#get that woman a beer and a cigarette STAT

[dykeseinfeld]

i wish pyrrha was my dad/roommate/pimp

[taylorkit]

QUICK STATS ;

Name: Kit Taylor

Age: 38

Gender & Pronouns: Male & he/him

Sexuality: Heterosexual

Time in Covington: From birth to 21, then from 30 to now

Occupation: Country singer & owner of Southern Drawl Country Bar & Line Dancing

Neighbourhood: Riveroak Farms

Relationship Status: Single

CLICK BELOW FOR QUICK INTRO & MY DISCORD!

QUICK INTRO ;

Drugs tw, addiction tw

Kit was born in Covington, his dad taught him how to fish and how to drink. His mom taught him how to cook and how to treat a woman right. He was always into music even as a kid, was inspired a lot by the music his parents would listen to.

His parents knew he had a passion for music but pushed him to attend college and do a 'serious degree'. Kit obviously didn't want to, and hella disappointed them when he told them he'd be jumping on a bus to Nashville to try and make it big with just himself and his guitar.

He worked his ass off for a short while, busking on the street and singing in bars to the same drunks. But then he got noticed and he got signed, and his music flew from there. The usual story of one album became two, and he went on tours around the country. Did pretty well for himself tbh, was relatively popular amongst the country music scene.

He met a beaaaautiful blonde and fell in love. She dreamed of becoming an actress so they moved to LA together. She was heavy into partying and dragged him into it, and in his early 20's he developed a cocaine addiction. I see them as a lil bit like Britney Spears and Justin Timberlake early 2000s vibes, but with a dash of chaos from Tommy Lee and Pamela Anderson energy.

She fell pregnant at 23, and they had a daughter. They were the 'cool parents' who didn't shelter her from the lifestyle they had.

But his agent pushed him for more music and he wrote some songs but they just weren't right. He realised he needed to move back home to the south, to his roots, to see if that would kick start his music again. Kit and his partner had an amicable break up, and he moved back to Covington while their daughter stayed in LA.

He wrote some music, but ultimately over the years decided he had moved on from releasing music and touring, and just wanted a simple life. Kit wanted to sit on his porch with his guitar and a beer, and his dog, and write music he loved.

He bought the line dancing bar and he uses it to bring people together with country music and a damn good time. He still loves to party tbh, and will hold nights where he'll either play some of his music or he'll showcase local talent. You can generally find him either working behind the bar or somewhere nearby, talking to his regulars.

His daughter is now 14, and in the past couple years or so she decided to move to Covington to live with him, and she is an avid horse rider.

Kit is pretty happy living his life in his hometown, writing music and sitting on his back porch with his guitar. He will pretty much always have either a beer or a cigarette in his hand. Loves a cowboy hat. Loves horse riding and fishing. He owns a couple horses and has a golden retriever called Rex. He can be pretty chaotic despite being a fully grown adult and a father. He will get you drunk and find it hilarious when you can't handle it. He's just here for a good time, not a long time, you know?

[pearlwestbrook]

Welcome to Aurora Bay, PEARL WESTBROOK! I couldn’t help but notice you look an awful lot like GRACE VAN PATTEN. You must be the TWENTY-SEVEN year old EMPLOYEE AT THE MOVIE HOUSE THEATER. Word is you’re SAVVY but can also be a bit MALICIOUS and your favorite song is SAME by DEB NEVER. I also heard you’ll be staying in OCEAN CREST APARTMENTS. I’m sure you’ll love it!

STATS.

Full Name: Pearl Odette Westbrook Nickname(s): Rabbit (by anyone who knew her when she was younger) Gender: Cis woman, she/her Sexual Orientation: Bisexual Birthday: October 30, 1995 (27) Religion: None Nationality: American Ethnicity: White Hometown: Palmdale, California Current Residence: Ocean Crest Apartments Length of time in Aurora Bay: 7 years Occupation: Employee at the Movie House Theater Education: Three semesters of community college

Height: 5′6 Tattoos: "Thank you and sweet dreams" in Jeff Buckley's handwriting on her upper left ribcage Piercings: Two in her left lobe, three in her right lobe, right nipple Scars: (tba)

Mother: Helena Westbrook Baker (48) Father: Kristoff Mack (55) Step-Father: George Baker (56) Siblings: Stevie Mack (half-sibling) Pet(s): A mean ass Calico cat called Mrs. Washburn, named after her mean ass seventh grade math teacher

PERSONALITY.

Pos. Traits: Savvy, quick-witted, perceptive, self-sufficient, intelligent Neg. Traits: Reckless, mercurial, sarcastic, pretentious, indecisive, self-indulgent, malicious Likes: Experimental cinema, lacy underwear, fashion, Indian food, weed, cigarettes, making people she doesn't like feel bad about themselves, telling lies for no reason, putting ketchup in her macaroni, Jeff Buckley, sex, dark beers, black metal, calzones, her cat, anything that gets her blood going, talking to strangers Dislikes: Sports, most poetry, modern interior design, minimalism, Star Wars, YouTubers, school, working a regular job, her family, philosophy, organized religion, feeling dependent on other people, standup comedy Fears: Having no direction in life, disappointing people, being abandoned

TL;DR.

Pearl's mother — one of nine kids and whose father had two wives — ran away from home at 17, got knocked up by a man who was part of a cult-like religious organization in Provo, Utah, that she met at the strip club where she worked, and then got ghosted by him. She left Utah, went west, and had Pearl in Palmdale, California. Her mother went back to stripping when she was very young and often left her alone and to fend for herself, and then, when Pearl was in her early teens, married the owner of the strip joint, who also happened to be a drug trafficker. When she was 17 he started trying to get Pearl to strip at his club and that was the last straw. She left home at 18 after graduating high school and ended up in Aurora Bay with a roommate a few years later. She tried community college but hated it and works at the movie house theater now.

CURRENT CONNECTIONS.

unknown half-sibling of @mackstevie

enemies to besties with @helenasoarcs

toxic undefined relo with @ulyflynn

frenemies with benefits of @rominacortez

casual hookup of @jake-hudson

unwilling victim of attempted parenting with @cristian-valdes

fan of and friends with @amayapowers

casual enemies and 2am deep convos with @carterjohnsons

golden retriever/black cat energy with @greengideon

mutually destructive friendship with @xaviermattthews

bad influence on @liamburkes

HEADCANONS.

Finds it hilarious that her initials are POW and calls herself a prisoner of war

She got the nickname rabbit partly bc of her full cheeks but also bc she'll chow down on carrot sticks like a rodent, only people who knew her when she was younger wld know the nickname

Doesn't actually like the taste of cigarettes but is fully addicted

Despises weed culture and will stop listening when someone tries telling her about strains

tba

BIOGRAPHY.

**trigger warnings for parental abuse and neglect, allusion to homelessness, mention of religious extremism, drug trafficking, alcoholism

Helena Foughner's mother was one of Josiah Foughner's two wives, and she herself was just one of his nine children. It was a deeply toxic family and he was a deeply toxic and abusive man, and she ran away from all of it when she was seventeen years old, about four months before she would have failed to graduate high school with the rest of her peers. She didn't get far at first — she stayed in and around the Provo and Salt Lake areas for the next few years, often couch-surfing with friends and staying with boyfriends and frequenting motel rooms.

In her early twenties Helena discovered stripping, and it was through this that she finally started making enough money to get an apartment of her own; it was also how she met Kristoff Mack. He was charming in a way that disturbed and fascinated her, and not long after the second or third time they slept together did Helena find herself knocked up with his child and unable to contact him. Devastated and pregnant and terrified and with more hatred in her heart for Utah than ever before, Helena decided to leave for good. With what little money she'd saved, she traveled west just her and her unborn baby, before finally settling down in Palmdale, California, almost nine months later where Pearl was born.

Helena started stripping again just a couple years later. Pearl was often left with neighbors or cheap babysitters or completely alone, because daycare was too expensive and Helena couldn't keep a steady relationship to save her life.

Until she could, of course. George Baker owned the strip joint, and he took a liking to Helena. George Baker was also a drug trafficker, and not a very nice man. As Pearl got older her mother stopped stripping, married George, and allowed him to take care of them, which meant Pearl suddenly had some man pretending to be her father figure when it came to all the shitty stuff but none of the good stuff. He thought Pearl was an instigative little brat and he was right, and she thought he was an evil son of bitch and she was right. Helena was drinking too much by the time Pearl was a teenager to do anything about the abusive way her husband spoke to her daughter. She was also too drunk to be any help when, just before turning eighteen, George approached Pearl about stripping in his club. So she didn't bother ratting him out to her mom at all — Pearl simply left home the minute she turned eighteen and graduated high school.

Unlike her mother before her, Pearl had saved up just enough money through retail jobs she worked in high school to afford an apartment with a friend, and they ended up in Aurora Bay. There, Pearl tried a few different jobs before settling at the Movie House Theater, which she enjoyed because she'd always loved movies and, if she'd been able to last longer than three semester at a nearby community college, would likely have gone on to study film.

That being said, her rough start to life never instilled in her much confidence and that on top of hating the school setting meant she gave up on that idea quickly. She's not content with what she does but doesn't have the ambition to try for anything better, so a lot of her externalized rage is a product of that deep unhappiness and dissatisfaction with her life and her perceived ability to change it.

She dates on and off, sleeps around a lot more. Despite it never helping, she tries to fill the gaping void in her life with meaningless relationships that only end up making her feel worse in the end, and often leave her with additional trauma to pile on top of the rest.

Recently, she's started looking into her biological father out of some misplaced notion that understanding where she comes from might somehow give her a sense of purpose. Her mother never spoke of her father save for a first name, but through some deep digging she finally managed to get a last name as well and connect it to a man in Provo, Utah, who was part of a cult-like religious organization with a freaky recruiting website. It's not really a surprise to her given who her mother is, but it was still, deep down, just another confirmation that her life is garbage and she comes from shitty stock with bad luck.

WANTED CONNECTIONS.

A current roommate

The roommate she moved to Aurora Bay with seven years ago (could be the same as the current roommate or something could have happened and they or she moved out)

Co-workers at the movie theater or any other little retail job she did before that

A few besties

Weed smoking buddies

Harder drug buddies + a dealer

Someone who tries to parent her (mostly unsuccessfully)

Someone who’s super chaotic with her and encourages all her poor choices

Some exes (would pretty much all have been toxic relos in some way)

Someone she lowkey idolizes

Enemies baybeeeeee

Would love someone she used to be rly close with and they hate each other now

Also would love the opposite, someone that started off on a bad foot with her but now they’re close

Frenemies!!! Friends only when they’re drunk vibe

Fake friends where they pretend to be friends for some reason but both loathe each other actually

Apartment building neighbors that she’s probably annoyed

Maybe one neighbor who kinda sees through her bullshit tho and lowkey is rly helpful like helped her go down to the basement when she blew a fuse or smth

Someone she knows bc she rear ended them when she borrowed her friend's car or smth ygfuhjds could have turned into a friendship or could be enemies now

Someone she Witnessed Something Weird With and now theyre trauma bonded over it

Hookups/fwb/etc

[ellaintrigue]

Be so. So. Careful

Over the span of my early adult life I started to build a controversial reputation. Not that anyone knows who I am, but in general, across the local area, friends of my parents, and family know of me. My ex brought chaos throughout my life with his gradual decline from mental illness and my refusal to censor my body or feminist beliefs has led to harsh judgment. And you can't listen to the gossipers, but it's there.

I suppose some think that a "fat" "whore" in a bikini with a crazy past may have low self-esteem, but it is the opposite. I feel pretty good about myself and don't want to meet anyone that could ever hurt me again. I love my body and love my scars and when a woman with stretch marks or a big tummy poses in a bikini, I love her too. It's 2020, let's love one another instead of judging pasts and shaming women.

Now, while we should not be hung up on the past, I've had a long healing process. And although many of us try our best, skeletons in the closet sometimes come back to life. This post is going to offend some people but it's been brewing in my mind for over a month now.

What may seem like it is none of my business, is, when brought into my life. I've been a victim and that's on those that chose to hurt me, but all victims know this: we must do what we can to protect ourselves in the future.

I'm an alcoholic. I function but I drink. I pay for my habit and stay out of people's way. While drinking is obviously bad, I have never hurt anyone else with my habit. My ex, on top of having untreated mental illness, had a problem. He would go months without drinking then go on days long benders, causing property damage, getting into fights, and getting arrested, building up fines. In the end he stole $800 in silver coins that I had, my last asset left after I lost my life savings to medical bills. I was at work that night. He had broken in my house, grabbing the coins, and my truck keys. He stole my truck, took it to the gas station, and bought a bunch of Natty Daddys, giving the cashier 4 solid silver coins for each beer. $800 for tallboys that cost just over $1 each at the time. My ex told me he thought the large mint coins were "quarters."

A year after I left my ex, a cousin recommended a painter to my mother, for my house. I do not own my house. I have nothing, I lost everything to medical bills and my ex stole the rest. I own my car and truck, that's it. So thank God for mom who is kind enough to let me stay here and I pay the costs that I can. Thank her for painting the house and getting new siding.

But the first painter was a flop. You can't judge on people's pasts, and people's looks... but sometimes you can... I fought my ex for 2 years after leaving him, he became a violent stalker. So I requested for the painter to call me before stopping by my house because I was easily spooked. But unexpectedly, I looked out my window to see a pickup truck in my yard. So I went outside and saw a scraggly man in the yard, on the phone. "Excuse me! Who are you??" I asked. He glared at me, yelled he was the painter, then walked away. It was not a good first impression.

Finally he talked to me briefly, canning his attitude for a moment. He was thin and gaunt with a cigarette shaking in his hand. His face had a grey hue and his eyes were sunken. He rasped out some details then left. He was in his 50's but looked almost 70. And he never came back, he just walked away with mom's $3,000. Mom thought he was licensed and reliable since family had recommended him. I said over and over before that happened, though: I did not like the way the motherfucker looked.

Court ensued and mom won. But before the trial, the guy approached my mom trying to talk things over, which made me scared. He knew I was alone at my house at the time, what if he wanted revenge? What if he burned the fucking house down? We had looked at his record after he stole: drug charges, assault, DUIs, abuse of a minor, multiple domestic violence charges, malicious destruction of property, theft, and stealing from homeowners using his business aka being paid and not doing his work. The guy was a drug addict.

Now, I'm not saying all druggies and drunks are nasty pieces of shit... but, do I need them in my life? I am sorry, but no, it is not my preference. My childhood friend passed in 2017 from opiates after years of addiction and hurting people with it. A round faced smiling child had turned into a criminal that relied on drugs and didn't care how she got them. At any time I can close my eyes and bring up her last photo in my thoughts. Her once beautiful green eyes, dull and sunk into her face, mere weeks before she overdosed at home.

My last ex was boring in this aspect, his vices were cigs and soda. He did not drink or do drugs, not even pot. I liked that about him. I'm fine with weed but he had his shit together and worked, despite a criminal past.

Past... disregard it only when you can. And my ex worked multiple jobs and worked his way up. Often when a man gets out of jail or prison he ends up doing various manual labor jobs but I notice basic retail and fast food positions are common. Also things like yard work, dishwashing, etc. You have to get what you can get and report it to whomever concerned. It must be rough to start over like that. Clearly my wacko ex never made it but that's how the stats go.

While only close to mom, dad, and Erin, I love and respect extended family, who are kind to me, including cousins on my dad's side. Well, everyone thinks I'm a short little fatty, which, yeah, I am. But I'm cocky and talk to whoever so I'm guilty of going after men that could have been models. And it's fine to laugh at me over that, I laugh at myself. However I don't date much or talk about it anymore so I was surprised when my cousin mentioned this guy she went to high school with and kept pushing me to talk to him. At first I didn't view it as a dating thing since I'm not attracted to anyone over 40 and said he could add me if he needed a friend but he never did. A month later she was still bringing him up and asked me why I hadn't contacted him. And I just said, hey, I'm not desperate for a man, don't need the "help" but thank you.

But, it triggered me. While I’m rarely insecure, I went into defense mode when I saw the guy on FaceBook. He was 45 but looked 55, sunken eyes, no teeth, and just a miserable looking face. I don't go around calling people ugly. But it was the same gaunt druggie look as the painter that ripped off my mom. He posted weird rants and yelled at people in his comments over petty things. I showed his picture to my friends and the rest of my family and my soft mannered, intelligent Norwegian philosopher friend of many years even took one look at the guy and said, "he looks like a neo-Nazi child molester." Another friend, that had been in jail, said, "stay the fuck away from him, he's bad news."

So while wondering if it was my "slutty" bikini pictures or the fact I had dated my crazy ex that made me so qualified to take on this dude in my cousin's eyes, I did searches on him and it showed he had a criminal record. I wasn't going to pay to read into it but I now knew, between his profile and public records that he was a recovering addict, had a record, and worked as a grocery store stocker which is a perfectly fine job, but again, one of the low paying basic jobs someone fresh out of the pen might get.

Since I'm a passive-aggressive psycho I confronted my cousin with all this. And she just says she knew the guy in high school and that he drank sometimes. She knew nothing of drugs, a record, or him missing teeth. And I wish that dude would open his damn mouth wider because in the one pic where I can see, it's just a drooping black hole. He was trying to be sexy in that photo and in the comments under his shirtless body with cheesy tribal tattoos he does the shrugging man-emote and says "I'm going through my slut phase, mkay?" Now my ex had no teeth and that was fine by me but he wasn't drugged out either and had a nice pink face. But what if I didn't check into this guy? What if I didn't think? What if I decided he was cute and let him into my life and got abused and ripped off again? Sure, people can rebuild and bounce back but it's still extremely common to relapse and hurt people all over again.

...Be careful... be so careful...

Mid-way through 2017, a lawyer emailed me a picture of the unfortunate painter so I could identify him and I honestly couldn't say it was the man. A picture several years old featured a smiling man with bright eyes and a flesh colored face. The man in my yard that day looked like a frozen corpse.

Past is past and looks are looks but when you lay down with dogs you wake up with fleas.

Be careful who you associate with, and who you introduce to people.

[mundvngus]

“i pour alcohol into the gaping hole inside my chest. it does not heal. not today. maybe tomorrow.”

MUNDUNGUS FLETCHER is 26 years old and works as a THIEF/DRUG DEALER/ALL ROUND CRIMINAL and is loyal to THE OOTP they were an RAVENCLAW and are a HALFBLOODED. HE look like FRANK DILLANE.

CHARACTER PARALLELS: nick miller ( new girl ), creed bratton ( the office ), doug judy ( b99 ), jason mendoza ( the good place ), chris miles ( skins ), jesper fahey ( six of crows ), scott lang ( marvel ), lillian ( unbreakable kimmy schmidt ). AESTHETIC: scuffed knees, flicking a lighter over and over again, flowery shirts, walking in the middle of the street after midnight, a body covered in bruises and tattoos, naming stray cats, falling asleep on the subway, watching smoke curl against a starless, black nightsky, throwing empty beer bottles against a wall. LINKS: stats. pinboard. character tag. HEADS UP: there’s quite a bit of talk about drugs and stuff in here -- as well as shitty parenting. i trigger warned it before every bullet point tho!

history

ciannán o’donnell was a flighty man, one of many relationships and flings and little loyalty, and so his affair with kiyana fletcher did not last long. when she told him he was pregnant, he moved on to a different woman, and kiyana had her son alone, with her sister on her side. dung was born to a lonely and angry woman, who had fallen for the charms and winks of a crooked criminal who spoke empty promises and lied for a living.

he grew up with his mum – a halfblooded witch and by far his favourite person in the world – in cork, attending muggle school there. he knew who his dad was, but wasn’t quite sure how to feel about —- EVERYONE knew who his dad was, a well known muggle criminal and dealer, a name notorious among the older kids at his school, a father to many. he’s like the robert baratheon of ireland, to be honest, planting bastards on every corner. lol. knowing he was one of his many kids was hard; he’d never met any of them, but he knew they were there, from his mother, from his aunt.

he met his dad for the first time at age seven, and was nothing but impressed. his dad showered him with gifts, his mum watching with a furious look on her face but biting her tongue. that moment was a switch for dung; he felt the need to impress his dad. he stole some sweets from a store on his way home from school a week later, fished some pennies out of the pockets of his classmates a few months later. when he phoned his dad to tell him, his laugh was warm and filled with life.

his relationship with his dad got better as his behaviour got worse. the thrill of stealing, of doing stuff he wasn’t supposed to, lit him not only on fire because ti was exciting, but also because he knew his dad would adore it. his mother’s worried questions and look only drove him to his dad, who liked it when he did bad things, who didn’t try and ground him ( looking back, he knows that that was stupid, but back then he was blindsided, obsessed with the mystery that was his dad ).

abuse tw // his father was abusive. period. he’s a wicked man, who has blood on his hands of people who were in his way, and he doesn’t love anything but winning and money and the high of victory. he manipulated mundungus, pushed him towards bad behaviours, showed him his bad sides when he was disappointed. most of the abuse was mental and verbal, but sometimes it turned physical as well. it’s toxic. mundungus hasn’t allowed himself to admit that to himself yet, though. end of tw //

drugs, smoking, alcohol tw // attending hogwarts was good, at first. it forced him to focus on other stuff, for a while, but his summers and winter breaks forced him back into his old behaviours. his world was split; at hogwarts, he was a loud and lively, but still a pretty good student, while at home he fell deeper and deeper in crossing lines and boundaries. he lit his first cigarette at age ten, drank his first beer at age twelve, smoked his first spliff when he turned fourteen, as a present from his dad. end of tws //

hogwarts also meant friends --- the dick squad was founded here, consisting out of dorcas, doc, daisy and dung himself. these three people meant everything to mundungus, to be honest, let him see the ways people could love each other without conditions or out of obligation. they were chaotic and messy and wrecked havoc on the castle but --- damn it, they’re his family, and he’d die for them.

drugs tw // it was in his later years that these two worlds started overlapping. his dad trusted him with a bit of produce, gave him some weed to sell at hogwarts after his christmas break in his fifth year, and it was a success. ever since, dung became pretty well known for selling a little bit of this and that. a lively spirit, he always did so with a bit of a grin, but he was also pretty fond of the stuff he sold, indulging quite a lot when business was a little slow.

he also stole a lot from rich purebloods, because fuck them

i guess ... this is where the messiness really did ... explode? mundungus liked the taste of drugs. he liked the taste of doing illegal things. he liked the taste of earning money and feeling powerful and he loved it all. he grew more dependent on alcohol and drugs. he wanted to flee, too. the world was a nasty fucking place and he knew that all too well and, fucking hell, don’t blame him for wanting to escape every now and then. end of tw //

he graduated at one point which? is a miracle? i think they just wanted to get rid of him tbh!!! but yeah, dung did Try a little at hogwarts, as he respects the hell out of dumbledore and stuff, but he was still not a good student. after graduation, he kind of joined up with his dad and started doing some illegal stuff in the wizarding world too, because why the hell not? he was good at it.

dung had no plans to join either side of the war, tbh, even though he’ss v much against the de’s cause. he’s a self serving kid!! but then he kind of got in a nasty situation where both alastor and dumbledore got him out of trouble ( that might have sent him to fucking azkaban, what a fucking idiot ) and well, dung might be a shithead, but he felt indebted to them and kind of rolled into the order.

and well --- the order was a newfound family. messy, of course, and full of chaos and distrust, but --- heck, mundungus found a lot of people there that he did end up feeling loyal to. and while that was scary, as mundungus prefers being a lone wolf ( or raccoon ), it was a kind of wonderful, too?

and -- get this -- he was an asset. his ties to the criminal world, with his ability to steal and sneak around like less than a shadow. he was useful, and mundungus fletcher had never been useful in his life before. what a weird feeling that was --- oh boy, but it was good, too. mundungus likes it. he could build on that and improve greatly and he has fucking potential to become a better person. he really wants to, too, because he feels incredibly indebted to alastor and dumbledore akjfsdf.

dont hold your breath, tho, he’s probably not going to improve a lot

mundungus doesn’t technically have a home. his mother’s place is his home, i guess, but he’s not there a lot. he crashes on couches, breaks into muggle homes of people who are on vacation ( always leaving it the way it was, but with a bit of a smell ) or in a squatter’s home, which he thinks is an iconic scene.

drugs tw // besides his work for the order, mundungus does a bit of this and that. he still works for his dad a little, dealing some drugs for him, but he’s mostly focused on making his way through the wizarding world’s underground and making a name for himself there. he sees no reason to try and find another career, finds the things he does now thrilling and exciting and honestly, he doesn’t have much of a way out. 

abuse tw // his dad has a hold on him. sure, he can drop his criminal activities in the wizarding world, but when it comes to his dad's business, he’s stuck. his father isn’t going to allow him to walk away –  that much should be obvious. he knows too much. and then there’s mundungus’ wish to always please his father, and his father’s endless dissatisfaction. it’s messy and bad and toxic and we all hate mundungus’ dad. end of tws // 

addiction tw // what it all boils down to is that mundungus is chaotic. he never stays in one place too long, doesn’t have a consistent job, strays away from commitment and stability. he’s addicted, to drugs, alcohol, cigarettes and adrenaline. he’s self serving, in the end. he’s seeking for validation, deep down, and endlessly scared of all that’s happening around him. he’s alone, dreadfully so, but that’s the way he prefers it. end of tw //

personality & tidbits 

mundungus is a lowkey tortured artist. he writes awful poetry and draws a lot and he loves painting if he has time. he’s in love with the beat generation, mostly. he’s very private about this kind of stuff, though. it's his thing, and his alone. some of his tattoos he’s designed himself tho!! and we love and stan!!

his stance in the war is something that’s … pretty unknown, i imagine. mundungus benefits from appearing neutral, has connections in both the pureblood and muggle world. he likes to come across as that shady dude who will do whatever you ask of him for the right price.

can usually be spotted wearing The Coat, a rly expensive, vintage long coat that he once stole of a pureblood. he’s enlarged the pockets with some handy spellwork and pretty much carries everything he owes in there, like his produce and his money and his second pair of shoes and his art supplies and probably some random trash. 

is a bit smelly, so give him a shower

most likely to show up at your doorstep at 5am with some flowers and a shit eating grin, saying “can i sleep on yer couch?”

mundungus LOVES animals but doesn’t have any because of his lack of a home. his mother has a dog, though, and he loves that dog. he also feels v connected to stray dogs and cats and can be found petting and feeding them a lot.

hates himself deeply, doesn’t think he’s worth anyone’s time (despite constantly demanding it), has a low opinion of himself. he doesn’t get it if people care about him, to be honest? the only person he can properly accept it of is his mother, but even that’s complicated.

plots!

CUSTOMERS // a simple, easy connection! basically someone who buys drugs (also does like medicinal stuff? but also drugs-drugs) of mundungus or has paid him (good money) to nick something for them. he’s pretty down to do most things as long as it’s for the right price! 

PARTY FRIENDS // dung likes getting wasted / high / fucked up and having a good ol’ time with people. sure, he’s done it alone, but he prefers doing it with others. there’s a lot of room for diff options here?

YOU SAVED ME ONCE // ( alcohol tw ) a plot where someone got dung to a hospital when he got alcohol poisoning and basically saved his life?? meaning?? mundungus feels indebted and he hates that but!! he’s gonna pay your char back! he promises! 

UNDER PRESSURE // i imagine that dung has some ties to de’s as well bc of his less than legal work so? maybe some death eater could try and put some pressure on him? get him to do some dirty job bc it’d not matter if he died … etc etc 

UNDER PRESSURE 2.0 // on the other hand, i bet some order members are like 👀 at dung? this one’d be for order members who’re like … making sure that dung is still loyal and here?? making him feel a bit?? queasy?? 

ONE NIGHT STANDS // dung isnt rly good at romance but he’s good at no strings attached sex. this’d work in a lot of ways and w a lot of characters so imma keep this p open! dung is bi btw!!

THE ONE THAT GOT AWAY // your average angsty exes plot? mundungus is flighty, and while he does feel feelings for people, he’s not … good with commitment. this’d be a relationship that he broke off bc he got scared or ?? something else??

COUCHES // i need some couches that mundungus can crash on adkjfhsdf he needs a place ... to sleep. he will pay you back with drugs or ... stolen goods? money? something that he didnt acquire lawfully

[storiesofwildfire]

   FASHION/APPEARANCE STATS    BOLD what applies to your muse.

TAGGED: @raidstombs -- my baaaaaeeeeee TAGGING: @dominionovershadows @corruptedones @weightofmyshield @fandralxthexstabulous @mxrdermystery @killxr-quxxn @wasacoyote and whoever else would like to do this :3

BODY.

Long legs. Short legs. Average legs. Slender thighs. Thick thighs. Muscular thighs. Skinny arms. Soft arms. Muscular arms (he’s somewhere between skinny and muscular, I guess?). Toned stomach. Flat stomach. Flabby Stomach. Soft stomach. Six-pack. Beer belly. Lean frame.  Beefy/muscular frame.  Voluptuous frame. Petite frame ( 5 ft 4 or shorter ). Lanky frame. Short nails. Long nails. Manicured nails. Dirty nails. Flat ass.  Toned ass. Bubble butt. Small waist. Thick waist. Narrow hips. Average hips. Wide hips. Big feet. Average feet (pretty average for a man and for a woman when in female form). Small feet. Soft feet. Slender feet. Calloused hands. Soft hands. Big hands.  Average hands. Small hands. Long fingers. Short fingers. Average fingers. Broad shoulder.  Underweight (by Asgardian standards... yeah, Loki should weigh more...). Average weight. Overweight.

HEIGHT.

Shorter than 140 cm. 141 cm-150 cm. 151 cm to 160 cm. 161 cm to 170 cm. 171 cm to 180cm. 181 cm to 190 cm. 191 cm to 2m. Taller than 2 m.

SKIN.

Pale. Rosy. Olive. Dark. Tanned. Blotchy. Smooth. Acne. Dry. Greasy. Freckled.

EYES.

Small. Large. Average. Grey. Brown. Blue. Green. Gold. Hazel. Doe-eyed. Almond. Close-set.   Wide-set. Deep-set. Squinty. Monolid. Heavy eyelids. Upturned. Downturned.

HAIR.

Thin. Thick. Fine. Normal. Greasy (if he doesn’t take care of it, it gets hella greasy... Fortunately, he usually takes care of it religiously). Dry. Soft. Shiny. Curly. Frizzy (gurl, you should see his bedhead). Wild. Unruly. Straight. Smooth. Wavy. Floppy. Cropped. Pixie-cut. Shoulder length. Back length (depending on what verse, the length varies). Waist length (Jotun prince verse only). Past hip-length. Buzz cut. Bald. Jaw length. Mohawk. White. Platinum blonde.   Golden blonde. Dirty blonde. Blonde. Ombre. Light brown. Mouse brown. Chestnut brown.   Golden brown. Chocolate brown. Dark brown. Jet black. Ginger. Red (sometimes he rocks the flaming red myth hair). Auburn. Dyed red. Dyed any “unnatural color”. Thin eyebrows.   Average eyebrows. Thick eyebrows. Grey. Greying. Beard. Short Beard. long beard. goatee. stubble. full beard. thick beard.

TATTOOS / PIERCINGS.

Full sleeve.    Thigh tattoo.    Neck tattoo.    Chest tattoo.   Back tattoo.   One tattoo.   Face tattoo.  A few here and there.   Multiple.    No tattoo.    Monroe piercing.   Nose piercing.   Septum.    Nipple piercing(s).    Genital piercing(s).    Industrial piercings.   Earlobe piercing. Prince Albert piercing. Eyebrow piercing(s).    Tongue piercing(s).    Lip piercing(s).    Top of the ear.  Tragus piercing.   Angel bites.    Labret.    Stretches out ears.    Navel piercing.    Inverse navel piercing.    Cheek piercing(s).    Smiley.    Nape piercing(s).

COSMETICS.

Eyeliner.    Light eyeliner.   Heavy eyeliner.    Cat eyes.    Mascara.    Fake eyelashes.  Matte lipstick.   Regular lipstick.    Lipgloss.   Red lips.    Pink lips.    Dark lips. Bronzer.   Highlighter. Eyeshadow. Neutral eyeshadow.   Smoky eyes.   Colorful eyeshadow.  Blush.    Lipliner.    Light contouring.   Heavy contouring.   Powder.   Matte foundation.  Shiny foundation.   Concealer.   Wears make up regularly. Wears it from time to time (meaning when Loki feels like wearing it or is in female form, basically). Rarely wears make-up.    

SCENT.

Floral.  Earthy.  Fruity. Perfumes.   Aftershave. Cocoa.    Moisturizer.    Shampoo.  Cigarettes. Leather.   Sweat.    Food.   Incense.   Marijuana.    Cologne. Whiskey.    Wine.  Fried food.   Blood.    Fire.   Metal.   Rain.

CLOTHES.  

Jeans.   Tight pants.   Overknee socks.    Tights.    Leggings.    Yoga pants.    Pencil skirt. Tight skirt.    Loose skirt.   Tight/formfitting dress.   Cardigans.    Blouse.   Button up shirt.   Band-T-shirt.   Sports-T-shirt.   Sweatpants.    Tanktop.    Cut off t-shirt.  Designer.   High street.   Leather Jacket.   Online stores.    Thrift.   Lingerie.   Long skirt.    Miniskirt.   Maxidress.    Sun dress.  Tie. Tuxedo.   Cocktail dress.   Highslit dress/skirt.   T-shirt.   Loose clothing.    Tight clothing.   Jean shorts.   Sweater.   Sweater vest.    Khaki pants.   Suit. Hoodie.   Harem pants.   Basketball shorts.   Boxers. Briefs.    Thong.    Hotpants.  Hipster panties.  Bra.    Sportsbra.   Crop top.   Corset.    Ballerina skirt.   Leotard.    Polka dot.   Stripes.    Glitter.   Silk.     Lace.    Leather.     Velvet.    Chemise.   Patterns.    Florals.     Neon colors. Pastels.  Black.   Dark colors.   Fur.   Faux fur.  

SHOES.

Sneakers.   Slip-ons.   Flats.    Slippers.    Sandals.    High heels.    Kitten heels.   Ankle boots. Combat boots.   Knee-high.  Platforms.   Stripper heels.   Bare feet.  Loafers.    Oxfords. Gladiator shoes. Boots.

[maybeillride-changemylife]

In the mood

(Just an excuse to shamelessly imagine Erwin & Levi meeting in the 1940s, really. For @popnographic and @brainindacloudz ♡)

The dancefloor is beautiful from where Levi sits, leaning on an elbow at one of the little round tables packed around its edges. Out here on the fringe there’s little light, giving plenty of opportunity for couples to canoodle, guys to laugh in raucous groups blowing off steam for the first time in too long, shy guys to nurse their beer and quietly rubberneck like him. The dancefloor is blazing in comparison, the old ballroom’s low-hanging chandeliers casting a glow over the sweaty, gyrating mass of humanity. Quite a sight.

He was out there himself just once tonight, dragged to dance by a woman who approached his table and demanded in broken English that he join her, as a friend giggled at her side. Liquid courage always did the trick; her breath was warm on his cheek when he folded her into his arms, warm with some too-sweet liquor, and her eyes were heavy, half-lidded, makeup blurry at the edges. Her voice was blurry too, murmuring drunken French nothings into his ear. The part of him that found a dark joke in everything laughed inside, at just how much she was barking up the wrong tree with him.

But he treated her right just the same, swaying them smoothly to the band’s slow number, throwing in a few gentle spins. As the tune wound to a close she wrapped her arms around his neck and squeezed him tight, and wouldn’t let him go for three more songs. Thankfully, he was able to escape when her even-tipsier friend pulled her off someplace. He was glad to return to his adopted table in peace, sipping a glass of cheap red wine and watching the show.

For this one night, he has nothing to worry about, no one to punish, nothing to fear. Pretty much nothing going on upstairs. It’s as close to peace as he can recall.

Then the band launches into that song, a Glenn Miller hit from a few years back, a far more innocent time. One of those tunes with a bouncing bassline that grabs your feet and gets them tapping, a whirling horn part that puts a big stupid grin on your face. One that makes you forget your troubles, almost forget there’s a war on at all.

And then Levi sees the man.

More accurately, he comes swaying side-to-side into Levi’s field of vision, leading some laughing woman and laughing back down to her. He’s practically a giant, for starters – over six-foot, easy, so muscular he’s packed into his uniform without an inch to spare. Between his height and build, and his white-blond hair glowing in the lights, he may as well have stepped off a recruitment poster. Screw Uncle Sam.

The tune builds to a happy crescendo, the crowd applauds up at the band, and the man makes a little bow to his partner. Levi is surprised when they split off from each other, the man striding away towards the big doors propped open on the far side of the ballroom.

Levi is up and after him without even pausing to finish his drink. When he makes it out the door he finds himself on a veranda, wide and long. It takes him longer than it should to find the mysterious officer, his eyes needing time to adjust to the darkness. The man is around the corner, tucked away from the noise of the band and the crowd drifting through the open doors. He’s tilting his head as he lights a cigarette. Levi slides up next to him.

“Can I get a light?” he asks, pulling his pack of Luckys out of his breast pocket. The man turns, eyes wide as if Levi managed to catch him by surprise. Then his face relaxes into a polite smile, one that’s all business and yet shoves him from just “handsome” into “matinee idol” territory. Levi somehow keeps himself from staring like a dope. But just barely.

“Sure thing. Feels good to get some air, doesn’t it?” The man flicks his lighter for Levi, cupping the flame with his other hand against the light evening breeze. His hands are so big – strong, their backs ridged with veins – that they cover his whole cigarette.

Levi pulls back, thanking the man with a nod. The man nods back and they turn to lean on the railing, side-by-side.

It’s a cool night, the waning moon a weak sliver in the sky above. Levi’s smoke is a point of heat in his hands. The silence between them stretches out for a while.

“You here with anyone in particular?” Levi finally asks, keeping his tone carefully neutral. The man’s cigaratte crackles as he takes a drag.

“Not at all. To be honest, I’m not a fan of these things. But when my CO drags me here it’s tough to say no.” Levi glances over; the man’s smile is rueful as he hunches over on his elbows. He glances back and gives Levi a raised eyebrow. “They argue it’s important to make an appearance, good for morale, all that. But I keep catching myself looking at my watch, waiting for when I can get back to base and put my feet up.”

“So, a real killjoy, basically,” Levi points out, heedless to the row of medals marching across the other man’s broad chest. He’s chatting with a general here, but there’s something about the privacy of their little spot, the vaguely conspiratorial look on the man’s face, that gives him permission to overreach.

There’s an off-script moment then, the man turning from the rail to look at him head-on, his gaze level and calculating. Levi stubbornly holds his position, pretending to gaze out at the empty street as if he doesn’t know the precise weight of the general’s eyes on him, moving from his profile down his own scrawny form in its own uniform, one leg casually crossed over the other.

The man breaks it, reaching his hand boldly into Levi’s willful little space. “Brigadier General Smith.” His cigarette bobs in the corner of his wide mouth as he speaks. “And you’re Captain…?”

Levi surrenders his hand without even bothering to pretend at coyness anymore, and Smith’s palm is smooth against his own, and pleasantly warm. As they shake – like they’re agreeing to a deal Levi hasn’t seen the terms for yet – he’s struck by the potential of these hands. How they might feel, smoothing down the length of his back, folding around his cock, holding his chin in place as this man leans in to take his mouth…

Levi almost forgets to answer him.

“Ackerman. Third Battalion.” Smith still hasn’t let him go, squinting through the smoke as if he’s trying to place him from somewhere. He wants to laugh, to tell his commanding officer to quit looking, if only he wasn’t seized by the same thought. Of course it’s possible that Levi’s seen him before at some function or another, standing like the ultimate soldier in front of them all and proving with his very presence that they’re all in good hands. But Levi doesn’t think so – there isn’t much cause for the Brigadier General to give pep talks to rank and file like him. He simply doesn’t have the time.

No, it’s uncanny, the way Smith is so familiar, all of a sudden. It’s déjà vu, the strongest Levi thinks he’s experienced in his life. And the other man looks like he’s feeling it too.

“Hmm. Third Battalion… I’ve heard good things about your unit, Captain. Best kill stats in the brigade.”

“Not that that’s anything to be proud of,” Levi retorts, hotly, stomping his butt underfoot, and Smith laughs, throws his blond head back and fucking laughs, as if he’s throwing all the rules out the window.

“Well, now I know why you’ve got such a squad, with someone like you teaching them. I almost pity the Germans. Almost.” And his grin is fierce, ruthless, a gleam in his eye that Levi can’t explain.

Then Smith leans in, fast and assured, and Levi’s senses are assaulted in a confusing rush – his cologne tickles Levi’s nose; his hand feathers almost teasingly across the softness of Levi’s buzzcut; his eyes are dark and wide; and his mouth is hot against Levi’s, tasting of smoke, an undercurrent of red wine.

Their kiss is quick – it’s madness to share any intimacy on a public street, no matter how deserted it is this late at night. Smith’s hair is still laquerred perfection as he pulls back, and Levi is grabbed by the urge (the need) to run his hands through. To see this powerful and controlled man all mussed-up.

“Can we get out of here?” Levi husks, his voice on the edge of failing him. Smith smiles down. It makes him look so young, like a teenage kid in costume for Halloween.

“I’ve been waiting for someone to ask me that all night,” he says.

[yeskhanzadame11]

The General Slocum Disaster

If you ask New Yonkers, except the bombing of the World Trade Center Towers on 9/11, 2001, what become the most important catastrophe in New York City records, maximum could say the Triangle Shirtwaist Factor Fire of 1911, which killed 141 people, generally women. But by using far the worst tragedy ever to take region in New York City turned into the now forgotten 1904 General Slocum paddle boat disaster, in which greater than 1000 German people, primarily woman and children, perished in an coincidence that without a doubt could have been prevented.

Starting inside the 1840's, tens of heaps of German immigrants began flooding the lower east facet of Manhattan, which is now referred to as Alphabet City, but what turned into then called the Deutschland, or Little Germany. Just within the 1850's alone over 800,000 Germans came into America, and by means of 1855, New York City had the third largest German populace of any town in the global.

The German immigrants were different than the Irish immigrants who, because of the Irish potato famine in Ireland, have been also emigrating to New York City at a fast tempo for the duration of the center a part of the nineteenth century. Whereas the Irish were usually lower-elegance people, the Germans were better knowledgeable and possessed abilities that made them achieve a better rung at the financial ladder than did the Irish. More than 1/2 the bakers in New York City had been of German descent, and most cabinet makers in New York City have been both German, or of German descent. Germans were additionally very lively inside the construction business, which at the time turned into very worthwhile, because of all of the huge homes being built in New York City throughout the mid and past due 1800's.

Joseph Redeemer, Oswald Tenderfoot and Fried rich Gorge had been New York City German-Americans who had been extraordinarily lively inside the introduction and increase of change unions. In New York City, German-American clubs, which were known as Veins, were fantastically worried in politics. Tenderfoot owned and edited the Stats-Zeitgeist, the largest German-American newspaper in town. He have become this type of force in politics, in 1861, he become instrumental, thru his German Democracy political membership, in getting New York City Mayor Fernando Wood elected for his 2 term. In 1863, Tenderfoot propelled another German, Geoffrey Gunther, to be successful Wood as mayor.

Little Germany reached its height in the 1870's. It then encompassed over 400 blocks, comprised of six avenues and 40 streets, walking south from 14th Street to Houston Street, and from the Bowery east to the East River. Tompkins Square and it park became keep in mind the epicenter of Little Germany. The park itself became referred to as the Weiss Marten, wherein Germans congregated each day to talk about what changed into crucial to the lives and livelihoods.

Avenue B become known as the German Broadway, in which nearly each building contained a primary floor store, or a workshop, advertising each type of commodity that was favored with the aid of the German populace. Avenue A became understand for its beer gardens, oyster saloons and various grocery stores. In Little Germany there have been also wearing clubs, libraries, choirs, shooting clubs, factories, department stores, German theaters, German faculties, German church buildings, and German synagogues for the German Jews.

Starting round 1880, the wealthier Germans started out transferring out of New York City to the suburbs. And via the turn of the 20 Th Century, the German populace in Little Germany had shrunk to round 50,000 people, nonetheless a considerable amount for any ethnic community in New York City.

On June 15, 1904, St. Mark's Evangelical Lutheran Church on 6th Street charted the paddle boat General Slocum, for the sum of $350, to take members of its congregation to its yearly picnic, celebrating the quit of the faculty yr. At a couple of minutes after nine a.M., more than 1300 humans boarded the General Slocum. Their vacation spot changed into the Locust Grove on Long Island Sound, in which they expected to revel in an afternoon of swimming, video games, and the first-class of German meals.

The General Slocum, owned by means of the Knickerbocker Steamship Company, become named for Civil War officer and New York Congressman Henry Warner Slocum. It changed into built through W. & A. Fletcher Company of Hoboken, New Jersey, and become a sidewheel paddle boat powered via a unmarried-cylinder, floor condensing vertical beam steam engine with fifty three inch bore and 12 foot stroke. Each wheel had 26 paddles and turned into 31 feet in diameter. Her maximum speed was about 16 knots.

Almost from the day of its launching in 1891, the General Slocum suffered one mishap after every other. Four months after her launching, the General Slocum ran aground near the Walkaways. Several tugboats had been wanted to pull the General Slocum back into the water.

1894 turned into a very bad year for the General Slocum. On June twenty ninth, the General Slocum turned into returning from the Walkaways with 4700 passengers on board. Suddenly, it struck a sandbar so hard, that her electric generator blew out. In August, at some point of a horrible rain hurricane, the General Slocum ran aground a 2nd time, this time close to Corey Island. The passengers needed to be transferred to any other deliver so that you can make their way lower back home. The subsequent month the General Slocum hit the trifecta when it collided with the tug boat R. T. Sabre in the midst of the East River. In this incident, the General Slocum's steerage turned into critically broken, and it had to be repaired. The General Slocum became accident loose until July of 1898, whilst the General Slocum collided with the Amelia near Battery Park.

On August 17, 1901, The General Slocum changed into wearing, what changed into described as "900 intoxicated Patterson Anarchists." Suddenly, some of the passengers began to insurrection. Others attempted to bodily take manage of the boat, by means of storming the bridge. However the team fought the rioters off and were capable of keep manage of the boat. When the captain docked at the police pier, 17 "anarchists" were arrested.

Finally, in June of 1902, the General Slocum ran aground again. The boat become not able to be freed, so its passengers needed to camp out the complete night till reinforcements should arrive the subsequent morning. The captain of the boat in that incident changed into none aside from Captain William H. Van Schick, the equal man who would be the leader officer of the General Slocum on its ultimate voyage.

On June 15, 1904, approximately 15 mins after the General Slocum left the pier at East Third Street, it became even with East one hundred and twenty fifth Street. At this factor, Captain Van Schick become notified by certainly one of his crew that a fire had commenced within the Lamp Room, inside the forward phase of the boat. The fireplace become likely ignited through a discarded cigarette or a healthy, and it turned into obviously fueled with the aid of the straw, oily rags, and lamp oil strewn across the room. The Captain had been informed there has been a hearth on board a few minutes earlier by using a 12-year-old boy, but Captain Van Schick did no longer accept as true with the boy. Other humans on board stated the fire had commenced almost simultaneously in numerous locations, which include a paint locker packed with flammable fluids, and a cabin full of gas.

This is where Captain Van Schick made a terrible mistake in judgment. Since land changed into close by, all the Captain needed to do was run his deliver aground before the flames unfold any in addition. Then he may want to sell off his passengers, normally lady and kids, fast earlier than there have been any fatalities. But for a few motive Captain Van Schick decided to go directly right into a headwind and try to land his boat at North Brother Island, simply off the southern shore of the Bronx. Captain Van Chadwick could later say the cause for his choice became that he became looking to prevent the fire from spreading on land to riverside buildings and oil tanks. But by going into heavy headwinds, he turned into certainly fanning the fire.

Captain Van Schick later stated at his trial, "I started out to head for One Hundred and Thirty-fourth Street, but turned into warned off with the aid of the captain of a tugboat, who shouted to me that the boat might set fire to the lumber yards and oil tanks there. Besides, I knew that the shore turned into coated with rocks and the boat would founder if I put in there. I then constant upon North Brother Island."

As the boat chugged onward, passengers ran in panic across the deck. Mothers have been looking for their youngsters. Father's were searching out their households. Young boys and women scrambled onto the deck chairs, waving frantically for assist on the crowds who had assembled on the shore. The flames expanded by means of the second, expanded by the boat's clean coat of highly flammable paint.

At this factor, overcome through smoke inhalation, and with the flames flickering at their torsos, toes and faces, human beings started leaping into the water. Some were rescued by using boats which had rushed close to the fiery General Slocum. But maximum of the girl and girls, due to the cumbersome female's apparel of that technology, fast drowned. Some humans died when the floors of the boat collapsed. Others have been overwhelmed to loss of life via the nonetheless churning paddles, as they flung themselves over the edges of the boat closer to the water.

People that attempted to apply the existence jackets on board were in for a horrible marvel. Although there had been 3000 lifestyles jackets to be had, they had been all but useless. The enormous majority were rotted out, with the cork within the jackets used for buoyancy almost totally disintegrated. The people who did don the existence jacked and plunged into the water, right away sank like a rock. Some people tried to dislodge the emergency lifeboats, but they failed to accomplish that because the lifeboats have been firmly stressed out in vicinity.

People from the shore noticed a girl in a blue dress leap off the aspect of the boat. They watched in horror because the female hit the wooded paddle wheel. The wheel churned violently, dragging the woman below it. The humans on shore may want to pay attention the screaming lady's frail body being threshed about like a rag doll by using the paddle wheel, before her screaming stopped and she disappeared into the murky waters. A little boy, clutching his filled toy dog, turned into thrown into the river by his weeping mom. The boy changed into fished from the river alive, still squeezing his precious toy dog.

16-year-vintage Albert Frees became one of the fortunate ones who survived the General Slocum catastrophe. Frees, at the time, become a mail clerk inside the Funk and Wagtails publishing house. As horrified human beings scampered all around him, Frees moved quickly to the strict of the burning boat. According to Edward Ross Ellis' The Epic of New York City, "Frees jumped ft first, with his ankles collectively and his hands inflexible at his side. He become able to swim correctly to shore, and later became treasurer of his firm."

As Captain Van Schick resolutely and pigheadedly prompt his boat onward, people on Manhattan's Japanese shore had been now going for walks frantically along the riverbank, trying to maintain tempo with the burning boat. Others have been mobilized in wagons and carts, screaming for the Captain to run his boat ashore. Some humans flung barrels into the river for the people floundering within the water to use as makeshift existence preservers. Small boats tried to chase down the General Slocum from in the back of, however they had been unable to do so. However, a number of these boats had been capable of fish the better swimmers out of the water and produce them accurately to shore.

Despite the utter mayhem, and the pleading of the humans at the shore to run his boat aground, Captain Van Schick, his own clothes on hearth, disregarded them and continued in the direction of North Brother Island. When Captain Van Schick finally beached his boat at North Brother Island, the boat become one huge fireball.

Captain Van Schick said later, "I stuck to my publish in the pilothouse till my cap caught fireplace. We were then about twenty-five toes off North Brother Island. She went at the beach, bow on, in about twenty-five toes of water.... Most of the humans aft, wherein the hearth raged fiercest, jumped in while we had been in deep water, and have been over excited. We had no hazard to decrease the lifeboats. They had been burned earlier than the team should get at them."

At North Brother Island, nurses, docs, and even the patients within the island's contagious ailment sanatorium, rushed to assist the survivors. Some carried ladders, which they used to manual the survivors, most badly burned, down from the boat. Others caught little kids who have been heaved all the way down to them by using hysterical dad and mom. Within mins, all the survivors, together with the captain and several team individuals, where taken accurately away from the flaming boat and admitted to the sanatorium.

From his medical institution window, a feverish measles patient saw the horror transpiring. He summoned the braveness, moved quickly from the sanatorium and sprinted into the water. He turned into able to keep several children. A nurse who could not swim dashed into the river to seize numerous kids. She did this repeatedly, while abruptly the tide pulled her into deeper water. Incredibly, the nurse observed out she ought to certainly swim, and she or he endured rescuing whomever she could attain.

City Health Commissioner Darling ton became present on North Brother Island the day the fiery General Slocum ran aground. "I will by no means be able to forget about the scene, the utter horror of it," Darling ton stated. "The patients inside the contagious wards, specially inside the scarlet fever ward, went wild at matters they saw from their home windows and went screaming and beating at the doors until it took fifty nurses and medical doctors to quiet them. They were all locked up. Along the beach the boats have been sporting within the living and death and towing within the dead."

When the fireplace first started out, a person rang the metropolis table of the World on Park Row. The guy, who did not identify himself, advised the newspaper editor that he changed into in his workplace at 137th Street and he should see the burning boat from his office window. The editor straight away contacted Eugene Moran, who owned a tugboat organization at 134th Street. Moran told the editor that he had no tugboats available in that area, but that it would be faster anyway to send his men through expanded educate from the Park Row station to the Morris Park station within the north Bronx. The editor ordered his men onto the teach, and as a end result, the World had the tale of the tragedy earlier than some other New York City newspaper.

When the World reporters arrived on the scene, they have been triumph over with grief. As the boat was enveloped in smoke and flames, the journalists and the World's photographers noticed dozens of blackened and bloody useless bodies scattered along the shore line. As the photographers snapped away and the reporters jotted down their notes, numerous hardened newspapermen broke down in tears. Then they rushed to find phones in order that they may deliver their stories to the rewrite guys at their newspaper. Their description of the tragedy on the telephones were so graphic, while the rewrite men heard what had transpired, they rushed into the guys's room to vomit.

The New York Times suggested day after today, "On the night of June 15, 1904, grief-crazed crowds covered the shore in which the bodies were being brought in via the boatload. Scores had been averted from throwing themselves into the river."

The police released a file some days later claiming that 1,031 humans had perished within the General Slocum fireplace. For the following couple of weeks, police divers searched for bodies in the partly sunk stays of the General Slocum. Police and rescue parties scoured the banks of the river for miles in each guidelines searching out bodies.

On the night time of the fire, ratings of husbands got here home from work only to find out that their entire households had perished in the hearth. Some devoted suicide, others went mad, and a few later died of grief. For 3 days, hearses transverses the streets of Little Germany wearing our bodies, and parts of bodies, to their graves in Lutheran Cemetery in Middle Village, Queens.

A Federal grand jury indicted 8 human beings as a result of the catastrophe. Those humans blanketed Captain Van Schick,  boat inspectors, and the president, secretary, treasurer, and commodore of the Knickerbocker Steamship Company. However, most effective Captain Van Schick turned into convicted at trial. The prices the Captain became convicted on were criminal negligence, failing to hold right fireplace drills and fireplace extinguishers. There changed into a hung jury on the manslaughter charge. Captain Van Schick turned into sentenced to ten years in jail. The Captain served 3 and a 1/2 years at Sing Sing Prison earlier than he acquired parole. On August 26, 1911, the administration of President William Howard Taft voted to release Captain Van Schick from parole. And on December 19, 1912, President Taft pardoned the Captain. Captain Van Schick died in 1927.

The Knickerbocker Steamship Company acquired a ridiculously small excellent, despite the fact that there was sufficient proof that they'd falsified inspection statistics. The sunken stays of the General Slocum had been raised to the floor, and ultimately converted into a barge, which predictably sank throughout a hurricane in 1911.

The tragedy of the General Slocum pressured a major reconstruction of steamboat protection policies. A week after the fireplace, President Theodore Roosevelt order a five-man fee to analyze why the tragedy had befell, and what could be finished to prevent it from taking place again in the destiny. The commission became especially hard on the United States Steamboat Inspection Service (US SIS), who had failed depressing at their activity of making sure steamboat protection. Dozens of US SIS employees had been fired, and new inspections of all steamboats ordered. Predictably, severs violations were observed, strolling from useless existence jackets to rotted fireplace hoses.

The five-guy committee recommended many reforms which include: fireproof steel bulkheads to comprise fires, steam pipes extended from the boiler into shipment regions (to act as a sprinkler), progressed life jackets (one for each passenger and team member), hearth hoses capable of managing a hundred kilos of strain according to rectangular inch, and handy lifestyles boats. All these reforms were instituted, which dramatically stepped forward steamboat safety.

The General Slocum fireplace all but erased the German populace from the decrease east facet of Manhattan. Soon after the tragedy, hundreds of families moved from the lower east facet because memories of the tragedy have been too terrible to endure. Some settled at the upper east facet of Manhattan's Orville section, growing a new German town. Some moved to Astoria in Queens, and others left New York City absolutely.

Strangle, the memory of General Slocum fire, even though it killed nearly 10 instances as many humans as did the Triangle Shirtwaist Fire of 1911, quick faded from most of the people's attention. A large part of the cause was that the onset of World War One removed all sympathies for every person of German descent, and all of the sufferers of the General Slocum hearth had been German.

In 1905, the Sympathy Society of German Ladies commissioned sculptor Bruno Louis Zimmerman to design a memorial fountain, which was unveiled on May 30, 1905 on the northwestern corner of Tompkins Square Park. This white nine-foot fountain is sculpted of purple Tennessee marble. On the front, above the carved lion's head spout and basin, a there is an outline of  harmless youngsters staring off towards the sea, with the inscription, "They were earth's purest kids, loving and honest."

This memorial fountain [ https://anonymster.com/ ] still stands in Tompkins Square Park to this very day.

[biofunmy]

They Love Trash – The New York Times

JOSHUA TREE, Calif. — Soph Nielsen was sewing garbage onto her black T-shirt (a chicken wing, a crushed Bud Light can, a plastic fork) and struggling to attach a snarl of crusty pad thai.

“This is to get people to see the trash,” she said, her fingers slick with grease. “We don’t want to be the invisible janitors.” With her distinctive appliqués, that was unlikely.

It was the last day of the Joshua Tree Music Festival, a family-friendly event of didgeridoo sound baths, yoga, crafts, electronica and other familiar fare held at a dusty desert campground for three days in October. Ms. Nielsen, a 25-year-old artist whose medium is trash, was one of 20-odd Trash Pirates working the event.

The Pirates are a loose collective of waste management specialists, to borrow a phrase from Tony Soprano, who make sure events are as sustainable as possible through recycling and composting. They also educate attendees about how to do both properly.

Garbage has long been the uncomfortable fallout of the festival world, and as these gatherings multiply like glow sticks at a Phish concert, stretching the season into a year-round party (hola, Costa Rica), its impact has roused young artists and activists like Ms. Nielsen.

Most Pirates start out as volunteers, helping with trash or performing other tasks so as to attend for free. Then they have their “trash moment,” as the Pirates put it, the epiphany that turns volunteer work into a career, and trash into a calling.

“Your first experience of the mass of it, whether it’s loading dumpsters onto a trailer or driving out to the event grounds when everyone is gone and it’s a sea of trash, is an existential crisis,” Ms. Nielsen said. “You are baptized into compost.”

“You’re either in or you’re out,” she added, echoing the rallying cry of a long-ago counterculture movement that involved a bus, “and it becomes a way of life.”

The events themselves — both community-minded and escapist — are morphing into trash camps: days-long immersions into the politics of waste, with lectures and workshops on developing your garbage-handling skills along with your yoga practice.

Some trash stats are in order. In 2017, according to an environmental impact report, Coachella, in Indio, Calif., was generating over 100 tons of trash each day. Many events are now committed to becoming zero-waste endeavors, or as close to it as possible. High “diversion” rates (the percentage of waste not sent to the landfill) are badges of honor. Last spring, the Trash Pirates brought the Joshua Tree Music Festival’s rate up to 77 percent.

In 2017, Coachella’s diversion rate was just 20 percent, apparently because attendees weren’t using the recycling bins. Veterans of Burning Man and other festivals learn acronyms like MOOP, for “Matter Out of Place,” an umbrella term for trash and anything else that doesn’t occur naturally on a site; cigarette butts, broken tents and human waste are some common examples.

Burning Man has a “Leave No Trace” ethos, but the messy camps of bad Burners are called out each year on the festival’s MOOP Map in the hope that public shaming will be a deterrent next time around.

‘Shepherds of the “Away’’’

While there are many waste organizations dedicated to mitigating the environmental impact of such gatherings, the Trash Pirates are distinguished by their zeal and their punk aplomb.

Take Moon Mandel, 24, a filmmaker and Trash Pirate who was managing the operations that weekend at Joshua Tree. Mx. Mandel is nonbinary, and with their bright orange jumpsuit emblazoned with patches stitched with trash graphics (the recycling whorl and other insignia) they looked like an indie Eagle Scout.

As Oscar the Grouch sang his gruff-voiced hymn “I Love Trash,” one of many trash-friendly songs on the Pirates’ playlist, Mx. Mandel said: “It’s very important for people to see the work we do and understand the human scope of it. We are trying to alter the cultural norms of a throwaway society. We teach them that there’s no ‘away.’ We are the shepherds of the ‘away’ and it’s being buried inside the earth forever.”

And so Mx. Mandel performed trash collections, dancing with colleagues as Oscar warbled under a festive tent with gaily painted bins, and sorting garbage (earning $5 a bag) for those campers too busy or negligent to do it themselves.

To attendees who had dutifully separated their food scraps and recyclables and were tipping them into the appropriate bins, Mx. Mandel called out a hearty, “Yarg!” their preferred Pirate cheer.

“Thank you for composting!” Mx. Mandel praised a young woman scraping scrambled eggs out of a frying pan, and then recited some recycling basics: “You can’t compost paper with too much printing on it, or recycle greasy paper. Single-use bags can be taken to supermarkets in California for recycling, so we are collecting them. Make sure everything is clean. You don’t need to rinse your soda or beer cans. But if your stuff is covered in yogurt, it’s not going to be recycled.”

Mx. Mandel has a policy about not working festivals where organizers are charging for water. “The decommodification of water is one of my core beliefs,” they said.

Mx. Mandel was particularly proud of their cigarette-butt program. For the last two years, they have been collecting butts (200,000 and counting, they said) at festivals and sending them to TerraCycle, a company that teams with manufacturers and retailers to recycle or upcycle all manner of products and materials, including action-figure toys, backpacks and toothbrushes. Cigarette butts are turned into plastic pallets; the tobacco is composted.

Sarah Renner, the operations and site manager for the Joshua Tree Music Festival, wrote in an email that the Trash Pirates are “the down and dirty, real as can be, heroes of the event world.”

The Pirates have handled her festival’s waste for the last four years, sweeping, handing out bags and painting barrels with children. “They don’t just pull trash bags and sort recycling,” she said. “They are on a mission to change the way people think while getting everything to where it needs to go.””

The work is brutal. Heat stroke, sunburn, cuts and bruises are common hazards, as is a dousing with trash juice: the pungent slurry that pours from a trash can and into your armpits when you’re hoisting it over your head.

Close-toed boots are encouraged, but don’t always protect. Mx. Mandel’s foot was sliced open, they said, this past February at a festival in Costa Rica by a severed iguana hand that pierced their boot, but most dangers are what you’d think: nails, screws, shards of glass.

Tools of the trade include MOOP sticks, which are long claws for grabbing trash without having to bend over. These are light and rather delicate, with a nice action, and are precise enough to pick up a grain of rice.

Hand sanitizer and liquid soap are requirements; one Pirate, Moose Martinez, had a Purell bottle clipped to the strap of his over-the-shoulder water bag. Work gloves and thin blue food service gloves are part of the uniform, but many of the Pirates were working in their bare hands.

“We call that raw-dogging,” said Luke Dunn, 33, a musician and preschool teacher, as a colleague with clean hands fed him a chocolate-chip cookie. “You try not to touch your face, you wash a lot.”

On the Pirates’ Facebook page, “Trash Pirates and Waste Naughts,” with over 4,000 followers, they share job tips (a recent post was for waste management at McMurdo Station in Antarctica); inspiration (“It’s Called Garbage Can, Not Garbage Cannot”); and education (news clips on California’s recycling woes and posts reviewing the best trash bags or instructions on how to make compostable confetti out of leaves with a hole puncher).

One long thread discussed cleaning up glitter, a particular scourge of Gay Pride parades.

‘The Lost Boys’

The Trash Pirates formed six years ago when two friends, Caleb Robertson, now 26, and Kirk Kunihiro, 29, then living in the San Francisco Bay Area, wanted to go to festivals for free.

While volunteering for the green teams, as they are called, of these gatherings, Mr. Robertson said, “We came to realize that there was a way to express our zero-waste passions within the event industry.”

They learned their craft at Green Mary, a two-decades-old company dedicated to making events sustainable that was founded by Mary Munat, an environmental activist and former Army reservist.

“They are fast, hard-working, green-hearted people,” she said of the Pirates. “I love their energy and greenness, and I am so glad my age-old eco-passions gave birth to so many little green pirates.”

The Trash Pirates was a nickname they gave each other early on, when festivals were more haphazard, and it stuck. In the beginning, Mr. Robertson, said “It was more seat-of-the-pants. Many of us were living out of our vehicles. That’s the thing: Trash can attract people who don’t feel like they have a place to go, giving people purpose in a space where they had none. Kind of like the Lost Boys. People are interested in the party, but it becomes empty if you don’t have a purpose.”

Next year, they hope to work upward of 30 events. “The work isn’t going to stop, I’m almost scared of it,” Mr. Robertson said, adding that he and many of his colleagues are looking to expand beyond the festivals and tackle community projects in Los Angeles, where he now lives, and beyond.

Mx. Mandel is devoted to filmmaking; Ms. Nielsen to art and activism. “But we are all still united by trash,” Mr. Robertson said. “We recognize that festivals are a stage and a platform to reach people, but we also know that it’s just a Band-Aid and the best thing we can do is to concentrate on government policies and community work.”

Mr. Kunihiro, who also lives in Los Angeles, started his own waste-consulting business, which includes a waste sampling service that analyzes the composition of waste streams — work that makes festival trash seem as clean and fresh, he said, as birthday cake.

He has led tours for fourth graders of recycling plants in the Bay Area; at Joshua Tree, his water bottle was a tiny blue toy recycling bin, a gift from his mother.

Another Pirate, Stephen Chun, talked about the awkward moment when he is asked what he does for a living. “A lot of people are like, ‘Huh, that’s nice. Good for you,” he said. “The feedback over time goes from being, ‘Oh, you’re the trash guy’ to, ‘Oh, you’re a hero.’ Now I say I’m a zero-waste events consultant.”

Ms. Munat said, “People see us going through the recycling and offer us their sandwiches. And we’re like, ‘No, it’s O.K., we’re getting paid.’”

Because trash is ascendant as a problem and a paradigm, it continues to grow as a métier. “In 1995, when I first starting teaching about waste, it was a boutique subject and not considered appropriate for academic study,” said Robin Nagle, a professor of anthropology and environmental studies at New York University who specializes joyfully in garbage.

She has been anthropologist-in-residence at the New York City Department of Sanitation for more than a decade; her book “Picking Up: On the Streets and Behind the Trucks With the Sanitation Workers of New York City” was published in 2013. Professor Nagle is a founder of what’s known as discard studies, a new interdisciplinary field of research examining waste politically, culturally and economically.

“You can take any piece of trash as an object in the world and track it from its raw materials though its journey into the marketplace as a commodity,” she said. “At any of those points it will connect not just to the proliferation of garbage as a form of pollution but a host of any other environmental crises including the big megillah that is climate change.”

Of the Trash Pirates she said, “They are pushing boundaries in wonderful ways. I would be curious to see what they’re doing in 20 years. Do they bounce from this ebullient, youthful thing to something more settled? And will the planet be even closer to the brink of destruction?”

We shall see, but in the meantime, as is their practice, the Pirates swept the Joshua Tree Music Festival campgrounds clean by forming a MOOP line, as it’s known, with each Pirate three to four feet apart and armed with a MOOP stick and a bucket, and moving from the perimeter to the center.

Mx. Mandel said, “Like one amoeba we slowly devour the MOOP.”

Sahred From Source link Fashion and Style

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[baeyeonsei]

101: FASHION/APPEARANCE STATS

» completion points: 3,450 » objective:  BOLD what applies to your muse. Don’t forget to include pictures, and/or detailed descriptions.

Body: Long legs. Short legs. Average legs. Slender thighs. Thick thighs. Muscular thighs. Skinny arms. Soft arms.Muscular arms. Toned stomach. Flat stomach. Flabby Stomach. Soft stomach.  Six-pack. Beer belly. Lean frame. Beefy/muscular frame. Voluptuous frame. Petite frame (5 ft 4 or shorter). Lanky frame. Short nails.Long nails. Manicured nails. Dirty nails. Flat ass. Toned ass. Bubble butt. Thick ass. Thighbrows. Small waist. Average waist. Thick waist. Narrow hips. Average hips. Wide hips. Big feet. Average feet. Small feet. Soft feet. Slender feet.Calloused hands. Soft hands. Big hands. Average hands. Small hand. Long fingers. Short fingers. Average fingers. Broad shoulder. Underweight. Average weight. Overweight.

** Irene has been known to be quite a petite woman with her features small yet well-proportioned; small waist, narrow hips, tones stomach and legs of average length make up Bae Joohyun, who in pictures, look taller than she actually is in real life. Though she’s received much criticism for her small stature, Irene has also been known to be an idol possessing the desirable S-line figure.

Height (click here to convert to feet): Shorter than 140 cm. 141 cm-150 cm. 151 cm to 160 cm. 161 cm to 170 cm. 171 cm to 180cm. 181 cm to 190 cm. 191 cm to 2m. Taller than 2 m.

** Officially, Irene’s height is listed 161cm ever since debut. Unfortunately, since she has debuted at the age of 24, women don’t normally grow even an inch at that stage, so she’s been stuck with the same height ever since. As mentioned above, her great proportions gifted her to deceive people, making her appear taller than her actual height especially when she wears pants as of recent. Some, however, say that in real life, she looks around 155 to 158cm, proving how short she really is in some side by side photos with their tallest member Joy or with other tall idols, male and female alike.

Skin: Pale. Rosy. Olive. Dark. Tanned. Blotchy. Smooth. Acne. Dry. Greasy. Soft.

** Although there were certain speculations of Irene getting excessively whitewashed by her fansites and reporters alike, many low quality pictures and even fan accounts can deny this (even I can testify to this this...). She, together with member Wendy, appear paler side by side their members. Additionally, Irene used to battle with really bad acne due to schedule stress at that time, but she seems to be taking good care of her skin as of late as it appears more dewy and smooth even without makeup.

Eyes: Small. Large. Average. Grey. Brown. Red. Blue. Green. Gold. Hazel. Doe-eyed. Almond.Close-set. Wide-set.Squinty. Monolid. Heavy eyelids. Upturned. Downturned.

** Irene has said that the part she is most confident about herself are her eyes. Her eyes are animatedly wide and expressive with thick lashes and double eye lids. Her double eye lids give her the doe-eye look, even being compared to past EXO member Luhan during her debut days due to her eyes. An interesting fact about her eyes is that she has a mole on the inside of her left eye, just beside her iris.

Hair: Thin. Thick. Fine. Normal. Greasy. Dry. Soft. Shiny. Curly. Frizzy. Wild. Unruly. Straight.Smooth. Wavy. Floppy. Cropped. Pixie-cut. Shoulder length. Back length. Waist length. Buzz cut. Bald. Jaw length. Mohawk. White. Platinum blonde. Golden blonde. Dirty blonde. Blondette. Ombre. Light brown. Mouse brown. Chestnut brown. Chocolate brown. Dark brown. Jet black. Ginger. Auburn. Dyed red. Dyed any “unnatural color”. Thin eyebrows.Average eyebrows. Thick eyebrows.

** Unfortunately, Irene’s hair isn’t in the best of state. Since then, her hair has been cute very slightly just to get rid of damaged hair. Although her hair is naturally straight, she’s more often than not seen sporting a wavy do. She’s also tried outrageous hair colors ranging from platinum blonde to ash grey/purple, thus causing the slight damage of her hair. As for her eyebrows, Irene doesn’t have think eyebrows and her eyebrows aren’t shaped in a way to alter her overall look. Normally, stylists (and herself) just follow her natural eyebrow shape with a subtle arc.

Tattoos/piercings: Full sleeve. Thigh tattoo. Neck tattoo. Chest tattoo. One tattoo. A few here and there. Multiple. No tattoo. Monroe piercing. Nose piercing. Septum. Nipple piercing(s). Genital piercing(s). Industrial piercing. Prince Albert piercing. Eyebrow piercing(s). Tongue piercing(s). Lip piercing(s). Tragus piercing. Angelbites. Labret. Stretches out ears. Navel piercing. Inverse navel piercing. Cheek piercing(s). Smiley. Nape piercing(s). OTHER ( auricle piercing)

** Irene has quite the traditional ideals, so even if they were allowed to get tattoos on visible body parts (which they aren’t considering television rules), she still would not consider getting one. Piercings, however, are okay. She has two on her ears, yet she probably would stop at that, too.

Cosmetics: Eyeliner. Light eyeliner. Heavy eyeliner. Cat eyes. Mascara. Fake eyelashes. Matte lipstick. Regular lipstick. Lipgloss. Red lips. Pink lips. Dark lips. Bronzer. Highlighter. Eyeshadow. Neutral eyeshadow. Smoky eyes. Colorful eyeshadow. Blush. Lipliner. Light contouring. Heavy contouring. Powder. Matte foundation. Shiny foundation. Concealer. Wears make up regularly. Wears it from time to time. Never wears make up.  

** Irene is quite insecure with her bare face though many have told her of how pretty she looked, so she often sticks to putting on makeup. Normally, her everyday makeup consists of light eyeshadow one shade darker than her skin tone to highlight her bottom crease, a gentle line, some mascara, and lip tint. However, with stage performances or photoshoots, it depends on the given instructions to the stylist or the concept of the shoot, really.

Scent: Floral. Fruity. Perfumes. Aftershave. Cocoa. Moisturizer. Shampoo. Cigarettes. Leather. Sweat. Food.Incense. Marijuana. Cologne. Whiskey. Wine. Fried food. Blood.

** I don’t know. I’m not really all too sure about Irene’s scent nor what she prefers to use. I think she really likes fresh scents like vanilla. She also likes lavender-scented candles. But I sort of see her as someone who would smell like fresh baby powder.

Clothes: Jeans. Tight pants. Overknee socks. Tights. Leggings. Yogapants. Pencil skirt. Tight skirt. Loose skirt.Tight/formfitting dress. Cardigans. Blouse. Button up shirt. Band Tshirt. Sports tshirt. Sweatpants. Tanktop. Fur. Faux fur. Leather. Designer. High street. Online stores. Thrift. Lingerie. Long skirt. Miniskirt. Maxidress. Tie. Tuxedo. Cocktail dress. Highslit dress/skit. Tshirt. Loose clothing. Tight clothing. Jeans shorts. Sweater.Sweater vest. Khaki pants. Suit (bespoke, made-to-measure, or not at all). Hoodie. Harlem pants. Basketball shorts. Boxers. Briefs.Thong. Hotpants. Hipster panties. Bra. Sportsbra. Crop top. Corset. Ballerina skirt. Leotard. Polka dot. Stripes. Glitter. Silk. Lace. Leather. Velvet. Chemise. Patterns. Florals. Neon colors. Pastels.Black. Dark colors.

Shoes: Sneakers. Slip-ons. Slippers. Sandals. High heels. Kitten heels. Ankle boots. Combat boots. Knee-high boots. Platforms. Stripper heels. Barefeet. Loafers. Oxfords. Gladiator shoes. Neon colors. Pastels. Black. Dark colors.

** Irene actually doesn’t think too much about what she wears most of the time. She doesn’t have a fashion formula, either. She just likes to go with what she is comfortable with or what her mood tells her to wear. There was a time where she was basically obsessed with leather jackets, but lately she’s been wearing a lot of stripes and/or dresses. Most of the time, she’s seen sporting comfy looks such as oversized sweaters and shorts, and oversized shorts paired with leggings or yoga pants. As for footwear, she’s so random with them at times. At airports and on the way to schedule, she’s seen always wearing sneakers, but there was a random occasion at the airport where she wore heels. These days, she seems to be into wearing round specs, too.

[biofunmy]

They Love Trash – The New York Times

JOSHUA TREE, Calif. — Soph Nielsen was sewing garbage onto her black T-shirt (a chicken wing, a crushed Bud Light can, a plastic fork) and struggling to attach a snarl of crusty pad thai.

“This is to get people to see the trash,” she said, her fingers slick with grease. “We don’t want to be the invisible janitors.” With her distinctive appliqués, that was unlikely.

It was the last day of the Joshua Tree Music Festival, a family-friendly event of didgeridoo sound baths, yoga, crafts, electronica and other familiar fare held at a dusty desert campground for three days in October. Ms. Nielsen, a 25-year-old artist whose medium is trash, was one of 20-odd Trash Pirates working the event.

The Pirates are a loose collective of waste management specialists, to borrow a phrase from Tony Soprano, who make sure events are as sustainable as possible through recycling and composting. They also educate attendees about how to do both properly.

Garbage has long been the uncomfortable fallout of the festival world, and as these gatherings multiply like glow sticks at a Phish concert, stretching the season into a year-round party (hola, Costa Rica), its impact has roused young artists and activists like Ms. Nielsen.

Most Pirates start out as volunteers, helping with trash or performing other tasks so as to attend for free. Then they have their “trash moment,” as the Pirates put it, the epiphany that turns volunteer work into a career, and trash into a calling.

“Your first experience of the mass of it, whether it’s loading dumpsters onto a trailer or driving out to the event grounds when everyone is gone and it’s a sea of trash, is an existential crisis,” Ms. Nielsen said. “You are baptized into compost.”

“You’re either in or you’re out,” she added, echoing the rallying cry of a long-ago counterculture movement that involved a bus, “and it becomes a way of life.”

The events themselves — both community-minded and escapist — are morphing into trash camps: days-long immersions into the politics of waste, with lectures and workshops on developing your garbage-handling skills along with your yoga practice.

Some trash stats are in order. In 2017, according to an environmental impact report, Coachella, in Indio, Calif., was generating over 100 tons of trash each day. Many events are now committed to becoming zero-waste endeavors, or as close to it as possible. High “diversion” rates (the percentage of waste not sent to the landfill) are badges of honor. Last spring, the Trash Pirates brought the Joshua Tree Music Festival’s rate up to 77 percent.

In 2017, Coachella’s diversion rate was just 20 percent, apparently because attendees weren’t using the recycling bins. Veterans of Burning Man and other festivals learn acronyms like MOOP, for “Matter Out of Place,” an umbrella term for trash and anything else that doesn’t occur naturally on a site; cigarette butts, broken tents and human waste are some common examples.

Burning Man has a “Leave No Trace” ethos, but the messy camps of bad Burners are called out each year on the festival’s MOOP Map in the hope that public shaming will be a deterrent next time around.

‘Shepherds of the “Away’’’

While there are many waste organizations dedicated to mitigating the environmental impact of such gatherings, the Trash Pirates are distinguished by their zeal and their punk aplomb.

Take Moon Mandel, 24, a filmmaker and Trash Pirate who was managing the operations that weekend at Joshua Tree. Mx. Mandel is nonbinary, and with their bright orange jumpsuit emblazoned with patches stitched with trash graphics (the recycling whorl and other insignia) they looked like an indie Eagle Scout.

As Oscar the Grouch sang his gruff-voiced hymn “I Love Trash,” one of many trash-friendly songs on the Pirates’ playlist, Mx. Mandel said: “It’s very important for people to see the work we do and understand the human scope of it. We are trying to alter the cultural norms of a throwaway society. We teach them that there’s no ‘away.’ We are the shepherds of the ‘away’ and it’s being buried inside the earth forever.”

And so Mx. Mandel performed trash collections, dancing with colleagues as Oscar warbled under a festive tent with gaily painted bins, and sorting garbage (earning $5 a bag) for those campers too busy or negligent to do it themselves.

To attendees who had dutifully separated their food scraps and recyclables and were tipping them into the appropriate bins, Mx. Mandel called out a hearty, “Yarg!” their preferred Pirate cheer.

“Thank you for composting!” Mx. Mandel praised a young woman scraping scrambled eggs out of a frying pan, and then recited some recycling basics: “You can’t compost paper with too much printing on it, or recycle greasy paper. Single-use bags can be taken to supermarkets in California for recycling, so we are collecting them. Make sure everything is clean. You don’t need to rinse your soda or beer cans. But if your stuff is covered in yogurt, it’s not going to be recycled.”

Mx. Mandel has a policy about not working festivals where organizers are charging for water. “The decommodification of water is one of my core beliefs,” they said.

Mx. Mandel was particularly proud of their cigarette-butt program. For the last two years, they have been collecting butts (200,000 and counting, they said) at festivals and sending them to TerraCycle, a company that teams with manufacturers and retailers to recycle or upcycle all manner of products and materials, including action-figure toys, backpacks and toothbrushes. Cigarette butts are turned into plastic pallets; the tobacco is composted.

Sarah Renner, the operations and site manager for the Joshua Tree Music Festival, wrote in an email that the Trash Pirates are “the down and dirty, real as can be, heroes of the event world.”

The Pirates have handled her festival’s waste for the last four years, sweeping, handing out bags and painting barrels with children. “They don’t just pull trash bags and sort recycling,” she said. “They are on a mission to change the way people think while getting everything to where it needs to go.””

The work is brutal. Heat stroke, sunburn, cuts and bruises are common hazards, as is a dousing with trash juice: the pungent slurry that pours from a trash can and into your armpits when you’re hoisting it over your head.

Close-toed boots are encouraged, but don’t always protect. Mx. Mandel’s foot was sliced open, they said, this past February at a festival in Costa Rica by a severed iguana hand that pierced their boot, but most dangers are what you’d think: nails, screws, shards of glass.

Tools of the trade include MOOP sticks, which are long claws for grabbing trash without having to bend over. These are light and rather delicate, with a nice action, and are precise enough to pick up a grain of rice.

Hand sanitizer and liquid soap are requirements; one Pirate, Moose Martinez, had a Purell bottle clipped to the strap of his over-the-shoulder water bag. Work gloves and thin blue food service gloves are part of the uniform, but many of the Pirates were working in their bare hands.

“We call that raw-dogging,” said Luke Dunn, 33, a musician and preschool teacher, as a colleague with clean hands fed him a chocolate-chip cookie. “You try not to touch your face, you wash a lot.”

On the Pirates’ Facebook page, “Trash Pirates and Waste Naughts,” with over 4,000 followers, they share job tips (a recent post was for waste management at McMurdo Station in Antarctica); inspiration (“It’s Called Garbage Can, Not Garbage Cannot”); and education (news clips on California’s recycling woes and posts reviewing the best trash bags or instructions on how to make compostable confetti out of leaves with a hole puncher).

One long thread discussed cleaning up glitter, a particular scourge of Gay Pride parades.

‘The Lost Boys’

The Trash Pirates formed six years ago when two friends, Caleb Robertson, now 26, and Kirk Kunihiro, 29, then living in the San Francisco Bay Area, wanted to go to festivals for free.

While volunteering for the green teams, as they are called, of these gatherings, Mr. Robertson said, “We came to realize that there was a way to express our zero-waste passions within the event industry.”

They learned their craft at Green Mary, a two-decades-old company dedicated to making events sustainable that was founded by Mary Munat, an environmental activist and former Army reservist.

“They are fast, hard-working, green-hearted people,” she said of the Pirates. “I love their energy and greenness, and I am so glad my age-old eco-passions gave birth to so many little green pirates.”

The Trash Pirates was a nickname they gave each other early on, when festivals were more haphazard, and it stuck. In the beginning, Mr. Robertson, said “It was more seat-of-the-pants. Many of us were living out of our vehicles. That’s the thing: Trash can attract people who don’t feel like they have a place to go, giving people purpose in a space where they had none. Kind of like the Lost Boys. People are interested in the party, but it becomes empty if you don’t have a purpose.”

Next year, they hope to work upward of 30 events. “The work isn’t going to stop, I’m almost scared of it,” Mr. Robertson said, adding that he and many of his colleagues are looking to expand beyond the festivals and tackle community projects in Los Angeles, where he now lives, and beyond.

Mx. Mandel is devoted to filmmaking; Ms. Nielsen to art and activism. “But we are all still united by trash,” Mr. Robertson said. “We recognize that festivals are a stage and a platform to reach people, but we also know that it’s just a Band-Aid and the best thing we can do is to concentrate on government policies and community work.”

Mr. Kunihiro, who also lives in Los Angeles, started his own waste-consulting business, which includes a waste sampling service that analyzes the composition of waste streams — work that makes festival trash seem as clean and fresh, he said, as birthday cake.

He has led tours for fourth graders of recycling plants in the Bay Area; at Joshua Tree, his water bottle was a tiny blue toy recycling bin, a gift from his mother.

Another Pirate, Stephen Chun, talked about the awkward moment when he is asked what he does for a living. “A lot of people are like, ‘Huh, that’s nice. Good for you,” he said. “The feedback over time goes from being, ‘Oh, you’re the trash guy’ to, ‘Oh, you’re a hero.’ Now I say I’m a zero-waste events consultant.”

Ms. Munat said, “People see us going through the recycling and offer us their sandwiches. And we’re like, ‘No, it’s O.K., we’re getting paid.’”

Because trash is ascendant as a problem and a paradigm, it continues to grow as a métier. “In 1995, when I first starting teaching about waste, it was a boutique subject and not considered appropriate for academic study,” said Robin Nagle, a professor of anthropology and environmental studies at New York University who specializes joyfully in garbage.

She has been anthropologist-in-residence at the New York City Department of Sanitation for more than a decade; her book “Picking Up: On the Streets and Behind the Trucks With the Sanitation Workers of New York City” was published in 2013. Professor Nagle is a founder of what’s known as discard studies, a new interdisciplinary field of research examining waste politically, culturally and economically.

“You can take any piece of trash as an object in the world and track it from its raw materials though its journey into the marketplace as a commodity,” she said. “At any of those points it will connect not just to the proliferation of garbage as a form of pollution but a host of any other environmental crises including the big megillah that is climate change.”

Of the Trash Pirates she said, “They are pushing boundaries in wonderful ways. I would be curious to see what they’re doing in 20 years. Do they bounce from this ebullient, youthful thing to something more settled? And will the planet be even closer to the brink of destruction?”

We shall see, but in the meantime, as is their practice, the Pirates swept the Joshua Tree Music Festival campgrounds clean by forming a MOOP line, as it’s known, with each Pirate three to four feet apart and armed with a MOOP stick and a bucket, and moving from the perimeter to the center.

Mx. Mandel said, “Like one amoeba we slowly devour the MOOP.”

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