#had to dress them for the occasion

[your-average-art-dealer]

Don't know if I'm gonna finish this but I'm posting it here anyway!

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I have a map part to finish why tf am I doing this-

[gringolet]

notes on hair and uniforms on the hms camelot in 1811!

i have a lot of thoughts on the matter

[sonknuxadow]

its literally their birthday today. if you even care.

[constellations-and-energy]

my partner has no idea what’s coming 👀 (hint: it’ll be them)

[emometalhead]

A very near and dear family friend is getting married next year, and we just got the wedding invitation!! 🥰😁🎉

[smile-files]

the feeling when you care so much about a character that you worry about their gjinka's outfit not being narratively meaningful enough

[ni-kol-koru]

[flash-from-the-past]

Alice in Pokerland

[ylajali]

i feel like something important that’s really dropped off in the age of cheap, mass produced items is finery. i find something very valuable in my grandparents’ china with gold leaf accent that only comes out at thanksgiving, the porcelain nativity set my mom and aunt painted together, the hand embroidered tablecloth i spent too much money on in budapest because i wanted something to pass down. and not just the value that comes from it being expensive. obviously not everything can be something well made and expensive- and i wouldn’t have much of this stuff hadn’t been passed down to me- but i think we’re all a little too used to .50 cent target dishware and h&m shirts and ikea furniture. we need 90 year old bone china tea sets or grandpa’s gold cufflinks or great aunties mink stoll for our health.

[thermodynamiclawyer]

i tried drawing something rly nice for white lily but the drawing sucked. oh well i’ll try again tomorrow

[thecheshirerat]

Reminder that writing is always good for your skills even if your plot and characters are absolutely batshit :)

Signed, a person who taught myself to write dialogue in a series of short stories called “The Illuminati Chronicles” in middle school, and first figured out how to use a plot outline while writing “The Horrors of the Demon Princess Assassin Katy.”

[stoportotouch]

looking again at the 1776 costumes and dear fucking god there’s a ridiculous amount of lace going on in this musical

[miekasa]

okay okay but is there anything in particular which you envision prince!levi to wear? lol i did a google image search for "prince clothes" and idk if levi would wear some of those bc some give off stuck up vibes. or would prince!levi be the type to wear "commoner clothes" (i.e. a plain (but smart looking) shirt) and maybe get told off by his mom/the royal staff who then give him the whole "you should wear clothes befitting of a prince" lecture blah blah blah

He does wear “prince clothes” in my head, but a more... toned down version of what you get through a Google image search of that lmfaooo. In that fic (that will never come), Levi’s family’s colors are (various shades of) purple, gold, black, and occasionally red; so he wouldn’t be in white pants and a bright blue jacket like prince charming. The best way I can describe it is some cross between the fire nation’s aesthetic (specifically Azula’s s3 outfit, but with less balloony pants) + those royal/military style jackets they dress k-pop boys up in to perform their little songs for something even more formal... but all of that in shades of purple w gold accents. If he wore something w the little sash, it would be in red (and all of those colors would have made sense if I finished that fic LOL).  

But, honestly, to the latter part of this ask, yes, he does also just... wear a regular suit and/or cotton button down when he doesn’t have much business to attend to. Even in canon, Levi’s casualwear/off-duty look was a whole suit LMFAO. He’s well dressed, without looking as ostentatious as your picture perfect Disney prince <33 

[starrycat123-blog]

gender is so weird. why do I feel like I'm a girl most of the time, a woman almost never, usually a man/guy when I'm not a girl, and never a boy?

[gibbearish]

i will say also one thing ive noticed with the cake smash debate is by and large (and esp in wedding situations), women tend to hate it and men tend to be the ones who think its turbo hilarious and the women are being big whiny babies and can't take a joke. just food for thought

[moondirti]

MDNI. dubcon. objectification. degradation. humiliation. guys being gross. female reader. fingering. cunnilingus. pussy slapping. brief aftercare. an absurd amount of filth for something so short.

price helping you get over your fear of humiliation by inviting the guys over and prying your pussy open for them, half-slouched on his lap with your legs held up in the air :( they’re so mean about it, too. cooing condescending compliments, curling their nasty hands around your jaw to keep your head in place as they pet your most vulnerable places, like you’re the winning pup at a dog show and not a whole human—entitled to any boundary you set, regardless of how your husband feels.

they pay no heed to your protests, though. actually, the men avoid addressing you at all. rather, all their personal, invasive questions are directed to price, who answers them with his own self-satisfied grin.

‘keeps clenchin’ around nothing, desperate thing. hole this willing deserves to be gaped. how often d'you stuff her?’ depends on if she's been good.

‘fookin’ drooched, cap. does she taste as guid as she looks?’ mm, better. smells like nectar too. take a whiff, son. don’ wash my beard afterward on the occasion, jus to keep her under my nose.

‘think i can thaw a winter’s worth of ice with this cunt alone. heat’s practically radiating off ‘er. pathetic slut.’ y’should see how much worse it gets after a good beating, lieutenant. swells up, and damn well sears my palm.

and of course they take it upon themselves to test the validity of his answers. kyle works four fingers into you, then his thumb, stretching you open for his probing, angling your hips up to the light so that your insides are illuminated for his curious eye. if price didn’t have his rough hands anchored to the underside of your knees, you would have kicked his prized sergeant off.

embarrassment washes your neck in warmth, lashes droopy with fat tears. all your husband does to comfort you is place a scratchy kiss to your shoulder, soft hushes tickling your skin.

then, soap intercedes to shove his nose to your mons. he doesn’t just take a whiff — rather, he sucks in the sweet-sour tang your slick provides, testing it in both scent and taste. his hot tongue laves over where kyle’s fingers had been, incisors nibbling at the ripe bud of your clit. mortifying pleasure sinks low, sloshing in your belly’s bed. though you did not expect him to be, he isn’t modest about it. soap presses completely into your pussy, muzzle lacquered with wetness that rivals yours.

your whimpers devolve into moans. loud, a little unhinged. you’ve always played at dressing them up around price, worried that he’d turn away if your face screwed too tight, or your pleasure made itself known beyond what directly serves him. it’s exactly the habit that got you into this mess; and as you lose yourself to the scene, you can feel his delight blossoming against your back.

ghost scares you the most. he lets you have your orgasm, towering behind the man between your legs, but does not let him revel in it, yanking him back by his mohawk at the first twitch of your toes. in the fervour, you have hard time remembering what you should expect. especially when he doesn’t get to it immediately, wiping the gloss off your plush cunt. his callouses rash you, gritty, abrading the soft surface of your skin. it is only when you wince do his eyes crinkle in a manner cruel enough to evoke what’s to come.

but it’s too late to prime yourself. his hand flies back, coming back twice as fast to strike dead centre between your legs. it hurts. hurts so much more than it ever has before, your body unused to unrestrained strength. you scream, throat mangling around the rough cut of it, fighting wildly against price until you manage to escape his hold. immediately, instead of running away, you twist backwards, burying your face into his neck, calming yourself by taking deep breaths of his cologne. something heady — leather, tobacco, sandalwood — bridges the synapses in your brain, numbs the pain, if only a little.

“shhh, little one. you’re alright. it’s okay. doing so good for us.” he soothes, rubbing your sweaty back. the world narrows to just you and him, his men reduced to mere afterthoughts. to be dealt with later — though you doubt the conversation will be anywhere near reprimanding, more likely to end with a bottle of scotch split between four, approving slaps to the captain’s back, than it ever will in your defence.

“n-ne- never a-ga…”

“come, now. let’s not be brash, mm. i promised them a pump each. ‘n’ what kind of host would i be if i didn’t make good on that?”