#costume musings

[doomfungus]

Ohkay here's my theory that nobody asked for:

So the problem I keep having is that of textiles. Where are a thousand war boys getting functionally matching pants and scarves? I'm going to say they are not relics from before the Fall, when someone with an odd amount of foresight raided a Kmart. They'd be looking like the rags the wretched wear within a few years at most, IF they ever change them, which I doubt. (Yikes). Their red and black scarves would have to be dyed to match each other, at least. And the wives' gauzy robes? Where did they get those?

Meanwhile I've seen the question raised about how the fuck Furiosa survives as a woman in the Immortan's military, which is pretty fair. I do kind of have a problem with nobody looking for her when she escapes from Rictus and some new kid shows up, and they don't make the kid a war pup, but something adjacent, BUT I do think that once she reveals herself and Jack takes her on, she's probably fine after maybe a few annoying conversations. I think she's like a woman pirate – she's tough as hell, has a loyal crew, she probably does get fucked with some, but that's not the point of the story - this is her legend. But this woman pirate lives within an apocalyptic roman empire, where they don't even talk about women in favor of bloodsport, chariot races and begetting sons - that we don't see them is telling of the world they live in. My point being, the women are there. Furiosa, a few pretty girls, and a small handful of others are not the only women at the citadel.

Someone grows flax, spins it and weaves delicate garments for Joe's wives. Someone makes clothes and dyes scarves, someone mends war boy pants. Someone takes special care for someone she likes and steals glances at him when he's heading out to do war, someone's heart is broken when he doesn't return. Someone's son is made a war pup and her friends console her - it's for the glory of the Immortan, after all. The women are there, living their lives in the background, but, much like in our own world, their stories just haven't made it into the history books.

[knifegiver]

Jaskier's waistcoat: design musings

I am officially bonkers. Absolutely and completely insane. I admit it. Not that it comes as a surprise or anything.

I am gonna paint the fabric for Jask’s waistcoat. I’ve found similar fabric, fabrics that give the general vibe of the original material.

I also got a recommendation for the original fabric; thank you, @psychicdino! Unfortunately I can’t access the website, so I can’t even check if the fabric would be too expensive, or if I could talk myself into buying it.

Anyway, I had the original fabric almost in my grasp, so naturally… similar fabrics will not cut it, anymore. Stupid brain with its stupid perfectionism. And that, of course, means that I’m gonna get red fabric and paint the pattern onto it. Because, why not? Why not going the extra mile… times ten.

I can’t just buy fabric and paint, and go to work, though. Right? Oh no, if I’m gonna do this, I’m gonna do it properly. Which means I have to figure out the pattern:

I put a picture of the waistcoat into MediBang and traced the part of the pattern that I could discern. After I managed that, I copied the tracing and checked where else it matched. Which got me this, once with the waitcoat and once without.

I then managed to trace another halfway discernable part, copied and matched it, as well. Which got me this.

Because I got lucky, those two pattern samples do make up the entire fabric, give or take a swirl or two.

And because I was half-way clever, I put the two samples in different layers, which made it easier to then trace the tracing with a brush that looks kind of like embroidery. It’s not gonna be embroidery in the end but it did help my brain to make sense of the many squiggly lines.

I managed to trace both pattern samples decently and got a clear picture of the design.

I then copied it over the entire side of the waistcoat to see if it still fit. It did, even though it was slightly distorted by the angle of the picture.

The last step I did was turning the entire thing until it matched the more straightforward picture I have of the waistcoat. It's still a bit squished and distorted but not that much.

And this, my dearest audience, was where I stopped. I still need to figure out how big the two designs have to be but that requires either math, or trial. I’m too tired for math right now, and for a trial I need to buy the red fabric first. So, this concludes today’s venture into Jaskier’s fancifulness!

[armthearmour]

A pair of elaborate puffed and slashed Arm Harnesses, Germany, ca. 1520, housed at the Musée de l'Armée.

[life-imitates-art-far-more]

Thomas Couture (1815-1879) "The Romans in their Decadence" (1847) Oil on canvas Located in the Musée d'Orsay, Paris, France

[casanovasadmiral]

wweird science

"from my heart and from my hands, why don't people understand- my intentions"

Happy halloween!!!

[verum-artifex]

Spooktober | 🧟 💀🧪🧑🏾‍🔬

[johannestevans]

pitched a presentation for WorldCon this year about how colonial and imperialist ideas are baked into star trek (and other sci-fi) in the literal presence of and wearing of uniforms

that's gonna start with like, what a uniform is for and who a uniform is for, specifically what the uniforms of starfleet communicate about starfleet as an organisation and the members of it, esp as the naval/military wing of the UFoP

and then go into like... what that means for a show that people often casually refer to as communist, socialist, and utopian, and how a lot of this comes from many ppl having blinders on when it comes to our pro-colonial cultural perspective in the west, esp for white people

and fuck me like. this is an extremely rewarding topic, i could easily do whole lecture series on exactly this sort of analysis of meaning in like, visuals in media, and especially looking at costuming and uniforms, bc many of these things involve signs and signifiers that people don't necessarily grok intuitively, or not without more discussion

but the most painful thing is literally just. grabbing images to put in my slides from search engines without them being fucking WebP. i'm gonna end up having to go back and cap myself because it's such a ballache finding the images with search engines being what they are now, let alone finding ones in a proper format

[starakex]

That rhyme was SHIT!

[yingtan]

MY JOURNEY TO YOU 云之羽 (2023) dir. Luo Luo

[vancruejovi]

So I watched this interview of Cody explaining the original idea for Stardust so I kinda tried to recreate him! I dont think this was the idea they were going for exactly, but I think he turned out pretty cool. Also I think he was supposed to have a silver bodysuit (I think? If anyone has the original concept art for Stardust PLEASE share cause I’m so curious) but I wanted to keep the red from the other Stardust designs, and blue/purple simce it’s the opposite to yellow/gold, that way I could keep it away from Goldust and keep him more superheroey like Cody wanted, Plus I gave him his little moon boots ✨

https://youtu.be/arwqQ2WfTc8?si=-yVQGtgC01MQf56

[intertexts]

rough timeline shit......

[ghostiezone]

"....Ashe?"

"Who's that?"

short-ish fic under the cut because I had to be in the tranches about this :)

The Wards received the invitation only an hour before they arrived.

i know where to find your friend :)

The crumpled piece of paper looked like it had been drawn in crayon. It was stapled to the front door of their home. Their civilian home.

"Aux-" Failsafe started immediately, but Imprint's hand over his mouth cut off the name before he could finish. The boy wasn't in costume.

Imprint addressed him instead, cautious. "Ashe...?" He lowered his gloved hand from Failsafe's face and stepped forward between his two teammates, slowly, like he was approaching a cornered animal.

Wraith had been a stoic, silent presence since they entered the room, but Failsafe could feel the tension rolling off of him in waves.

The boy sitting on the edge of the desk looked.... young. Younger than he should. The shirt he had been put in was too big for him. Not in the same way his dad's jacket was too big for him- he used that like a turtle shell, something to retreat into, pull over himself like a shield. It was safe, warm, all-encompassing. Despite the issues they knew Ashe and his father had with each other, the love was still there. No, these clothes... they hung loose on his already skinny frame, making him look exposed. Vulnerable. They were monochrome, pale in a way that made him look washed-out, almost ghostly. He sat with his legs crossed, hands holding his ankles. He wasn't wearing shoes. One of the sleeves threatened to slip off his shoulder.

He tilted his head as they entered the room. The movement made Failsafe think of the stray puppies he used to feed in the alley behind their house.

His hair had been washed recently.

Something was very wrong here.

Ashe's face was devoid of all emotion. Though he was looking at the three of them, making eye contact, something seemed... distant. Failsafe reached out with his power and found... nothing.

He felt his heart seize in his chest. He frantically grabbed Imprint's hand before he could take another step forward, and tore his gaze away from Ashe to lock eyes with Wraith He hissed under his breath, he didn't trust his voice not to shake "guys, hes-"

"Breaker state, yeah. I know." Wraith finally broke his silence, voice stony and cold. "Don't get any closer to him."

At the sound of Wraith's voice, Ashe's eyes locked onto him. They were burning with an orange glow.

His head bent further to one side, and his face split into a wide grin that looked almost painful. Failsafe felt Imprint tense, fingers twitching like he was getting ready to reach for a weapon. He squeezed the wrist he was already holding. "Don't. We can't. That's still Ashe."

In that brief moment of distraction, the boy on the desk began to laugh. It was a broken sound, distorted, not like anything they had heard from him before. That deep orange glow in his eyes shone even through his closed eyelids. Wraith's cape billowed as he stepped in front of the other two, barking a clipped "Incoming!" as the space behind the desk began to distort.

Wraith's own warping powers sprang up in response, a translucent blue barrier forming in the air between the wards and their friend. As they watched, unsure of how to act, a rectangular shape began to appear in the air behind where Ashe was sitting, growing clearer and sharper as it eventually formed a sort of doorway. It was hard to look at directly, the light in the room seeming to bend toward the corners. The walls and floor buldged and sank in response to the tear in reality. The door itself was more like a window- a vague, distorted cityscape slowly coming into focus on the other side. The barrier began to ripple, as if it was made of water, as a figure stepped through it into the room.

Ashe's laughing was suddenly doubled as it became clear that whoever had just entered was cackling as well. It was an eerie echo- they were taking the same pauses for breath and short hiccups between giggles. Their shoulders bounced in matching tempo and their heads tilted back toward the ceiling at the exact same time.

The new figure was dressed in a long purple-grey patchwork coat, sleeves torn off and bottom hem ripped to shreds. He wore a darker purple scarf up to his chin, which flared out behind him into a tattered cape. The coat was sinched at the waist with a faded green belt, the end of which swung loose around his legs to give the appearance of a long tail. He wore some sort of blood-red bodysuit which concealed every bit of skin that would otherwise be showing. His darkened silver hair flared out around his head in wild spikes. Over his face, a circular mask concealed any distinguishing features. The mask may have been white once, but was now more of a tarnished brown. Two horns curled upward on either side of the face, which consisted of a cudely painted-on cartoonish black smile with squinted eyes.

"Why, if it isn't the Wards of New Haven!" The figure exclaimed, suddenly dropping into a deep bow. "You can call me the Trickster. Oh, I've been waiting so long to meet you!" There was a sort of childlike excitement in his voice, but there was a strain to it as well, as if holding back the laughter was causing him mental pain.

He turned his head toward Ashe, who was sitting motionless again on the desk. The figure cleared his throat, then in a harsh voice, snapped "You'd best show some respect in the face of such powerful heroes!"

As if dragged down by force, Ashe bent forward, nearly losing his balance and falling face first off of his perch. When he sat back again, his deadpan expression broke into a wide grin again. The smile didn't reach his eyes.

"What are you doing to him?!" Failsafe snapped, voice cracking with the panic of seeing his friend so vulnerable.

"Who, me?" The villain straightened back up, bouncing on his toes as he did. He flung a hand up to his chest in an overdramatic show of offense... and Ashe's hand made the same motion. In a cheap imitation of Ashe's voice, the Trickster echoed "I wouldn't hurt a fly!" As he did, Ashe muttered the same words.

"He's some sort of Master." Imprint's eyes were locked onto the figure, tracing his every move. The subtle shift in his posture put the image of a panther in Failsafe's mind. His next words were directed at the villain. "What do you want with Ashe?"

"Better yet, what do you want with us?" Wraith added. The strain of holding up a constant shield for this long was starting to take its toll on him, hands starting to shake. Even though the Trickster wasn't outright attacking them, knowing he was a Master with this kind of power was enough to keep them all on edge. They didnt know his limitations yet. "You were the one that sent us the note, right? Why bring us here just to stand there and laugh at us?"

The villain started cackling again, bending at the waist with the sheer force of his laughter. "Ashe?!" He straightened back up, mimed wiping a tear from the corner of the eye of the mask. "Who's that? Never heard of them!" As he stood up to his full height, he ran a hand gingerly through Ashe's hair. The boy didn't move, didn't react, despite Failsafe's immediate short burst of anger at the action. The Trickster clicked his tongue, continued to run his hands through Ashe's silvery-purple hair. As his hands moved, a glow began to spread from them. The same orange glow emanating from Ashe's eyes was surrounding the Trickster's fingertips. As he waggled the fingers on his free hand, little orange strings no thicker than spider silk extended upwards from them, seeming to disappear into thin air. The strings reappeared, wound around Ashe's arms. There was a loop around his neck as well, giving the sickening illusion of a collar.

"I just wanted to introduce the three of you to my Muse." He put an odd emphasis on that final word.

It was a name.

"And, to let you know he's mine now, and you can't have him back!" The static smile on the mask somehow looked devilish. It was such a childish statement, as if they were fighting over a toy on the playground, but it sent chills down all three of the heroes' spines. "Finders keepers, he came to me first! That means I get dibs." His voice dropped an octave on that last sentence, suddenly becoming threatening and deadpan. "Try to take him from me if you can. It'll be fun."

Suddenly, he spun on his heel, facing the doorway he came from. The rippling effect was starting to get more pronounced, more unpredictable. "Ah! But it seems like playtime's over for now. We'll see you soon, Wards."

Before he stepped back through the door, the strings around Ashe's limbs tightened, and he was dragged by some nearly-invisible force toward the doorway. He moved stiffly, as if the puppetmaster hadn't gotten used to moving him yet, but eventually he was pulled through the fading doorway.

The Trickster gave them one last mock solute before ducking through as well. The lingering echo of laughter hung in the room around them.

And Ashe- Muse- was gone with him.

[theconsciouscrow]

I made a thingy

[dragandfashions]

Category is: Famous then

[life-imitates-art-far-more]

William-Adolphe Bouguereau (1825-1905) "Compassion!" (1897) Oil on canvas Academicism Located in the Musée d'Orsay, Paris, Franec

[shiningidoll]