must. The job was tiring. Running around, getting people to their places, occasionally helping the gaffer with lights because that used to be your focus in college. Your feet would ache and your back felt close to breaking every time you collapsed into bed at the end of the work day...whenever that would be.

This morning was different, because it was premiere day. You’d see him again for the first time in awhile. The press tour started months ago, so you both had a reason not to speak. The project was over, and he jumped into the plane and flew across the world. And you stayed home, continuing onto your next project, working away your life as usual. New actors, stunt doubles. A new director, a new boss. Both of your lives were fast paced in different ways, but they were fast nonetheless. You had that excuse at least.

You couldn’t use “destiny” or “fate” because that was only in the movies you helped produce. That only happened in fake rain and scripted conversations. The declaration of love, the crazy drive to the airport, the showing up on the doorstep at 3 in the morning. No, yours was a slow burn. Inside jokes and special treatment and flirting for months. It was the long game - the kind where nobody wins.

Took off faster than a green light "Go"

Yeah, you skipped the conversation when you already know

I left a note on the door with a joke we'd made

And that was the first day

You had been in charge of him as head AD. You kept everyone in the loop, made sure everyone was on time, yelled at those not doing their jobs right and feeling bad after. And as head AD you were in charge of the lead actor. He was as sweet as the media portrayed him to be, no secret personality. No douchebag came out behind closed doors. He was himself constantly. You were envious of it. You would call your job “professional people pleaser” and he would laugh and tell you all it took was a change of perspective. He made you enjoy the work better. He made you remember why you started in the first place.

So that’s how it started. One day you came to knock on his trailer and he was gone. You left a note on his trailer door

“Come to set now, you’re late!!”

Too harsh? Sarcastic anger was hard to detect through a post-it note. So you scribbled another line.

“Xx- the professional people pleaser”

You found out he was late because he was buying you coffee.

And darling, it was good never looking down

And right there where we stood was holy ground

So then began the whirlwind. It took three months of pre-production and shooting and meetings and late nights. But he finally asked you out. You had another two months left on the studio backlot back in LA, so you would have some time together before he was off to a different country, a different movie. You guys would hang out with the other cast members, go to the movies at midnight when no fans would swarm, go out to dinner and bars in town. But the cast started to get busy (and suspicious). So they would slowly start to cancel, until it was just you two and you’d be off adventuring on your own. Until one night, while getting ice cream and walking downtown he sprung it on you.

“Want to go out tomorrow?”

“To the bars?”

“No, like...go out. With me.”

You stopped in the middle of the sidewalk. Your ears were red from the chill, wearing his jacket. And he had never seen you look prettier.

“Like...o-on a date?” you smiled nervously.

He coughs to cover up the nerves. “Y-yeah. Unless you don’t want to I understa-”

“No, no! I would love to.” The relief on his face and in his body language was noticeable. But endearing.

You would still smile every time you walked along that sidewalk on the way to work. Sometimes with his hand in yours, even when your call time was two hours earlier. He didn’t like sleeping in the hotel bed if it was just him. You didn’t have to use your company provided hotel room anymore after the third date.

Spinning like a girl in a brand new dress

We had this big wide city all to ourselves

We blocked the noise with the sound of 'I need you'

And for the first time I had something to lose

LA always had something new to do. You showed him all your favorite spots, and he would describe the British equivalent. Chick fil A had nothing on Nando’s, but Caffè Nero had nothing on Peet’s. You took him to a Dodger game, Aladdin at the Pantages, showed him the most discreet path at Runyon Canyon. You showed him your favorite little shack on PCH that had the greatest burgers and where you would study in college when you wanted to leave campus. You were inseparable.

You were starting to show him parts of you that you didn’t give a second thought, but he could tell they completed you. And that meant the world to him.

You fell for each other quickly, smoothly - like the red wine you would pour every night before your one day off each week. He was a quick learner, so he knew by the second time you drank together that red wine made you sleep in. So he restricted it to the evenings before those days.

You always swooned over the concept of “ways to say I love you” without saying it explicitly, not realizing you were doing it yourself. You liked to call him anything but his name in public so that people wouldn’t recognize him as quickly. He appreciated it, not only because you were trying to help him maintain inconspicuous but also because he loved the nicknames you picked out.

“Here’s your coffee, love” or

“Sleepy, bub? You can take a nap at my place during the break.” or

“Hey lovey, what do you want for dinner?”

You were an anxious person. Work was high stress, and you were really hard on yourself. You had high expectations for everyone, including yourself. You had a hard time relaxing, and he did his best to help ease that trouble. For such a high-stress career, he was surprisingly skilled at remaining calm. So one night, you guys argue about it. It’s nothing huge, but everything seems big to you. He gets so worked up deciding to leave before he says anything too harsh, and takes a walk around your apartment block. When you call him crying and you can’t get words out, he’s at your door in two minutes. He knocks on it urgently and you answer in seconds. His eyes soften at the sight of you, wrapped in his sweater and a blanket with the puffiest (prettiest) eyes. Your voice comes out small and raspy - “Please don’t go. I need you.”

He doesn’t even miss a beat before saying “I love you.” He wipes the remaining tear off your cheek while you gaze up at him, and say it back.  

And I guess we fell apart in the usual way

And the story's got dust on every page

But sometimes I wonder how you think about it now

And I see your face in every crowd

You were unsure of how to go about this kind of thing. It was your first experience in a relationship that serious, and with a movie star no less. The arguments became more frequent, the adventures less common. You made less time for each other, and didn’t spend much time together on set. Even when you had to work together, you guys weren’t really together.

Your doubts got the best of you. As shooting came to a close, you were debating how he would want to keep you, what could possibly be so special about you that was worth maintaining a long distance relationship in an already complicated life. He saw it as your excuse for a way out. So in turn, both of you disguised your feelings behind ‘if that’s what you want’ and short responses. And you would each trudge home to your respective beds and cry until the clock read 4. Everything was falling apart, and by the time the flight out for the press tour came around, you had been done for a week and didn’t say goodbye. That hurt the most.

You kept up with everything, of course, Social media was a double-edged sword, keeping you at bay knowing he wasn’t seeing anyone else (publicly) but also knowing where he was, the fun he was having, how the cast was continuing to live without you. It was overwhelming most of the time.

Meanwhile, you were radio silence. No posts, no words through the grapevine, no discussion of your life with producers that knew both of you. You tried your best to keep it that way. You both had very different forms of coping. He wanted to force himself to seem okay, and you locked yourself away for months in order to heal privately. Isn’t that how it goes? One heals alone so when they are finally back in view the other realizes what they lost?

And that is how you ended up here, at Sunset and Holloway drinking your regular dirty chai, writing a to do list and journaling a bit - about him. About how in a few hours you would both have to be on the red carpet, smiling, pretending to not feel like your body was on fire by the mere presence of him. You may be paired for an interview, or two, or twenty. You would have to go to the after party and probably get drunk to survive it.

You aren’t ready for what’s to come.

Later in the evening, you finally put on your outfit, do your makeup, and meet the driver outside. No amount of lip gloss could hide your nervous habit of biting your lip. No eyeshadow could deflect the attention from the bags under your eyes from barely sleeping the month, the week, the night before. You’re still weak.

The lights are flashing, the black clothing clad PA’s are ushering people around. The interviewers are at the ready, and you breathe in and out. Over and over.

You approach the first interviewer, discussing the movie and eventually the cast. They ask what it’s like to work with him. What his favorite scene is. What your favorite scene is. Him. Him. Him.

Speaking of, where is he?

The entire night goes by with no sign of him. You hear his name in passing, always constantly behind you. You can never catch a glimpse because you’re being ushered to the next task. Interview here, pictures here. Everyone is always needing something. How does he live like this? Maybe this was why you guys weren’t meant for each other. He could handle this. You couldn’t.

He could handle you, and you couldn’t.

Tonight I'm gonna dance for all that we've been through

But I don't wanna dance if I'm not dancing with you

The after party finally arrives, and the open bar is calling your name. Vodka and red bull, wine, beer. All of your friends. You’re ready to forget for the rest of the night, letting the weight of life float away for awhile before it takes its usual spot on the center of your shoulders.

Ordering a drink from the tall, dark, and handsome bartender - you swig it down as quick as possible without being trashy. You hear him clear his throat behind you, trying to get your attention. He uses that godforsaken nickname. You had three for him, but he only had one for you.

“Hi, darlin’.” Fucking accent.

The sound of your voice reminds you of that night of the first night that became the first time you said you loved each other. Soft and raspy and broken down. You can only manage one word.

“Tom.”

[gaslightwestern]

Love | Charlotte O’Shea | When Sins Haunt

For some reason, staring down a loaded six-shooter seems less scary than dancing with Thomas Quinn.

December 1877 | 1300 words

As usual, Charlotte was overdressed. While the other ladies danced with their beaus in their Sunday dresses, cotton whites and delicate florals, her satin evening gown stood out like a slash of blood upon fresh snow. She could already hear tomorrow’s gossip. Did you see what that Yankee girl was wearing? She just had to buy the dress though. The ruching on the skirt was too exquisite; the folds along the train too darling to ignore—but Charlotte was attending a Christmas dance in Fort Worth, not a night at the opera in New York City. What in blazes was she thinking?

Thomas leaned against the wall. A hint of laughter lightened his rough drawl. “That’s some dress.”

If only the heat of her gaze could set him aflame—although it might not make much of a difference. A face full of fire and a personality to match; even his blue eyes blazed in the shadow of his wide-brimmed brown hat.

Charlotte whipped out her mother’s black lace fan, concealing her scowl behind it. “I’m not in the mood for your teasing tonight.”

“You ain’t ever in the mood for teasin’.” Thomas’s playful smile peeked out amidst his rust-colored thick mustache and beard that toed the line of respectability. “I reckon you just might be the prickliest woman west of the Mississippi.”

An audible gust blew from her nose and that damned grin of his only grew. “And you just might be the most obtuse man in the whole state.” Charlotte fanned herself with vigor. “Leave me be.”

Thomas rose to his full height, looking down at her with thinly-veiled amusement. If he wasn’t so coarse Thomas would almost look like a Southern gentleman. His stature was too overbearing however, skin too rough and tanned, waistcoat too stretched over his broad chest, and manner too crude to ever resemble anything other than someone who belonged beyond the confines of the city. The cattle-drover-turned-firearms-dealer was out of place and no amount of fine clothes nor attempts at politeness could disguise that.

“To do what? Stand here and collect dust?” He snorted, fiddling with the sleeves of his smoky-gray frock coat. “What’s say you and I go dance?”

Her hand froze. “It’s a tad early in the evening to be dipping into the whiskey, Mr. Quinn.”

“It’s never too early for whiskey, Miss Grace.”

She rolled her eyes. “Now you sound like your Pa.”

The fiddlers and banjo player strummed and plucked with fury, their instruments seemingly taking on a life of their own as their lively melodies swept up into the air. The music reached out, but Charlotte ignored its call. They were there to investigate whether Laurel Granston had any connection to the murders, not dance.

“You and I haven’t gone a day without arguing. Why on earth would you want to dance?”

“We only argue ‘cause you have to be so darn difficult about everythin’.”

Charlotte snapped her fan shut in response.

“Maybe I’m bored.” Thomas shrugged, before adjusting his necktie. “Or maybe it’s because you’re the best lookin’ woman here and a man don’t need much of a reason other than that.”

A blush as deep as her dress burned its way up her décolletage. Thank heavens the light was low. “I won’t look so nice when I trip and take you down with me. I dance the waltz, not—” Charlotte gestured towards the dance floor. There was much laughter and little organization. “—whatever that is.”

“Windin’ up on the floor with you don’t sound half bad.” Rather than apologize like a gentleman for his forwardness, Thomas extended his gloved hand with a roguish grin. “Mr. Granston ain’t here yet and we put too much effort into our appearances to stay glued to the wall.”

Never one to be shy, her sudden spell of timidity was baffling. This was Thomas. Her colleague. Her partner in justice. An arrogant cad who had been a thorn in her side since August. Why was she anxious? For that matter, why was he? Thomas’s chest remained still as he awaited her answer. Charlotte placed her hand in his. She had faced far more terrifying things than a man asking her to dance.

“I must have taken leave of my senses,” Charlotte muttered as Thomas led her to the center of the dance floor. Of course he would.

“Could’ve told you that based on your outfit.”

The hard muscles of his shoulder beneath her fingertips would have been delightful if Charlotte’s corset had not magically become three sizes too small. As Thomas drew in her however, his large hand firmly on her back, she breathed in a sense of familiarity. No hint of whiskey today, just gun oil, leather, and warmth. They had never been this close. Not even during target practice when he corrected her form. Strange how this felt more dangerous than wielding firearms.

“You’re as stiff as a corpse,” Thomas snickered as the music started up again. “Relax. Step together then take two more steps opposite me. I’ll lead you ‘round.”

Despite the urge to stare at her feet, Charlotte kept her eyes on his. Soon she was gliding backwards in tune with the beat through a sea of colors as Thomas skillfully maneuvered them across the crowded floor. A lightness bubbled up, emerging as laughter. Her dress fluttered as Thomas drew Charlotte out and then back to him with ease.

“Where did a cowpoke like you learn how to dance?”

“You learn pretty fast when all your free time at the end of a drive is spent with women.” Thomas raised their left hands, twirling her twice. “Got to know the dance halls in Dodge real good—among another fine establishments.”

Charlotte quirked a brow as they did a side step. Now she advanced. “I can only imagine what other skills you picked up in those establishments.”

Another surprise—Thomas was capable of looking sheepish. “Miss Grace, if your goal is to make a grown man blush, you doin’ a mighty fine job.”

As if to return the favor his hand slid down, resting just above her bustle. Two can play at that game. Charlotte pressed against his chest as he changed directions again. There was a delightful hitch in his breath, but he remained undaunted despite the swell of his heartbeat. Their legs moved in tandem. An odd sensation; they had been dancing around each other for months. Their proximity was indecent and wandering eyes lingered.

Let them talk.

His face was so close; gaze all-consuming and dark as the ocean. There were times, like now, where Charlotte wanted to let go, let herself be dragged down. They were so wrong for each other. All they ever did was fight. Still though, it was hard not to wonder what it would be like to kiss Thomas. Would it be as passionate as the man himself or tender like the way he was holding her? Charlotte closed her eyes. Stop it. If Thomas knew the truth, he would never look at her the same. He deserved better.

“Sorry, Miss Grace. I should show more restraint.” Thomas placed a more respectable distance between them, unable to meet her eye. Before she could tell him he had done nothing wrong, a deep scowl tore across his face. Charlotte did not need to turn around to know that Granston had finally shown up to his own party.

“Can’t say I’m thrilled with our plan.” His hands fell away. “How about we switch? I search the house while you distract him.”

A chill swept through her body, as if in protest at the loss of his. “I am perfectly capable of sneaking around without getting caught.”

“With your knack for gettin’ into trouble, I ain’t so sure about that.” Thomas grinned. “Be careful, darlin’.”

[ Overview | Intro | Page | # | Charlotte | Jack | Warren | Sam | Martin, Mae & Theo | Backstory ]

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what’s racism like in europe? i’m a black american, and have no clue how different it must be since your history isn’t the same as ours

*giant post, sorry*

well.. it’s hard and it’s more “sneaky” than what americans have to face. in general, in europe, people will always be super cautious about how they speak on minorities. they’re too afraid of being targeted as racist as hate crimes is taking very seriously. but it didn’t help our situation. for example, in france, most black students are encourage to study the same topic in college by their counselors.

so it’s really rare to see a black person working in a bank, as a doctor, or as an architect for example only bc there’s this first selection in high school. that’s not said or assumed by the authority but that’s something teachers used to do. for example my big brother was a great student in high school and had excellent grades in math. but his teacher convince him to go to a mecanic school. nothing wrong with working in a factory. but that’s frustrating when you’ve someone with potential.

since about the 2000′s, things have changed and white people are now more aware of all the injustice we faced. for example, in france, black people are the ones who struggle the most to find a house - despite their professional situations. even though it’s illegal for someone to cancel an offer bc of the color skin of the customer/buyer, that’s still something we have to face. also, we (in france) had our first black minister around 2005… things are changing fast because black people time to time organized events on black culture (food stands, clothes showcase, barber shops in the street etc.)

black people in france never have promoted violence against white people. even in their darkest hours of our country.. i’m a daughter of immigrants and when my mom arrived in france in winter 1986, it was snowing and she never saw snow in her entire life. first thing the immigration service did to her was to buy her a coat, proper shoes and clothes. and she never forget that. might be a small thing for the people working there at that time, but it was a huge thing for so many immigrants.

my father arrived in france earlier and have seen racism in his workplace multiple times. around 1983, a small facist group was terrorizing immigrants in paris (black, muslims..) and my father told me that some nights he was terrorized by only crossing the streets to get home. within the same year about 20 poc people mysteriously disappeared. some of their bodies were later found in la seine, paris river. later on, white students made a national group called “touche pas à mon pote” (”don’t touch my buddy”) which was an organization of white youth who was protecting black, muslim and other poc students by walking with them to a safe place to another. even driving them home! my dad worked at la sorbonne university as a janitor for a few years and he still is very emotional about that time.

he still thinks that if these white very young people didn’t stood up at that time, even more poc could have been killed by these facists. and it was not even 30 years ago… so, when i was born in 1992, i was the first official french citizen in my family and my parents promised to themselves to teach me how to protect and ensure myself from hate. i did. and even though sometimes i’m still mad, i’ve seen my country change so much and be so much more inclusive on black people. when i was a kid, we didn’t have any black tv anchors. we didn’t had any black models or famous singer - except one or two. we didn’t have any model to look up to. so our parents taught us to be our own model for the future.

so you’ll never see a black man get in jail for insulting a police officer here. you won’t see any prejudice about black girl hairs in workplace either. and interacial couples are so common in france (i swear!) as white people in europe are more open-minded regarding this topic, in my opinion. we stricly do have to face different issues mostly based on economy and education. but the progress which was made in a few decades are spectacular. that’s the reason why most black people in europe don’t really understand black americans reactions to injustice. we’ve different past and roots, while remaining profundly the same.

to be honest, the first time i saw what racism looked like was when i was 5 years old, first trip in new york and people started to riot around a police building. i didn’t get what was going on. i was only a child but also, i’ve never experienced so much hate against the authority. so yeah.. it’s kind of really hard and so difficult to explain. hope i made myself clear anyway. :)

[tevotbegotnaught]

The Boys Club Pool, a strip mine of pale-blue concrete, secured on three sides by a spiked, iron fence and on the fourth, a low cinderblock building. At the bunker’s entrance, you slid money across the counter and received a basket, lock and tethered key for your street clothes. Even on the hottest days (the best days to be there), the cool interior was an ancient cistern of chlorine and wet stone. Under its vaulted ceilings, hovering dragonflies, trickling shadows, droning pumps.

I remember going there first with my parents and their friends. Still small enough that the blue-backed water demanded all my feral navigation. I fixated on the towering steel slide. A quicksilver surface glazed by a bank of water jets mounted at the apex. It spun me off its waterfall lip, arms and legs akimbo, filling my sinuses with buckshot. After decades of "up south" Jim-Crow, the 60’s management allowed Black patrons entry. Under a corrugated plastic roof, the un-ironic jukebox cranked out James Brown’s "Say it Loud" and Rare Earth’s "Get Ready". Mostly girls danced and boys watched, a strict but unenforced segregation.

T, a local Greek guy, his wife and daughters ran the facility; staffing the entry, snack bar and (in T’s case) acting as police force. It was T’s voice hurling plosives through its boot camp PA. His thighs-rubbing-together gait patrolling the deck, pneumatic forearms swinging. Always in uniform: a white t-shirt, plaid Bermuda shorts (55 waist ), white socks and sandals. If a fight started, he tugboated alongside the combatants, pushed in and grabbed each by the arm. Trying to break his grip meant losing your dignity as he easily twisted you flat, then speed-walked you out.

T attended our downtown High School and played football at USC, then 2 games at tackle with the 1942 Detroit Lions, who went 0-11, scoring 38 points while allowing 263. NFL lists his twenty-six year old stats as 6’0", 220. He joined the Marines and fought in the South Pacific, where young men dropped on swampy islands became limping newsreels of biblical suffering and cataclysmic heroism. When he bent a thumb across his palm to ask a lifeguard to buy "Four Roses" whiskey, the jungle rot gulped sunlight.

In and around the pool, I grew up and remained very much a child. My dumpy body narrowed, slumped posture lengthened. I weighed a hundred pounds, none of it soft nor secure. 7th grade meant a new school and old anxieties.

Hannah Penn Middle School sat low in our hilly town. A creek ran through a deep gully next to the athletic fields. Across the street, a cavernous bargain store, "Franklin Discount" and its conjoined parking lot. Beside the store, a factory where the famous "York Peppermint Patty" was made, packaged and shipped. In its reception area, a cardboard box with unwrapped, chipped patties, a penny each. After school, a nickel bought more tooth decay than one thin hand could hold.

School staff, mostly early Boomers, reflected their era. Mr R, an English teacher, legs withered by polio, once javelined a crutch at a recalcitrant student, then calmly asked for it back. Mr S, the "with-it" guy: turtleneck, pendant and Beatles toupee, wrote skits for us and toured our show to elementary schools. Mrs D, algebra, wore a full-length mink to work until her cop husband was convicted of taking kickbacks from towing companies. T, a generation-and-a-half older, was the health teacher, freeing him to run the pool in summer.

Leaning over battleship forearms, he read aloud from our 1950’s textbook. When provoked, he commented. In one ad-lib, he described various types of oral sex in clipped, anatomical language, concluding them all "abnormal sex acts". Eyes straight down, a roomful of teens flexed our toes deep in our shoes, Some days he asked us to read. Quickly impatient with slow or quiet readers, he’d call on his niece, a shy girl, and make her awkwardly finish a whole chapter.

One day, on my walk into his classroom, T said something in Greek to me. I sat down and slid my books into the rack under the seat. He chuckled.

"You hear that?" He said, playfully adding my name.

"What?

"I said, did you hear that?"

"No"

"I called you a rotten tomato in Greek"

"Well, you’re a fat slob in any language"

T’s mouth opened.

The class inhaled

"Apologize!"

"I’m not gonna apologize. You insulted me, I can.."

"No! Apologize now!"

He searched his desk, drawers whooshing open, then slamming shut, booms

ricocheting off the linoleum.

"Apologize!"

T stood up, empty handed. He moved quickly in front of me.

Someone in the room let out a long, provocative "oooooo"

"Are you going to apologize?"

"No" I said, smirking.

T’s right hand lifted. Up close, I saw its silver dollar-sized nails, tropical mold peppering their cuticles.

His fingers closed on my shirt front. It bunched in his grip along with some skin. The shirt pulled taut across my shoulder blades. Fabric secured, he slowly raised his straightened arm from the shoulder, lifting my torso and legs out of the chair. Tiny tears in the shirt seams audible as I rose.

My knees caught the desk, lifting and tilting it, finally dropping it to the floor with a hollow clang.

Countering my ascent, he leaned away, breathing steadily through his nostrils, left arm and leg backstopped; an Athenian lawn jockey. I rose inexorably until my back was just below the ceiling lights.

Pressure on my sternum emptied my lungs and prevented me from inhaling. Looking up, he held me suspended for an excruciating moment.

"Apologize!"

Lacking the air pressure to actually speak, I mouthed, "I’m... sorry...sorry"

Very slowly, T lowered his arm. My legs found the opening in the desk and my backside, its seat. He released my shirt, turned, walked back to his desk and wrote something. I gulped air and rubbed my chest. T held up a slip of paper. "Take this to the office"

All Principals had "paddles", often more than one and always on display in their offices. My legs reattached. I took the paper and walked out. The windows and lighting fixtures sparked haphazardly. I headed to the wall for balance. In the main office, a secretary waved me toward the principal’s office. He looked up, cradling a phone against his ear, whispering,

"have a seat"

and continuing his conversation. Behind him, a wide board with tapered grip hung from a coat hook. I slid the paper in front of him. His hand unfolded and refolded it, then pushed it aside. He hung up the phone, squared his chair to the desk and asked in an absolutely level voice,

"You know what you did?"

"Yes"

"T took care of it"

That phrase, which I answered reflexively, wasn’t a question. He told me to go to back to class. As I got up, my ears were ringing, the same way they did when I swam underwater. The lobby glowed with afternoon light. I walked unsteadily past rows of lockers. A sonar wash enveloped me, close as my breath. From the open doorways: muttering, desks rattling. I didn’t want to go back to class yet.

[verabesclothing]

Buy Black Clothing in York, PA is essential and it includes bodysuits, dresses, and tops.  The brand offers effortless and comfortable designs. It can be styled from day to night and season to season.

[homervnned]

––   f l o u r - c a k e d    h a n d s    c l o s e    t h e    r e g i s t e r .

                         “ oh, for fuck’s sake. ”

                                           there’s that signature eye roll.                                      they’re talking ‘bout their dead wife                                                          A G A I N.

                                          haven’t they read the roll along’s                                           no sentimental bullshit policy ?

                       “ just eat your fuckin’ cinnamon roll. ”

whaddup. hope y’like your bakers how you like your sweet rolls :  rude and emotional unavailable !

( sean teale, human, he/him & cismale ) is that ( spellbound ) by ( ac/dc ) playing? guess ( “brooks baker” / ferris feller )’s comin’ in hot! heard folks say the ( “25” / 52 ) year old ( bakery owner ) was at the thanksgiving fair, ( nearly droppin’ a tray of sweets ‘n goodies at his bakery stand as he thought he recognized the orange-wearing witch who hexed him years ago ) when chaos ensued. during the glitch, ( he tried to follow that damned lady to give her a piece of his mind, but wound up defendin’ himself from incomin’ hooligans with a blow-up baseball bat instead ).

b a c k g r o u n d. 

born as ferris feller in letum falls, oklahoma, 1930. his mother, greta feller, raised him and his little sister ( possible wc, if she’s been turned supernatural ? ) on her own. the story goes his father was stationed abroad in the military as a courier and died in a freak accident. there were photos of him ‘round the house, but really, those are just black and white photos of some random soldier his ma had written correspondence with as a volunteer letter writer during world war i. his real father was the local pastor. his mother started sleeping with him after he brought his suits in to be dry cleaned at her laundromat.

ferris took a natural liking to baseball, and distinguished himself as a standout batter early in elementary. his ma worked extra mending clothes in order to pay his little league dues, and soon little ferris was catapulted to local baseball success.

he never was the brightest tool in the shed. always quick with a comeback, but his faculties were always more geared toward the sport than mental acuity. he passed high school with the help of a tutor and very lenient teachers, who all wanted to see the first letum falls baseball star make to the big leagues.

and make it, he did. in 1948, ferris jumped on board with the new york yankees and made major league history with the team for over fifteen years.

but there was always this one gal throughout high school who couldn’t get the hint. she asked him to the sadie hawkins and he said yes out of pity, which he learned was a big mistake. this girl confessed her love for him at the end of their senior prom, ‘n ferris didn’t know what to say except no. that summer, stuff got weird. it started with small things. a beetle in his salad. worms in his burgers at the diner. and then he noticed the trend: it all happened when she was around, watchin’. she cornered him after a game in baltimore about two years after he started playin’ and demanded he propose to her, that she’d seen into the future and they were meant to be. ferris laughed in her face. and she said he’d rue the day. she said, you’ll get what’s comin’ to ya, feller, and then you won’t be so gosh darned smug.

ferris thought nothin’ of it, until the tenth year of his baseball career rolled around and he noticed his hits hadn’t changed. his records hadn’t budged anywhere but up. but... he was supposed to be pushin’ 33. his original teammates were talkin’ about retirement. developing some crow’s feet, some aches ‘n pains, some grays. yet there ferris was, as fresh-faced as when he joined.

and that’s when it hit him. that damn girl hexed him. and with the media talkin’ bout his miraculous youth, ferris knew he needed to step outta the limelight. but just retiring wasn’t an option –– they’d send reporters to monitor his post-game life. they’d see that he still looked the same. sounded the same. 

once again: not the sharpest tool in the shed. ferris ups and disappears in 1964. the media speculates kidnapping. murder. the search is on and ferris flees. ducks into the shadows. waits a few years livin’ quiet before he slinks on back to letum falls. 

it isn’t until near arrival in ‘66 he realizes he’s... he hasn’t got a plan. he parks the car he bought off the side of the road in delaware and racks his mind for a story. a name. anythin’.

brooks. it works. different letter, different sound. he buys himself a modest house near the outskirts of town ‘n gets his ducks in a row. doesn’t even blink at the idea of a surname, ‘til people start askin’. he’s gotta have a reason to be here. a story. people start sayin’ he looks familiar... and there’s his in: ferris feller’s son. came here in search of my pa, you seen him?  he’ll fake shock when folks say feller disappeared years ago. swallow his tears ‘n pay his vague condolences when they say his ma died of a heart attack in ‘64, after learnin’ about ferris’s disappearance. and he’ll... open a bakery. yeah. he’ll lie ‘n say his ma was a baker in baltimore, she met feller after a game ‘n he was the result. he’ll stay a while. open a bakery. bakery. baker. brooks baker. that’ll work.

so he opens the roll along. the town loves it. by 1970, he’s winnin’ awards with his sweets. but the baker’s disposition doesn’t match the confections’ flavor.

he’s bitter. crass. a dark cloud. you don’t walk into the roll along for a chat. but that doesn’t stop some from tryin’. behind that glare, there’s somethin’. behind those icy eyes, there’s a different story.

ask him if he knows baseball. he’ll say nah, never played a lick in my life. he misses it. god damn it, he misses the game.

he keeps facial hair to look around his age. although his age is loose –– he avoids numbers. avoids specifics. folks speculate he’s in his mid-20s and that’ll do. but if he ever shaved? he wouldn’t look a day over 22.

t h e     f a i r .

the roll along had its very own tent at the thanksgiving fair, and it was doin’ great business. brooks almost dropped a full tray of sweet rolls when chaos broke out. and then he saw the lady in orange and he just about lost his marbles. chucked the tray onto the nearest table. set off after her. but she disappeared ‘n then he had some hooligans on his hands, so he snatched the closest weapon –– a jumbo inflatable baseball bat and had at it. 

no glitz and glam. no heroics. he whacked those monsters upside the head with a useless bubble of hot air, sustained some deep slashes, ‘n then got the fuck outta there. locked himself in the bakery, slumped against the fridge, bloodied. cursed himself for bein’ here. cursed himself for not just dyin’ already.

the roll along was roped into hosting one of the pre-vigil gatherings. the mayor asked for 400 sweet rolls to honor the 400 fallen. brooks thought it was in poor taste but hey, can’t argue with asherby. he spent all night bakin’ the damned things in his blood-stained shirt.

c u r r e n t l y .

he can’t shake it. seein’ that woman. because that might be her. that might be the bitch who did this to him. the bitch who took everything by giving him it all.

so he’s stress bakin’. a lot. pawning it off on everyone and anyone. takin’ out his frustrations on unwitting customers.

people are askin’ more questions ‘bout where he’s from, but it’s been so long and he’s told so many white lies, it’s hard to keep his story straight. what’s it to you? is his go-to response, but that’s not sufficing any more.

c u r r e n t    c  o n  n e c t i o n s .

unlikely friends – duffy freely.  they’re an unlikely pair. but somehow, brooks’ bitterness doesn’t scare duffy off. and there’s somethin’ about this girl’s earnestness that’s got something akin to trust risin’ up in him. a friend. who’d have thunk.

smug flirty banter – cal caldwell.  the roll along supplies baked goods to letum skate, and ever since findin’ its owner hiding away in a closet from customers and coaxing him out with baked goods, brooks has developed... an intrigue ‘round cal. and, well. the guy’s a warlock. maybe he can help figure a way outta this fuckin’ curse.

w a n t e d    c o n n e c t i o n s .

younger sister.  she’d be pretty old now, but i imagine if this was filled, she’d have been turned supernatural in her 20s or 30s. growing up, brooks and his sister weren’t very close. brooks was always their mother’s priority because of baseball, and i imagine there was a lot of bitterness when he left town so quickly for the yankees. she’s likely around, and if they have interacted, it would be clipped and tense. dysfunctional as fuck. there’d be a lot of resentment about how their mother died. because, well... it’s his fuckin’ fault.

drinking buds.  two shots of vodka, glug glug glug !!   brooks is... well. definitely an alcoholic, among other things. he carries such a weight that it’s the only way he really knows how to dull it all. he’s bound to have a person or two for choice company in those need-to-drown-it-out moments.

bitter buds.  they don’t take one another’s shit. and in all other universes, maybe they’d be sworn enemies. but for some reason, these two wind up actually getting along.

someone haunt the shit out of him.  ghosts, i’m lookin’ at you.

unofficial baker’s aid.  alright so. brooks is all about flying solo. managing his own shit. but maybe this customer hangs around so often that they’ve become part of the process? taste testing, helping to get things out of the oven, dealing with customers when brooks is done with their shit, etc.

[txnystarkimagines]

Paradox (Part 1/?)

Disclaimer: This story contains triggering content that includes: violence, abuse (both domestic and sexual), as well as emotional trauma, anxiety, and PTSD. DO NOT READ IF YOU ARE TRIGGERED. I repeat, DO NOT READ IF YOU ARE EASILY OFFENDED,OR TRIGGERED. I apologize for inconveniences caused by me.

Pairings: Peperony, eventual Tony Stark X Reader

Words:1600

Author’s Note:So here it is! The first part of the fic I have been planning since the last two years.

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Paradox Tag List:  @melizzzabeth  @lovely-geek  @fanficqueen306  @whatshernamemaria

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Things the reader needs to know before reading it:

This is an alternative universe where Iron Man 3 takes place before Iron Man 2 and before the Avengers.

Consequently, Tony does not get the reactor taken out before the Battle Of NewYork.

In addition, Pepper’s EXTREMIS was not fully cured.

Tony Stark is younger in this story, approximately 36-38.

The age difference between the male and female protagonists is slightly more than usual.

Eleanor is 27.

Eleanor stood at the reception of Stark Tower, drumming her fingers against the granite top. It was February, almost March and NewYork was so god damn cold. Even as she stood in the fully, centrally heated reception area, gusts of cold air could be seen coming out of her mouth as she breathed. The glass walls of the tower were all fogged up, and almost everyone had a cup of coffee on their hands, and scarves wrapped around the necks, cocooned in thick warm coats. Eleanor too was no exception, while she did not have the cup of coffee with her, her clothing choices were quite similar. Though she regretted dressing to impress today with only sheer tights cover her legs, she was still shivering. Eleanor had been out all day applying for and giving job interviews. But no she wasn’t here to apply for a job in Stark Industries. She was actually here at the request of her long time and only friend Pepper Stark wife of Tony Stark, better known to the world as Stark’s PA,with a different last name. It came as a shock to her when the couple decided to not reveal the information to the world and settle on a small wedding, with only close family and friends in a private island. Even more so when they decided to hide their new born son Exton, now six months old from the world.

“How may I help you miss?” The lady at the desk snapped Eleanor out of her thoughts.

“Oh hey, I am here to meet Ms. Potts.”

“Do you have an appointment?”

“No I don’t, but I am sure she has the slot booked."She replied.

"Yes, you do. Sorry for the inconvenience, here is your pass. Please make sure to keep it with you at all times and return it when you are leaving.”

Eleanor only smiled in return, making her way down to the elevator, fortunately empty. Some old rock music lightly played in the background, as the lift made its way up to the top most floor, the penthouse Stark suite. She wondered what was so urgent that Pepper wanted to talk to her about, the last time she met her was three weeks ago.

The elevator doors opened right into the living room.Right opposite was a whole wall made of glass, giving a view of the foggy New York skyline and the Empire State Building right adjacent to it. The sitting area was a huge circular step down portion where a couch wrapped around on one side, with huge chairs on the opposite side, and a cocktail table in between. A modern abstract chandelier hung up, with the fire place reflecting off of it.

“Look what the cat brought in."Tony greeted Eleanor as she entered. In his lap rested the little bundle of joy, better yet Exton, as he previously cooed and played with him.Tony Stark, a father and a good one. Who would have thought? She scoffed internally.

"Stark,"Eleanor nodded at him."Where is Pepper?"She asked, deciding to take a seat in the sitting and have a little talk with him.

"In bed, where else?"He looked at her.

"What about the reports?”

“Not better, if not worse."He stated cynically, with an undertone to his voice.

"How much time does she have?”

“She is not dying.” He snapped.

“Stark,” She sighed.

“No, she isn’t. I have got the best doctors on spot, I have research projects going on down in the lab with various others around the world. She will not die."He seethed. "Anyways why do you care?”

“Why do I care?” Eleanor got up,“She is my friend. For fuck’s sake, Tony!”

“It’s Mr. Stark to you.And no you aren’t. Why don’t you stop pretending that you are here for her and not for the charity?”

Eleanor’s heart panged at the thought, but she ignored it, there was a lot worse she had endured.This was nothing.

“You are unbelievable!” Eleanor exclaimed, storming out of the room and up the stairs that led to the bedrooms floor.

Is that what he really thought of her? That she was a gold digger, only caring for her best friend’s bank balance. It was true that Pepper had helped her settle down after the divorce, buying her an apartment and all, because she had nothing except her clothes at that point in life. And honestly she had tried to refuse the offer but Pep was just so damn persistent! But she had promised herself that one day she will pay back each and every single penny, even if it is ten years down the line she will, Eleanor promised herself.

Reaching the door of the master bed, El knocked loudly.

“Come in."A frail voice came from the other side.

Just as the precaution she peeped her head in before entering. "Hey!"Eleanor greeted.

There she was, the great Pepper Potts, bed ridden since the past few months. She was almost half of what she used to be, with even thinner frail hair than before. Her eyes seemed sunken, and her collar bones jutted out of the top she was wearing in an unhealthy manner.

"How are you?” Eleanor asked for Pepper’s well being, taking a seat in the lounge chair next to the bed.

“Dandy,"Pepper mumbled, as Eleanor placed her purse down on the floor.

"So..”

“So..” Pepper imitated her but ended up in a coughing fit.

“Here take some water."Eleanor immediately got up from her seat.handing her the glass from the well-organized nightstand.

As she waited for Pepper to settle down Eleanor played with the loose threads hanging from her black scarf.

"You said you wanted to talk to me about something?"She asked.

"Yeah, we kind need Tony here for that too."Pepper replied.

"Pep.What is it? You are worrying me."Eleanor spoke.

"Uh..”

“Pepper, it’s ok. I am pretty sure it’s not that bad."She assured.

Pepper took a deep breath.

"IamgoingtodivorceTony.”

“Huh?”

“I am going to.Divorce Tony. My Husband."Pepper stated with pauses in between, waiting for Eleanor to take in the information.

"WHAT?"Eleanor stood up in shock."Are you crazy? Are you out of your mind? Did he do something? Did he cheat? Because I swear if he did I am going to kick his ass and not even his Iron Man suit will be able to save him."Eleanor rambled.

"No, it’s nothing like that."She coughed."Take a seat El, please.”

So Eleanor plopped back in her seat. “Pepper, seriously what the hell?”

“Look, El. I was gonna tell the both of you at the same time, but I think telling you beforehand is better."She took a deep breath, not used to speaking so much in her condition.

"Pepper, honestly I am honoured that you decided to tell me before anyone.But I am not at all glad about what you are doing or why even? And all things aside, why would you wanna tell him as well as me at the same time?"You asked."But most importantly why?”

“I wanted to tell the both of you at the same time because when I divorce him, I want you to marry Tony.”

Eleanor’s eye’s widened in shock. She didn’t even have the temperament to process what she was saying and stand up in shock.What the actual hell? Was Pepper out of her god damn mind? She admitted that the redhead was sick, but not this much.

“What did you just say?”

“I said I want you to marry my husband.”

Eleanore broke out into hysterical laughter. “Rea-lly?"She spoke in between laughs. "Nice one Pepper. Glad to see you still have your humor."She stated, calming down.

"I am serious Eleanor.”

“You have got to be kidding me."She calmed down.

"No, I am not.”

“But why?”

“Becuase I am dying.You honestly don’t think I  don’t know that?"Pepper’s voice broke."The pain gets worse every day. I know that the EXTREMIS is killing me. Tony doesn’t know but I have asked  JARVIS to tell me about my vitals every three hours and they get worse every passing second.My organs are literally eating each other and a point will come when every nerve, every vein, every vessel in my body is going to burst. And there is nothing that can be done about it.Even right now as I speak it hurts so much, but I am doing it. I am doing all of this for the sake of my child and husband. When I die, I need to know someone will be looking after them, that I am leaving them in the right hands. And you are the only one I trust enough to do so. So I am asking you right now, as a mother, as a wife, as your friend, as a sister, and as the person who saved you all those months ago, will you do it? Will you marry my husband?” // thoughts? //

[dippedanddripped]

There’s only one problem as the growing clothing rental market inches toward offering men’s wear: Guys may not buy in.

By Jessica Testa and Jonah Engel Bromwich

Jan. 8, 2020

A little more than a decade ago, a pair of Harvard Business School students founded Rent the Runway, a platform for renting special-occasion evening wear that has since expanded to all kinds of wear: leopard-print blazers, bright red ski pants, Swarovski crystal necklaces and leather fanny packs.

By the spring of 2019, the company was valued at $1 billion and had spawned multiple competitors.

But Rent the Runway has never carried men's wear. Despite the popularity of renting, there are no companies of its size that offer men’s apparel. Because aside from prom or wedding tuxedos, men do not rent — for now, at least.

Why don’t men rent? Are they fearful that borrowed clothing carries the unsanitary residue of other men? Do they dread the logistical planning required to return a pair of cuff links? Or is it just that their renting options are so few and little known that they didn’t know they could?

The New York Times asked a dozen stylish men across the United States (and one abroad) about their attitude toward renting clothes. Nearly all were dubious, and not because of hygiene or laziness.

Through their explanations, they provided a window into how fashion-aware men think about clothes in 2020. Their stated values — individuality, ownership and longevity — were at odds with the ever-rotating closet pushed by the rental market.

Still, leaders and new players in that market are plotting expansions into men’s wear, each on slightly different paths. Whether men know it — or want it — the race to make them rent is about to begin.

The Post-‘Metrosexual’ Moment

Sometime around 2007, it became easier for men to talk about their appreciation for clothing, according to Volker Ketteniss, the director of men’s wear at the trend forecasting firm WGSN. Marketers began pushing a more “technical approach” to shopping for men, he said, placing the idea of heritage brands and craftsmanship front and center.

“This became a guy’s way of being into fashion,” Mr. Ketteniss said. “The same way you could be into cars, stereos and other gadgets.” (Before that time, men who liked clothes were more often called “metrosexuals.”)

Their interest often starts with flashy accessories, like sneakers and watches. That’s how it worked for Ty King, a shoe enthusiast in Nashville.

“Especially early on, with shoes, you didn’t want the shoe that other people were wearing,” said Mr. King, a 43-year-old music and sportswear writer known online as John Gotty.

In mid-December, when Nike released the new Air Jordan 11, Mr. King decided to skip the drop. Too many people were lining up for the $220 red-and-black retro sneakers.

“Even if I did buy them, I’m probably not going to wear them for a year or two,” he said. By then, he expects everyone else will have moved on.

Mr. King’s individualist attitude extends to renting clothes, which he said he would never do. Through years of digging and researching, he has developed his own “strong sense of style.”

“I truly know what I feel works best for me,” he said.

Mr. King fears that renting will lead to herd mentality, and he’s not alone.

“How much of truly being stylish or expressing oneself with clothing is going to be left?” said George Lewis Jr., the 36-year-old Angeleno who makes music as Twin Shadow.

Mr. Lewis said he was familiar with the concept of renting clothes, and he knows women who rent clothes, but that he  personally thinks the concept is strange.

Mr. Ketteniss of WGSN has a theory about men’s skepticism toward renting: Women are accustomed to the idea because they have been swapping clothes with their friends since they were teenagers.

This pastime never really caught on with men. And the women’s wear market has always grown at a faster pace than men’s wear. Why would the renting phenomenon be any different?

Pride in Ownership

On Instagram, under the handle ThePacMan82, Phil Cohen has amassed 770,000 followers, with posts that show a neat collection of clothing and accessories, styled as if for an advertisement.

Though Mr. Cohen appears on lists of prominent fashion influencers, he prefers to leave himself out of the pictures. The spotlight belongs to the clothes themselves.

In an interview Mr. Cohen, 37, expressed pride in his clothing and the work it took to obtain it. He said that renting a nice pair of boots or a hard-to-find jacket may thwart the proper way of things, which for him is a four-step process: Man wants garment. Man saves up for garment. Man purchases garment. Man wears garment.

“I like the idea that you save up and buy something that then becomes part of your life, part of your wardrobe,” he said. “I think that there’s a genuine sort of appreciation for the product when you’ve put yourself into it.”

Several men agreed. A few said that being outed as a rental customer may be embarrassing. It would be as if they were pretending to have more money than they did.

Jason Ryan Lee, a 38-year-old editor at the black celebrity gossip website Bossip, said renting feels almost like cheating.

“I would hate to walk out in a rental and get all kinds of compliments and in my mind be like, ‘This is cool, but this isn’t mine,’” he said. “‘Now I feel like an impostor of some kind. I’m not as cool as people think I am. This $2,000 jacket, I just rented for $35.’”

Through clothing, people project their wealth, status and work ethic. For men, being caught in clothes they don’t own could threaten those projections, and their masculinity.

Mary Blair-Loy, a sociology professor at the University of California, San Diego and the founding director of the Center for Research on Gender in the Professions, said that men often still see themselves as breadwinners. Owning their belongings helps support that image.

“Ownership is a sign and a signal of wealth and status and success in a precarious capitalist competitive world,” she said.

A Double Standard

There is also less pressure on men to own extensive wardrobes. At work, they are less likely to be scrutinized for wearing the same outfit every day. And they take pride in wearing their clothes for a long time.

Dylan Walker, a 20-year-old welding student who lives in Georgia, said that he owns about 10 pairs of cowboy boots and would never think about renting an additional pair.

“Boots last for a really long time,” he said. “One pair of boots for six years. When I buy clothes, I’m buying them for the long haul.”

Stanton Coville, a 29-year-old software developer in Ohio, said that he takes a utilitarian approach to his clothing, to the point that he calculates the cost-per-wear of individual pieces. After wearing a $300 pair of Japanese jeans for four years, its cost was justified, he said. His wife makes fun of him, but he has had to get the jeans repaired only once.

Gert Jonkers, the 53-year-old editor in chief of Fantastic Man and a publisher of The Gentlewoman, spoke of the double standard women face when they repeat outfits. For women, it’s thought to be a faux pas. For men, it’s unremarkable.

Women also have a harder time getting away with informality, he said; they are more liable to be judged for ignoring fashion trends.

“Last night I was wearing a Missoni jumper I’ve had for 10 years, and people were saying ‘Oh, wow, I love that jumper,’” Mr. Jonkers said. “Nobody notices that it’s from fall or winter 2008. It just really doesn’t matter.”

Pride in ownership and longevity combine to create sentimental value. Mr. Lewis said that he appreciated the way personal possessions become “weathered by the energy of your household, or physically weathered by you wearing it.”

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Of the white jeans he was wearing during an interview for this article, he said: “I love them and hate them, because two days after wearing them I have to wash them to make them fit the right way, and every time I wash them they get a little bit worse, and my mom overbleached them so they’re looking slightly pink now.”

“But it’s important to me because these have a story to them,” he added.

Thinking About Men

Major rental companies nevertheless look at men as an untapped market, even if they’re not quite sure how to go about tapping it.

Nuuly, a Rent the Runway competitor founded in 2019, is “actively looking” at expanding into men’s apparel, said Sky Pollard, the head of product.

Owned by URBN, the parent company of Urban Outfitters and Anthropologie, Nuuly is “talking to customers and trying to figure out a program that would work for them,” Ms. Pollard said. “We really see no reason to believe that they wouldn’t respond to it and love it as much as our women customers.”

Rent the Runway said it has also been thinking about men for a long time, albeit less urgently. The company believes men want variety in their closet, but it is still determining the best way to introduce men’s wear.

For example, should it advertise to men directly or target existing female members who buy clothes for the men in their lives?

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Either way, Rent the Runway could give style-conscious men what it has already given to women: the ability to cycle through trendy clothes at a reasonable cost (its cheapest plan is four pieces for $89 per month), without resorting to lower-quality, questionably sourced fast fashion destined for a landfill.

Unlike other men interviewed, Khalid El Khatib, 34, was enthusiastic about the idea of renting. Ever since Mr. El Khatib, a marketing and communications professional in New York, learned about Rent the Runway from his two sisters, he has wished he had access to something like it.

A few years ago, when he went to Cuba on vacation, he brought a brand-new Reiss floral button-down shirt.

“I never wore it again,” he said. “I bought it for Cuba, I wore it in Cuba, and then I retired it.” He appreciates fashion, but he isn’t attached to owning pieces no one else owns, or owning them for a long time.

In November, a New York start-up began experimenting with renting men’s wear to a list of 50 family members and friends. The company, Seasons, was founded by Regy Perlera and Luc Succés, who were also behind an app that allowed users to text each other Drake lyrics.

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In an interview, Mr. Perlera said that “men are very ownership oriented.” But, he said, “the concept of ownership is changing drastically and very quickly. We used to think that we needed cars, and now we have Lyft and Uber and Car2Go. We used to need homes, and now we have Airbnb.”

Mr. Perlera hopes to make fashion more available to people for whom the cost has traditionally been prohibitive. The Seasons website says it has inventory from Yeezy, Off-White and Gucci.

But at the moment, it plans for its cheapest subscription package to be $155 per month, which lets the renter get three pieces.

Mr. Perlera said he has been studying Rent the Runway’s successes and missteps. When asked if he was concerned that these lessons may not apply to men, he said that the Seasons inventory is actually not particularly gendered, despite the language on its website: “A members only rental subscription service for menswear & streetwear.”

“It’s really a category of fashion that really doesn’t have gender boundaries,” he said.

[potter-imagines]

Being in a Polyamorous relationship with the Hamilsquad...

(So sorry I got carried away!!)

Your boys would be the sweetest in the world

Lafayette giving you adorable little pet names in French

“Mon petit ange doux, you look divine in that dress.”

Always buying a turtle plush for John everytime you take a trip to the store with one of the boys.

Here's how your multiple turtle purchases would go down...

Hercules stopped the grocery cart and reached out to catch your arm just as your hands wrapped around the small fluffy green animal with large sparkly blue eyes. He sighed as your large orbs met his, “Y/n, my sweet, I think John has got enough turtles by now don’t you-” The tall man was cut short as his other love stepped out from behind him, setting a box of uncooked noodles in the cart, then took the stuffed animal from your hands and set it in the overflowing cart. “Shush Hercules, let her get him the turtle. John loves them!” Alexander insisted. Hercules rolled his eyes and threw his hands up deciding the fight wasn’t worth. Y/n and Alex both erupted with happiness when seeing John’s reaction to the new additions to his collection that they gifted him with. Of course it warmed Hercules’ insides seeing his boyfriend so excited so he obliged and shook his head. “Fine, fine, but you two are going to explain this to Laf when he sees John’s getting yet another one.”

Hercules making you an endless supply of dresses

Cuddle sessions

You’d probably have a chores chart

John would be the biggest sweetheart out of the four

They’d be obsessed with making sure you’re always comfortable and know how much you’re loved

Random surprises at work

It would most likely be extremely awkward at the start, none of you sure what to do and how to go about a relationship involving five people but after a while things would smooth out

Movie nights galore!!

Giving the boys massages after long hard days

Alex ranting to you about his hatred for Jefferson

“He’s just a pathetic, spineless, pain in my ass! What the hell is his problem anyways, huh? I mean my god why doesn’t he just take the damn stick out of his mother fu-” “Alexander!”

Doodling with John in your free time

Braiding the boy’s hair

“My love, are those flowers that you’re-” “Shush. You like it Alex, stop pretending you don’t.”

Bringing Hercules lunch and modeling his work for him

Thousands of group selfies

You all would move into a spacious apartment in New York with a large master bedroom that you all shared

The boys being extremely overprotective of you and each other

“That guy won’t stop drooling over Y/n.” “Oh tell me about it, this girl over here won’t stop making googly eyes at Laf.”

They’d love to baby you despite your protests

After a long day at work Hercules would draw you a bath as Lafayette carried you in and helped wash you

Lafayette tying your hair up in a bun whenever the chance is presented

Shoulder kisses

The boys would love placing small pecks all over your face as a sign of greeting

You all had enough trust in each other so jealousy wasn’t a very common thing

But there’d be a time when out with the boys you would run into Thomas Jefferson and Alex would go into full jealousy mode

He’d insist Jefferson was flirting with you and would have his hand wrapped securely around your waist with John holding your hand and Hercules glaring daggers at the man as he chatted away with Laf

But even Laf would get uncomfortable with the way his dear friend was staring you up and down

“Ah and this must be the lovely Y/n. I’ve heard so much about you. My, my you are more beautiful than the bright stars in the Virginia sky, my darlin’. Hope these men are treating you right, Hamilton especially. If you want to see what it’s like to be with a real man, one who can give you the attention you deserve-”

This would be Alex’s snapping point

Laf and Herc would have to hold him back from tearing apart the smug Jefferson as John would hold you close, blocking you from the sight

The rest of the night was spent snuggling together in bed under a mountain of blankets spent reassuring the boys just how much you love them

Morning showers together

The boys would try to do your makeup one night and surprisingly impress you with their skills

After noticing Lafayette’s constant distress and homesickness after a week or so Hercules, John, Alex, and yourself would get off early from work for the night and get to work make Lafayette a feast of authentic French themed foods

Laf being extremely overwhelmed at the action and going into an appreciative French spree of words- or rather so gibberish to three of you.

“Mes amours vous fondent mon coeur avec vos douces actions. Comment ai-je réussi à avoir la chance d'avoir quatre beaux anges qui m'aiment autant que je les fais? Je ne méritais pas de toi, mes amours.”

Hercules, John, and you turning to Alexander for translation

“He uh, he said he appreciates the action a lot and loves all of us more than anything.”

He’d then pull all of you in for a large group hug, which would happen often

Grocery shopping would take like five times longer for the fact that you live in a house with four other guys

John and Hercules always tagging along when you run errands

Alex writing heartwarming poems about you nonstop. He likes to sneak them into your work folders or your purse for moments when you need to hear it the most.

Hercules making all five of you matching Christmas sweaters in which you pose in for your family Christmas cards that make it out to all of your friends and family.

Girl gossip with the Schuyler sisters

I feel like Hercules would have a good list of jokes he’d say and mostly at inappropriate times

Like when it was Alex’s night to make dinner and he accidently overcooked the pork chops, Hercules would come into the kitchen taking in the dry black meat then look at Alex with a dead serious expression

“Hey babe, what do you call a pig that knows karate?” “Herc now is not the time-” “A pork chop.”

John always making silly faces at you from across the room when you’re stressed out

Laf being obsessed with taking candid photos of the boys and you,making a whole album full of them

“Laf why are you taking pictures of us? We’re just making lunch.” You mumbled half mindedly. The water on the stove was boiling heavily and John wrapped his arms around you from behind setting a handful of asparagus in the pot. He chuckled and placed a chaste kiss to the side of your cheek. Yet again another distinct shutter filled the air as Lafayette smiled to himself. “I bet it’s because we look absolutely adorable.” John whispered into your ear. You laughed as the vibration tickled your skin. Laf nodded and pointed towards the two of you, “Right you are, John.”

Making breakfast with Laf to bring to a sleeping Alex who passed out at his desk on top of piles of papers.

Having Christmas movie marathons laying in Hercules’ arms while Laf holds Alex and John cuddles up to your side

Becoming amazingly close friends with the Schuyler sister who love to hear about your relationship with the boys

But let's be real, the sex would be outstanding

Like John would be sweet, gentle, and hesitant but in all the right ways

Alex would love to go down on you and the rest of the boys gaining pleasure out of satisfying his partners. He's also pretty cocky, no pun intended, in bed but in all the right ways.

Lafayette exceeded in the department of dirty talk, whispering dirty French words in the shell of your ear and loud for the rest to hear which would turn Alex on above anything else seeing as he was the only who understood the words

Hercules was obsessed with undressing you and the boys loving to unravel you all before himself. He's to most skilled out of all of you and it definitely comes in handy while in bed.

But afterwards they would always make sure you felt okay and cleaned you up

Fights would be to an extreme limit but when they did occur everyone acted fast

Alex was usually involved in the arguments while John would stand to the side, holding you close if you were near shielding you from the disaster.

Lafayette could be explosive if involved so Hercules acted as the peacemaker

In most cases all boys wanted the mess to end the second it would start but being hot tempered, sometimes it didn’t matter if the issue was large enough

Alex would apologized no longer than five minutes after the start almost in tears feeling horrible for his actions

He would rush over to John and you pulling both of you in close as the other two would join in

You would all then spend the night over a tub of ice cream peacefully sorting out the issue at hand.

So many kisses

Exploring the city together

Out of all the boys, Alex is the most difficult to convince of things

It’s a chore alone just to get that boy to bed

And when clothes shopping, you always make sure to go with Laf or John

Alex is the smartest with the shopping and usually knows what you actually need and don’t need

Hercules insists he can make you whatever article of clothing you want

But John simply cannot resist saying no to you and Laf just wants to see you smile so he had no problem throwing whatever amount of money down to cover the cost. (In no means is this used in the gold digger content.)

It makes John and Laf so happy when they say yes to you and you erupt in a fit of happy giggles and ‘thanks yous’

Every once in awhile all of you would take a trip. It always varied depending on whose choice it was. Lafayette loved taking you all to his home in France, Alex was a fan of adventurous tropical vacations (sometimes cruises but it took a lot of convincing) and heading to Spain for a change of culture, John liked camping trips or mountain explorations, Hercules was a fan of road trips and calm vacations on the shores of beaches in Hawaii, and you managed to talk to boys into backpacking in Europe which although stressful during the process, was a successful vacation and you enjoyed weekends up north far from the social world.

Lafayette would come home from work and surprise you with various coloring books or Paris, India, New York, etc. from the local Barnes and Noble. This being said you would steal many or John’s coloring utensils to fill in the books.

The boys all had different drunk types

Alex was whiny. SOOOOO freaking whiny when drunk.

“Y/n… can you please cuddle me?” “Jack gimme kisses.” “Hercules can you make me pizza?” “Laf, babe, are you ignoring me? No baby, lay with me!” “Alex sweetheart, I’m doing laundry what do you want?”

John was the cuddly drunk who always wanted kisses and hugs. He’d latched himself onto whichever partner was closest and would die before letting go. If someone would say no to John- they’d pay the price. In an instant he’d erupt in a fury of tears and totally let go of himself. Herc, being the usual sober one, was there right away comforting the sensitive boy.

Laf was a happy drunk. There was always a award winning smile on his face when a drink was in his hand. He’d tell jokes in different accent and whisper incoherent French words in your ear. He liked to get touch with all his partners and always had a hand on at least one of you while intoxicated. Lafayette was known to laugh at least once every two minutes, sometimes at nothing at all while drunk. He found the world to be one huge joke and had the time of his life.

Hercules let loose entirely. He was more of a partier when drunk and liked to brag, a lot. It wasn’t always about entirely PG-13 things either if you know what I mean. He also enjoyed showing Laf, Alex, John, and yourself off as well. Not in a disrespectful manner, just talked about how much he loved all of you. His lips were constantly pressed against your temple as well as the other boys. He’d holler and shout at a ball game on the screen that while sober he wouldn’t even give a second glance to.

Speaking of sports, almost everyone in the house was into something different but when March came around, the house was madness… pun intended.

The boys as well as yourself would all make brackets. Money was involved, no doubt. Smack talk was also a component even though none of you cared for the sport too much until March.

Alex would watch every game leading up to the event feverishly mapping out his plan. In the end, he would take into account more of the end scores than the effort and passion of each team. His end game was between Gonzaga and North Carolina.

John would argue against Alex and root for all the underdogs. Things wouldn’t turn out well for him but he had fun! John liked cheering for all teams and tened to root for the team with the most passion and enthusiasm. He was one for effort and hustle so when all his first round picks lost, he didn’t mind.

There was no doubt about it, Lafayette cheered for the team ahead. He was a typical bandwagon and switch sides faster than any traitor in history. Laf claimed he didn’t do so but it was clear. Sometimes he would cheer for the team with the name he recognized but he did enjoy watching basketball and seeing the games. Not knowing whether to pick North or South Carolina, Lafayette cheated the system deciding to write ‘Carolina’ as the end winner, claiming he did it on accident but everyone knew what he was up to.

Hercules cheered for the team with the best colors. He wasn’t as into basketball as most and prefered to watch his loves get excited themselves. Although he did pick Gonzaga, due to Alex spending an entire week talking him into it. Hercules didn’t mind though, he had no idea what was going on anyways. At the start he had put in the Lakers and Bulls, not realizing the huge difference between college and professional.

You on the other hand had watched the teams throughout their whole season which also meant you understood every game was different so you took an approach similar to John. In the end, Alex was the closest to perfection and made sure to let you all know it. But he choose to spend the money won on a night out on the town filed with kisses, champagne, expensive food, and loving memories.

You and Alex would be overly involved in reality TV

Like don’t even get him started on all those Real Housewives shows. Alex lives for the, most likely scripted, drama. You both try to get the other boys in on it although the only one who bites the bait is Hercules. Her claims he ‘hates’ the shows but you had caught him one Sunday night after everyone had long passed taken on sleep. You had felt his side of the bed shift and soon enough he was creeping out of the room. You followed him in curiosity and the sight you found was no one to disappoint.

Hercules has an episode of Keeping Up With The Kardashians playing at the lowest volume and he was fully consumed.

You tiptoed silently down the wooden staircase holding a hand over your mouth to keep your breathing shallow. The light from the TV screen flashed in the dim lit room. You peeked out around the corner of the wall taking in the sight before you. Hopping out from behind the wall you shot your hand out at your boyfriend and hollered in delight,   “Ha! I knew it, you do love it!” Hercules jumped a mile high, his bowl of popcorn spilling out as he did so. His eyes flickered from the screen, to you, to the screen, then back to you again. Shooting his hands up surrender, Herc quickly snatched the remote from the cushion turning the show off instantly. “Sweetheart, it’s not what it looks like. I just- I wanted to see… fine you caught me. Don’t you dare tell Alex.” “Nope, too late.” A new voice appeared from the bottom of the stairs where a smug looking Alex stood. His hands were folded across his chest with his weight staggered to one hip. The cocky demeanor was shinning as bright as a new lightbulb. The introduction of another voice, or two, followed shortly after. “Damn Hercules, they got you too.” John commented sleepily. His messy locks curled around his face perfectly as his eyes batted heavily. You and Alex chuckled joining Hercules on the couch. Both of you were waiting for Monday to watch it together but what better time than the present. Alex snuggled into Hercule’s side humming at the man's hand falling around his frame. You reached forward locking your hand with Alexander’s and rested your head on his shoulder. Laf smiled at the view and walked around the opposite end taking a seat on the floor. He turned around and faced Hercules with a side smirk, “C’mon babe I thought you were strong!” “Sorry you two! It’s just so terrible it’s addicting. Sit and watch it, just one and you’ll see what I mean.”

But above everything you all loved each other more than anything and did everything in your power to protect each other and make one another feel loved and cared for.

Hope you liked it! 

- Daizy xx

[toldnews-blog]

New Post has been published on https://toldnews.com/lifestyle/what-is-the-met-gala-and-who-gets-to-go/

What Is the Met Gala, and Who Gets to Go?

Officially, it’s the Metropolitan Museum of Art Costume Institute benefit, a black-tie extravaganza held the first Monday in May to raise money for the Costume Institute (a.k.a., the fashion department).

Unofficially, the night’s festivities have been called many things, including “the party of the year,” “the Oscars of the East Coast” (mostly because of the star quotient and the elaborate red carpet, where guests pose on the grand entrance stairs to the museum) and, somewhat pointedly, “an A.T.M. for the Met,” the last by the publicist Paul Wilmot.

The party signals the opening of the Costume Institute’s annual blockbuster show, and it is known for its celebrity and fashion hosts. This year the exhibition is “Camp: Notes on Fashion,” a play on the famous Susan Sontag essay “Notes on Camp.”

The hosts are Anna Wintour (the magical manipulative Wizard of Oz for this particular event) and the holy trinity of sartorial kookiness: Alessandro Michele, the creative director of Gucci, who once had a show in which models carried lifelike casts of their own heads as well as “dragon puppies”; Harry Styles, the pop star who flouts gender stereotype (and muse of Mr. Michele); and Lady Gaga, who needs no explanation.

Also the tennis star Serena Williams, for reasons that are not entirely clear in the context of the exhibition’s theme — her tennis tutu? — except that Ms. Wintour is a famous tennis fan, and hey, she’s Serena. Wouldn’t you want to go to a party she was hosting?

Wait, isn’t camp a place where kids go in the summer to learn canoeing life skills? What does that have to do with fashion?

That’s the first definition in Merriam-Webster. Read on down to definition No. 2: “a style or mode of personal or creative expression that is absurdly exaggerated and often fuses elements of high and popular culture.” And this can be best seen in … clothes!

That said, camp is an awfully slippery concept to pin down. One person’s camp is another person’s kitsch is another person’s tongue in chic. Sontag herself had 58 different musings on what it could mean, and Andrew Bolton, the curator in charge of the Costume Institute, said that by the time he was finished putting the show together, he thought “everything” was camp.

Of course, the gala itself is, in many ways, the apotheosis of camp, because attendees are encouraged to dress in theme.

Do you mean this is a costume party?

Not exactly — but almost. It isn’t stated that attendees have to dress in the style of the exhibition, but it is encouraged. Just as it isn’t stated that, if celebrities are invited to the gala by a brand, they have to wear clothes from that brand, but it’s really part of the deal.

This encourages said brands to get the best stars, because they can act as an advertisement for a house. It is also why, whenever designers are photographed on the red carpet, their dates are almost always famous people.

In 2018, for example, Nicolas Ghesquière brought Emma Stone, Michelle Williams, Alicia Vikander, Justin Theroux and Laura Harrier. It is also why the galas have been seeing increasingly exaggerated, paparazzi-catching looks (and, sometimes, related faux pas).

In 2016, the show was “Manus ex Machina,” which meant almost the entire Jenner-Kardashian clan was in sparkling Balmain motherboards. In 2017, for the Rei Kawakubo exhibition, Helen Lasichanh, wife of Pharrell Williams, gamely entered into the spirit of the evening in a red Comme des Garçons jumpsuit that flattened and haloed the body but had no armholes, meaning the eating thing became a little complicated.

Last year, for the celebration of “Heavenly Bodies: Fashion and the Catholic Imagination,” things got really extreme. Rihanna came as the pope. Katy Perry wore such enormous angel wings that she practically knocked over a fellow guest. And Sarah Jessica Parker had an entire nativity scene on her head.

That does sound insanely camp.

It is. The Met gala is always full of artifice, exaggeration, theatricality and — to quote Sontag — “failed seriousness.” Which does raise the question: Is it even possible to get any more camp, or will the whole thing simply tip over into absurdity?

We will have to wait and see, but I can tell you this: Many designers I have been speaking to have been struggling with the dress code on the invitation. Which is “studied triviality.”

Studied triviality? Does that mean Lady Gaga will wear another meat dress?

Probably not. (She doesn’t like to repeat herself.) But she could wear a TV dinner dress, straight from Moschino’s most recent runway. Viktor & Rolf, in its last couture show, produced a bouquet of titanic tulle confections with meme-friendly messages like “No” and “Go to hell”(at least one of the frocks made it into the exhibition itself) that would be on theme.

And there’s always Olivier Rousteing’s first Balmain couture, in which women got swallowed by giant pearls. The revenge of the oysters! Maybe next year we’ll go back to little black dresses again.

O. K., what if I want to go?

Good luck. Unlike other cultural fund-raisers, like the New York City Ballet gala or the Frick Collection Young Fellows Ball, the Met gala is invitation only, and there is a waiting list.

Qualifications for inclusion have to do with buzz and achievement (and beauty), a.k.a., the gospel according to Anna, more than money. Ms. Wintour has final say over every invitation and attendee, which means that even if a company buys a table, it cannot choose everyone who sits at its table: It must clear the guest with her and Vogue and pray for approval.

Who does get to go?

This year, about 550 Chosen Ones. In the past the guest list has been a secret guarded with all the obsessive secrecy of the Illuminati members roll, but this year for the first time — maybe to offset those rumblings about brands sitting it out — Vogue released the names on the host committee.

It is … very long. Kimye are on it! So are Hailey and Justin Bieber! Sean Parker! Lots of designers! RuPaul! Cam Newton! I could go on, but that would ruin the surprise.

How much does the gala cost?

Tickets are $35,000 apiece, and tables range from $200,000 to $300,000. The party and exhibition are sponsored, this time by Gucci (and as is usual, by Condé Nast).

All of the money from ticket sales goes to the Costume Institute, which is necessary because it is the only one of the Met’s curatorial departments that has to fund itself, fashion having been an iffy proposition as an art form when the institute was established.

Why would anyone pay that much for a party?

Ms. Wintour, the editor of American Vogue and the artistic director of Condé Nast, became chairwoman in 1995. She took over annual leadership in 1999. Since then, she has been instrumental in transforming a local philanthropic event into the ultimate global celebrity/power cocktail: Take a jigger of famous names from fashion, add film, politics and business, and mix.

This year some brands appear to be chafing, and rumor has it Dior, Ralph Lauren and Calvin Klein are downsizing their presence.

Still, the gala remains the gold standard of parties, and that by which other benefits are measured. It’s such a heady combo that President Trump proposed to Melania during the event in 2004. (No, they are not expected this year.) It is among the hardest party tickets of the year to get.

What happens when guests get inside?

It’s another secret. For the last three years, posting on social media has been banned after the red carpet.

What I can tell you is this: There is a receiving line inside with the hosts, usually next to some towering floral arrangement by Raul Avila that pretty much takes over what is normally the Great Hall’s central information booth. Guests file by, air kiss Ms. Wintour and Co., and then tour the exhibition on their way to the cocktail party, so they are theoretically forced to experience some culture.

After cocktails, they are called in to dinner, and there is always some form of entertainment. Last year, it was Madonna (which was not a big surprise, given the theme). This year it could be Mr. Styles or Gaga, but the betting money is on Cher. I got you, babe.

So why does it matter?

It’s reality TV at its most glamorous; the All-Star Game of Entrances. Who cares about sitting down? Who cares about food? And let’s be honest with ourselves: Who can resist?

For the best view, tune in to our red carpet slide show, produced in real time as soon as the hosts make their entrance around 6 p.m.

[paintingraves]

Behold French!Graves

Or, that one AU in which Grindelwald erased Graves’ memories and dumped him in Europe, leaving him alone to rebuild his life from scratch. Everyone believes him dead. Newt and Credence run into him in France by accident. 

They’d been staying in Paris for a couple of days, trying to find the wizard Newt was searching for. Another supposed expert when it came to magical beasts. Newt absolutely wanted to talk with him about the Beast of the Gévaudan, and other legendary creatures he’d heard originated from France.

There were staying at a Hotel in separate rooms, a cheap but nice place to be with everything they needed. America was far behind, now. It had been two years since the debacle with the Obscurus in New York, and a year and 9 months since Newt Scamander found Credence residing in his suitcase, occupying the freezing landscape in his Obscurus form.

He’d taken Credence with him, refusing to tell anyone about his discovery, and offered to teach Credence magic. With Newt at his side, Credence had grown. He’d learned to raise his head higher when he talked, had learned to be more confident when he expressed his opinions, had learned to say what he liked and disliked and most of all, he’d learned to control the dark force within him and now managed to do actual magic. Sure, there was still a lot to accomplish yet, but Credence was a far cry from what he’d been a few years ago. He’d let his hair grow as well, getting rid once and for all of the horrible haircut Mary Lou gave him. It was still short but it curled around a bit, giving his face a gentleness he thought didn’t resemble him.

Newt left him alone that morning after they got dressed and ate. He had an informant to meet and left Credence money to wander around the city and do as he pleased.

So Credence did.

Paris was a busy city, bustling with life. Credence walked around, without any destination in mind, enjoying the sun and observing people around him. He gave some of his money to beggars, made sure to visit the Church and pray, and when noon came he was hungry.

Seeing an open bakery, Credence decided he’d buy a sandwich or two. The place seemed like it was popular. A long queue of people were waiting their turn inside, and Credence dutifully fell in line behind an old lady wearing a pink scarf. He quickly decided on what he would order and let his mind drift while the queue slowly advanced, thinking about the books he would read this afternoon and the spells he could practice.

Which is why he was entirely unprepared when the cashier called upon him and Credence found himself face to face with Mr Graves.

“Bonjour,” Mr Graves said, perfectly at ease in his white apron, shirt sleeves rolled up to his elbows and a professional smile plastered on his face. “Qu’est-ce que je vous sers?”

Credence opened his mouth a couple of times, but nothing came out.

Mr Graves looked… Different. His voice was the same. His face was the same, the way he held himself was the same, but he sported a bit of stubble; his hair was no longer slicked back and shaved on the sides, but even, short and slightly ruffled as if Mr Graves had the habit of passing his hand in it too many times. He looked exhausted, eyes ringed with fatigue, but they were warm and kind as he patiently waited for an answer.

Credence knew that the last Mr Graves he saw was not the real one, Newt explained it to him. But the searches to find the real Mr Graves were fruitless, and after a year, the man was declared dead. So the last place Credence ever expected to find him was working in a bakery in Paris. Mr Graves’ French sounded flawless, but then again Credence wouldn’t be surprised that a man like him would speak different languages. Mr Graves did not, however, seem to recognize Credence at all.

Had Grindelwald erased his memories and dumped him in the middle of France? But why France, of all places? Or did Mr Graves have a long lost twin he never told Credence about?

“Mon garcon, je sais que je suis beau, mais il va me falloir une réponse. Tu n’es pas le seul dans la boulangerie. »

Credence had no clue what the man just said, but judging by his amused smirk and the giggles he heard behind him, he was currently making a fool of himself. Cheeks flaming, Credence muttered a “Un sandwich au jambon et un pain au chocolat, s’il vous plait.”

“Ca sera tout?”

“Oui, merci.”

Mr Graves dismissed him and greeted the next customer. Credence left the bakery clutching the bag in his hands, mind reeling with what he just discovered. Mr Graves was in France, speaking perfect French, looking as regal as ever, working among pastries and baguettes and with apparently no memories of who Credence was.

A perfect No-Maj. A perfect normal middle-aged man with a successful, normal business. It wasn’t right. It wasn’t him.

Credence resolved to come back to the bakery tomorrow and at least get the man’s name.

He didn’t tell Newt about it when the man came back to the Hotel. He wanted to be sure.

Xx

“Encore vous.” Mr Graves greeted him. “Qu’est-ce que je peux faire pour vous aujourd’hui?”

« Je voudrai une baguette, votre nom, ainsi que l’heure et la date à laquelle vous seriez disponibles pour qu’on se voit en dehors du travail, » Credence said, which roughly translated to « Give me food and also I want to go on a date with you. »

Credence just wanted to talk, that’s all.

Mr Graves stared at him before laughing, leaving Credence breathless. The man was cute when he genuinely smiled. He had no right to be cute.

“Okay,” Mr Graves said once he caught his breath. “Okay. Voilà ta baguette. I’m Percival Graves. Nice to meet you. My shift ends at seven tonight, wait for me outside?”

Credence nodded vigorously. “Avec plaisir. Bonne journée, Mr Graves.”

Xx

Credence was in front of the bakery at seven pm sharp. Mr Graves came out a few moments later, cigarette between his lips, wearing a dark coat that suited him and a hat atop his head. He pulled out his lighter and lit the cigarette, taking a long, slow drag as he looked at Credence.

“So? Where are you taking me?”

“I just want to talk to you, Mr Graves,” Credence murmured. He grabbed Graves’ arm and led them away from the crowd, into narrow streets until they reached the back entrance of the Hotel he and Newt were staying at. Mr Graves looked up at the façade, eyes widening comically. He was extremely amused to be led like that by a kid half his age who clearly knew what he wanted, but that was bold even for him. They hadn’t even gone on a proper date first.

“A hotel? Really?”

Credence was thrumming with anticipation. He needed to know. He didn’t reply, merely pushed Mr Graves inside, up and up the stairs until they reached his room.

Credence sat Mr Graves down on the sofa while he fetched something inside his case and came back to Percival, who was even now getting confused. What did the kid want? He didn’t even know his name.

“Credence, sir. Credence Barebone? Does that ring a bell?”

Percival tensed. It looked like the kid had a grudge against him, and maybe he wasn’t as innocent as he looked. “No,” he said dryly. “Should it?”

Credence pursued his lips. “Hmm. Does this picture remind you of anyone?” he asked, shoving an old, dirty black and white moving picture between his hands. Percival blinked. The picture couldn’t move, it was impossible, and yet – the young man there looked up at him. He was wearing clothes too big for his body, and a horrible haircut, but he looked like Credence. The face was the same. Which didn’t explain why the boy inside the damn picture could move his head around and blink at him.

“What the hell is going on?” He breathed. “Who are you?”

“What do you remember, Mr Graves?”

“What do I-“

“Have you always been in France? Have you always worked at the bakery? How come you speak English as well? Do you have family? And if I do this,” Credence opened his palms in front of him and a ball of fire appeared in the middle of them, hovering above his skin while Credence looked on unperturbed, “Does that feel like something you know?”

Graves got up. He had enough.

“I don’t know what you’re on, kid,” he said, willing his voice to sound normal, “or how you pulled off something like that, but this is too weird even for my liking. I’m getting the fuck out of here. Don’t – don’t come near me or the bakery ever again.”

“Mr Graves, wait!”

“Hell no!” Graves opened the door and rushed outside, descending the stairs two at a time. His heart stopped when he saw Credence waiting for him in front of the exit door. How was this possible? How?!

“Get away from me!” He cried, stumbling backwards and knocking his legs badly against a table. He hissed in pain. Credence kept approaching him, holding his palms up as if to show he was unharmed, but Percival wasn’t taking any chances.

“Get away,” he growled. “Let me go, and I’ll never speak of this to anyone.”

“I can’t do that, Mr Graves,” Credence shook his head. “You’re too important.”

“Important to whom?! To you? I don’t even know you! All you’ve been doing is scaring the shit out of me ever since I got here! Let me go!”

“What is going on here?” A third, slightly bewildered voice asked. He turned his head to meet the gaze of a tall, gangly man with unruly ginger hair, a blue coat and holding onto a brown leather suitcase. He looked so normal Percival could have cried.

Graves raised a shaky finger towards Credence and said with as much authority as he could muster, “Tell him to let me go.”

Newt raised an eyebrow towards his apprentice. “Credence?”

“This is him, Newt!” Credence said in a rush. “He said his name is Percival – Percival Graves! But he doesn’t know who I am, or who you are apparently, and he doesn’t know magic, or anything – I haven’t been able to determine how far the modification of his memories go, because he tried to escape.”

Newt sighed. “This is problematic. If Grindelwald altered his memories too much, I don’t think there’ll be a way to get them back… Plus, I don’t think he wants us to do that.”

They both turned their heads towards Mr Graves, considering what best to do with him.

Except Mr Graves had apparently taken advantage of their little scuffle to run away. The back door was wide open and they hadn’t even heard it. He’d slipped out entirely unnoticed. Newt frowned. The man probably had some magic left in him. Which was dangerous if he believed he was a No-Maj. He wouldn’t be able to control it if the outbursts became more frequent, and they would be after his encounter with Credence.

“What are we going to do?” Credence asked.

“I think it’s best if you let me do the talking, Credence,” Newt said. “You’ve frightened him.”

“I did?”

“He’s a No-Maj at the moment, Credence. He lives and acts like one. Yes, you’ve frightened him. We need to re-introduce him to the world of magic slowly, if we want to see exactly how far Grindelwald’s damage goes and if there’s a way to fix him.”

“Alright,” Credence chewed on his lips. “Did you find your informant?”

“Yes. Doesn’t matter. We’ll extend our stay here. I’ll go see Mr Graves tomorrow. Don’t go near him again, Credence. Or if you do, at least go unnoticed. He doesn’t need any more stress.”

“Okay.”

“Good. That’s settled. Now, what spells did you wish to practice today?”

[lyralumina]

puppyshipping and then azureship

Puppy shipping:

when I started shipping it if I did:my thoughts:I started shipping Seto and Jonouchi around middle school, sixth grade. That was the peak of my really weird times. I had to hide my Yu-gi-oh! Knowledge and “obsession” from everyone. I did a great job of it in the end. I was too busy as a performing arts kid to ever gush about Puppy Shipping, my legacy and self image was on the line so having people know about me shipping two fictional men was going to bring me down. My middle school was not the best. Trust me.

What makes me happy about them:Jou is a literal ball of sunshine while Seto is very calm and reserved. They are polar opposites in terms of personality. I love it when they get all up on their own terms until someone has stepped over the line. I know that sounds weird but despite their oppositions, they both go hand in hand. They complement each other really well.

What makes me sad about them:Oh boy, Angst. Both of them had fathers that did horrible things to them. Obviously Seto had it much worse than Jonouchi. I wish the anime or I don’t know something else Yu-gi-oh! DM related would just have Seto and Jonouchi have some sort of civil talk between the both of them without teasing or arguing, just the both of them talking about their fathers and how it shaped them. How they both have younger siblings they love so much, how much burden they had to carry in the family, how much they had to hold and look at them as if everything was okay but nothing was.

things done in fanfic that annoys me:I have read a few Puppy Shipping Fanfictions thanks to a friend of mine (WINK WONK 👌), I don’t remember much from middle school at all. This is a rather tricky question because most do a fine job with them both. I guess it will have to be the fact that they toss their younger siblings to the side and mainly focus on the point that its mainly all on them. That is the whole point I understand that but please, Do not forget that Seto has a younger brother who is most likely just starting freshmen year in highschool and that Jonouchi has a younger sister who might as well be a junior or senior in highschool. Let them contribute to their overall relationship. Let the younger siblings be the drawing line. “ What will Mokuba or Shizuka think if I am dating this man who knows so little of me. What will they think of me? “

things I look for in fanfic:Respect. I do not expect them to start having sexual desires and even start sexual intercouse so soon.

Who I’d be comfortable them ending up with, if not each other: As much as I am a Puppy Shipper, I do see them more as best friends who still get rather preppy with each other by this point. Where Seto has stopped calling him a mutt and refers to call him by his last name and where Jounouchi still can go either way addressing Seto with his last name or first name.

My happily ever after for them:They acknowledge each other as strong duelists and most of this question can be answered by what I said in the previous question and my input, BUT, If they are married.Seto and Jonouchi take turns being the trophy “wife”, They try their best to get each other the best birthday or anniversary presents but Seto usually wins. Where they would even have a civil chat about adoption and Seto likes the sound of that but time will tell, They both have to be ready for the responsibility of a child.

who is the big spoon/little spoon:Seto is the big spoon. He is taller than Jonouchi and Jonouchi is the little spoon. They will take turns obviously and they also would take turns being the dominant one.

what is their favorite non-sexual activity:Oh boy, another trick question. Dueling I guess. They both try to prove they are stronger. “ What do you mean your Red Eyes Black Dragon is better than my Blue Eyes White Dragon? Preposterous! “I also see them taking each other to restaurants and trying their best not to look so romantic, they would wait till they got home and then the fireworks ensue.

Azure shipping:

when I started shipping it if I did:my thoughts:I started shipping Seto and Anzu way back in my Elementary school days. I remember sitting in a round table as me and some of the squad and we talked about Yu-gi-oh! And how they all shipped Yugi and Anzu together because it was the most popular ship. I was too busy shipping Yugi and Yami or better known as Atem at that time so I was like UM NO I DISAGREE MY DUDES. I love Azure Shipping but the fandom who ships them is really small, which is great but it is sometimes sad.  Actually, I remember watching some short AMV of Azure shipping back in middle school, the one with the colors that would turn the picture into a slew of rainbow and the song was bring me to life because that was THE song to make an AMV to.

What makes me happy about them:They did not have too many memorable moments in the anime together and never got to have a long exchange of words together alone and most likely never will in the DM universe. Anyways,Anzu is very preppy while Seto is more reserved. Anzu is just outgoing while Seto is please no, Don’t talk to me. They work together really well. I love Anzu and she is just a queen, A dancing queen. Seto is a king, a high and mighty king. Both are literally self-image royalty and that is great.NEXT.

What makes me sad about them:The fact that the shipping fandom is small, haha.Anzu is so nice to Mokuba and that is always a great thing. She would make a great friend to Seto since she is on good terms with Seto’s younger brother and Mokuba seems to trust Anzu a lot so Seto should have been on some good terms with her since Mokuba trusts her. Seto should have had more interactions with her but the staff and everyone else was really shipping Yugi and Anzu together at the speed of light because it is informed out there that Yugi likes Anzu a lot. That is fine if you are a Peach Shipper, I love Peach shipping just as much as Azure Shipping but Seto got the short end of the stick with friends. Itis in his character not to trust anyone or even have friends but I feel like if he were to tarnish that, Anzu would be his first choice as a friend.

things done in fanfic that annoys me:Most Azure stories I read are good but one thing has made me rather upset and that is,Most never write Anzu and Seto having some Pas de deux together. No dancing. If you are super into Seto being a lousy dancer, Let Anzu laugh at that“ Anyone can dance, all you have to do is try. “ I do not expect Seto to be a principal dancer straight off the bat, I just want them to dance together, let them have fun. They deserve that much. I am a ballet dancer so it really upsets me.

things I look for in fanfic:Respect. I do not expect them to start having sexual desires and even start sexual intercouse so soon.

Who I’d be comfortable them ending up with, if not each other: Best friends who call and text about their day and gush about the things they love to each other. Friends that would buy each other things if wanted or needed. Anzu would ask where Mokuba is because she loves him so much and so does Mokuba so Seto brings along Mokuba and it’s just Mokuba really happy and Anzu listening to Mokuba as he tells her of all the things he did at school and what Seto did. I would also like Seto to refer to her using her first name actually while Anzu would still address Seto with his first name too. A lot of fanfictions I have read of Azure shipping do this so I guess it has left a lasting impression to me.

My happily ever after for them:This is a trick question for me but I will try my best to answer this question to the best of my ability. If they were to get married then I see Anzu as the best wife who knows her boundaries and knows how to treat a man who has gone through so much right. She will know how to ease his stress and pain. She will still have a deep lover for dance. I STRONGLY HC her going to New York and and getting in the New York City Ballet Company and making her way up to principal dancer, Seto would visit her and help her out even in terms of moral support but one day her body could no longer take it, she had to stop. She knew the day would come but never so soon. She then gets married to Seto because he loves her so much and she loves him.Seto treats Anzu with respect and lavishes her with fine jewelry and clothing and he takes her out on romantic dates, He would do the Will smith pose to her if he could and WEHHH!!! I could go on for hours so I will stop here.

who is the big spoon/little spoon:Seto is the big spoon. He is taller than Anzu, Anzu is tiny and her body is constantly aching from the strain of dance so Seto treats her body, He patches up her feet. He reminds her to take her supplements and pain killers. He does so much for her.

what is their favorite non-sexual activity:Oh boy, another trick question. Dinner dates, Dancing, Sitting at a cafe as they talk about how they have been and what not. Anzu taking Seto to go see a ballet, Seto coming to one of Anzu’s performances and presenting her with this huge bouquet of roses that have a huge flower meaning puzzle to them and letting Anzu figure out the puzzle, When she does she calls him and he always gets a chuckle out of it.I am sorry, I just love Azure shipping so much.