#clothes for republic day

[its-poojagupta-shree]

As the calendar turns to January 26th, the vibrant spirit of patriotism engulfs the heart of every Indian, marking the celebration of Republic Day. This significant day commemorates the adoption of the Constitution of India, and it's a time when the entire nation unites to honor its rich heritage and diverse culture. At SHREE, we believe in not just celebrating this historical event but also embracing the essence of Indian tradition through the lens of fashion. In this blog post, we delve into the significance of Republic Day, the fashion choices that reflect the spirit of the day, and explore traditional wear for women to create the perfect Indian festival look.

[designedandplated]

Women's Red and Black Day Dress, 1897.

[i-will-always-love-the-jedi]

Stellan is stopping them from punching someone

…

[arctic-hands]

...I just HAD to look up if handwashing polyester reduces microplastics than what would be shed in a washing machine. Because it DOES. And now I'm going to feel guilty if I DON'T handwash my polyester winter clothes but I am disabled with a bad back and arthritic knees and don't know if I have it in me to wash these garments by hand when I do laundry. I just had to wash a poly/cotton/wool/silk blend sweater by hand over the course of two days (i didn't realize when ordering from ThredUp that it was handwash only), and it was a total bitch

[memecatwings]

other americans need to stop loudly and proudly admitting to things that you couldnt waterboard out of me. stop acting like its normal that you didnt know africa has cities and people in it until you were like 20 that is not normal that is a you problem not an us problem our education system is bad but its not that bad

[ranger-kellyn]

love that because two idiots decided to fuck during an ice storm instead of playing a board game or doing literally ANYTHING ELSE i get to be forced to live during the decline of the us empire

[redpandamerchdaily]

Red panda merch of the day: Wild Republic Lil' Scents Cherry Red Panda

[agoodflyting]

Why Aziraphale is completely ridiculous in the Bastille scene (and I love him so much for it)

A while ago I posted a comparison of Aziraphale and Crowley's costumes in the 1793 flashback in Good Omens and I wanted to add these little tidbits. (Because they haunt me.)

I feel like most people know this but IF YOU DON'T, Paris in 1793 is right in the middle of something called La Terreur.

HISTORY LESSON If you didn't learn this in school the French Revolution was when, after years of escalating social tension, a coalition representing the working classes of France revolted against the monarchy, violently overthrew King Louis XVI, and declared France to be a republic.

The new National Convention governing France ruled that King Louis XVI and his wife Marie Antoinette were traitors to the people of France because of how they had spent ridiculous amounts of money on luxuries for themselves while vast numbers of the lower classes were literally starving to death. (keep the bold in mind - wealth and class disparities were one of the key causes of the whole-ass revolution)

In 1793 (year of the flashback) both the King and Queen were executed by guillotine for their crimes.

This kicks of something called The Reign of Terror (La Terreur if you want to be French about it). A multi-year-long period in which the National Convention goes on a bloody witch hunt for any and every member of the middle or upper classes who could even possibly be considered a traitor by those same standards.

If you A) had money or privilege, and B) had ever used your money or privilege to treat yourself, you were getting executed. Over 25,000 people died during the Reign of Terror, half of them by guillotine. In fact, the iconic guillotine was used because it was physically impossible to keep up with the sheer number of people they were executing in Paris every single day.

Some things that could get you killed (actually and completely seriously) during the Reign of Terror:

Implying in any way you were sympathetic to the monarchy

Having a noble title

Having expensive things

Wearing expensive, luxurious clothes (*cough* AZIRAPHALE)

helping or sympathizing with anyone who did any of the above

a working-class person saying you were mean to them once

And then there's this bitch...

I AM NOBILITY PLEASE KILL ME So we have established that Paris in 1793 is in the middle of a frenzied, state-sanctioned bloodbath in which the working classes are massacring everyone even remotely nobility-adjacent. And in the middle of this frenzy, Aziraphale proceeds to roll up in Paris in this outfit:

How will this outfit get him killed? Let me count the ways...

First off- at this point everyone with even the tiniest shred of self- preservation is hiding the fact that they are in any way associated with the monarchy. The wealthy are straight-up abandoning mansions. The middle-class are plastering over decorations to make their house look 'poor'. The only people dressed remotely decent are the guys leading the National Convention and that's just because nobody can stop them. Everyone else is in 24/7 peasant cosplay or else they are covering themselves in cockades and sashes on to show they're pro-Republic.

Aziraphale is basically a giant shiny white sign saying I AM NOBILITY PLEASE KILL ME.

First off the lace jabot and lace cuffs are both associated with the old-school wealthy in the 1790's.

His coat is also decorated in gold braid and silver buttons, which are both marks of wealth and luxury.

He basically looks like he works for Louis XIV - not just rich, but old school rich.

We know it's his natural hair color, but hair powdering (with clay and starch) had been a big trend with the rich all throughout the 18th century to get that clean white venerable look . To someone who doesn't know it's natural, it would very much look like he's wearing hair powder.

He's wearing shades of cream and white, which are very hard to keep clean and clearly states that the wearer is rich and can afford the upkeep necessary to keep an outfit like that stain-free.

He's wearing white knee-breeches and stockings, also called culottes. See above about laundry and how rich you had to be to wear white, but also working-class men wore long pants like this:

A large faction involved in the Revolution were the Sans-Culottes (no-culottes aka we wear long pants LIKE GOOD OLD WORKING MEN). Culottes are specifically associated with everything the revolution hated. That's right - Aziraphale is literally wearing The Fanciest of Fancy Pants in a city where a group called The Men Against Fancy Pants are running around murdering people.

And then there are his shoes.

Oh god his shoes

I could do a whole post about Aziraphale's blessed little white satin pumps and how ridiculous they are.

Actually I might just do that because this is getting so long and I still have to talk about the brioche.

So I can't remember if it's in the script book or if it's from Neil Gaiman's tumblr, but it's apparently canon (?) that Aziraphale was going around in that outfit asking people where he could get crepes and brioche when he was arrested.

The Affair of the Brioches

So... uh... we've all heard the line attributed to Marie Antoinette- how when she was told that her people were starving because there was no bread left in Paris, she famously said...

It's morphed into 'let them eat cake', but the line is first recorded as, "Then let them eat brioches."

While it's unlikely she ever actually said it, the important thing is that... people in 1793 would have thought she said it. It was used as political smear to show how arrogant and out of touch the monarchy was. Marie Antoinette in particular was reviled by the people of France, who thought she was the main cause of their economic problems. That's why she was executed too.

Bread and brioche and the lines between poverty and privilege were a big thing in Revolutionary France. There was a lot of political connotation to what you ate. The French Revolution came about because of decades of suffering among the lower classes of France. It wasn't something that some dudes just decided to do. The people of Paris have been through years of the absolute worst, most oppressive poverty and starvation you can imagine, all while watching the rich throw money around crazy.

So let us recap.

Aziraphale is dressed so ridiculously posh that he looks like a joke parody of a nobleman... and he is bumbling around Paris during the Reign of Terror. Asking people. For brioche. How I imagine everyone looked at him:

It is so astoundingly tone deaf and tactless. He is basically cosplaying as Marie Antoinette and then going around asking the poor for cake.

I just.... Aziraphale. babygirl. no. oh no. You're lucky they even bothered to take you to prison. I am amazed Crowley ever let him live that down.

I have no conclusion other than this. Aziraphale is ridiculous and I love him so much.

YES YOU REALLY SHOULD SIR.

[pinkiemachine]

ALSO, for my Legend of Korra Rewrite, there’s an opera house in Republic City, and they do their own production of “The Boy in the Iceberg.”

It’s heavily inspired by Beijing/Peking Opera, native to China, and I’ve been having way too much fun writing this truly ridiculous, over romanticised version of the original AtLA story 😂 First off, the costumes and props—Now, Peking Opera has a set of rules/guidelines for what colours mean what, which costumes go to what kind of character, and which face paint is appropriate for this and that person, but hardly any of it aligns with the world of AtLA, so it will have its own rules. Naturally, the people are colour coded. Blue = Water Tribe, Red = Fire Nation, Green = Earth kingdom, Yellow = Air Bender. How can you tell if a character is royalty or super important? If they’re wearing any kind of elaborate headpiece. How can you tell who the Avatar is? The Avatar alone has special face paint that covers his entire face. Also, how light or dark their clothing is can inform you of their badness level, and also also, if a character’s hands are covered, it usually means they are hiding something or are very sly and cunning.

Then there’s the bending. Airbending is represented by the staff illustrated above, with two tufts of blue fluffy stuff on either end, similar to what the Ember Island Players did. This prop is very similar to a real one used in Peking Opera. Waterbending is achieved in two forms, either with long sleeves or ribbons, both used for dancing. Also straight from Peking Opera. Fire Bending is achieved through flags/staffs very similar to Peking Opera and the Ember Island Players alike. Finally, Earthbending comes across more like hand-to-hand combat in the choreography, because they use large fans to represent their element, inspired by Kiyoshi, and real life Peking Opera.

Now, the story is hilariously fun—it’s been eighty years since the events of the war, and the story has been dramatised to the Poles and back—so strap in and just imagine what the Gaang would be saying in reaction to all of this 😂

Once, there was a prince and a princess of the Southern Water Tribe. Prince Sokka was a brave and mighty warrior, and Princess Katara was the most beautiful and intelligent woman in all the South Pole. One day, they happened across a glowing iceberg, and from within emerged the Avatar! Avatar Aang was a very playful and mischievous boy (think “The Monkey King”), and upon seeing the beautiful Princess Katara, he immediately fell in love and proposed to her. But the mighty Prince Sokka took offence at such cheekiness, and challenged Avatar Aang to a duel to defend his sister’s honour. Here we have the first of many action scenes. Ultimately, Avatar Aang defeats the prince, proving his worth and proving that he is in fact the real Avatar, but when he asks the princess again if she’ll marry him, she replies that she might, if he can teach her to waterbend.

It’s about this time that Zuko, the Banished Prince of the Fire Nation, and his uncle, General Iroh, the Dragon of the West, arrive to capture the Avatar!

They are unsuccessful of course, and Team Avatar escapes. They go to the Southern Air Temple where Avatar Aang grieves the loss of his people, and then he suddenly gets a vision from his past life, Avatar Roku. Here, it is explained that Sozin’s comet is fast approaching, and Avatar Aang must learn all four elements before it comes, or else the whole world will burn. Having received his instructions, the team sets a course for the North Pole. (Oh, and Momo is represented by an actor who’s a type of “clown” as Peking Opera puts it. There to be the comic relief. Not sure if I want the same for Appa…)

At the North Pole, Aang and Katara learn waterbending, and the Chief throws a massive party to celebrate the return of the Avatar. This is where Prince Sokka meets Princess Yue of the Northern Tribe, and they fall madly in love. But it is not to last. Zuko and Iroh have arrived with a Fire Nation fleet and lay siege to the city of the North. In their darkest hour, just before the city falls, Princess Yue sacrifices herself to the Moon Spirit, saving everyone, but losing her mortality in the process. It is said that she now lives on the moon, weeping to this very day for the loss of her one true love. (Keeping in mind, Tui and La are now a state secret, as no one wants a repeat of “Admiral Zhao,” who coincidentally, is nothing but a footnote in the history books due the secrecy of the moon and ocean spirit’s physical home.)

Then, of course, the second act begins with Avatar Aang asking if Katara will marry him now that she’s learned Waterbending. But the princess is far too crafty for him, and becomes sly yet again. This time she says, she might marry him if he can find for her the impossibly rare Panda Lily. Aang is determined, though it may take him a while.

Team Avatar journeys to the Earth Kingdoms in search of an Earthbending master. Now, although the rumours of Toph being a man did stick around for quite a while (helped in no small part by Toph herself) eventually the truth comes out, and the play is amended accordingly. HOWEVER… no one is convinced that Toph is an ordinary human, oh no no no. They believe, whole heartedly, that she is a direct descendant of the badgermoles themselves, and is therefore some kind of half-human-half-spirit type being who sprouted up out of the ground one day. They fear her. As they should.

So Azula and her girlies make their appearance and they and Team Avatar make their way to Ba Sing Se, where they run into Zuko and Iroh, officially outcast from the royal Fire Nation family for failing to capture the Avatar at the Siege of the North. Azula infiltrates the city by impersonating the Kiyoshi warriors (who mysteriously replace the Dai Li in this story, and all mention of the city being controlled by a puppet master and brainwashing people is also mysteriously absent) and we meet Suki, leader of the Kiyoshi warriors, and she and Sokka begin to fall in love. Then, Aang manages to find the rare Panda Lily, but he’s not able to give it to Katara because the Last Stand of Ba Sing Se begins. There’s a massive fight at the palace, and Aang gets struck by lightning and falls into Princess Katara’s arms, trying to give her that Panda Lily she asked for. Then he falls into slumber as Princess Katara weeps. Zuko joins his sister Azula, Iroh is captured, and team Avatar flees.

That night, Katara begs the spirits to spare Avatar Aang, and Yue appears, bringing Aang back to life. It’s at this time that she gives the team a grave warning about the journey ahead of them. She reveals to them that the Day of Black Sun may aid them in their fight against the Fire Nation, and she also gives Sokka a special gift: a sword carved from moon rock. May it serve him well.

End of act two.

Act three begins with the mighty Sokka rallying all their allies together to launch an assault on the Fire Nation on the Day of Black Sun. Meanwhile, the Fire Prince Zuko battles with himself over his decision to betray his uncle and join his sister. He thinks of his mother, and how she would not have wanted him to follow the path of his father, Firelord Ozai. On the Day of Black Sun, he chooses to redeem himself by helping Avatar Aang defeat the Firelord once and for all. The battle was fierce—Princess Katara feared that she might lose Avatar Aang yet again—but when they arrived at his palace, no one was home. The Firelord was very crafty. He devised a labyrinth beneath his palace in which to hide, and he evaded the Avatar until the eclipse was over. The day was lost. Team Avatar was forced to retreat. However, now Aang had a Firebending Master to teach him the final element.

After much training, and much preparation, Aang was ready to face Firelord Ozai on the day that Sozin’s Comet came ripping across the sky. He tried to ask Princess Katara one last time if she would marry him, and this time she replied that if he survived his fight with the Firelord… she would marry him.

It began. Prince Sokka, Warrior Suki, and Master Toph led the charge against the Firelord’s army. Prince Zuko and Princess Katara held off Princess Azula, and Avatar Aang took on Firelord Ozai alone. Using all that they had learned across their journey, fuelled by the power of friendship and love, Team Avatar prevailed. The Firelord’s army fell, Princess Azula fell, and finally, Firelord Ozai himself fell before the mighty Avatar Aang. (Aang’s ability to energybend remains a secret.) And in the end, Prince Zuko took the throne of the Fire Nation, Prince Sokka took the throne of the South Pole with Suki as his queen, Toph became known as the greatest Earthebnder in the world, uncle Iroh opened the best tea shop in the world, and Princess Katara agreed to marry Avatar Aang. It was a happy ending indeed.

Can’t wait to finish the costume designs! Let me know what you think!

[natalievoncatte]

The yawn stretched Lena’s jaw to the point that she felt like a cat, baring her fangs. Naturally, it prompted a Kara Danvers Pout, which was utterly devastating. Kara looked at her over the top of her drink cup, straw still pursed in her delicate pink lips as she frowned slightly.

“How long have you been awake?”

“I had a half hour nap this morning,” Lena sighed.

She’d been in the office for three days, but she didn’t admit that.

“Leeeenaaaaaaa,” Kara said, drawing her name out into a gentle rebuke. “You promised me you’d stop doing that to yourself. I’m taking you home.”

Lena’s heart skipped and Kara abruptly jerked upright, briefly glancing at her. Lena hated when that happened, when her body betrayed her. Kara meant escort her home; Lena’s thoroughly tired mind had supplied another scenario, one where Kara carried her onto the bed, relieved her of her clothes and dove between her legs, but that was never going to happen. Lena let out a long sigh of resignation, trying to be satisfied with best-friendship.

She hoped Kara hadn’t suddenly developed telepathy.

If you took me home I’d never leave. I could make love to you for a hundred years.

Kara smiled back at Lena’s wistful look. “I mean it.”

“Okay. I can come back to it tomorrow. Besides, I’m too full of grease and cheese to stay awake. Should we…”

Lena never finished her sentence. There was a crackle in the air, a sudden wet smell of ozone, and the thunderous boom that made her ears ring.

Kara flashed in front of her at super-speed, yanking off her glasses and tossing them on the couch in a smooth motion.

Hovering in the middle of her office was some ramshackle contraption resembling a mechanical eye about the size of a basketball that scanned Kara with a faint purple energy ray.

“Kara Danvers. Supergirl. I am Zeglos, Regent of the Alotian Republic. I am calling to you from the home of my people, located in what is to you a subatomic realm we call Universe Q. We need your help, you are our only hope. The invaders are slaughtering us and razing our home. There is no time.”

Kara glanced back at Lena. “I’ll help if I can. Let me-“

“There is no time. You must come with me now.”

“Wait, hold on a second-“

The machine flashed, thrumming as it powered up, and blasted here with a wave of light that surrounded them both, and then in a crackling boom they both vanished, leaving behind the ozone smell and a faint impression of Kara’s boot heels in the carpet.

Lena stared into the empty space for a moment, then shot to her feet, snatching the phone off her desk, where it had lain ignored since Kara walked into the room.

She called Alex, shocked at the blubbering panic in her own voice. Within a few minutes, everyone was there, piling into the room. Lena warded them off from the spot where Kara had stood. Alex was cold and calm, her voice clinical, and she immediately began issuing orders. J’onn took Lena aside and gently asked her probing questions in the manner of an old detective, coaxing every meager detail of the event out of her.

Within half an hour, Brainy and Lena had set up all sorts of equipment around the room, scanning, hoping to find some energy signature or other clue that could enable them to bring Kara back from wherever she’d been taken.

It proved fruitless. They tried everything.

Minutes stretched into hours. Lena was exhausted, heavy with fatigue.

“Go home, get some sleep,” said Alex. “We can’t help her if we pass out on the floor.”

“I’ll sleep here.”

She did, throwing a thin blanket over herself on the couch. It was Alex, not Lena, who cleaned up the Big Belly Burger mess. Lena slept fitfully, showered in the en-suite attached to her office, and changed into an old hoodie that she kept there and wore when no one was looking.

It wasn’t hers. Threadbare, a maroon color faded to a soft red, the back still emblazoned with a cracked and fading Midvale Mathletes Club logo, it was Kara’s. Lena had snatched it from Kara’s sofa and put it on one night when she was feeling bold and then, as now, felt surrounded by it, the oversized garment swaddling her.

And it smelled like Kara, just enough. Kara had stared at her intently for a moment when she took it that night but said nothing, a wistful sad look on her face before the moment was broken by Wynn’s bad joke at the table. Wynn was gone now, but the hoodie remained, just as it had remained when they were fighting, when she thought she’d never see Kara again. She’d worn it then and cried herself to sleep in it.

Just like now.

A day became two. Then three. Five. Lena tried everything, pursued every theory. They called in every favor, human and alien. Brainy tried to send messages to the future. Nia dreamed fruitless dreams. Alex paced like a caged animal and Kelly kept the peace, keeping them all fed, making sure everyone slept, talking things out whenever tempers flared.

Nothing worked.

Lena even tried praying, something she hadn’t done since the last time she was in a small church in Ireland. It didn’t work this time, either.

Lena was seated next to Brainy on the couch, going over a design for a new device to try to follow what was by now a thoroughly cold trail. Alex stood at the balcony door, staring out into a slashing summer rain squall that buffeted the glass with distant thunder and gusts of wind.

The ozone smell tickled Lena’s nose and she looked up, just as Kara took a stumbling step out of nowhere, appearing in her office with an utterly bewildered look on her face.

“Kara?”

Alex snapped round, adding her voice to the chorus. “Kara?”

Kara stared at her sister, open-mouthed, tears welling in her eyes.

“Alex?” she said. “Alex, you’re alive? How is that possible?”

“Alive? Why wouldn’t I be?”

“Kara!” Lena cried, her voice ragged in her throat.

At the sound of her voice, Kara snapped around, eyes wide. Her knees buckled and she sagged, almost falling. She stumbled forward as Lena stood and they fell into each other, Lena hurling herself, reckless, into an embrace that revealed too much. She almost climbed Kara, all but throwing her legs around her as well as her arms as she buried her face in the Kryptonian’s neck.

“Oh God. Oh Rao. I thought you would all be gone. I begged them to let me leave but they wouldn’t let me go, I had to…”

“Kara?” Alex asked, cautiously. “Why would we be gone?”

Kara barely seemed to hear her as she gently twined her fingers in Lena’s hair and wrapped her powerful arm around Lena’s waist, encircling and shielding her.

“How long has it been?”

“About a week,” Lena choked out. “I was so scared.”

“A week?” Kara blurted. “It’s only been a week here?”

Alex put a reassuring hand on Kara’s back, standing next to them. “Yeah, you were taken on Tuesday, kiddo. It’s Wednesday, the 17th.”

Kara stared past Lena, resting her chin on the shorter woman’s head, and began to sob with relief.

“Kara?” said Alex.

“Time dilation,” said Brainy.

“They told me time would pass slower up here but I didn’t believe them. I’ve been gone for… for…”

“It’s okay, Kara,” Lena whispered. “You’re okay, you’re back.”

“Eighty seven years, four months, and eighteen days,” Kara sobbed. “It’s been so long, I thought you were all dead.”

Alex stiffened. “Kara. Oh my God.”

Kara buried her face in Lena’s hair and breathed her in, shuddering. “I’d given up. All that kept me going was hoping I could see you again. This is a gift. A gift. I love you all so much.”

Kara still held her, rocking slightly, her big shoulders shaking with powerful sobs.

“Kara,” Lena whispered. “Kara, it’s okay.”

“I love you,” Kara blurted. “I love you. It’s okay if you don’t love me back, I just need to tell you, I have to tell you. All I could think about down there is how stupid I was and how stupid I’ve been and how none of the reasons I never told you made any sense,” she sucked in a breath as if she’d briefly forgotten how, “I love you, I love you, I love you.”

There could be no mistaking her intent. She seethed with it, it radiated from her very bones. Lena hugged her hard, crushing her with all her might as if to crawl inside her.

“God, Kara, I’ve dreamed of hearing you say that. I love you too. Let’s… mmmph!”

Kara was kissing her. Lena’s brain briefly froze, then she realized the full magnitude of what was happening. Kara was kissing her. Kara was kissing her. Then Lena was kissing her back. There was so much in it, need and lust and adoration and an unbelievable desperation, but above all love. Lena felt her heart open as if hadn’t in a long time, like a flower unfolding to receive the nurturing warmth of morning sun.

“I’ve been waiting for this for so long,” Kara whispered when they finally broke and Lena again could breathe.

“Let me take you home,” said Lena.

[satinestales]

❝self destructive tendencies❞ | qimir x fem!reader

pairing: qimir x fem!reader

● this is a 3rd pov, if you want to read 2nd pov, here●

summary: A week has passed since the battle on Khofar and the startling reveal of her former friend. Qimir, the man behind the mask and the murderer of her comrades took her to a remote island, far away from the Republic's surveillance, after she sustained severe injuries. She's been keeping her distance from him, trying to ignore her hidden feelings. Yet, when his thoughts merge with hers, the vow she made to herself becomes almost impossible to keep.

warnings: english is not my first language, sexual tension, lots of sexual tension, corruption, sexual themes/dreams, E Y E C O N T A C T, qimir, mentions of blood and injuries

author's note: I could not be a jedi I'd turn into aquaman if he asked me to join him

now playing, love in the sky by the weeknd

*:..。♡*ﾟ¨ﾟﾟ·*:..。♡౨ৎ 🍓｡˚🍰♡ ˚..。♡*ﾟ¨ﾟﾟ·*:..。♡ ︎

The moon hung low over the horizon, casting an eerie glow on the waves that lapped against the shores of the ghostly island. Qimir’s silhouette stood out against the backdrop of the night sky, his presence a constant reminder of the blood and carnage he left on Khofar. As she lay on the rough sand, the pain from her injuries pulsed faintly, and she could not shake the mixture of fear and thirst that his proximity stirred within her. The island was a planet unknown to her, and as much as she tried to examine the surface, its location remained elusive. She supposed it might have been somewhere in the Outer Rim or beyond. Somewhere where the Republic would have a difficult way of finding her. World away from the Republic’s watchful eyes, and here, with only Qimir for company, she felt both vulnerable and strangely contented.

She decided to relax on the beach, further away from Qimir’s constant presence that melted her thoughts. However, luck wasn't on her side; minutes after settling in, he walked past her to his favorite bathing spot, smirk on his face as he acknowledged her presence. It was late at night, her legs and arms sore from the repetitive training she put herself through. The island offered few diversions. Waiting for Qimir’s next move or for Sol to find her wasn’t her idea of a perfect day. The injuries covering her body were difficult to ignore, and she refused to let Qimir get close enough to her to heal them. She told herself she would rather bleed out than feel his touch on her skin. Deep down, though, she knew the real reason for keeping him at bay.

So, she lay there, absentmindedly playing with a rock she found, irritated by his presence but too weary to consider moving again. She had to admit her fault; she had set up camp right in front of his favorite spot. Over the past week, she had seen him bare many times. First unbothered but lately it had gotten under her skin. She had been friends with Qimir for some time before discovering his true identity behind the mask and his responsibility for her friends' murders. Their deaths pained her, but the betrayal and realization of his deception cut deeper. After many years, she thought she found herself a friend outside the temple. One that she could share her interests and secrets with, without the fear of being judged by the Jedi. She told him about her fears and likes. Her doubts in the order and her wish to help people as much as she could. About her hate and desire. The Sith emotions. Now he’s using them to lure her in and trap her on the other side.

She wasn’t the most perceptive, but his intentions were clear. He knew her feelings, her likes, and dislikes; she had shared them with him when she believed he was her friend and a supplier. Even a blind person could see his thoughts, and her strength in the Force allowed her to delve into his mind, revealing more than she wished to know.

She couldn’t tear her eyes away as he slowly shed his clothes to enter the water, a routine he seemed to relish. Despite her experiences in battles and missions, witnessing the horrible conditions and lack of hygiene, even her comrades didn’t bathe as frequently as Qimir did before her. She considered herself fortunate; at least he smelled good, even if the scent of sandalwood mixed with citrus fruit drove her mad. She smelled it when she woke up, during meals and training, and before sleep. She felt him everywhere. She wasn’t sure for how much longer she could endure it.

She studied the muscles of his back as he swam slowly, admiring them from her vantage point. He was undeniably strong, scars marring his skin a testament to the pain he had endured. She observed how his dark hair moved with his motions, how he ran his long thick fingers through it while washing it gently. His biceps tensed as he splashed water around his neck, and she noticed the way he caressed his chest, attempting to cleanse away the day’s dirt.

It was only when she accidentally crushed the rock in half that she realized the intensity of her stare. Clearing her throat, she sat up and leaned against the mossy bank behind her, feeling shame wash over her. She was convinced his own dreams had started to corrupt her.

One of the curses of being a Jedi was the ability to read minds, and Qimir was no exception. She saw his thoughts vividly, filled with bright colors that sent adrenaline coursing through her veins. She wondered if he wanted her to delve into his mind, to make her believe he desired her, or if he simply didn’t care. She feared he could read her thoughts too, despite her lifelong ability to block out others with ease.

She lied to herself, convincing herself that she was immune to his ideas, desires, and magnetic charm. But every time he looked at her, towered over her, or she smelled him in the air, her knees buckled, her stomach tightened, and she fought against the need to press her legs together. She felt sick, and his mind brushing against hers didn’t help.

She felt it every time he drew near. He visualized her hands in his mind, how they caressed his scars and shoulders. She saw his hair falling down as he towered over her, gently pushing her against the cold floor of his cave. She felt his breath against her neck, his fingers pulling her hair, his skin pressed against hers. In his dreams, she never resisted. He was corrupting her in his dreams, and she never once objected in them. She was embarrassed he got her mannerisms right.

She was so lost in their shared thoughts that she didn’t notice Qimir making his way out of the water, his eyes fixated on her with dangerous intensity. He carefully leaned down to grab a towel, amusement playing on his lips. He didn’t want to wake her from her thoughts, whatever they may have been.

As he gently dried himself with the soft cloth, not taking his eyes off her, he tried to read her mind, even if he failed millions of times before. He never had difficulty reading someone; one look at them and he could see their whole past. But with her, he had no idea what she was thinking or planning, or what images played in her head. She was strong, stronger than the ones he had met before, and he admired that. He praised her strength in the Force and her ability to protect herself from her nemesis. Like him.

But he could read body language. He noticed how she tensed around him when he walked past her. How her chest started rising faster whenever he stared her down. Her goosebumps when they brushed against each other. How she pressed her legs together when he towered over her. And how she was now crushing the rock in her hand, gazing in his direction.

“You can always join me, you know that.” He breathed out, letting the cloth fall to the ground, replacing it with his long blouse. She almost wanted to take the top from him just so she could continue her view, but when she finally recollected her thoughts, she wanted to slap herself. “It would help with your wounds when you don’t let me heal them.” He uttered, dressing himself, not breaking eye contact with her. He liked her stare. He liked how she fought with her emotions and how they reflected in her eyes. It pleased him.

“I’m okay,” she faked a smile, swallowing the ridiculous amount of saliva in her mouth. She forced herself to look somewhere other than his strong forearms or how he dragged the pants up his muscular legs. She found a cute shell, admiring it from afar.

She didn’t catch the grin on his face as her face turned pink and she clenched her fists. He was amused with her reactions, but her ripped bandage and the blood revealing itself underneath caught his full attention. His face froze, along with his movements while buttoning up his shirt. He would never touch her unless she wanted him to, but her leg was nowhere near being healed and with the lack of medical supplies on this island, she’d lose it long before she’d be able to leave the island.

“Let me help you.” It wasn’t a question, more of a subtle order. She didn’t miss it. A week ago, on Khofar, Qimir had stopped himself before fatally hurting her, but he still landed a strike on her leg that had trouble healing. She was stubborn enough to push him away when he offered his help, and now she started to slowly regret it.

“I don’t need anything from you,” she hissed at him, catching a glimpse of his unbuttoned blouse.

“You’re a powerful Jedi, and I don’t doubt you’d be still as fierce as you are now without your leg,” he murmured, making his way towards her, leaving his bag and shoes near the water. “If you want to risk it.” She watched him tilt his head as he slowly approached her. She could only see the images in his mind, his plans and ideas. But underneath it all, he didn’t mean it in a bad way. He wanted to help her. In his own way. He was her friend; he knew her weaknesses and strengths. He knew what she wanted, and he was willing to give it to her. But she couldn’t erase the lying and murder of her friends. She wanted her friend back. Maybe something else this time, but her trust in him had faded. Now it was just Qimir, confusing her thoughts and making her rethink her morals. She felt as disgusted with him as she felt with herself. But she understood him. Or at least tried to.

So, she didn’t oppose, letting him kneel in front of her, his hands carefully reaching out to her ripped bandage above her knee. He was so close she could smell him again. His hair fell into his face, covering his eyes that were focusing only on her wound. His fingers worked fast but tenderly as he lifted her thigh to unwrap the bandage. She swallowed hard, feeling his veiny hand below her leg. She was scared he could feel her burning skin, hoping he would mistake it as a result of the injury.

“I didn’t mean to hurt you on Khofar,” she heard him whisper, gripping the sand below her as he threw away the bandage, the cold air kissing her open wound. She almost heard pity in his voice. She was certain she imagined it.

She begged herself to look away, but her eyes betrayed her as they glared down at his hand that was almost as big as her thigh. He covered the wound, not touching it fully, concentrating on restoring her cells.

She was fascinated by how quickly the wound closed up, leaving only a small scar across her thigh. She had wanted to learn how to force heal ever since she lost her friend to a fatal injury as a kid, but the Jedi never taught her. No matter how hard she pleaded. Whenever she asked, they gave the same answer: only dark side users possess this power. She always felt it was ridiculous.

“How do you do it?” she managed to ask, ignoring Qimir’s confused stare as he picked up his head and drew his hand away from her. But he didn’t move position and kept kneeling between her feet. “How do you force heal?” she felt embarrassed asking, but he was one of her only chances to learn.

A soft smile crept to his lips as he moved his eyes from her face to her hands. She suddenly became aware of her vulnerable position.

“In order to heal someone,” he started, softness in his voice, no signs of mockery. “You need to focus on your own energy, imagine it and visualize it. Imagine its color, like you do with the Force.” He continued, his hands moving in motion with his words.

She could feel the warmth radiating off him as he sat centimeters away, his wet hair framing his sharp features. His eyes were dark, only the light of the moon reflecting in them. His lips were full, stretched as he shared his knowledge with her. She didn’t move a muscle and returned his stare. It was only the two of them.

“The Jedi teach only one way. Physical way. Taking your physical energy and giving it to someone who needs it,” he whispered, leaning his head to the side, giving her a view of his sharp jaw. His neck was thick, his collarbones defined. “But there is another way.” He stopped to look at her, examining her expression. She was listening intently, breathing fast, and her eyes bored so deeply into him he was certain she could read everything he was thinking. He let her.

“Below the surface of consciousness are powerful emotions. Anger. Fear. Loss.” He started listing, his eyes twitching between her eyes and her lips. “Desire.”

Her leg muscles twitched, her core burning up. She wanted to bury herself.

“Only Sith feel those emotions,” she whispered back, denying herself. She saw a smile tugging on the corner of his mouth before he lowered his gaze.

“You can draw energy from them, direct them in any way you want,” he purred, looking back at her, letting her feel his emotions. “However, whenever you want.” He lowered his voice as he stretched the last words, reading her face.

He knew she read his mind. He knew she saw the images that kept him awake and his wishes. He had had them since he met her months ago, and when he sensed her attraction toward him, they only intensified. He wanted her and was simply waiting for her to admit the same to herself, no matter how long it would take.

[girlactionfigure]

Josette Molland -- who was one of only a handful of surviving members of the French Resistance who fought against Nazis during WWII when she passed away at the age of 100 -- was one of the Mighty Girl role models who died in 2024. In 1943, Molland was a 20-year-old art student in Lyon, France when she joined the Resistance. She specialized in creating counterfeit rubber stamps which were used to make false identity papers for Jewish refugees and Allied airmen who were being smuggled across the border into Switzerland by the famed Dutch-Paris underground network.

The success of network's efforts attracted the attention of the local Gestapo, including its infamous leader, "Butcher of Lyon" Klaus Barbie, who sought to obliterate it. Molland was one of many Resistance members arrested; she was tortured and sent to the Ravensbrück concentration camp in Germany. She was then transferred to Holleischen, a forced-labor camp in the present-day Czech Republic, and remained there in horrendous conditions until its liberation in May, 1945. Molland, who is pictured here post-war in the clothing she wore as a camp inmate, later reflected on her experience there, writing: “What I lived in the camps, I can’t even describe it. Unimaginable. If you haven’t lived it, you can’t understand. Every day we thought would be our last.”

After the war, Molland sought to educate the next generation about the horrors of fascism and the Holocaust by speaking in schools. To help make the unimaginable experience more real to youth she created a series of 15 paintings in a folk-art style depicting her life in the concentration camps. She wrote stark descriptions of each, among them: "‘At the Dentist' - 'Naked, so nothing could be hidden in clothing. He’s looking for gold (used during that period). He pulls out the crowns, with the tooth. Here the bucket is full of gold.” and "‘She Had Just Cut Down a Tree’ - 'She collapsed with fatigue. The ‘Aufseherin’ (guard) finished her off with a bullet to the back of the head.'"

When Molland died in February, “La Marseillaise” and the “Chant des Partisans,” the anthem of the French Resistance, were sung at her funeral. When the heroic fighter was laid to rest, she was buried with full military honors in Nice.

A Mighty Girl

[designedandplated]

Women's Purple Day Dress, 1880.

[peekofhistory]

汉服复兴之路 History of Hanfu Revival Movement

History of Hanfu:

“Hanfu" as a technical term refers to traditional clothing worn by the Han ethnic group in China （Han = Han ethnic group, Fu = clothing).

The last Dynasty of China, Qing, saw a ruling class of the Manchu ethnic group who had attacked the Ming Dynasty from the North and ultimately achieved victory. This resulted in a forceful change of attire from "Han" clothing to "Man" clothing and fashion:

This included men being forced to shave the front half of their heads, leaving a long braid in the back (those who refused were beheaded)(四爷，借用一下您的盛世美颜😂) :

Therefore, technically, "Hanfu" had not been worn in China since the end of the Ming Dynasty (1616 AD).

Following the establishment of the current People's Republic of China (1949 AD) the country busied itself with development and economic growth. By the early 2000's China had undergone 2 rounds of economic reform and saw an economy that was flourishing. This left people with more time and money to revisit the country's vast history and rich culture (it's difficult to think about culture or history when you're trying to put food on the table).

Hanfu revival movement:

On November 22, 2003, an electric engineer by the name of Wang Letian (王乐天) strode through the streets of Deng Zhou wearing a Quju robe . This was the first time someone wore Hanfu for a casual outing since almost 400 years ago. Although, looking back, the design wasn't historically accurate, and the clothing seemed ill-fitting, this robe had been hand-sewn by Wang Letian and his friends, all of whom had a passion for Hanfu.

At the time, people laughed when they saw him in the streets, it looked so odd and strange among the sweaters and jeans that had become the norm, but Wang Letian had started a snowball of Hanfu revival. The internet spread photos of him wearing Hanfu through the streets and by chance, a Singaporean reporter, Zhang Congxing (张从兴), came across the photos. He wrote an article in the newspaper Lianhe Morning Report (联合早报) which became the first news article recorded of the current movement to revive Hanfu.

Following that, interest in Hanfu grew. People (especially young people) dug through history books, visited museums, and broke out the sewing kits. Today, Hanfu can often be seen around sightseeing locations and in historic cities like Xi'an. Although most people still aren't wearing it out and about daily, it's not uncommon to see someone wearing a Mamian Skirt (from Ming dynasty) with a blouse heading to work.

There are still some who think it's odd and strange (including my dad 😑), but the revival in Hanfu indicates a confidence and pride many young people have in China's own history and culture, something that had been often neglected over the past 100 years due to continuous wars and political chaos.

As a kid, I loved period dramas and would drape a bed sheet around my shoulders pretending it's a cape. I'd admire the beautiful hair styles on TV, wondering how it was done. Never did I dream one day I'd be able to purchase my own Hanfu and have a suitcase of hair buns and accessories 🤣🤣

[save-mohamed-family]

Thank you for documenting my campaign from the following accounts:

@ibtisams @soon-palestine @sar-soor @90-ghost @fairuzfan @ibtisams @fallahifag @northgazaupdates

I am Mohammed Almanasra, 32 years old, married, and a father of three children: Abdulrahman, 6 years old, Sarah, 4 years old, and Lina, 3 years old.

My story began with the loss of my parents and four of my sisters who were bombed and lost their lives along with their children after the events of October 7 and the severe war on Gaza. Now, my wife, children, and I are displaced, without parents or siblings, living with our little cat that we embrace among us.

Recently, I moved to the south of the Gaza Strip, fearing for the lives of my children. We left behind our memories and our new home, for which we had not finished paying the installments, in addition to losing my job. Currently, I live in a tent that does not protect me from the heat of summer or the cold of winter, and without the minimum necessary livinng basics including water, food medical care, clothe and even bedding .

I suffer from a chronic asthma and severe attacks from tightness and an extreme allergy in the ear and I need medicine that are not available, or very expensive .

Under these difficult circumstances, after five attempts at displacement and narrowly escaping death from the bombing, I am trying with all my might to protect my family, the most precious thing I have.

My dreams were shattered, and my house was destroyed, and I found myself living in a tent no larger than 4 square metres. My work turned from a tailor to a street vendor in order to barely buy a few crumbs of bread to feed my children.

My main goal with this donation is to protect my children, my wife, and our scaredy cat and evacuate them to a safe place away from the ongoing wars. The funds will be used to cross the Egyptian border and bring basic needs and treatments to create a more stable conditions for my family. Approximately $18,000 will be allocated for travel expenses, and around $6,000 for securing suitable housing for a couple of months.

As for the medical treatment costs, the exact figure will be determined after undergoing examinations in hospitals in the Arab Republic of Egypt & it gonna be in average $8,000. The remaining amount ($8,000) will be used to establish a small project to sustain our daily living, enabling me to provide for my children and wife.

Look at what happened to my children because of the intense heat and the insects that thrive in the summer season. Every day, I take them to the hospital to treat them due to poisonous insect bites. I implore every kind-hearted soul to help me protect my children.

My son, Abdul Rahman, has a deep passion for playing football and is a devoted fan of Real Madrid. He always dreamed of playing football at his school, but the war prevented this dream from coming true.

Where are you, Real Madrid fans ?

Help Abdul Rahman achieve his dream.

I feel very sad and embarrassed to ask for help, but I have no other options left. I know that this request is difficult, but I also know that there is still humanity and living consciences and I believe in miracles.

If you have any inquiries or questions, feel free to ask me, please!

"I urgently appeal to you for moral and financial assistance to cover the necessary costs to escape to a safe environment, where we can build a secure future for our children and ensure the safety of our family. We thank you for your concern and support, and we hope that you can help us in these difficult circumstances."

Sincere greetings & thanks

Mohammed & the family

[cloudyynebulas]

HIHI I HAVE A REQUEST!!!

Ok so may I please request a first meeting fic with crunchy chip x shy reader who is shorter than him?? Since crunchy chip is already very short it would be surprising for him to meet someone even smaller

bonus if this is a first meeting fic!!

double bonus if reader had never had friends before, so they are a little suprised and scared

triple bonus if it’s like the trope where they both like each other but nobody actually confesses

❝ 𝗦𝗘𝗘 𝗬𝗢𝗨 𝗔𝗥𝗢𝗨𝗡𝗗, 𝗦𝗛𝗢𝗥𝗧𝗜𝗘! ❞

crunchy chip cookie x reader.

reader is gender neutral.

this takes place during the events of cookie odyssey.

⋆° .☾ ⋆ .ೃ ࿔* : ⋆

LIFE IN THE LOWER-HALF OF THE REPUBLIC was not a paradise. Far from it, really. Cookies who lived in the lower half often struggled to get by, with shady crooks and criminals around every corner.

You grew up in this life, raised with a family who did everything in their power to support you. Despite the harsh conditions, you all continuously managed to scrape by - even making a few shady trades and deals every now and then.

Secrets whispered and danced around each and every alleyway, amidst the musty air of suspicion and dampness.

Cookies from the higher levels of the Republic often dreaded taking one foot in this place, muttering distasteful insults and incomprehensible nonsense that you could only guess were hateful remarks stabbing at you and the rest of the lower half.

Could you be bothered to care much anymore? Not.. really. You spent your entire life living in such conditions, and with time came endurance. You kept up your botherless facade, hiding behind a mask of your true self - someone who was afraid of the world.

Years of constant teasing, insults and other things thrown your way made you build up a decent tolerance, but no matter how many years of this treatment went in and out of your head, it didn't change the fact that you - deep down, were insecure. Insecure and afraid.

But the only way to survive here was to act tough. Don't show weakness - don't show fear.

Your hand rested on your cheek, propping your face upward as your face was plastered with a bored expression, standing behind a wooden stand that offered various goodies and toys for passersby to stop and take a look at.

With your family away on some sort of trip, you were essentially left alone to run the stand, to keep money flowing in. You recalled that your mother was hesitant of the idea, but after reassurance from both you and your father, she ultimately agreed to let you be on your own.

You were an adult. You could handle yourself, anyway.

..Probably.

Behind the stand, you stood on a medium sized wooden crate, holding you up to extend your height so that you'd be tall enough to properly grab any items and greet customers properly. Your height was laughable - a size that you were constantly picked on by many as you'd roam the damp streets.

You weren't exactly tall - no, scratch that, you were far from tall. You were just barely taller than the average teenager - but that wasn't saying much.

You assumed your dough was just .. smaller. A smaller batch. That was all it was.

But the constant teasing or the occasional side-eye that was thrown your way was one of the worst things about it.

Your hands tightly clenched together into fists. Your brain just thinking about it all made anger bubble into your dough - your thoughts wandering.

However, your thoughts were soon interrupted by the sound of voices - voices you certainly hadn't recognized or heard before. The Lower Half of the Republic typically had the same Cookies day after day, with the rare occasion of a Cookie from the Upper Levels stopping by for who knows what.

A trio, from what you could guess - was walking down the streets of the Market. A small gingerbread Cookie with a candy cane in his hand, a tall, gruff armored cookie with a metal gauntlet, and a smaller cookie with an attire of blacks and whites, woolly clothes and sharp claws attached to his hands - alongside a cream white wolf following beside him.

You raised a brow.

You'd.. certainly never seen these Cookies before.

"Wow.." you heard the Gingerbread cookie let out a gasp of awe, eyes looking all around the Market street. "So this is where one of the big Markets are?"

The armored one nodded. "It would appear so. Although this place seems rather... sketchy."

"This place gives me a vibe that I don't like!" The woolly cookie spoke - though his voice was almost loud enough to be considered shouting. "Cream Wolf! Check to see if you can smell any of those White Mask Cookies."

The Cream Wolf barked in response, it's nose vibrating up and down as it was quick to sniff the area, trying to discern any suspicious scents.

You sweatdropped. What in the world was going on here?

Various Cookies of the Market side-eyed the trio that clearly stood out like sore thumbs. Cookies that weren't from here - outsiders, most likely.

Most backed away from the furry animal that would get up in their personal spaces, growling and sniffing for scents of the supposed "white masked cookies" you heard the small Cookie mention moments prior.

You felt yourself slightly freeze up in surprise when the animal's eyes turned towards you - its next target. You instinctively took a step back, which only inclined the Cream Wolf to approach faster.

You paled. You really didn't want to get caught up in any of this nonsense -

bark!

You squeezed your eyes shut, hands slightly trembling, but after seconds of nothing actually happening, you slowly cracked one of them open.

The wolf was sitting in front of your stand, eyes clearly fixated on one of the squeaky toys you had sitting out for sale. Your eyes glanced between the toy and the wolf - the dots connecting silently in your mind.

Oh.

OH!

Slowly, you reached for the toy, your movements being watched intently by the wolf - whos tail began to wag, expecting you to throw the toy for him to catch and bring right back to you.

"HEY! WHAT DO YOU THINK YOU'RE DOING??" an alarming voice is suddenly yelled in your direction, and both you and the wolf turn to the right, where the trio stood, heading right your way.

You felt a bead of sweat roll down the side of your face. You hadn't meant to attract attention -- !!

"Cream Wolf! Don't fall for these sly tricks!" the small Cookie grumbled, said wolf being beckoned back towards him, though its eyes were constantly looking back at the small squeaky toy still in your hands.

"Err.. Crunchy Chip Cookie? I don't think they were trying to do anything.." the small gingerbread Cookie nervously chuckled, trying to calm his companion down.

..Huh.. so now you knew one of their names. You took mental note of that.

"I have to agree with Gingerbrave here. Besides - we don't want to be attracting unwanted attention, especially not here." the armored cookie frowned, sending you a glance. "Apologies if we startled you."

You felt yourself being thrown on the spot, not really knowing what to say.

Crunchy Chip Cookie, however, was immediately up close in front of your stand, gaze looking you up and down.

"Just what exactly were you planning with that weapon of yours, huh?" he interrogated, eyebrows furrowing. "Don't think you can fool me! I just know there's some kind of secret evil bomb inside!"

You tried to speak, hoping to defend yourself. "I-"

"Crunchy Chip Cookie, seriously." The armored cookie huffed. "You're clearly startling them."

"We can't just be accusing random Cookies - !!" the gingerbread - or, Gingerbrave, as you heard the armored Cookie mention, agreed. "I think.. it's just a toy."

The Cream Wolf let out a small bark, eyes excitedly staring between the squeaky toy and Crunchy Chip Cookie, as if trying to send a message to him.

Crunchy Chip Cookie hummed in response. "..Hm. Well.. if it was a weapon, I'm sure my Cream Wolf would've smelled it by now."

You glanced to the side for a moment, internally cringing at the sight of passerby Cookies observing the scene - eyes constantly staring at you.

"You don't seem like much of a threat, anyways!" Crunchy Chip Cookie chuckled, placing his hands on his hips.

You deadpanned.

Okay, now you felt a little insulted.

"Hey now - I can be a threat!" you blurted out, your thoughts escaping into words. "Just 'cause I'm small doesn't mean I can't beat you up."

The trio stared at you.

You were quick to regret running your mouth, letting confidence get the better of you.

Gingerbrave frowned. "..You don't look small! You stand .. rather tall behind your counter."

"They are standing on a crate," the armored Cookie quickly informed. As the tallest of the trio, it only made sense that he'd managed to see the small crate you'd been standing on just behind your counter.

"Wait, really?" Gingerbrave hummed, slowly glancing behind your counter. "Oh - Wildberry Cookie, you're right!"

"Can you not?!" you glared, making Gingerbrave quickly step back, sending a nervous, apologetic smile your way.

"Why are you faking your height?" Crunchy Chip Cookie questioned. "Look at me! I may be shorter, but that doesn't stop me from being a warrior!"

You frowned. "If I didn't stand on this crate, I wouldn't be able to reach most of the items."

Crunchy Chip Cookie scoffed. "Don't be ridiculous! You might be short, but not that short!"

"Are you doubting.. my height???" you deadpanned. "Fine then - I'll demonstrate, just for you."

You hopped off of the crate, landing on the damp concrete beneath you. The upper half of your body was still visible over the counter, but everything else was far too short and covered by the counter.

The trio stared with slight surprise - though, Crunchy Chip Cookie's gaze was rather startled.

"NO WAY!" he yelled, immediately waltzing right up to you. "You're - shorter than me?!"

Wildberry Cookie hummed. "This is... new."

"Quickly! Wildberry Cookie, Gingerbrave, compare our heights, now!"

How did you even get into this situation?

Within seconds, you found yourself standing back to back with Crunchy Chip Cookie, whilst Gingerbrave and Wildberry Cookie were observing, comparing your heights together - whilst his Cream Wolf sniffed at your arm.

"Crunchy Chip Cookie.. you're no longer the shortest!" Gingerbrave laughed, holding his candy cane staff in the air.

"HA! Now you guys can't pick on me!!" Crunchy Chip Cookie raised his fist in the air with pride. "Take that, Wildberry Cookie!"

"..I haven't even said anything," Wildberry raised a brow, but the corners of his mouth curled up into a small smile.

"I feel like I'm being picked on.." you frowned.

"What? Nonsense!" Crunchy Chip Cookie turned to you. "There ain't nothing wrong with being short!"

"We did not intend for it to come off that way. Apologies." Wildberry Cookie apologized, crossing his arms.

Gingerbrave nodded - but was quick to shift the topics.

"..Say, what's your name, stranger? We've never gotten it!"

You stared - surprised. Why were these strangers being so kind to you, a mere Lower Level Republic Cookie? Asking for your name of all things.. were they trying to befriend you? Why?

Slowly, your name escaped your lips. "..Y/N Cookie. My name is Y/N Cookie."

"Y/N Cookie! That's such an awesome name!" Gingerbrave beamed. "You may've already heard it, but the name's Gingerbrave!"

Wildberry Cookie nodded. "Pleasure to make your acquaintance. I'm Wildberry Cookie."

"Crunchy Chip Cookie!" Crunchy Chip Cookie announced, placing a hand over his chest. "I am a sworn warrior of the Dark Cacao Kingdom!"

He turned his head to the Cream Wolf.

"And this is my best friend - my Cream Wolf!"

The Cream Wolf lets out a small bark in response.

You find it hard to hold back a smile. Gaze softening at the sight of the trio, finding yourself no longer regretting the encounter between you four.

"We must keep moving, however." Wildberry Cookie spoke, ending the introductions. "We're.. on a mission of sorts. I believe Espresso Cookie is expecting us, soon."

"Already? But it feels like we just got here!" Crunchy Chip Cookie frowned. "We haven't yet fully explored these areas!"

"I'm sure we'll get more time to do so later!" Gingerbrave reassured.

You let out a light chuckle, stepping back onto the wooden crate behind your stand.

"If you three have places to be - don't let me stop you."

Your hands moved towards the squeaky toy left on the wooden counter, slowly picking it up, before turning to Crunchy Chip Cookie.

"Though, before you go, take this."

Before the Cookie had anytime to refuse the gift, you'd already tossed it his way, the toy fumbling in his hands momentarily before landing carefully in his palms.

"Something for the road - on the house!" You smiled, a small wink escaping your expression. "It seemed like your Cream Wolf there really wanted to play with it."

"Cream Wolves don't play such foolish games!" Crunchy Chip Cookie refuted, but between the three of you, you all knew he was lying.

"..thank you, though." Crunchy Chip Cookie softly muttered, pushing his woolly scarf closer to his face as he spoke, looking away from you.

You chuckled, waving the trio goodbye as they began to make their way back out the streets of the Lower Market and back towards the Central Republic.

You had a feeling you'd be seeing them again soon.

⋆° .☾ ⋆ .ೃ ࿔* : ⋆

When the trio had finally reached the Fountain, Crunchy Chip Cookie suddenly spoke up.

"After we meet with Espresso Cookie, we better go back."

"You seem in a rush to get back there, Crunchy Chip Cookie!" Gingerbrave pointed out. "Any particular reasons?"

"To - to keep exploring, duh!" Crunchy Chip Cookie huffed, looking to the side.

Wildberry Cookie softly chuckled.

"Whatever you say."