#ethel — v: main.

[ironrot]

name.  ethel lenora cain

alias/nickname.  tbd

dob. march 4th, 1970

dod. march 4th, 1991

age. 21

familial. vera cain — mother, joseph cain — father, ethel cain — grandmother.

notable relationships. janie — best friend, willoughby tucker — ex boyfriend, logan phelps — boyfriend (deceased), isaiah abram — killer.

species.  human (verse dependent)

occupation.  sex worker (formerly)

residence.  nomadic

powers/abilities.  tba (verse dependent)

about.  tw: csa/incest, religion, death, murder, domestic abuse, drugs, trafficking, cannibalism. tba!

[moreinterestingtimes]

Looking at the fly and watching how it did indeed land on her finger, taking interest in it by quickly walking across her finger with its ticklish little limbs. She focused on it a moment, looking at the iridescent colors on its body, the ones so dark that they could barely be seen unless under the light. For a creature most thought as only a nuisance, it was sort of pretty.

As quickly as it came, it left, flying over towards Camembert, swarming around the chunky black rat. The rodent got onto his back feet, reaching up his little hand-like paws to grab for the fly, taking interest in it the same way it seemed to take interest in him.

@moreinterestingtimes 𝚌𝚘𝚗𝚝𝚒𝚗𝚞𝚎𝚍 𝚏𝚛𝚘𝚖 ››› [ 𝚑𝚎𝚛𝚎 ]

────────────────────────

    As if the fly was unusually smart for one of its kind,      it did indeed land on Elvira's finger. scuttling around, circling the digit before rubbing its little insect paws together in natural fly-fashion. It turned to the rat, waddling her finger upside down to get a better look at the woman's companion.

   . . .

Before taking flight, only to land closer to the rodent. The silent inspector was quite curious about both individuals, yet a bit shy to reveal his cover. Cricket figured he could escape questions  &  arguments dandily if displaying your everyday bug. And a bug he was, unfortunately driven to the rodent's natural scent, trying to pester the animal by swarming around the poor fella. Wildly so.

[sebsxphia]

MY LOVE 💐💐

new layout looks SO good!!!

thinking about preacher Rhett bringing his film camera to a dingy motel room…. thinking really hard

ptolemaea. | the thoroughfare motel tapes.

preacher!rhett abbott x reader.

￫ description: you and rhett are nearing the end of the line and he has a sinful idea to document the beginnings of your time out west.

￫ word count: 9K.

￫ c/w: heavy and dark religious themes, sex, p in v, rough sex, cnc, derogatory sex, derogatory names used towards reader, swearing, kissing, thigh riding, pussy spanking, spanking, spanking with a cross, boot riding, edging, blowjobs, deep throat, skull fucking, aftercare, bruising, crying, dacryphilia if you squint, overstimulation, daddy kink, choking, nipple pinching, corruption and innocence kink and preacher!rhett abbott.

￫ a/n: it’s here! i would highly suggest listening to wrestling in dirt pits, gibson girl, western nights and thoroughfare by ethel cain, in that order, whilst reading! a huge shout out to @bobfloyds @beachbabey @sunblchdfly @lewmagoo and @bradshawsbitch for brainstorming the most filthy and precious ideas. i love you all dearly. this is for you all <3 this is part of ‘ptolemaea. | the verses.’ my main masterlist can be read here! 💌

previous chapter | next chapter

Rhett had guarded his heart like a fed from the moment you met him. Through the times he had you bent over his wooden desk in his back office at the Church, to lying with him at night in a Motel bed. On occasions, such as the other night when he chased you through the woods as a game, you thought you saw into him. You thought you saw something real, but it was quickly faltered back to the Preacher you knew. None the less, you were getting closer to the end of your destination with each passing Motel and tin shaped diner as you made your way out West. Perhaps it was the force of proximity, or that Rhett knew your journey was coming to an end, but one night on the passing roads, Rhett opened up to you.

“I was twelve years old ‘nd son of a Preacher. I loved him and the love he had for my Mother. Subsequently, he made me fall in love with America. But, my Mama, she was always good for makin’ me cry,” Rhett shook his head and scoffed, his tone gritting between his teeth. “Everythin’ in that fuckin’ town wanted me dead, ‘till I was holdin’ a gun to my head and I knew I had to go.” The sound of his truck hummed through the blackout night and you turned in your seat to watch with intent as he spoke. “I was seventeen ‘nd I knew I had to see it all. I had to get out and go chasin’ its sweet call,” Rhett motioned forward with his hand, then paused. “But I was scared of the world. I ended up standin’ over my Ma’s casket, thinkin’ I was next. I was scared I’d end up like my Pa. I looked in a mirror and I was beggin’ myself for more time.”

Rhett paused for another moment, but his eyes were still fixed on the dim lit road ahead. You could see him replaying it as a ghost of a memory behind those tired eyes and you felt for him. You realized you were no less different compared to him.

He let out a defeated and tired sigh, and then his demeanor switched as he recalled something else behind those cobalt blue eyes. “But then I met, well caught, you.” He had a grin on his face now. “Y’ came in to my Church lookin’ like a backwater girl and America’s sweetheart.” He reached over and squeezed the flesh of your knee with a grin still on his face. You squealed in response and playfully swatted at his hand to stop the sensation that caused your nerve endings to turn into television static.

“Y’ didn’t trust no one.” Rhett huffed out a laugh as you fought to keep his hand away from the pressure points on your knee.

“That’s because the whole town found me suckin’ the Preachers cock.” You quipped back at him with amusement in your tone.

Rhett hummed in pride as he recollected the memory. “I remember though, what you said to me.”

You looked down towards your lap where your fingers intertwined and busied themselves with one another. You were trying to avoid Rhett’s curious gaze at your admittance of remembering something so fondly.

“You said, don’t run, I’ll take you anywhere. I mean fuck, we were both outta luck, but at least your truck beats walking to the fuckin’ West.” You looked out of the truck window as you spoke. It was dark for the most part, only with a couple far off city lights pathing the way, but it helped with the silence that fell heavy over the truck.

You heard Rhett exhale deeply and shift in his seat. “Before I came to your town, I was in Florida. I had no one to worry about leavin’ for and no one left to love. But now that I’ve met you, fuck. I finally know jus’ where I’m headin’. Remember when I was all alone in my house and I was fuckin’ your guts like I hated you? I didn’t hate you, sweet lamb. I just kept prayin’ you’ll save me. You made me fuckin’ crazy.”

You felt a sense of clarity clear your head at Rhett’s admission. Your whole body shuddered at the physical memory. It was the first time he invited you round to his house. It was no more than a week after your run in in the Church toilets and the first time he fucked you in his back office at the Church.

He snuck you in. He was careful not to let anyone spot you visiting the town Preacher’s house during the dead of night. Rhett had claimed he’d been alone all day and he needed someone to kill his loneliness with. He had your legs doubled over and his cock hitting your cervix so furiously, that you could see him bulge in your lower abdomen. At the time, you thought you’d done something to warrant such loathsome sex, but it became clear as Rhett explained to you in his truck, that this night was because he didn’t know how to control himself anymore. He spat in your mouth for the first time that night. Your own mouth salivated as you recalled the animalistic action. You understood now that he was spitting his love into your mouth. He needed you, and it came out in the most frustrating way he knew how.

“I think I’ve found a way to show y’ how much y’ mean to me, when you’re lookin’ all pretty, lyin’ in those sheets undressed.” Rhett motioned to the backseat in his truck as he kept his gaze fixed ahead of him. You leant over and retrieved the plastic bag. You reached inside and fished out an old film camera. It was still in its box with the cardboard tattered around the corners. “I wan’ remember everythin’ when we get to the West.” Rhett reached over again to touch your knee, but this time his hand skimmed higher and squeezed at your thigh. You felt a million and one butterflies swarm your stomach at what your Preacher was implying.

“When?” You had to bite down on your bottom lip to stop the selfish grin spreading across your face.

“Tonight, once we reach this Motel. Wear that pretty set I got you. I wan’ get alone with you, sweet lamb.”

“Yes, Father.”

Your son of a Preacher, sinful as ever. You were all over him like a burning rash as he drew closer to the Motel. Your fingers toyed with the collar of his shirt and your lips placed chaste kisses over his neck. Occasionally your tongue would dip out and soak up the salty taste of his sweat that had been simmering for a day or two. It was heaven to you. A concoction that you would go back for time and time again. Eventually, Rhett parked up at the Motel. He paid with the cash he stole from the Church and guided you to your Motel room, with his hand placed firmly on your lower back. He never strayed far from his precious lamb. It was as if to guide his lamb to the slaughter.

Once inside, you fished out the set Rhett had bought you a couple of towns back and slipped it on in the en-suite. The set was simple. It came from a town that hadn’t seen much of the newest century and you wondered momentarily if someone could have been murdered in it. It was cream and white, but a perfect white. Lacy details that had tiny flowers embroidered on, ran around the base of the bra. The underwear curved perfectly and the straps from the garter belt ran over the swell of your ass that was still tinged a baby pink colour from Rhett’s hands two nights before. The garter belt was attached to cream coloured stockings, and it made your thighs look like a place Rhett wanted to hide his face away in for the rest of eternity, until the end of Armageddon if he had to.

“You look like a virgin born again, my sweet lamb. Or, a lamb brought to the slaughter. Shall we find out which?” Rhett’s index finger lazily pointed to the ground beneath his boots. He needed no definite command to tell you exactly where you were to end up. You moved as gracefully as you could to stand in-between Rhett’s wide spread thighs at the edge of the bed. His calloused hands made contact with the backs of your thighs and your body jolted alive at his fervent touch. As if to elicit this image to memory forever, Rhett’s hands moved up and over your legs, finding their home on your ass. He issued a light, yet solid slap, to the soft flesh that made an easy moan fall from your lips, your skin still tender from before.

“I’m in love with your body, that’s why I’m fuckin’ it up, y’ know?” In sequence, as if Rhett had the rhythm of a hymn playing in his head, he delivered five more curt slaps to your supple flesh, each of them burning a fire on your skin. Instinctively, your palms reached out to grip at Rhett’s plaid shirt, with your body wilting forwards against him. Something of a merciful groan left your lips, as if to beg Rhett to stop, but you weren’t entirely sure if you wanted him to—

“Baby,” Rhett’s tone warned you. “If it feels good, then it can’t be bad.” Somehow, he always knew the right thing to say to discourage your doubt, and you let him continue to welt the supple flesh of your ass with his calloused palm.

“Turn around.” Rhett ordered with a gruffness in his voice. He planted his palm on the round of your ass and curved your thigh to direct you towards the blinking red light in the corner of the Motel room. You tiptoed on your feet to position yourself. His hands snaked along your hips and squeezed the soft flesh of your stomach, before leaving your body momentarily and picking up the small cross he’d packed with him.

The camera had the view finder flipped around so you could watch as Rhett didn’t let up his ministrations of marking your ass, yet this time, using the harsh material of the wooden cross. His stern gaze was fixed directly on you through the screen and you squirmed under his touch. You were unable to break away from his damning gaze and you were completely at his mercy. From however far away you were from Rhett, he would always pull you under with his cold-blooded stare and let it bleed all over you. At the back of your mind, doubt started to cloud you senses. You wondered if you had read this all wrong, especially that night when he chased you through the woods. That was something different entirely. What if he hated you? What if it was too late to—

“Do y’ want to hurt me?” Your voice wavered and babbled out before you had even registered what you’d said. Tears stung in the corners of your eyes from the painful pleasure shooting through your lower back as his cross continued to meet your ass, before it came to a sudden halt and was dropped on the bed. His hands ran soothingly over your now deep rouge coloured flesh.

“Hurt you?” Rhett twisted you by your waist to face him as you stood still in between his thighs. His hands didn’t leave you and the warmth of his palm spread over you to dull the ache that he’d created with the hand of God. “My sweet lamb, I never wan’ to hurt you. I wan’ to love you.”

You looked down at him and blinked away your tears in a flurry. His thumb came up to smooth over your cheeks and wipe them away, feeling your baby hairs on the corner of your jaw. The cobalt blue of Rhett’s eyes reflected in the dim lighting of the Motel room and his prior hardened gaze, had softened entirely. You watched as his eyes traced over your face and every feature you wore. Time stood completely still in this moment, in this particular Motel room, now not far from the West. You started to see Rhett differently, and for the first time since you were a child, you could see a man who wasn’t angry.

“You wanna… love me, right now?” You questioned with hesitation in your voice. You and Rhett had disclosed your love to one another time and time again, but this time, it was different and you weren’t familiar with the sincerity in Rhett’s tone.

“I wan’ fuck you, I wan’ see you on your knees, I wan’ rip this fuckin’ piece off,” his index finger tugged at the band of your garter belt and let it slap against your thigh. “But more than anythin’, I wan’ make love to you.”

“You wanna see me on my knees?” A playful smile tugged at the corners of your lips and you bit down gently onto your bottom lip when Rhett let out a grumbled growl. He delivered one more smack to your ass before pointing over to the camera that had since been forgotten about in the corner of the room. You understood what Rhett was silently implying.

You handed it to him and descended to your knees at the bottom of the bed. You situated yourself neatly in-between Rhett’s thighs and felt the rough tapestry of the Motel carpet scratch at your knees. He brought the lens of the camera up to point directly at the sinful sight below him. He leant back ever so slightly on one arm to allow the view finder to take in every angle of your poised position. “Smile for the camera, my pretty little lamb.” You gazed up at him through your lashes and smiled a sickly sweet smile. A groan got caught in his throat at the sight below him and his cock strained dangerously tight against his jeans. Rhett didn’t have a spare hand and he gestured for you to take the reins. Your hands slinked up his tense thighs and un-did his large belt buckle. It fell to the side with a clang! against the metal. You could already see the bulge outlined underneath his boxers. You had to bite down on your bottom lip to stop the salvia pooling already in your mouth from dribbling out.

“Don’t go shy on me now, sweetheart. Lord knows you’ve had this cock a million times.” Rhett snarked in response to watching your pupils double the size.

“I- I know, it’s just,” you pointed to the camera in Rhett’s hands and stifled a giggle. He cooed and brought his hand to smooth around your cheeks and hold your chin upto him. How his sweet lamb had strayed so far from the flock and ended up in the Lord’s arms, wearing white that barely hid the temptations of your own body. You had come alone into Rhett’s maliciously corrupt arms, from however far away you were before, and he thought it sweet how you were now getting shy.

“Do what your Preacher tells you.” Rhett’s tone was firm and you knew it was the beginning of a stern warning from him. The previous ache on your ass twinged and you were swiftly reminded of the consequences that would follow if you didn’t obey your Preacher.

Your fingers made quick work of freeing his aching cock from the confines of his underwear. A quiet grunt escaped him as he felt your hand clasp around him and squeeze him lightly. He was hot and heavy under your touch and his broad tip was glistening an angry red colour. He momentarily removed your hand and spread your palm in front of his face. He pursed his lips together and a direct line of his spit came into contact with your palm. You wrapped yourself around him again and in steady motions, you ran your lubricated hand over his length, remembering to work your thumb over his sensitive tip, just as he had showed you before.

A now louder grunt bubbled up through his throat, but he was steady enough to still hold the camera in focus of you. Up until this point, you had focused on the engorging sight before you, but Rhett wanted to see you become immoral in his lap. His hand reached up to cup your chin again and tilt your face upwards. His thumb ran along your bottom lip and pushed itself past to press down forcefully on your tongue, jolting your jaw open.

“Out.” Rhett barked. You instinctively pushed your tongue past your lips and let it hang freely. He lowered his head and pursed his lips together again. Another splat of his salvia fell onto your tongue and ran down to the back of your throat. “No more excuses, my pretty whore. Drink down your communion wine.” A shudder ran up the bones of your spine and settled at your neck, with warm beads of sweat already breaking out. A measly whimper came up and out from your throat, but you were left spluttering around the head of Rhett’s cock as his hand gripped onto your head and tugged you down. You swallowed once around him and let the mix of your salvia’s coat his length before sinking down a further few more inches.

The first real groan left him, followed by a greedy curse of your name. The base of your tongue ran under his shaft and traced along a protruding vein. He shuddered at the sensation and resumed his position as before. He was leaning back on one of his arms with the camera angled perfectly against you. You had now sunk down completely to his pubic bone and his soft brown curls tickled at the tip of your nose. You ran your lips back up his length to swirl around his tip a handful of times and then sunk back down. Over and over you repeated this motion, and pride swelled in your chest when the sound of Rhett’s pleasure met your ears.

“Look at me.” Rhett croaked out in-between his stuttered breaths. You peeked up through your lashes and gazed directly into the camera. “Jesus. Fuckin’ hell,” he groaned at the messy sight. Your lips were stretched around his thick girth and your cheeks were painted a rosy blush. Although you were looking up at him and you moved your mouth over his cock, your eyes had crinkled in the corners with your lashes fluttering occasionally. You were clearly trying to keep your eyes on him as instructed, but the tears stinging at your waterline were becoming more prominent, and you were blinking in flurry’s to hold them back.

“‘memeber when I first had y’ in the confessional booth. Look at you now, too far gone on your Preacher’s cock. God made you for me himself.”

A loud moan from yourself vibrated around his cock, although it was muffled as your mouth was currently stuffed full. The guiding praise from Rhett was giving you a new found confidence and you wanted to put on a show for your Preacher. You continued to run your lips all the way down his length and let his tip push at the back of your throat. You could start to taste the bitter salt of his pre-cum forming at his tip, and on each shove to the back of your throat, you let out a crude gagging sound. At each push, Rhett would groan himself and follow with his sweet praises.

“Good girl. That’s it, take your Preacher’s cock. You were made to take me.”

More of your salvia was gathering in your mouth and you let it freely fall from the corners of your lips. It dribbled down your chin and dripped onto the stockings. More would pool and each time your mouth dragged up to Rhett’s tip, his cock would glisten wet.

You had made the best of your efforts to hold your fluttering gaze towards the camera. He looked again into the screen, but this time he let out a low, almost mocking, chuckle. He watched as one or two tears finally spilled over your eyes and streaked down your burning cheeks. The camera could catch everything from his laid back view and he noticed how your thighs were starting to chafe against each other. His lips quirked up into a sly and all knowing smirk.

“Need somethin’?” He berated down towards you. Your eyebrows turned upwards as if to plead for your Preacher. “If you need somethin’, you must pray for it.” You let out a defeated whimper, but Rhett only raised one of his eyebrows as if to question if you were about to become a whiny little brat. “The Lord worked hard to earn His followers respect. You must do the same.”

You pulled off the tip of his cock with a string of salvia connecting from his head to your bottom lip. You started to quietly mumble out, “our Father in heaven—”

“Louder.”

You swallowed down what little left of your pride you had left and raised your voice and octave higher.

“— hallowed be your name;”

“Look ‘ere,” Rhett grabbed a tight fistful of your hair and pulled your head upwards to look at the camera. You quickly blinked back the next flow of tears that threatened to spill over your cheeks and continued.

“Allow me to press my Preacher’s pussy to my Preacher’s boot and feel some relief.”

You decided the cooling stream of your tears over your cheeks would be better than anything right now, as your cheeks flushed in heat with embarrassment from your words. You stared directly into the camera and in unison with Rhett, you finished your fleeting prayer with, “Amen.”

“Good, little lamb.” Rhett grunted and pushed your mouth back down and onto his cock. You felt his boot come between your knees and forcefully kick your thighs open. You accepted the wide girth of his boot greedily and caught your clothed clit on the tip of his boot. Your mouth sank back down to Rhett’s pelvic bone and you ground your hips down eagerly onto the worn leather.

The pressure felt delicious on your aching clit, as you rocked your hips back and forth in a rhythmic motion, similar to the one your mouth was making. You could no longer stifle your needy moans and you let your throat wail in muffled sounds around his strained length.

“I know, angel, I know,” he purred with his hand still coursing through your hair and guiding you. “Feels s’ good, doesn’t it? My pretty pussy got s’ needy.”

The rhythmic motions you were providing Rhett caused him to groan your name softly with each flick of your tongue around his head. His body was hurtling closer towards his definite release, but he still had more that he wanted to capture on camera. With a final grunt, he pulled you off his cock by your hair. You let out a protested cry. The sudden movement had jolted your body and re-directed the ecstasy inducing pressure off your clit.

“Hush, lamb.” Strings of salvia trailed from your lips, with your glassy eyes swimming in your own tears. “You gon’ let your Preacher have you? From the fuckin’ mess you’ve made on my boot, it’d be a sin not to feel my cunt squeezin’ me tight.” You nodded eagerly, perhaps a little too eagerly for Rhett, as it caused him to bark out a laugh, mocking you.

He stood up and you moved with him. He momentarily dropped the camera to the bed as you helped him pull off the rest of his clothes in a flurry. His chest was flush a bright pink, and as he removed the final item of clothing, his cock slapped against his abdomen between your bodies. You followed him like a lamb would to the slaughter, as he lay back on the bed and picked up the camera. He positioned himself to rest up against the pillows so he could hold the camera and keep his gaze fixated on what he was recording. He patted his bare thigh and motioned for you to come over.

“Bet my pretty little pussy was so desperate to come,” Rhett mocked as you pouted ever so slightly. He was right. “C’ ere and sit on your Preacher’s cock. If you put on a good enough show, I’ll let y’ come.”

You let out a languid moan. Your thighs were already burning from the constant grinding on his boot, but like your Preacher had already told you as he marked your ass shades of black and blue, if it feels good, then it can’t be bad. Having a sweet thing like yourself be completely immoral in a stranger’s lap would be something any man would want, yet you could only share this with Rhett. It was something only you, could have the power over.

With this new found confidence, you climbed atop of the Motel bed and slid your underwear off, with the garter belt and stockings still firmly attached. You were going to put on a show that anyone would wish they had.

“Save a horse, ride a cowboy.” You mused Rhett with a small smirk gracing your features as you straddled his waist. You raised your eyebrows to await his response. His spare hand reached round to give a fleeting smack to your ass, causing you to yelp in response, partly due to the already residing marks from earlier.

“Atta girl, you’re learning.” Rhett was quick to quip back at you as you braced one hand on his chest and your other hand reached to grab at his cock. It was silky and warm under the base, and you had no issue gathering the pre-cum that was beading at his swollen tip with your thumb and smoothing it over. You guided his tip to nudge at your entrance, catching your clit on the way and letting out a whimper.

“‘member who’s in charge ‘ere,” Rhett taped at the camera pointing your way and you submitted to putting on an immoral show in your Preachers lap. Both your hands were now bracing his chest as you sank yourself all the way down on his length. Guttural groans escaped you both as Rhett filled you whole. He could feel your warm walls squeeze around him, warmer than usual, yet still all encompassing that it made his toes curl. You squirmed your hips down to meet his, taking his cock all the way to the base and feeling his swollen head nudge not so far from your cervix. Once your walls had fluttered around him and emitted the feeling to memory, you made work of your thighs and bounced gently at first. If it wasn’t for your hands bracing Rhett right now, you would’ve toppled over on him.

Rhett peered through the view finder and watched with his bottom lip gripped tightly between his teeth at the Heaven shattering sight before him. Your eyes were pinched tightly shut, but your lips were parted and letting out an endless string of needy moans. From this angle of you leaning forward, he could register your tongue just teasing at your bottom lip, threatening to fall from your mouth completely as he fucked you closer towards that teetering edge. Your breasts were moving in time with your rhythmic bounces, and your nipples had turned into stiff peaks. The soft colour that matched against the inside of your pussy made drool pool in Rhett’s mouth. From this angle, he couldn’t have a taste, but he could do what he adored most. Make you squirm and whine.

His free fingers reached out and pinched at your hardened nipples to earn a shriek being torn from your throat. He twisted at your right nub harshly and even though cries were tearing from you, you pushed your chest forward to keen into the painful pleasure. He wanted to see more from you, but his ears were zoning in on the sounds you were making and he trusted in his gut feeling to check on you. He removed his hand from your swollen breasts and placed them on your hip to still your rocking motions, the camera going down with it.

His thumb ran soothing circles over your hip bone as if to signal to you to stop for a moment. A soft look had replaced his hardened gaze. “Y’ okay, little lamb? Y’ need to tell me if it’s too much.”

You nodded as you panted heavily. You wet your bottom lip to speak, “promise, Rhett. Feels s’ good, p-please, need you.” A beat went by.

“Safe word?”

“Bull riding.”

Rhett wore a smile to match his softened gaze and he leaned up to press a admiring kiss to your swollen lips. When he pulled away and came back to resume his previous position, picking up the camera in tow, his face shifted back in a flash. It made your cunt clench as it resembled something close to the Devil himself. That something you had seen in the woods.

You resumed your previous ministrations and your hips continued to bounce rhythmically. Rhett wasted no time in wrapping his fingers around your tender nipples and pinching at them gently to elicit further cries from yourself. With one particularly harsh twist from his index finger, your head was thrown back and your hips pushed further. You ground your hips into Rhett’s and you could feel the tip of his cock slide neatly along the sweet, spongy spot, inside of you. The sensation of after burn on your nipples stung deliciously in combination. To soothe yourself you brought one of your own hands up to toy and stroke over your nipples. Your jaw had now gone slack, as your head was thrown back and your chest was rising and falling erratically.

Rhett let out a guttural grunt in response to this sight and shifted his hips to lazily meet yours. “Look at you,” he matched with a lazy drawl in his tone. “Preacher’s best girl, puttin’ on a show for Daddy.” He focused the camera directly onto the sight before him. He didn’t want to miss a single second of this.

With every shift of your hips bouncing on his cock, you could feel your clit bump against his soft curls and occasionally provided a teasingly millimeter of friction. You needed more, but no matter how deep you grounded your hips down, it provided no release and you were left edging yourself. Your thighs were starting to give in entirely, with a thin veil of sweat coating your flesh and chafing against Rhett’s own. Mumbled nothings were falling from your lips with silent cries.

“I- I… Daddy,” you managed to usher out. It was a pitiful plead of mercy for your Daddy. You needed him now. Your own body was failing you with exhaustion. You needed him to take care of you.

Rhett could hear your soft plea, how your voice was failing you and how your hip movements were becoming sloppy. Your mind was teetering on the edge of complete nothingness. It was about to break and run it’s course into a headspace that made you entirely susceptible to causing more harm to yourself than you could really take. But Rhett was there to slow down your de-railing. As God loved him, Rhett was to love and care for you. You were his responsibility and therefore it was his responsibility to catch you gently when you fell softly into that headspace that rendered you completely, fucked, dumb.

The camera was placed on the bed and his hands came up to still your shuddering body. He shushed you gently and breathed out, “alright, my sweet lamb. Let Daddy take care of his best girl.”

His broad palms gripped at your torso and picked you up as if you weighed nothing. He lay you down on the bed with your head facing the end. He carted his fingers through your hair that was falling haphazardly over your forehead and getting stuck in the beads of your sweat that was pooling. He gently cradled your supple cheek and the baby hairs that lay there. His thumb soothed over the heat rising in your cheeks and he leaned down to press a chaste kiss to your parted lips.

His own hair tickled at your skin and you hummed into his mouth. Your giggles bubbled to the surface and Rhett reacted with his own. His familiar warmth was surrounding you and encompassing you whole as his lips didn’t stop moving against yours. A taste of a cigarette and lukewarm beer were fading on his tongue, but it was still there, something that ground you closer to your Preacher. Yet, at the same time, it had you falling through the mattress to somewhere safe.

Rhett parted from your swollen lips momentarily and you let out a disappointed whine, turning them into a small pout. You wrapped your hands around the base of his neck and toyed with the damp licks of hair, in an attempt to draw him back to you, but he resisted for a moment. His thumb lifted between you both and ran along your pouted lips, smoothing them out.

“Need y’ to tell me, my sweet lamb. Can you continue?” He purred.

You replied with a, “yes,” and barely above a whisper, with a small nod of your head. To anyone else, your admittance of submission was feeble, but Rhett had you mapped out on the back of his hand. He could read every inch of your body and how it responded to him. He could read this clearly and he followed through by slipping his thumb passed your lips and pressing down on your tongue. Your eyes fluttered shut and suckled down greedily, eager to have anything of Rhett inside of you and filling you whole. He nudged his knelt thigh between your legs and pressed up against your cunt. Your clit was left painfully un-touched by this point and he could feel it throb as you instinctively rubbed yourself up and over his tight muscle. There was a lewd sound of your wetness squishing against him and something of a growl left his throat.

“Jesus, fuckin’ soaked for your Preacher, aren’t you? Nasty, needy, little harlot.” Rhett sneered down at you. His demeanor had switched back to cold-blooded, but you knew you were safe with this version of Rhett and his venomous words only sent shocks to your swollen bundle of nerves. You were desperately chasing your high once again on his thigh, but it was ripped away from you coldly as he pulled away and issued a direct, smack! directly onto your cunt.

This was your fall from grace and two tears finally slipped over your waterline and stung at your warm cheeks. He smoothed them over with his thumb, but in contrast, he only cooed mockingly at you.

“Cry all you want, darlin’. You’re takin’ what I give you. Now—” he got off the bed and retrieved the camera that had fallen to the side. He placed it on the worn out and chipped desk facing the bed and came back to position you. He slid his arm under your back and twisted you so you were now on your hands and knees, facing the camera. He tugged at your scalp and then pinched your chin to direct your gaze directly ahead to the camera. “— smile for your Preacher, sweet girl. You are Daddy’s best girl, after all.”

His words made you squirm and without direction, your back was arched slightly to show Rhett the curvature of your ass. Two of his calloused hands ghosted down your spine and lay at their final resting place on your hips. He squeezed at your tender flesh and let a groan slip at the sight of your glistening cunt.

One hand was removed and fisted at the base of his throbbing cock. He slapped his heavy member against your lips and let it drag through your folds and nudge at your clit. It made lewd sounds, the sounds of your own wet cunt causing your cheeks to return to a dusty red colour. You both moaned together as he let his tip slip past your folds and tease at the beginning of your entrance. You immediately clenched down on him as he slipped the first inch in. You were unable to hold back the string of pathetic whines, and you bucked your hips back to try and chase his length that he was slowly inching in.

“Daddy, p- ‘lease!” Rhett hushed you in an attempt to soothe you, but it was broken by his own grunt as he eventually bottomed out completely inside of you.

“S’ fuckin’ tight for your Preacher, lil’ lamb. Y’ were made for me, weren’t you?” You nodded feebly at the camera ahead of you.

You wrapped yourself warmly around him and clenched tighter as Rhett slowly started to move his hips against you and build a steady rhythm. At each push back in, he nudged deeply at the sweet spot inside of you and it had your knuckles turning white, gripping the thin Motel bed sheets below you and carting you forward with each thrust.

He found a comfortable grip with one hand on your hip as the pace picked up. His other hand found itself buried at the base of your neck and his fingers intertwined to the base hairs that lay there. He grabbed a tight fistful, pulling harshly on your roots with a yelp from yourself. This new found position caused your back to arch further and your hands scrambled on the bedsheets below to try and hold yourself up. That, combined with Rhett’s now brutal thrusts, his thick tip was waging no mercy on your sweet and abused cunt.

It caused you to hold direct eye contact with the camera in front of you, as it documented clearly to anyone who would watch, how your Preacher would ruin his little lamb inch by inch. It was as though he was pulling you apart thread by thread and weaving himself a new found pleasure. You caught a glimpse of Rhett himself in the corner of the mirror, that was situated off to the side of the desk where the camera was sitting and dear God, you had never seen such a prettier sight.

His hair was mused and tussled stray strands of hair fell against his forehead and tickled against his rosy cheeks. There was a small layer of sweat forming already, and nestled deep in the creases of his forehead as his eyebrows knitted tightly together in concentration at sight before him. His piercing eyes that always had you clenching, were trained directly at the sight of his thick cock sliding in and out of you, your own arousal already slicking him and layering at the edges of your lips.

His jaw was set firm, but his lips were slightly parted in comparison to allow for hot puffs of air and guttural grunts. His shoulder muscles, and all the way down to his forearms, were compacted tightly together and bulging. Prodding veins in his forearm were shadowed perfectly in the low light of the Motel room, dusted by his arm hair that grew thicker at the base of his hands. His chest was flush and the rosy pink dusted over his tattoo on his peck, blending into one.

His lips parted further to speak, “look at you, my pretty Western sunshine. I’ve found heaven in you, little lamb.” His voice was hoarse and yet his Southern drawl was still low and boldly coming through, wetted by the gasps of air he was currently letting out. He had found heaven in time where your own Western sunshine met his deep Southern wet. He was lost in it, lost in the feeling, lost in the taste, and he found himself hard-pressed for air and sweating.

The concoction of the reek of sex and sweat hung heavy in the dingy Motel room. Rhett’s pin point accurate thrusts were pushing you closer to the edge that you had so desperately been craving all night. The knot that was settled deep in your lower abdomen was threatening to snap anytime soon, but there was something else missing. Like clockwork, and how well Rhett knew your body like the back of his hand, his hand from your hip slipped down and his rough padded fingers found your aching bundle of nerves. You let out a broken sob and your eyes squeezed tightly shut at finally relishing in the feeling. His thrusts became sloppier as he let your hip go, but his thick cock that was still moving in and out of you, gave no room for error. His fingertips ran calculated circles and you continued to let out broken sounded moans. You were getting louder with each swipe, but you didn’t care. You paid no mind to the other Motel dwellers next door. You were completely unaware that Rhett heard a couple of thuds on the wall next to you. For him, it only added fuel to the Hellfire you were currently drawing him down to.

“Y’ wan’ to come, angel face?” You pathetically whined out a, “yes,” and let out a louder cry when Rhett tugged harshly on your hair to signal at you to open your eyes. Your eyes peeled open and at this admission, the tears that had been stinging on your waterline fell freely. Your pleasure was heightened to a tipping point so high, that you had no idea what would happen when you fell. “Y’ can come, but watch yourself. Watch your fuckin’ pathetic self.” Rhett seethed with condescension laced thick on his tongue.

“Thankyouthankyouthankyou…” You babbled out repeatedly in a weak attempt to show your gratitude. You could feel yourself ready to fall. Your skull felt as though it was full with cotton and your eyes completely glazed over as you stared mindlessly into the camera.

Rhett let his fingers swipe continuously over your now completely abused clit, and he felt you clench and twitch around him. “Come. Come for y’ fuckin’ Preacher.”

The mix of his cock still moving with pin point accuracy inside of you, and the swipe of his fingertips, caused you to fall helplessly with the only cord attached to Rhett. Your jaw went slack, unable to hold the drool that cornered in your mouth and it slipped down your chin as your orgasm came and washed over you like a furious tidal wave. The all encompassing and pleasurable feeling started in your abdomen and blossomed outwards to reach each point of your body, setting your nerves alight. It caused your toes to curl tightly inwards at the base of Rhett’s knees and your chest heave furiously, trying to catch up with the labored moans you were currently letting out.

You weren’t aware how tight you were squeezing around Rhett. Whilst caught up in your own storm, you heard him behind you groan and curse your name with a sinisterly sick tone. “Gon’ fill you up, precious lil’ lamb. Gon’ make y’ full of me, y’ want that?” You were vaguely aware of Rhett’s own begging behind you. “Fill this womb with God’s spend, give y’ children of God.”

“Pleasepleaseplease…” You weren’t even sure what you were pleading for at this point. Anything to keep this euphoric feeling going you would settle for. His thrusts became sloppier than before and his cock twitched inside of you. His fingers were still lazily working around your clit and you mewled out at the overstimulation he was causing you. His thrusts were deep and he let out an even deeper, guttural groan, but they turned shallow as you felt his own spend leak inside of you. You squeezed him tightly at this point, as to milk him for all that he was worth. You wanted God’s children to blossom in your womb.

You had admitted defeat and your arms were shaking to try and hold yourself up. You fell forward on the mattress with a pitiful whine. Rhett gulped down air behind you and let out soft groans as his cock soften inside of your wet walls. You winced as he pulled out and you felt a mix of fluids drip from your swollen and puffy lips. Your body thrummed with the coming downs of pleasure and you let your hips fall to the bed when he let go of your frame. You squirmed into the bedsheets, rubbing your flesh over the material in a weak attempt to ground yourself, but there was no need. Warm hands of your Preacher slinked around your waist and drew you up from the mattress.

“My sweet, sweet, beautiful lamb. C’ ere.” His voice was like honey in your ear. The warmth of his breath was causing goosebumps to flesh over your neck. His large, yet damp with sweat, arms encased you against his. You could feel the rhythmic thrum of his heartbeat match up to yours as he held you tightly against his chest for a moment. Skin on skin contact like a baby would have with their mother. Your own sweat was mixing together and puffs of his breath coated your warm cheek.

He maneuvered himself to sit against the headboard with one arm wrapped around your trembling body. Tender fingers from his spare hand slinked upwards at the base of your neck. They were far softer in contrast to the ones that were cruelly tugging on your hair before. They reached upwards and brushed the strands of hair that were stuck to your forehead, tucking them gingerly behind your ear. His thumb and index finger cautiously caught your chin and titled your low hanging head to look at him. Your eyelashes fluttered open and you met Rhett’s face with a weary and blissed out smile.

“You okay?” He moved his hand to cradle your jaw as if it was made of glass. His thumb brushed over the stained tears above your rosy cheek.

“Did I do good?” You voice was hoarse and it caused Rhett’s heart to twinge in his chest. You were his responsibility to take care of and he would be damned to Hell if he didn’t.

“M’ love, you did s’ good. M’ s’ proud of you.” Your weary smile was still there, but you seemed to appear proud. “Can I kiss you, sweet lamb?”

“Please, Rhett. Need you.” You called out to him. He was right there in front of you, but you needed your Preacher to wrap you tightly in his arms and wash away your sins down the basin of the Motel sink drain.

Rhett moved his face to be millimeters away from your lips. Barely above a whisper, he reassured you faintly, yet his words were set in stone. “M’ always here. Never goin’ to leave you. You’re mine forever. I love you.”

Your lips brushed against each other when you replied. “Love you too, Rhett.”

He did exactly as you needed. He cleaned you up with his ever tender and cautious touch. He never left your side and you clung tightly to him when his lips met your ears with honeyed words of praise. However, through a force unknown to you, your body was startled and you awoke from the throws of sleep, wrapped tightly up in Rhett’s arms.

Your bleary eyes adjusted to the dim bedside lamp that was still on. The two of you were too exhausted to switch it off after. The sight of the soft light electrified something in you and you were frustratingly, now wide awake, for lack of better word.

You un-tangled yourself from his arms and he shifted against the pillows to lie on his back. One of his arms came up to stretch behind his head, with his bicep muscles contorting shadows in the light. His hair was tousled, and soft strands fell and framed his face in such a way that made your town Preacher look angelic. The ends of his hair tickled at his hardline jaw, with the four day old stubble coming through. The thin cotton Motel bed sheet was falling haphazardly over his frame and his soft curls with the base of his cock, peeked out from underneath. You retrieved the camera and it whirred to life, clicking in places inside as the flashing red button on the front focused on his sleeping frame. Rhett had never looked more beautiful as he slept naked, due to the air con in the Motel room failing you both once again, and you wanted to remember this serene moment for as long as you lived.

You caught your own reflection in the mirror with bleached corners and tainted glass. You let out a quiet gasp in response and zoomed in on the picture through the tiny screen. Painted over your hips and the back of your thighs, were shades of black and blue. They showcased the way Rhett knew how to show his love.

You were oblivious to the fact he heard the room next door beat on the walls while you were face-first down in the bed mere hours ago. You also weren’t aware of Rhett pummeling a stranger to the floor outside the bar across the street from the diner, because the stranger called you a sickly name. The lovesick haze that clouded your vision entirely with Rhett was unforgivable.Trouble was always going to find him and weather you were aware of it or not, so would you with his guidance. If Rhett loved you like he said he did, you would hold a gun to someone’s head if he asked you to.

On some nights, you were alone in the Motel rooms when Rhett was out. You’d sit on the edge of the bed, facing the television, with tears falling over you cheeks and reflecting in the television static. Yet, your tears came from a place of happiness. You had him to hold you each night as you crossed every state line to reach the West. You knew you’d be alright, as you turned off the camera and slid back into the familiar embrace of your Preacher.

He had now rolled over onto his side and you pressed yourself into his bare back that emitted the warmth of a furnace. Your arms wrapped themselves over his ribs and you could feel the steady rhythm of the rise and fall of his lungs. You would cling to him like some love blind addict. You were always itching for your next fix. Always awaiting the dopamine induced high to flood your senses when you were next to him. You wanted to feel him run hot through your veins and hit the sweet spot in your head that would leave you with your eyes rolling back into your skull and begging for more. Always desperate to scream his name as you drove by the gas stations and trailed down the interstate.

“I’m never gonna leave you, baby.” Your voice was barely above a whisper and your lips brushed against Rhett’s flesh on his back, muffling the sound of reassurance. Even if Rhett was to lose what’s left of his depraved and fortified mind, you’d still be right there besides him. You’d ride with him through every Western night you departed on, and you knew that one day, you and Rhett could be ok.

Rhett pulled his truck off to the side of the road and pulled up on the dirt track. You had finally reached the edge after all this time. You wasted no time and flung open the passenger door, inhaling the near costal air deep into your lungs. You had reached the coast.

Rhett joined you and got out to lean against the front of his truck. He hovered slightly as it was still burning hot from the hours of driving. You both took in the view and spotted the far off shoreline in California from the cliff side he was currently parked up at.

“End of the line.”

You spun around from the cliff side railings and walked back to Rhett as he spoke. You had a spring in each step and you planted yourself between his thighs. His arms came round to encase you against his chest with the warm sun beating down on you both. You looked up at him with hope shining in your eyes for the first time in months, “we made it this far.”

Rhett’s eyebrows quirked upwards, before furrowing slightly as he gazed outwards at the land in front of him. The sun caught in his eyes and caused him to squint. This was a new town, a fresh start, where people wouldn’t know either of you and no one would truly know if you went missing. He looked back down at you and his face broke out into an animated and electrified smile. “‘nd look at what I’ve got.” His hold on your waist became tighter and you felt your feet leave the ground. A squeal, followed by laughter, bubbled out from your chest as Rhett span you around. He placed you back down to the dust eventually, “love’s out there, and we can’t leave it be anymore.”

You craned your neck upwards and pressed your palms against his chest to steady your lips that were now millimeters away from his. You whispered, as if no one else was privy to your agreement, “I'll come with you if you're sure it's what you need.” Because you knew, in Rhett’s pickup truck with all of your dumb luck is the only place you’d ever want to be.

taglist: @beachbabey @tallrock35 @currentlybradshaw @unmistakablyunknown @iloveprettyboysblog @wkndwlff @flames-thebitch

tagging those who may be interested: @peachystenbrough @sunblchdfly @rhettabbotts @bradshawsbitch @bobfloyds @lewmagoo @sushiwriterhere @sugarcoated-lame

[userkatekanearchived]

hi here is part one of my idiot crew

how they look is super subject to change because this is the first time ive drawn most of them and they're all in goofy sketches and it's weird reclaiming something so many spoiled for you but!!! work doodles!!

we're back baby!!!!!

- lil info on them and the tag list below 💛

haylin - idiot, milo's best friend, ren's safe place, benedikt's ward, nari's biggest fan, arlo's flame, 'adopted' sister of leon and aleks, elias' favourite daughter, elena's favourite pet. is the main character, the final girl and the most dangerous user of the term 'ah fuck it what's the worst that can happen?????'

ren - the second smartest kid in the room, haylin's most loyal, thinks of leon like a father, thinks aleks and milo are morons, loves nari to the moon and back in a platonic way, is of the opinion that arlo should fuck right off, also thinks benedikt should get a grip, is probably the only one besides ben and haylin to not be afraid of elena, is a thorn in elias' side. he's not fond of people, he's super athletic, he will do anything for a bag of sour patch kids

leon - everybody's big brother, the drunk dad figure, detective dumbass but not really. will not let you drive. will insist on pizza for dinner. he will be there for you no matter what. no matter what

nari - mischief maker. elias' biggest headache. if elena has no haters then it means nari is ded. cannot be left alone with milo bc they cannot be trusted to behave. if you look at aleks wrong she might stab you in the knee. has adopted ren as her baby brother. somehow gets her way with ben all the time???? anyway she's a thief, protect your pockets

benedikt - cursed. elena's favourite soldier. haylin's everything. has not known peace in about 600 years. is not a vampire but leon still calls him edward. aleks punched him once and broke his fist. ben is a tired old man, yall. but he will take care of you, i promise

aleks - youngest adams brother. the other smartest kid in the room. has a mind that is constantly on the go. he's the science bro. he's also the temperamental bro. he and milo are best friends. and best friends kiss sometimes, okay?????

milo - goofball. hyperactive. would follow haylin into hell if he had to. short king bc all the size went into his heart. has a cat called mr meowcolm. makes ren do his dirty work for a bag of sour patch kids

elias - old man. 700+ years old. is only alive bc his twin sister wont let him die. has decided he is responsible for everyone. he is the softest man alive and he will accept you and all of you and do all in his power to make sure you know you are loved. also he is fighting for his life everyday against the family curse but yknow, just another day

elena - elias' twin. final boss. only behaves bc of elias. doesnt have a heart ( literal ). she's neither good or evil but most people only see the evil. she's the auntie ethel of the game. she eats people. no, really, she does. her jaw comes loose. it's great

arlo - elena's favourite toy. he is the dark romance option. he's also v handsome. he handles being dead and trapped by elena better than anyone. he is also madly in love with haylin. he will scare you for fun. also, he is silly i just wanna bully him

i still need to do harper, felix, jj, zeke, grey and all the other idiots in my lil d&d chaos build but hehe this is the first time ive drawn some of these guys and finally!! finally taken them back from poor treatment from others and people who made me feel bad!!

TAG LIST:

@romirola @hylfystt @greenecreek

@pinksparkl @hibernationsuit

[m4ndysk4nkovich]

On season 9 of my rewatch, and can I say how much I hate how they just completely forget about Ethel after the girls are born? That was Kevin's FIRST daughter, ever. And, the fact that they can take in a foster child without issue just shows how little the writers cared for her? If Ethel Shameless has no fans, then I'm dead.

the thing about amy and gemma is that they wouldn’t be if it wasn’t for ethel. i mean, sure, kev and v were probably going to end up having kids, but ethel running away is what caused the storyline of them becoming parents. and sure, technically dominic’s existence is because of ethel, not amy and gemma’s, but still. she is the main reason kev really wanted to be a dad. so yeah, the fact that the storyline of them as parents lasts the whole show yet there is no ethel mention is infuriating, and then, as you said, santiago comes into the mix and it’s as if ethel didn’t exist. in season three they can’t foster the five younger gallagher siblings because ethel ran away, yet they can foster santiago no problem? at this point john wells is just flaunting his shitty writing/world building. like he wants us to talk about how much he fucking sucks at making shameless and how we, the fandom, could all write it better😭

ethel was such a good character and i miss her so much. she is a big victim of john wells’ stupidity

[elytrafemme]

hello :)

I - mare ☾ they/she/he

II - astrology emo. pseud taken from the night, then the sea. forest never far from my thoughts. i reclaim the sun & everything except nothing. i doubt being a tortured artist is all it’s crystalized to be, but i meant it, a little. i am an unforgivingly relentless optimist, though, and a happy bastard these days.

III - nineteen ❥ asexual ❥ lesbian ❥

IV - icon | banner | @riseninsaturn (aa) | @violexides (main) | @astradyke (d&p)

V - story for the cosmos

VI - reacquainting myself with being a little unsettling & strange. i reply late to everything. i am visible in the june to august months then i eclipse (i go to university). ex-dsmp fan, ex-nightmare_rivulets (lie, i am still her). unkindly see yourselves out if you tolerate abuse apologism a la ws or dt. i am loud about abolition & decolonization & freedom -- so zionists should leave too.

VII - half my posts are bitching about life and written inarticulately btw, i just like using fancy words and acting whimsical & irritating. i do talk a lot about ghosts here, though. this is an artistic wasteland. sorry.

VIII - i am playing Pokémon Black vers. right now! my tag for this is nightmare.pkmn, if you want to block/follow. always ask questions about Pokémon if you have them, i love them so dearly.

⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽༓☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽༓☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽༓☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽༓☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅

[visceravalentines]

the NO-SKIP albums: a tag game 🎶💖

rules: share the albums that you can listen to nonstop. those lightning in a bottle-albums that scratch ur brain just right. every single track, an absolute banger. u could not skip one if u tried. no notes. stunning, show-stopping, immaculate. ur no-skip albums. 🔎 bonus & optional (but imo, v fun) rules:1) add a track rec for us to listen to! AND2) share ur favorite line(s) from that track! 👀

tagged by the showstopping @ventiswampwater tysm!! been thinkin about this one all afternoon bc it was really hard!! so many that are ALMOST no-skips but then there's one flop right in the middle. >:( also one of these is definitely an EP but that doesn't matter. anyway here we go

the fear of fear by spiritbox too close/too late: is this the end or is this the beginning? / i know where i wanna go / but it's too close / and it's too late this time

from under the cork tree by fall out boy of all the gin joints in all the world: turn off the lights and turn off the shyness / cause all the moves make up for the silence / and oh, the way your makeup stains my pillowcase / like i'll never be the same

preacher's daughter by ethel cain family tree: these crosses all over my body / remind me of who i used to be / and christ, forgive these bones i've been hiding / oh, and the bones i'm about to leave

electra heart by marina (and the diamonds) fear and loathing: i wanna be completely weightless / i wanna touch the edge of greatness / don't wanna be completely faithless / completely faithless

tagging even tho many of u have already been tagged (no pressure ofc!!): @crumb @possumteeths @macaulaytwins @ace-of-hearts-and-spades @likedovesinthewnd @headless-over-heels @bluecoolr-main @rottent33th @slaasherslut @ajarofpickledtears

[swiftfootedachilles]

Hi I'm the kink trans Mickey anon I did see your answer I'm just very shy cos youre really cool and I didnt think youd answer

Can you say more about Him please I love the way you write and Understand him

anon you should NEVER be intimated im actually a loser and i usually only get like 1 ask a week, if that. i just wanna talk about freaky queer trans shit with someone 🫶🫶

he is my little baby i transgenderified him so hes my creation and i can do with him what i will. i like to think he gets his hands on hrt by his mid teens, even if he cant take a high dose or use it regularly so terry doesnt notice. i also think that since mickey being trans would make him even more susceptible to terrys violence, maybe cps actually steps in and terry gets a long sentence, leaving the youngest 3 milkovich siblings in the states custody. iggy probably ends up in a group home or with family. based on mandys ability to stay at a family members home with ease and the fact that she never canonically went into foster care or a group home but mickey did, she probably goes with a family member. since mickey is trans and cps doesnt want to deal with him in a group home, they get him to a foster family immediately. mayhap......kev and v!!! i love ethel and i would still find a way for them to foster her (perhaps after mickey or they have overlapping time spent at the balls'), but how perfect it is that kev and v are looking for a foster kid and mickey needs a foster family 👀 AND gallagher lives right beside him now. this completely changes their dynamic, the main thing holding mickey back from being with ian is gone so they can actually develop a relationship early on! theres actually a t4t gallavich fic where mickey is fostered by the balls and i love it :))) i want mickey sneaking over to the gallagher house so ian can do his t shot for him; he started on gel and only switched recently, and he hates needles. i want him wearing ians clothes and lips hand-me-downs, and lip doesnt say some snarky transphobic shit in response. only stares at mick sitting in his spot at the table, in his clothes, and sarcastically asks "he live here now? shouldnt we tell kev and v he ran away again?" i want carl to be too young to understand what it means to be trans, so he sees mickey as a role model of coolness, just like in canon

also random headcanon for the day is trans!mickey uses tattoos and piercings to accentuate his most masculine features. and he gets a gender affirming genital piercing. perhaps even multiple!!

[lucienne-thee-librarian]

Rose Walker and John Dee: Narrative Foils

Okay this has been percolating in my brain for awhile and I have to shout about it. So. These two characters...Rose and John Dee. Couldn't seem more different on the surface, right? One's a young American black woman, vs older British-raised white guy who's lived all over the world, one painted as a major villain, the other a main protagonist of multiple episodes of the first season. But if you look beyond that, I think these two are, deliberately or not, perfect parallels to each other for their similarities as much as their differences.

First: let's list the similarities:

Difficult childhoods. John Dee's father was...literally absent and that is almost certainly a good thing. But his mother kept moving around to survive, changing her identity. She may have done what she felt she had to do but as a result John was left with no sense of stability and a Very Big Thing about people lying because he feels his mother has lied to him all his life. Rose, conversely, had a father...part of the time. But just by the fearful way Miranda Walker talked about her husband in one scene, trying to prevent Rose from confronting him over taking Jed (but not Rose...which, SERIOUSLY who does that, this man was not a good father, I like how much this one little scene implies) away with him...you get the distinct impression she lived in fear of her soon-to-be-ex-husband's anger. So Rose had a father who was...not good and lost her brother years ago and the pair disappeared before she and her mother could find out what happened. When the show starts her mother is dead too, much like Ethel Cripps died when she went to see him. So both Rose and John had childhoods centered around absent or unreliable fathers and the traumatic loss of their mothers.

Both were given access to great power over the world of dreams, critically: when they were infants and could not possibly know, much less agree to what they were inheriting. John Dee ended up in that hospital in the first place for misusing the ruby that Ethel stole from Roderick Burgess. Rose Walker was literally born a vortex due to inheriting it from her great-grandmother thanks to Desire's interference.

Both end up being chased down by Dream.

Now, the two end up in completely opposite places. But why? What's the difference?

When John Dee gets the ruby, immediately he begins killing his way out and across the country until he reaches the diner. On some level, he wants freedom and that's understandable after a lifetime of being locked up. But he clearly is very skilled at using the ruby which he even modified, and his first and immediate act upon getting the ruby back was to kill every single guard in his way. He didn't try to find another option, he immediately defaulted to the most violent way out. He almost killed Rosemary, though in the end he decided against it, but only because she helped him and didn't lie.

And then when he got to the diner, he spent an entire day and night toying with a bunch of random people until he got bored and let them kill each other.

Unquestionably some part of John was influenced by the ruby, the more the closer it was to him. We don't know exactly how much, we'll probably never know. But it is...alarming, to say the least, how he immediately and repeatedly begins to act not just after having it awhile, but after two seconds of getting it back.

John has traveled and seen the world long before he got locked up. But despite all the opportunities for education and experience he could've had, his worldview has no room for any shades of grey. To him, all lies are equally bad as the lies his mother told him, and all equally as bad as each other. It reminds me a lot of the evangelical Christian idea of "sin-levelling" where all sins are equally reprehensible in God's eyes so nobody is worse than the other - but also, no one better. If you have a "sinful" thought or make one mistake, you're just as worthy of damnation as the worst, most violent people.

Now leaving aside how that's actually treated in these churches in practice (which. LOL all sins are equal. Sure they are) that's obviously a little...fucked? The idea that actually, thinking hateful thoughts is as bad as murder, is as bad as stealing is as bad as...lust?? Gossip? Is both failig to recognize serious harms, and the difference between that and much more minor things one can do to others, or between all that and straight up thoughtcrime. It creates an inflated sense of harm for things that don't really deserve to be treated or even thought of in the same boat with atrocities and violence.

John Dee is if someone took a look at that sort of moral thinking and went "cool system you got there; what if I hijacked it and made it all about lying?"

His worldview is strictly black and white, no room for human error or understanding past a certain point. To him, if you tell a lie, no matter your intentions or the effect of your actions, it's all the same.

Meanwhile Rose has been used without her knowing it, by both Desire and in a way, Dream himself. He knows what her fate must be but for a mixture of motives, mainly mercy but also the knowledge that she could help him find the Corinthian, he spares her.

And his doing so and not telling her her ultimate fate, was the entire reason the Corinthian was able to slip in and find her in the first place. He shows up with Jed, after Rose has tried and failed to get the foster care system to actually let her make contact with her brother or do more than the bare minimum to investigate his well-being. So honestly, no wonder she trusted him at first! He saved her brother! Her brother seems to like him so he must be fine!

Rose has spent this entire season, her entire life, at the mercy of others, trying to carve out her own destiny. But she never uses her powers to deliberately hurt others- any harm she causes is either by complete accident or in attempts meant to defend her own life or her brother.

When she was a child she had no power to save Jed; for some reason we're not told the court sided with her father and allowed Jed to be taken separately, and then the man effectively custodially kidnapped his own son before dying himself and Jed was lost to the system of another state. Rose loses her mother later to some illness, and her friend Judy to John Dee's megalomania. And when she's finally an adult, she tries to find Jed but is flatly denied not only a chance at custody but even to know where he is - at least at first. And this whole time, the vortex she carried in her blood has been hanging over her head as a silent ticking time bomb. Her days are numbered, she will soon, eventually, become a living weapon to blend all the minds of all the dreamers of that world and eventually, the whole universe together into one cancerous magical sea of madness - and the only way to prevent this, we think, is for Dream to kill her. Her fate was sealed the moment she was born and the moment Dream was freed and the vortex awoken. All this was set in motion via Desire, someone much older and infinitely more powerful than herself.

So it would be more than understandable for someone in her situation to snap a little upon learning the truth. Honestly it's kind of amazing to me that she believed Dream when he finally did tell her everything, given he'd put off doing this until the very last minute because of his own reluctance to kill her.

And yet, when Rose finally learns the truth and her fate, she ultimately offers to take the fall, freely. She sees what the activated vortex does to the minds of everyone around her - first revealing everyone's most secret fears and fantasies and then pulling them into the whirlpool of her own power. And she refuses to let that happen. She values her own life in a way most of us would, in a totally understandable and sympathetic way. But unlike John Dee, she also values other people, even when they disappoint her. Hal blatantly tells her he doesn't care about the place they all live in half as much as the chance for success, but she still cares for him. The world is full of people, some of whom have hurt her or hindered her quest to find Jed but she doesn't seek revenge.

John sees the failures of humanity and its dark side and decides that those sins are worth condemnation through the power of his ruby, and assumes he is a worthy judge. Rose hears she could destroy the world and decides that no, the world is worth saving even if that means she has to die, much as she doesn't want or deserve to.

John Dee is, without even realizing it himself, a perfect mirror himself of the potential selfishness and cruelty humans can inflict on each other in the name of "I'm just all about honesty" "knowing what's best for you better than you do" and "fuck you, got mine". Rose is a mirror of humanity at its best - someone with dignity and a sense of morals who doesn't appreciate being lied to or used, and not a doormat - her first instinct is to fight for her life and her brother's - and she's also selfless and caring even for people she doesn't know, even for people who Dee would've argued weren't even worth saving.

[jflashandclash]

Tales From Mount Othrys

Axel: Into the Lion’s Maw V

Bandages covered the forearm closest to him, ones striped with thin, red slits.

Her chesire smile was so fragile; it twitched on the edge of sobs.

She was going to crush his shoulder.

Axel gripped her wrist. She flinched back, dragging him a step with her. Up close, he could see her lips were split. Flakes of skin dangled off. Spittle flicked from them as she giggle-cried, “Gone. Don’t you see? All gone. Just us. Don’t you see? Just us and our little audience, like a puppet crowd we stigger and stabble in the auditorium with nothing to do but fear the dreaded Exit Sign at the end of all sho—”

Axel allowed one glance.

The monsters were, in fact, gone.

With that one step, one that the demigod soldiers had unwittedly taken with them, the labyrinth had come to life and taken its own step. The hoards of monsters—their strength and shield—had vanished. There was a fork in the stone tunnel ahead. It ended in two doors, one with a golden archway; another, a wrought iron one.

He was alone with a handful of terrified demigods and a mad goddess.

“They left us,” one of the demigods shouted, “Without Ariadne’s string…” His fellow soldier—Luke’s new favorite—Nakamura?—didn’t need to finish the sentiment.

Mary spoke their fears aloud, “Everyone forgets that we all cease. How does everyone forget? You can read and read and watch and watch and drown and drown, but that’s all you’re doing. Drowning—[1]”

Lieutenant, came the gentle reminder.

The helm was correct: his job was, right now, to keep everyone calm. Something Mary was rapidly undoing.

Mary was far stronger than he. There would be no overpowering her. But, maybe he didn’t need to. Ethel needed gentleness after Zeus attacked her. Hiro, his little half-brother, needed slow movements and softness after Hiro’s mother had killed herself and tried to kill him. Mary’s desperation reflected that same fragility.

“Mary,” Axel said, maintaining eye contact, “My name is Axel. I am friends with Chris Rodriguez.”

That’s what he meant to say.

“I am the Leonis Caput,” came out instead. Axel felt like the alteration should scare him. Instead, clutching the helm brought calm detachment. “The child of Hermes was to be under my protection. As these demigods are now. We are rejoining our main force. And I do not like distractions.”

Pax would have liked it. It had dramatic flair. He would have wanted to end it with, and hear me roar.

The authoritative tone worked.

Mary released his shoulder and shrank back a step. Her lower lip quivered, making the skin flakes dance. She hugged herself, digging her nails into the scabs along either bicep.

“I can help! Help—help—please—” she pleaded, “I’ve been down here a long time. A lo-o-o-onnnng time. I’ve guided many people in the labyrinth.”

In the labyrinth, Axel noted. Not through the labyrinth.

“I know the way!” she pranced once towards the golden archway. “This way—oh, all ways are the same, but this way is best same way.”

But, Axel knew it wasn’t the way. Earlier, the flooring under Kampe and the monsters had glowed dimly. Here, the glow deadended between the two arches. “No—”

Mary had already gripped Ethan Nakamura’s arm. She dragged him towards the golden arch. “Hey!” Ethan shouted, unable to keep his footing at her speed.

“We’re going to be left behind again!” someone from the back cried.

For an exacerbated heartbeat, Axel remembered babysitting all his siblings after Uncle Frasco had given them several pounds of candy and they sprinted in two different directions. Except, that only resulted in several bags of throw up instead of the potential destruction of the entire demigod force.

 “Stop!” Axel roared. He flicked out his lighter, bit his tongue, murmured a word in Maya, and spit into the flame. It quadrupled in size, taking on a turquoise hue. With a flick of the Mist, torches around the room flared to life, providing them a parameter.

He pivoted on his scared troops. “Stay in the protective barrier. We lose no more to the labyrinth on this trip.” He sought out someone whose name he knew, someone responsible, and settled on a short brunette in the back. “Ailiseu, keep everyone here.” Before anyone could protest, he ran for the golden arch. Ethan just vanished into it, his over-sized armor clanging.

There was no protective barrier, but Alex couldn’t have them splitting up into the labyrinth. Ailiseu—he couldn’t even remember their godly parentage—was level headed. He just needed them to keep the others there until—

Heart pounding and eyes darting, Axel dashed after Mary’s footsteps as the sound retreated into the darkness. He held up his lighter with the turquoise flame. Uncle Frasco could manipulate flames like this for hours—for a whole circus show. Axel had only tried it for brief tricks. He hoped that “protective barrier” would hold.

“Hey! Let go of me, you crazy lady—” echoed ahead.

Axel almost stumbled over Ethan’s sword. He must have dropped it in the struggle. Axel slipped his foot under the hilt and kicked it up, snatching it in his left hand. The floor’s dim glow had shifted, the light trailing after the kidnapped soldier and mad goddess.

When Axel saw them, he increased his speed.

Ahead, Mary was dragging Ethan towards a pile of corpses.

Thank you for reading! I know this is a short one. And I’m only technically getting it out before the end of the weekend (er, my time zone’s weekend--) but I hope you enjoyed! Getting a short with both Ethan Nakamura and Mary. I’ve had requests on both of them and I hope this doesn’t disappoint!

---------

I’m hoping to resume our every-other-week schedule with a lovely forecast of dismembered limb jokes. I hope you have an awesome leap day!

----------

[1] Interlude brought to you by Jack’s recent existential crisis. Interlude music begins here, preformed by Pax and three weasels. Doo doo to doo doooooo—

[snoopy-sapphic]

Snoopy Sapphic’s Awesome Intro

she/they-general interests+potential art blog?

here’s what I’m all about:

•Community NBC(no longer my main, but still has a special place in my heart) •Spider-Verse •house md muhahaha •all things art! I reblog a lot of fanart and art in general and may or may not post my own art in the future! •honestly just music in general atp:⭐️ethel cain⭐️, chappell roan, julien baker, boygenius, etc •Peanuts/Snoopy(I am v fond, see my username) •lesbian history and identity <3 •…supernatural (i actually have a sideblog now!) @snoopy-natural

asks are always welcome! just try to keep it sfw and blog/interest related pls

dni: ppl who don’t want to interact with minors I guess#imateenager-terfs-those who do not appreciate joy and whimsy-I have no clue what to put here, interact if you want! Don’t if you don’t! Just try to keep it positive and respectful up in here!

I’m pinning this so whoever comes across my blog knows what I’m all about! I’m all for making mutuals in this interests btw. I’ll probably edit this as how I use my blog grows and changes!

tags(WIP): snoopy-sapphic rambling: my original posts+some rbs that have commentary

mecore: posts that are just so mecore

snoopy-sapphic art tag: yea

[bairdhq]

WELCOME  TO  BAIRD  COLLEGE     !     by  signing  up  with  your  student  email,  you  are  not  able  to  access  your  timetable,  the  campus  accommodations  and  look  around  campus  virtually.  make  sure  to  check  in  with  student  success  to  get  your  student  id  card  and  have  an  amazing  semester  !

welcome  to  bairdhq   :   sun,  roxy,  ethel,  nat  +  aj.  make  sure  to  send  in  your  accounts  to  the  main  within  twenty  four  hours  to  avoid  your  roles  being  reopened.  prepare  yourself,  as  what  happens  at  college  ...  doesn't  actually  stay  in  college.

zion moreno,  transwoman  she/her     :     welcome  to  baird  college,  camila aguilar hernandez.  we  are  so  pleased  that  you've  accepted  our  offer  for  the  law program.  from  your  transcript,  we've  come  to  know  quite  a  bit  about  you.  being  twenty-six years  old,  you've  come  to  be  described  as determined but  also  known  for  being vicious.  just  during  the  first  week,  people  have  come  to  associate  you  with the click-clack of red bottom heels, the scent of the finest perfume, the immaculate way in which she wears her clothes and styles her hair, the false-sense of security she lures you into when she needs or wants something.  we  hope  you  enjoy  your  time  here  and  your  expectations  are  met  !     [   sun,  twenty9,  cst,  none,  muse t ].

mikey madison, ciswoman, she / her : welcome to baird college, luisa moreau. we are so pleased that you've accepted our offer for the forensics science program. from your transcript, we've come to know quite a bit about you. being twenty-four years old, you've come to be described as forthright but also known for being capricious. just during the first week, people have come to associate you with wearing sunglasses after a rough night out, a photo album labeled "receipts", sticky notes scattered across the apartment, writing obscene messages on bathroom stalls, & discussing conspiracy theories late at night . we hope you enjoy your time here and your expectations are met !  [ roxy, 24, cst, none, muse a ].

park chaeyoung, cis woman, she / her : welcome to baird college, merope eleutheria de valmont. we are so pleased that you've accepted our offer for the music program. from your transcript, we've come to know quite a bit about you. being twenty two years old, you've come to be described as master of poise but also known for being emotionally repressed. just during the first week, people have come to associate you with her heels clicked like a metronome on the marble floors, every step calculated, every movement delicate — a porcelain figure gliding through a world of velvet shadows ; soft piano notes echo through the empty ballroom, and she twirls alone in the moonlight, her reflection in the grand mirrors both beautiful and broken ; lipstick stains on crystal glasses, silk robes falling effortlessly from her shoulders, a lonely figure by the window as the city hums beneath her, unaware of her quiet turmoil ; chandeliers flicker like stars overhead, but her eyes are the real constellations, burning with a sadness too profound for words, a brilliance too distant for comfort ; ink-stained fingers, a forgotten violin resting in the corner, and pages of half-finished songs littered on the floor, the remnants of a heart too afraid to feel. we hope you enjoy your time here and your expectations are met !  [ ethel, twenty-four, gmt, none, muse v ].

evan mock,  bigender,  he / they    :     welcome  to  baird  college,  alistair isidro adlawan-loewel.  we  are  so  pleased  that  you've  accepted  our  offer  for  the  fine  arts  program.  from  your  transcript,  we've  come  to  know  quite  a  bit  about  you.  being  twenty four years  old,  you've  come  to  be  described  as  creative rebel  but  also  known  for  being  self-sabotaging.  just  during  the  first  week,  people  have  come  to  associate  you  with  broken glass, shattered dreams—each piece reflects a moment of beauty in chaos ; concrete jungles and whispered secrets beneath flickering streetlights ; the sound of wheels gliding over pavement, the rush of wind, a fleeting moment of freedom ; art isn’t just creation; it’s an act of defiance against the ordinary ; a heart full of darkness but eyes that still search for light.  we  hope  you  enjoy  your  time  here  and  your  expectations  are  met  !  make  sure  you  follow  your  timetable,  and  head  down  to  student  success  if  you  have  any  questions.     [   ethel,  twenty-four,  gmt,  none  ].

derya pinar ak,  cis woman,  she/her     :     welcome  to  baird  college,  lara baran.  we  are  so  pleased  that  you've  accepted  our  offer  for  the  music performance  program.  from  your  transcript,  we've  come  to  know  quite  a  bit  about  you.  being  twenty-two  years  old,  you've  come  to  be  described  as  talented but  also  known  for  being superficial.  just  during  the  first  week,  people  have  come  to  associate  you  with never looking less than your best, glimmering yet fragile, thoughts only spoken through song.  we  hope you  enjoy  your  time  here  and  your  expectations  are  met  !  make  sure  you  follow  your  timetable,  and  head  down  to  student  success  if  you  have  any  questions.     [   nat,  25+,  est,  n/a, muse i  ].

emilio  sakraya,  cis  man,  he/him     :     welcome  to  baird  college,  adam  fassi.  we  are  so  pleased  that  you've  accepted  our  offer  for  the  sports  science  program.  from  your  transcript,  we've  come  to  know  quite  a  bit  about  you.  being  twenty  three  years  old,  you've  come  to  be  described  as  resilient  but  also  known  for  being  cocky.  just  during  the  first  week,  people  have  come  to  associate  you  with  a grin you could punch, hour-long runs through the rain, rather die trying than giving up.  we  hope  you  enjoy  your  time  here  and  your  expectations  are  met  !  make  sure  you  follow  your  timetable,  and  head  down  to  student  success  if  you  have  any  questions.     [   aj,  25+,  gmt+2,  n/a,  muse b  ].

[ladyimaginarium]

who are you?

tag followers you want to know better!

NAME: Angel / Arcana / Ansale'wit / ᐋᓐᔐᓃ are my& core / host / singletsona names, but we're& also a namehoarder & our& main system name is the imaginarians galaxy. so. lmao

STAR SIGN:  Cancer Sun; Sagittarius Moon; Libra Rising; Leo Venus.

HEIGHT: Bodily 5′2″.

WHAT’S YOUR MIDDLE NAME?: none of ur business lil bitch

PUT YOUR SPOTIFY ON SHUFFLE. WHAT ARE THE FIRST FEW SONGS THAT POPPED UP? HISS - Megan Thee Stallion ; Realer - Megan Thee Stallion ; E-GIRLS ARE RUINING MY LIFE - CORPSEHUSBAND ; Black Barbies - Nicki Minaj ; Cocky Af - Megan Thee Stallion ; Haunted - Evanescence ; Miss Me - Drake & Lil Wayne ; Lithium - Evanescence ; Perfume - Britney Spears ; Be Prepared - The Lion King OST ; Over It - Bullet For My Valentine ; Under The Water - The Pretty Reckless ; Yayo - Lana Del Rey ; thousand eyes - FKA Twigs ; Out There - The Hunchback of Notre Dame OST ; NDA - Billie Eilish ; everything i wanted - Billie Eilish ; Desperate Measures - Marianas Trench ; Saviour - Lights ; Chaos Is A Ladder - Ramin Djawadi ; Cruel World - Faye ; The Winds Of Winter - Ramin Djawadi ; Nymphs Finding The Head Of Orpheus - Nicole Dollanganger ; Jenny Of Oldstones - Ramin Djawadi ; Daisy's Theme - The Bryan Ferry Orchestra ; antlers - Ethel Cain ; Famous Last Words (An Ode To Eaters) - Ethel Cain ; Ptolemaea - Ethel Cain.

EVER HAD A POEM OR SONG WRITTEN ABOUT YOU? yeah, my& ex enbyfriend wrote a song about me&. i& never got to hear it tho. they promised. i&. really wanted to hear that song. if anybody like secretly wrote a song or poetry about me& then they hiding it lmao.

WHEN WAS THE LAST TIME YOU PLAYED AIR GUITAR? never. lmao

WHO IS YOUR CELEBRITY CRUSH? MNMNMMNUUUHHHH megan thee stallion for literally so many reasons. like. whats not to like about her. she tall, she hella cute & fine & hot asf & straight up one of the most beautiful women in the world imho, she's nerdy & educated, she looks fun to hang around, she speaks out about mental health & trauma (even after all the bs that so many ppl including black men & even other black women like whats going on w/ nicki minaj rn she went so far as mention her dead mom {like girl wtf} put her through & she literally got shot & a lotta folx didnt believe her & was calling her a liar & blaming her & making fun of her trauma & literally none of these white artists showed sympathy or even acknowledged what happened & who were all like support other women got real silent when megan clarified on her twitter & instagram & had to see people paint her as the aggressor & make fun of her traumatic experience all while trying to heal & losing both of her parents, getting fucked over by her record label, almost losing her life from getting shot at, getting backstabbed by the people she cared about & having people on the internet make fun of & make memes of her trauma & laughing at her pain on the internet & all this stupid shit bc misogynoir is such a massive issue, she literally went through so much shit & it genuinely makes me angry & i hope she has a support system), ngl if she dissed me& i& would deadass never leave my& house again LMAO she's insanely talented & confident, she writes her own raps, not only is she a rapper but she's also an actress, she literally makes every style work, she's queer & bisexual & actually supports trans ppl, she's only like what 6 years older than me, she loves anime & she really inspires me& & her strength gives me& strength too, she's v special to me& & if i& had a dream girl it'd probably be sb like her tbh, her music & just her existence alone helped w/ my& mental health & my& own self image & my& self esteem & my& trauma & reclaiming my& sexuality than my& psychiatrists ever did & im& not even exaggerating. lmao. ion rly like calling it crushes tho, it's more like. deepfound respect & admiration for a person. like. "damn this person is just so fuckin cool". & ion say that a lotta people & especially not about celebrities. megan & ethel cain are two of my biggest ones & are like tied in that whole area lmao.

WHAT’S A SOUND YOU HATE; SOUND YOU LOVE? hate: the sound of people screamin bc it brings back bad memories lmfao ; love: absolute gotdamn silence. the sound of the ocean & birdsong & cats purring's nice too :>

DO YOU BELIEVE IN GHOSTS? i& am a ghost (& have ghosts in our& system). lmao

HOW ABOUT ALIENS? i& am an alien (& have aliens in our& system). lmao

DO YOU DRIVE? tryna start my& course yeah.

IF SO, HAVE YOU EVER CRASHED? no bitch i& aint jinxing it.

WHAT WAS THE LAST BOOK YOU READ? the winds of winter : arianne martell i & sansa stark / alayne stone i by grrm / gangsta. by kohske.

DO YOU LIKE THE SMELL OF GASOLINE? ye for the most part.

WHAT WAS THE LAST MOVIE YOU SAW? the love witch !!

WHAT’S THE WORST INJURY YOU’VE EVER HAD? had to get lil stitches in my& forehead bc undxed pots was a lil bitch & i& hit my head when i& fainted in highschool. lmao. thats just what i& remember tho. apparently i& had much worse when i& was a baby. like. wholeass surgeries & shit.

DO YOU HAVE ANY OBSESSIONS RIGHT NOW? plurality literary tropes, transcending to godhood, come back wrong, the mad prophet archetype, apotheosis, tryna find faith in humanity, witchcraft & occultism, learning our& indigenous languages & cultures, & being gayass.

DO YOU TEND TO HOLD GRUDGES AGAINST PEOPLE WHO HAVE DONE YOU WRONG? the vast majority of the time im& a very forgiving person. but i& don't forget. & especially as i& get older the less & less tolerance i& have for bs & same w/ forgiveness, especially after everything i've& been through to the point where my& doctor told me& that most would've kermitted if they'd experienced the things i& went through & im& like. kinda at my& limit. undxed cptsd aspd & bpd doesn't help things either. bc like these days im& just. like. callous & abrasive especially when im& irritated which is like. often. & i'm& like. one of the most patient people on the planet when it comes to the people i& genuinely care about & love so you'd have to do something fucked up for me& to tell ya i& dont give a shit. "well you should be the bigger person, take the high road!!" i've& literally Never benefitted from that shit. my& main abuser is still free & lives in the same neighborhood as me& fuck outta my& face. the cult i& was in was all "forgive those who hurt you!!!!!! yes even if they treated you badly!!!!" & that put my recovery back several years bc i& felt forced to forgive them or else i'd& be damned. "two wrongs dont make a right! if you get back at them you're making the world a worse place!!" the countless wrongs committed against me& didnt make a right either. choke. if w/e sb did to me was bad enough they ass is getting hexed and/or cursed. idgaf. fuck around & find out. & it also doesnt help that im& a cancer sun so tldr only if they fucked up REAL BAD. lmao

IN A RELATIONSHIP? im& in a qpr & in an insys relationship but bodily, outerworld wise? nah.

tagged by: hello im& angie im& 23 & i& steal memes for a living

tagging: @fossilizeddumbass @dilfsisko @abri-chan uhhhhhhhhh idk who else but i& encourage yall to steal if yall wanna do this

[ryssabrin]

i think i've solved my act one camp outfit problem for now. i stole lae'zel's pants (she has wyll's crop top while wyll got the homely clothes) and minthara's underwear and dyed the pants purple. the sandal shoes are eh but it works. the default tiefling undies are okay but the web detailing on minthara's is v nice. i knocked her out so we'll see if i can still recruit her at moonrise sans undies lmao.

i had a much easier time in the goblin camp this time. minthara kicked my paladin's ass but the bard managed much better. i've been leaning more toward crowd control for her spells and it's been working really well with lae'zel's mobility and astarion's sneak attack. i didn't manage to kill gut before she called for help and the stupid zhents got involved. the lil halfling binch fireballed half my party and it became my main goal to obliterate her lol. got her stupid bloodied axe for free baybee. grabbed halsin for the ragzlin fight which was a good idea bc lae'zel got knocked out before i could lock down the boss. only managed to knock one goblin into the spider pit tho which was disappointing.

still death free but ethel and the githyanki patrol are next. i tried the ethel fight before the goblin camp but couldn't do it. i prob could if i didn't want to save all of her victims. i feel bad for the masked guys but the fight is so much easier if you kill them first.

[brookstonalmanac]

Events 3.6

12 BCE – The Roman emperor Augustus is named Pontifex Maximus, incorporating the position into that of the emperor. 632 – The Farewell Sermon (Khutbah, Khutbatul Wada') of the Islamic prophet Muhammad. 845 – The 42 Martyrs of Amorium are killed after refusing to convert to Islam. 961 – Byzantine conquest of Chandax by Nikephoros Phokas, end of the Emirate of Crete. 1204 – The Siege of Château Gaillard ends in a French victory over King John of England, who loses control of Normandy to King Philip II Augustus. 1323 – Treaty of Paris of 1323 is signed. 1454 – Thirteen Years' War: Delegates of the Prussian Confederation pledge allegiance to King Casimir IV of Poland who agrees to commit his forces in aiding the Confederation's struggle for independence from the Teutonic Knights. 1521 – Ferdinand Magellan arrives at Guam. 1665 – The first joint Secretary of the Royal Society, Henry Oldenburg, publishes the first issue of Philosophical Transactions of the Royal Society, the world's longest-running scientific journal. 1788 – The First Fleet arrives at Norfolk Island in order to found a convict settlement. 1820 – The Missouri Compromise is signed into law by President James Monroe. The compromise allows Missouri to enter the Union as a slave state, brings Maine into the Union as a free state, and makes the rest of the northern part of the Louisiana Purchase territory slavery-free. 1834 – York, Upper Canada, is incorporated as Toronto. 1836 – Texas Revolution: Battle of the Alamo: After a thirteen-day siege by an army of 3,000 Mexican troops, the 187 Texas volunteers, including frontiersman Davy Crockett and colonel Jim Bowie, defending the Alamo are killed and the fort is captured. 1857 – The Supreme Court of the United States rules 7–2 in the Dred Scott v. Sandford case that the Constitution does not confer citizenship on black people. 1869 – Dmitri Mendeleev presents the first periodic table to the Russian Chemical Society. 1882 – The Serbian kingdom is re-founded. 1899 – Bayer registers "Aspirin" as a trademark. 1901 – Anarchist assassin tries to kill German Emperor Wilhelm II. 1904 – Scottish National Antarctic Expedition: Led by William Speirs Bruce, the Antarctic region of Coats Land was discovered from the Scotia. 1912 – Italo-Turkish War: Italian forces become the first to use airships in war, as two dirigibles drop bombs on Turkish troops encamped at Janzur, from an altitude of 1,800 m. 1930 – International Unemployment Day demonstrations globally initiated by the Comintern. 1933 – Great Depression: President Franklin D. Roosevelt declares a "bank holiday", closing all U.S. banks and freezing all financial transactions. 1943 – Norman Rockwell published Freedom from Want in The Saturday Evening Post with a matching essay by Carlos Bulosan as part of the Four Freedoms series. 1943 – World War II: Generalfeldmarschall Erwin Rommel launches the Battle of Medenine in an attempt to slow down the British Eight Army. It fails, and he leaves Africa three days later. 1943 – World War II: The Battle of Fardykambos, one of the first major battles between the Greek Resistance and the occupying Royal Italian Army, ends with the surrender of an entire Italian battalion, the bulk of the garrison of the town of Grevena, leading to its liberation a fortnight later. 1944 – World War II: Soviet Air Forces bomb an evacuated town of Narva in German-occupied Estonia, destroying the entire historical Swedish-era town. 1945 – World War II: Cologne is captured by American troops. On the same day, Operation Spring Awakening, the last major German offensive of the war, begins. 1946 – Ho Chi Minh signs an agreement with France which recognizes Vietnam as an autonomous state in the Indochinese Federation and the French Union. 1951 – Cold War: The trial of Ethel and Julius Rosenberg begins. 1953 – Georgy Malenkov succeeds Joseph Stalin as Premier of the Soviet Union and First Secretary of the Communist Party of the Soviet Union. 1957 – Ghana becomes the first Sub-Saharan country to gain independence from the British. 1964 – Nation of Islam leader Elijah Muhammad officially gives boxing champion Cassius Clay the name Muhammad Ali. 1964 – Constantine II becomes the last King of Greece. 1965 – Premier Tom Playford of South Australia loses power after 27 years in office. 1967 – Cold War: Joseph Stalin's daughter Svetlana Alliluyeva defects to the United States. 1968 – Three rebels are executed by Rhodesia, the first executions since UDI, prompting international condemnation. 1970 – An explosion at the Weather Underground safe house in Greenwich Village kills three. 1975 – For the first time the Zapruder film of the assassination of John F. Kennedy is shown in motion to a national TV audience by Robert J. Groden and Dick Gregory. 1975 – Algiers Accord: Iran and Iraq announce a settlement of their border dispute. 1984 – In the United Kingdom, a walkout at Cortonwood Colliery in Brampton Bierlow signals the start of a strike that lasted almost a year and involved the majority of the country's miners. 1987 – The British ferry MS Herald of Free Enterprise capsizes in about 90 seconds, killing 193. 1988 – Three Provisional Irish Republican Army volunteers are shot dead by the SAS in Gibraltar in Operation Flavius. 1992 – The Michelangelo computer virus begins to affect computers. 2003 – Air Algérie Flight 6289 crashes at the Aguenar – Hadj Bey Akhamok Airport in Tamanrasset, Algeria, killing 102 out of the 103 people on board. 2008 – A suicide bomber kills 68 people (including first responders) in Baghdad on the same day that a gunman kills eight students in Jerusalem. 2018 – Forbes names Jeff Bezos as the world's richest person, for the first time, at $112 billion net worth. 2020 – Thirty-two people are killed and 81 are injured when gunmen open fire on a ceremony in Kabul, Afghanistan. The Islamic State claims responsibility for the attack.

[unpopularwiththepopulace]

A retrospective on some of Broadway’s most important female costume designers across the last century

How much is our memory or perception of a production influenced by the manner in which we visually comprehend the characters for their physical appearance and attire? A lot.

How much attention in memory is often dedicated to celebrating the costume designers who create the visual forms we remember? Comparatively, not much.

Delving through the New York Public Library archives of late, I found I was able to zoom into pictures of productions like Sunday in the Park with George at a magnitude greater than before.

In doing so, I noticed myself marvelling at finer details on the costumes that simply aren’t visible from grainy 1985 proshots, or other lower resolution images.

And marvel I did.

At first, I began to set out to address the contributions made to the show by designer Patricia Zipprodt in collaboration with Ann Hould-Ward. Quickly I fell into a (rather substantial) tangent rabbit hole – concerning over a century’s worth of interconnected designers who are responsible for hundreds of some of the most memorable Broadway shows between them.

It is impossible to look at the work of just one or two of these women without also discussing the others that came before them or were inspired by them.

Journey with me then if you will on this retrospective endeavour to explore the work and legacy that some of these designers have created, and some of the contexts in which they did so.

A set of podcasts featuring Ann Hould-Ward, including Behind the Curtain (Ep. 229) and Broadway Nation (Eps. 17 and 18), invaluably introduce some of the information discussed here and, most crucially, provide a first-hand, verbal link back to this history. The latter show sets out the case for a “succession of dynamic women that goes back to the earliest days of the Broadway musical and continues right up to today”, all of whom “were mentored by one or more of the great [designers] before them, [all] became Tony award-winning [stars] in their own right, and [all] have passed on the [craft] to the next generation.”

A chronological, linear descendancy links these designers across multiple centuries, starting in 1880 with Aline Bernstein, then moving to Irene Sharaff, then to Patricia Zipprodt, then to the present day with Ann Hould-Ward. Other designers branch from or interact with this linear chronology in different ways, such as Florence Klotz and Ann Roth – who, like Patricia Zipprodt, were also mentored by Aline Bernstein – or Theoni V. Aldredge, who stands apart from this connected tree, but whose career closely parallels the chronology of its central portion. There were, of course, many other designers and women also working within this era that provided even further momentous contributions to the world of costume design, but in this piece, the focus will remain primarily on these seven figures.

As the main creditor of the designs for Sunday in the Park with George, let’s start with Patricia (Pat) Zipprodt.

Born in 1925, Pat studied at the Fashion Institute of Technology (FIT) in New York after winning a scholarship there in 1951. Through teaching herself “all of costume history by studying materials at the New York Public Library”, she passed her entrance exam to the United Scenic Artists Union in 1954. This itself was a feat only possible through Aline Bernstein’s pioneering steps in demanding and starting female acceptance into this same union for the first time just under 30 years previously.

Pat made her individual costume design debut a year after assisting Irene Sharaff on Happy Hunting in 1956 – Ethel Merman’s last new Broadway credit. Of the more than 50 shows she subsequently designed, some of Pat’s most significant musicals include: She Loves Me (1963) Fiddler on the Roof (1964) Cabaret (1966) Zorba (1968) 1776 (1969) Pippin (1972) Mack & Mabel (1974) Chicago (1975) Alice in Wonderland (1983) Sunday in the Park with George (1984) Sweet Charity (1986) Into the Woods (1987) - preliminary work

Other notable play credits included: The Little Foxes (1967) The Glass Menagerie (1983) Cat on a Hot Tin Roof (1990)

Yes. One person designed all of those shows. Many of the most beloved pieces in modern musical theatre history. Somewhat baffling.

Her work notably earned her 11 Tony nominations, 3 wins, an induction into the Theatre Hall of Fame in 1992, and the Irene Sharaff award for lifetime achievement in costume design in 1997.

By 1983, Pat was one of the most well-respected designers of her era. When the offer for Sunday in the Park with George came in, she was less than enamoured by being confined to the ill-suited basements at Playwright’s Horizons all day, designing full costumes for a story not even yet in existence. From-the-ground-up workshops are common now, but at the time, Sunday was one of the first of its kind.

Rather than flatly declining, she asked Ann Hould-Ward, previously her assistant and intern who had now been designing for 2-3 years on her own, if she was interested in collaborating. She was. The two divided the designing between them, like Pat creating Bernadette’s opening pink and white dress, and Ann her final red and purple dress.

Which indeed leads to the question of the infamous creation worn in the opening number. No attemptedly comprehensive look at the costumes in Sunday would be complete without addressing it or its masterful mechanics.

To enable Bernadette to spring miraculously and seemingly effortlessly from her outer confines, Ann and Pat enlisted the help of a man with a “Theatre Magics” company in Ohio. Dubbed ‘The Iron Dress’, the gasp-inducing motion required a wire frame embedded into the material, entities called ‘moonwalker legs and feet’, and two garage door openers coming up through the stage to lever the two halves apart. The mechanism – highly impressive in its periods of functionality – wasn’t without its flaws. Ann recalls “there were nights during previews where [Bernadette] couldn’t get out of the dress”. Or worse, a night where “the dress closed up completely. And it wouldn’t open up again!”. As Bernadette finished her number, there was nothing else within her power she could do, so she simply “grabbed it under her arm and carried it off stage.”

What visuals. Evidently, the course of costume design is not always plain sailing.

This sentiment is exhibited in the fact design work is a physical materialisation of other creators’ visions, thus foregrounding the tricky need for collaboration and compromise. This is at once a skill, very much part of the job description, and not always pleasant – in navigating any divides between one’s own ideas and those of other people.

Sunday in the Park with George was no exception in requiring such a moment of compromise and revision. With the show already on Broadway in previews, Stephen Sondheim decreed the little girl Louise’s dress “needs to be white” – not the “turquoisey blue” undertone Pat and Ann had already created it with. White, to better spotlight the painting’s centre.

Requests for alterations are easier to comprehend when they are done with equanimity and have justification. Sondheim said he would pay for the new dress himself, and in Seurat’s original painting, the little girl is very brightly the focal centre point of the piece. On this occasion, all agreed that Sondheim was “absolutely right”. A new dress was made.

Other artistic differences aren’t always as amicable.

In Pat Zipprodt’s first show, Happy Hunting with Ethel Merman in 1956, some creatives and directors were getting in vociferous, progress-stopping arguments over a dress and a scene in which Ethel was to jump over a fence. Then magically, the dress went missing. Pat was working at the time as an assistant to the senior Irene Sharaff, and Pat herself was the one to find the dress the next morning. It was in the basement. Covered in black and wholly unwearable. Sharaff had spray painted the dress black in protest against the “bickering”. Indeed, Sharaff disappeared, not to be seen again until the show arrived on Broadway.

Those that worked with her soon found that Sharaff was one to be listened to and respected – as Hal Prince did during West Side Story. After the show opened in 1957, Hal replaced her 40 pairs of meticulously created and individually dyed, battered, and re-dyed jeans with off-the-rack copies. His reasoning was this: “How foolish to be wasting money when we can make a promotional arrangement with Levi Strauss to supply blue jeans free for program credit?” A year later, he looked at their show, and wondered “What’s happened?”

What had happened was that the production had lost its spark and noticeable portions of its beauty, vibrancy, and subtle individuality. Sharaff’s unique creations quickly returned, and Hal had learned his lesson. By the time Sharaff’s mentee, Pat, had “designed the most expensive rags for the company to wear” with this same idiosyncratic dyeing process for Fiddler on the Roof in 1964, Hal recognised the value of this particularity and the disproportionately large payoff even ostensibly simple garments can bring.

Irene Sharaff is remembered as one of the greatest designers ever. Born in 1910, she was mentored by Aline Bernstein, first assisting her on 1928’s original staging of Hedda Gabler.

Throughout her 56 year career, she designed more than 52 Broadway musicals. Some particularly memorable entities include: The Boys from Syracuse (1938) Lady in the Dark (1943) Candide (1956) Happy Hunting (1956) Sweet Charity (1966) The King and I (1951, 1956) West Side Story (1957, 1961) Funny Girl (1964, 1968)

For the last three productions, she would reprise her work on Broadway in the subsequent and indelibly enduring film adaptations of the same shows. 

Her work in the theatre earned her 6 Tony nominations and 1 win, though her work in Hollywood was perhaps even more well rewarded – earning 5 Academy Awards from a total of 15 nominations.

Some of Sharaff’s additional film credits included: Meet Me in St. Louis (1944) Ziegfeld Follies (1946) An American in Paris (1951) Call Me Madam (1953) A Star is Born (1954) – partial Guys and Dolls (1955) Cleopatra (1963) Who’s Afraid of Virginia Woolf? (1966) Hello Dolly! (1969) Mommie Dearest (1981)

It’s a remarkable list. But it is too more than just a list.

Famously, Judy’s red scarlet ballgown in Meet Me in St. Louis was termed the “most sophisticated costume [she’d] yet worn on the screen.”

It has been written that Sharaff’s “last film was probably the only bad one on which she worked,” – the infamous pillar of camp culture, Mommie Dearest, in 1981 – “but its perpetrators knew that to recreate the Hollywood of Joan Crawford, it required an artist who understood the particular glamour of the Crawford era.” And at the time, there were very few – if any – who could fill that requirement better than Irene Sharaff. 

The 1963 production of Cleopatra is perhaps an even more infamous endeavour. Notoriously fraught with problems, the film was at that point the most expensive ever made. It nearly bankrupted 20th Century Fox, in light of varying issues like long production delays, a revolving carousel of directors, the beginning of the infamous Burton/Taylor affair and resulting media storm, and bouts of Elizabeth’s ill-health that “nearly killed her”. In that turbulent environment, Sharaff is highlighted as one of the figures instrumental in the film’s eventual completion – “adjusting Elizabeth Taylor’s costumes when her weight fluctuated overnight” so the world finally received the visual spectacle they were all ardently anticipating.

But even beyond that, Sharaff’s work had impacts more significantly and extensively than the immediate products of the shows or films themselves. Within a few years of her “vibrant Thai silk costumes for ‘The King and I’ in 1951, …silk became Thailand’s best-known export.” Her designs changed the entire economic landscape of the country. 

It’s little wonder that in that era, Sharaff was known as “one of the most sought-after and highest-paid people in her profession.” With discussions and favourable comparisions alongside none other than Old Hollywood’s most beloved designer, Edith Head, Irene deserves her place in history to be recognised as one of the foremost significant pillars of the design world.

In this respected position, Irene Sharaff was able to pass on her knowledge by mentoring others too as well as Patricia Zipprodt, like Ann Roth and Florence Klotz, who have in turn gone on to further have their own highly commendable successes in the industry.

Florence “Flossie” Klotz, born in 1920, is the only Broadway costume designer to have won six Tony awards. She did so, all of them for musicals, and all of them directed by Hal Prince, in a marker of their long and meaningful collaboration.

Indeed, Flossie’s life partner was Ruth Mitchell – Hal’s long-time assistant, and herself legendary stage manager, associate director and producer of over 43 shows. Together, Flossie and Ruth were dubbed a “power couple of Broadway”.

Flossie’s shows with Hal included: Follies (1971) A Little Night Music (1973) Pacific Overtures (1976) Grind (1985) Kiss of the Spiderwoman (1993) Show Boat (1995)

And additional shows amongst her credits extend to: Side by Side by Sondheim (1977) On the Twentieth Century (1978) The Little Foxes (1981) A Doll’s Life (1982) Jerry’s Girls (1985)

Earlier in her career, she would first find her footing as an assistant designer on some of the Golden Age’s most pivotal shows like: The King and I (1951) Pal Joey (1952) Silk Stockings (1955) Carousel (1957) The Sound of Music (1959)

The original production of Follies marked the first time Florence was seriously recognised for her work. Before this point, she was not yet anywhere close to being considered as having broken into the ranks of Broadway’s “reigning designers” of that era. Follies changed matters, providing both an indication of the talent of her work to come, and creating history in being commended for producing some of the “best costumes to be seen on Broadway” in recent memory – as Clive Barnes wrote in The New York Times. Fuller discussion is merited given that the costumes of Follies are always one of the show’s central points of debate and have been crucial to the reception of the original production as well as every single revival that has followed in the 50 years since.

In this instance, Ted Chapin would record from his book ‘Everything Was Possible: The Birth of the Musical ‘Follies’ how “the costumes were so opulent, they put the show over-budget.” Moreover, that “talking about the show years later, [Florence] said the costumes could not be made today. ‘Not only would they cost upwards of $2 million, but we used fabrics from England that aren’t even made anymore.’” Broadway then does indeed no longer look like Broadway now.

This “surreal tableau” Flossie created, including “three-foot-high ostrich feather headdresses, Marie Antoinette wigs adorned with musical instruments and birdcages, and gowns embellished with translucent butterfly wings”, remains arguably one of the most impressive and jaw-dropping spectacles to have ever graced a Broadway stage even to this day.

As for Ann Roth, born in 1931, she is still to this day making her own history – recently becoming the joint eldest nominee at 89 for an Oscar (her 5th), for her work on 2020′s Ma Rainey’s Black Bottom. Now as of April 26th, Ann has just made history even further by becoming the oldest woman to win a competitive Academy Award ever. She has an impressive array of Hollywood credits to her name in addition to a roster of Broadway design projects, which have earned her 12 Tony nominations.

Some of her work in the theatre includes: The Women (1973) The Best Little Whorehouse in Texas (1978) They're Playing Our Song (1979) Singin' in the Rain (1985) Present Laughter (1996) Hedda Gabler (2009) A Raisin in the Sun (2014) Shuffle Along (2016) The Prom (2018)

Making her way over to Hollywood in the ‘70s, she has left an indelible and lasting visual impact on the arts through films like: Klute (1971) The Goodbye Girl (1977) Hair (1979) 9 to 5 (1980) Silkwood (1983) Postcards from the Edge (1990) The Birdcage (1996) The Hours (2002) Mamma Mia! (2008) Ma Rainey’s Black Bottom (2020)

It’s clear from this branching 'tree' to see how far the impact of just one woman passing on her time and knowledge to others who are starting out can spread.

This art of acting as a conduit for valuable insights was something Irene Sharaff had learned from her own mentor and predecessor, Aline Bernstein. Aline was viewed as “the first woman in the [US] to gain prominence in the male-dominated field of set and costume design,” and was too a strong proponent of passing on the unique knowledge she had acquired as a pioneer and forerunner in the field. 

Born in 1880, Bernstein is recognised as “one of the first theatrical designers in New York to make sets and costumes entirely from scratch and craft moving sets” while Broadway was still very much in its infancy of taking shape as the world we know today. This she did for more than one hundred shows over decades of her work in the theatre. These shows included the spectacular Grand Street Follies (1924-27), and original premier productions of plays like some of the following: Ibsen’s Hedda Gabler (1928) J.M Barrie’s Peter Pan (1928) Grand Hotel (1930) Phillip Barry’s Animal Kingdom (1932) Chekov’s The Seagull (1937) Both Lillian Hellman’s The Children’s Hour (1934) and The Little Foxes (1939)

Beyond direct design work, Bernstein founded what was to become the Neighbourhood Playhouse (the notable New York acting school) and was influential in the “Little Theatre movement that sprung up across America in 1910”. These were the “forerunners of the non-profit theatres we see today” and she continued to work in this realm even after moving into commercial theatre.

Bernstein also established the Museum of Costume Art, which later became the Costume Institute of the Met Museum of Art, where she served as president from 1944 to her death in 1955. This is what the Met Gala raises money for every year. So for long as you have the world’s biggest celebrities parading up and down red carpets in high fashion pieces, you have Aline Bernstein to remember – as none of that would be happening without her.

During the last fifteen years of her life, Bernstein taught and served as a consultant in theatre programs at academic institutions including Yale, Harvard, and Vassar – keen to connect the community and facilitate an exchange of wisdom and information to new descendants and the next generation.

Many designers came somewhere out of this linear descendancy. One notable exception, with no American mentor, was Theoni V. Aldredge. Born in 1922 and trained in Greece, Theoni emigrated to the US, met her husband, Tom Aldredge – himself of Into the Woods and theatre notoriety – and went on to design more than 100 Broadway shows. For her work, she earned 3 Tony wins from 11 nominations from projects such as: Anyone Can Whistle (1964) A Chorus Line (1975) Annie (1977) Barnum (1980) 42nd Street (1980) Woman of the Year (1981) Dreamgirls (1981) La Cage aux Folles (1983) The Rink (1984)

One of the main features that typify Theoni’s design style and could be attributed to a certain unique and distinctive “European flair” is her strong use of vibrant colour. This is a sentiment instantly apparent in looking longitudinally at some of her work.

In Ann Hould-Ward’s words, Theoni speaks to the “great generosity” of this profession. Theoni went out of her way to call Ann apropos of nothing early in the morning at some unknown hotel just after Ann won her first Tony for Beauty and the Beast in 1994, purring “Dahhling, I told you so!” These were women that had their disagreements, yes, but ultimately shared their knowledge and congratulated each other for their successes.

Similar anecdotal goodwill can be found in Pat Zipprodt’s call to Ann on the night of the 1987 Tony’s – where Ann was nominated for Into the Woods – with Pat singing “Have wonderful night! You’re not gonna win! …[laugh] but I love you anyway!”

This well-wishing phone call is all the more poignant considering Pat was originally involved with doing the costumes for Into the Woods, in reprise of their previous collaboration on Sunday in the Park with George.

If, for example, Theoni instinctively is remembered for bright colour, one of the features that Pat is first remembered for is her dedicated approach to research for her designs. Indeed, the New York Public Library archives document how the remaining physical evidence of this research she conducted is “particularly thorough” in the section on Into the Woods. Before the show finally hit Broadway in 1987 with Ann Hould-Ward’s designs, records show Pat had done extensive investigation herself into materials, ideas and prospective creations all through 1986.

Both Ann and Pat worked on the show out of town in try-outs at the Old Globe theatre in San Diego. But when it came to negotiating Broadway contracts, the situation became “tricky” and later “untenable” with Pat and the producers. Ann was “allowed to step in and design” the show alone instead.

The lack of harboured resentment on Patricia’s behalf speaks to her character and the pair’s relationship, such that Ann still considered her “my dear and beloved friend” for over 25 years, and was “at [Pat’s] bed when she died”.

Though they parted ways ultimately for Into the Woods, you can very much feel a continuation between their work on Sunday in the Park with George a few years previously, especially considering how tactile the designs appear in both shows. This tactility is something the shows’ book writer and director, James Lapine, was specific about. Lapine would remark in his initial ideas and inspirations that he wanted a graphic quality to the costumes on this occasion, like “so many sketches of the fairy-tales do”.

Ann fed that sentiment through her final creations, with a wide variety of materials and textures being used across the whole show – like “ribbons with ribbons seamed through them”, “all sorts of applique”, “frothy organzas and rembriodered organzas”. A specific example documents how Joanna Gleason’s shawl as the Baker’s Wife was pieced together, cut apart, and put back together again before resembling its final form.

This highly involved principle demonstrates another manner of inventive design that uses a different method but maintains the aim of particularity as discussed previously with Patricia and Irene’s complex dyeing and re-dyeing process. Pushing the confines of what is possible with the materials at hand to create a variety of colours, shades, and textures ultimately produces visual entities that are complex to look at. Confusing the eye like this “holds attention longer”, Ann maintains, which makes viewers look more intricately at individual segments of the production, and enables the costume design to guide specific focus by not immediately ceding attention elsewhere.

Understanding the methods behind the resultant impacts of a show can be as, if not more, important and interesting than the final product of the show itself sometimes. A phone call Ann had last August with James Lapine reminds us this is a notion we may be treated more to in the imminent future, when he called to enquire as to the location of some design sketches for the book he is working on (Putting It Together: How Stephen Sondheim and I Created 'Sunday in the Park with George') to document more thoroughly the genesis of the pair’s landmark and beloved musical.

In continuation of the notion that origin stories contain their own intrinsic value beyond any final product, Ann first became Pat’s intern through a heart-warming and tenacious tale. Ann sent letters to three notable designers when finishing graduate school. Only Patricia Zipprodt replied, with a message to say she “didn’t have anything now but let me think about it and maybe in the future.” It got to the future, and Ann took the encouragement of her previous response to try and contact Pat again. Upon being told she was out of town with a show, Ann proceeded to chase Pat through various phone books and telephone wires across different states and theatres until she finally found her. She was bolstered by the specifics of their call and ran off the phone to write an imploring note – hinging on the premise of a shared connection to Montana. She took an arrow, stabbed it through a cowboy hat, put it in a box with the note that was written on raw hide, and mailed it to New York with bated breath and all of her hopes and wishes.

Pat was knife-edgingly close to missing the box, through a matter of circumstance and timing. Importantly, she didn’t. Ann got a response, and it boded well: “Alright alright alright! You can come to New York!”

Subsequently, Ann’s long career in the design world of the theatre has included notable credits such as: Sunday in the Park with George (1984) Into the Woods (1987, 1997) Falsettos (1992) Beauty and the Beast (1994, 1997) Little Me (1998) Company (2006) Road Show (2008) The People in the Picture (2011) Merrily We Roll Along (1985, 1990, 2012, segment in Six by Sondheim 2013) Passion (2013) The Visit (2015) The Color Purple (2015) The Prince of Egypt (2021)

From early days in the city sleeping on a piece of foam on a friend’s floor, to working collaboratively alongside Pat, to using what she’d learnt from her mentor in designing whole shows herself, and going on to win prestigious awards for her work – the cycle of the theatre and the importance of handing down wisdom from those who possess it is never more evident.

As Ann summarises it meaningfully, “the theatre is a continuing, changing, evolving, emotional ball”. It’s raw, it’s alive, it needs people, it needs stories, it needs documentation of history to remember all that came before.

In periods where there can physically be no new theatre, it’s made ever the more clear for the need not to forget what value there is in the tales to be told from the past.

Through this retrospective, we’ve seen the tour de force influence of a relatively small handful of women shaping a relatively large portion of the visual scape of some of Broadway’s brightest moments.

But it’s significant to consider how disproportionate this female impact was, in contrast with how massively male dominated the rest of the creative theatre industry has been across the last century.

Assessing variations in attitudes and approaches to relationships and families in these women in the context of their professional careers over this time period presents interesting observations. And indeed, manners in which things have changed over the past hundred years.

As Ann Hould-Ward speaks of her experiences, one of her reflections is how much this was a “very male dominated world”. And one that didn’t accommodate for women with families who also wanted careers. As an intern, she didn’t even feel she could tell Patricia Zipprodt about the existence of her own young child until after 6 months of working with her. With all of these male figures around them, it would be often questioned “How are you going to do the work? How are you going to manage [with a family]?”, and that it was “harder to convince people that you were going to be able to do out-of-towns, to be able to go places.” Simply put, the industry “didn't have many designers who were married with children.”

Patricia herself in the previous generation demonstrates this restricting ethos. “In 1993, Zipprodt married a man whose proposal she had refused some 43 years earlier.” She had just newly graduated college and “she declined [his proposal] and instead moved to New York.” Faced with the family or career conundrum, she chose the latter. By the 1950s, it then wasn’t seen as uncommon to have both, it was seen as impossible.

Her husband died just five years after the pair were married in 1998, as did Patricia herself the following year. One has to wonder if alternative decisions would’ve been made and lives lived differently if she’d experienced a different context for working women in her younger life.

But occupying any space in the theatre at all was only possible because of the efforts of and strides made by women in previous generations.

When Aline Bernstein first started designing for Broadway theatre in 1916, women couldn’t even vote. She became the first female member of the United Scenic Artists of America union in 1926, but only because she was sworn in under the false and male moniker of brother Bernstein. In fact, biographies often centralise on her involvement in a “passionate” extramarital love affair with novelist Thomas Wolfe – disproportionately so for all of her remarkable contributions to the theatrical, charitable and academic worlds, and instead having her life defined through her interactions with men.

As such, it is apparent how any significant interactions with men often had direct implications over a woman’s career, especially in this earlier half of the century. Only in their absence was there comparative capacity to flourish professionally.

Irene Sharaff had no notable relationships with men. She did however have a significant partnership with Chinese-American painter and writer Mai-mai Sze from “the mid-1930s until her death”. Though this was not (nor could not be) publicly recognised or documented at the time, later by close acquaintances the pair would be described as a “devoted couple”, “inseparable”, and as holding “love and admiration for one another [that] was apparent to everyone who knew them.” This manner of relationship for Irene in the context of her career can be theorised as having allowed her the capacity to “reach a level of professional success that would have been unthinkable for most straight women of [her] generation”.

Moving forwards in time, Irene and Mai-mai presently rest where their ashes are buried under “two halves of the same rock” at the entrance to the Music and Meditation Pavilion at Lucy Cavendish College in Cambridge, which was “built following a donation by Sharaff and Sze”. I postulate that this site would make for an interesting slice of history and a perhaps more thought-provoking deviation for tourists away from being shepherded up and down past King’s College on King’s Parade as more usually upon a visit to Cambridge.

In this more modern society at the other end of this linear tree of remarkable designers, options for women to be more open and in control of their personal and professional lives have increased somewhat.

Ann Hould-Ward later in her career would no longer “hide that [she] was a mother”, in fear of not being taken seriously. Rather, she “made a concerted effort to talk about [her] child”, saying “because at that point I had a modicum of success. And I thought it was supportive for other women that I could do this.”

If one aspect passed down between these women in history are details of the craft and knowledge accrued along the way, this statement by Ann represents an alternative facet and direction that teaching of the future can take. Namely, that by showing through example, newer generations will be able to comprehend the feasibility of occupying different options and spaces as professional women. Existing not just as designers, or wives, or mothers, or all, or one – but as people, who possess an immense talent and skill. And that it is now not just possible, but common, to be multifaceted and live the way you want to live while working.

This is not to say all of the restrictions and barriers faced by women in previous generations have been removed, but rather that as we build a larger wealth of history of women acting with autonomy and control to refer back to, things can only get easier to build upon for the future.

Who knows what Broadway and theatre in general will look like when it returns – both on the surface with respect to this facet of costume design, and also more deeply as to the inner machinations of how shows are put together and presented. The largely male environment and the need to tick corporate and commercial boxes will not have vanished. One can only hope that this long period of stasis will have foregrounded the need and, most importantly, provided the time to revaluate the ethos in which shows are often staged, and the ways in which minority groups – like women – are able to work and be successful within the theatre in all of the many shows to come. 

Notable sources:

Photographs – predominantly from the New York Public Library digital archives. IBDB – the Internet Broadway Database. Broadway Nation Podcast (Eps. #17 and #18), David Armstrong, featuring Ann Hould-Ward, 2020. Behind the Curtain: Broadway’s Living Legends Podcast (Ep. #229), Robert W Schneider and Kevin David Thomas, featuring Ann Hould-Ward, 2020. Sense of Occasion, Harold Prince, 2017. Everything Was Possible: The Birth of the Musical ‘Follies’, Ted Chapin, 2003. Finishing the Hat: Collected Lyrics (1954–1981) with Attendant Comments, Principles, Heresies, Grudges, Whines and Anecdotes, Stephen Sondheim, 2010. The Complete Book of 1970s Broadway Musicals, Dan Deitz, 2015. The Complete Book of 1980s Broadway Musicals, Dan Dietz, 2016. Inventory of the Patricia Zipprodt Papers and Designs at the New York Public Library, 2004 – https://www.nypl.org/sites/default/files/archivalcollections/pdf/thezippr.pdf Extravagant Crowd’s Carl Van Vecten’s Portraits of Women, Aline Bernstein – http://brbl-archive.library.yale.edu/exhibitions/cvvpw/gallery/bernstein.html Jewish Heroes & Heroines of America: 150 True Stories of American Jewish Heroism – Aline Bernstein, Seymour Brody, 1996 – https://www.jewishvirtuallibrary.org/aline-bernstein Ann Hould-Ward Talks Original “Into the Woods” Costume Designs, 2016 – https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=4EPe77c6xzo&ab_channel=Playbill American Theatre Wing’s Working in the Theatre series, The Design Panel, 1993 – https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=9sp-aMQHf-U&t=2167s&ab_channel=AmericanTheatreWing Journal of the History of Ideas Blog, Mai-mai Sze and Irene Sharaff in Public and in Private, Erin McGuirl, 2016 – https://jhiblog.org/2016/05/16/mai-mai-sze-and-irene-sharaff-in-public-and-in-private/ Irene Sharaff’s obituary, The New York Times, Marvine Howe, 1993 – https://www.nytimes.com/1993/08/17/obituaries/irene-sharaff-designer-83-dies-costumes-won-tony-and-oscars.html Obituary: Irene Sharaff, The Independent, David Shipman, 2011 – https://www.independent.co.uk/news/people/obituary-irene-sharaff-1463219.html Broadway Design Exchange – Florence Klotz – https://www.broadwaydesignexchange.com/collections/florence-klotz Obituary: Florence Klotz, The New York Times, 2006 – https://www.nytimes.com/2006/11/03/obituaries/03klotz.html