#i bought a uke instead

[shotmrmiller]

since i'm rambling about self inserts? (is that it?) now you're miserably turning over on the bed, pulling the comforter over your head because you wasted a whole whopping 70$ for MW3 only to get an unfinished game and a piss-poor half-assed shock value main character death.

You fall asleep thinking about what you'd do differently- how johnny wouldn't die so needlessly, maybe even convince Captain Price to let Johnny put a bullet in Makarov's head in that helo.

And when you wake, your surroundings are different. The bed is too small when yours is a king, the innerspring mattress creaks when you sit up, even though you explicitly bought a memory foam.

The walls are spartan instead of the personalized decor you had. Looking over the edge of the bed, the floor isn't carpet. It's an ugly, white vinyl tile.

Where the fuck are you?

Your hands are callused but the only time you even got one was when you tried your hand at gardening, only to eventually realize you could kill a cactus with your brown thumb.

Hopping out of bed, you beeline to your bathroom and look at yourself in the mirror. Almost everything is the same. Eyes, hair, body, height.

Only difference is your flesh. It's littered with scars- both old and new. A thick, pink jagged line across your clavicle (a blade?), a puckered star shaped keloid above your hip bone (A gunshot wound?)

Stepping back out into the room, you carefully survey the space around you. A tac vest you swear you've seen before hangs on the back rest of your small chair.

Two black glock-19's sit on the desk. How do you know that? You don't know lick about weapons.

There's a large sheathed blade by your nightstand table. Didn't Rambo have one of those?

Suddenly, it hits you like a ton of bricks. You're dreaming. Jesus. Maybe you should start reading some smut fanfiction before bed to get Simon in your-

A knock at your door pulls you out of your degenerate thoughts.

oooookay.

Padding quietly to the door, the metal of the handle feels shockingly cold. How wildly vivid.

"Ye- what the fuck?"

What the actual fuck?

"Language."

...

Your mouth gapes in utter disbelief. "Simon?"

His dark eyes narrow behind his skull mask. "Chummy, are we?" He steps forward, forcing your neck back at an uncomfortable angle to keep your eyes fixed on his. "You and I, Sergeant, ain't friends. It's Ghost to you. Clear?" he snarls.

You swallow thickly. "C-Crystal, sir."

He tips his chin forward. "Get decent, I'm to take ya to the debriefin' room."

what?

"Now."

Spinning on the balls of your feet, you hastily dress, and grab the vest on the chair. UK flag on it. Tactical. Heavy as hell.

Your hands move on their own, and fingers smartly clip buckles, pull up zippers and close the pockets- as if you've been doing this your whole life.

What is happening?

When you get to wherever it was you were going, you're met with more recognizable faces.

Captain Price stands in front of Laswell, bulky arms crossed as he speaks to her in a hushed tone.

Gaz sits on a chair with his head hanging back as he blankly stares at the ceiling, trademark cap in place.

And then there's- "Bonnie!"

Johnny.

"Good to see Simon dinnae eat ye on the way here."

Simon Ghost doesn't react to the jibe at all.

Why are you sitting in the middle of the 141 listening to Laswell debrief about Hassan? Why aren't you waking up yet? You're lucid. The sharp sting of your nails digging into the palms of your clenched hands isn't dulled.

"Good hunting."

This can't be happening.

This isn't real. The heavy helmet strapped to your head. The weight of the bulky tac vest full of equipment. The painfully tight straps around your thighs. The way the rifle feels in your hands, solid and dense.

Not real.

Until you're offloading with Bravo Team in Al-Mazrah on the search for Major Hassan. The tall grass grazing your pants, the NVG's over your eyes to help you see in the dark. The harsh recoil of a weapon you've only ever used in a video game. The gurgling sounds of the enemies as they choke on their blood by your feet. The bullet whizzing past you, clipping your cheekbone. The burning sting of it, white-hot pain.

Real.

It feels fucking real.

[justinspoliticalcorner]

The Warning With Steve Schmidt:

Four years ago today, after losing a presidential election, Donald Trump incited an insurrection against the US Constitution. His mob stormed the Capitol, pissed on the walls and shat on the floors. They did $1.5 million in damage, caused injuries to at least 174 of Capitol police officers, and caused the deaths of five people. Trump will soon pardon the January 6 criminals, lionize them, and hang medals around their necks. Have no doubt about this. Meanwhile, Elon Musk has denounced Nigel Farage, the leader of the UK Reform Party, saying that he is unfit to lead it. He has also stepped up his interference in the forthcoming German elections. He has also begun severely limiting criticism of himself and others on X with a social media scoring system that is straight out of China.

The Washington Post is in a state of collapse. The paper’s best political writers, journalists and commentators are like the first-class passengers on Titanic being lowered into half-filled life boats taking them to the Wall Street Journal and The Atlantic, but the truth is that there aren’t enough life boats for all. Everyone is going to want off a ship that is sinking into disgrace. Whatever private commitments were made between the Graham family and Bezos when he bought The Washington Post regarding its stewardship have been shattered. The most incredible part about the capitulations — which are not the least bit surprising — is how quickly they happened, and without so much as a soft whimper or scuffle.

By doing so, most editorial leaders of these institutions have demonstrated the only place they are truly fit to work is the Trump White House. There, they could combine the practice of moral appeasement, fecklessness, dishonesty, weakness and self-interest with being cheered, promoted and celebrated. Instead, these low men and women have to face the reality that the person staring back at them in the mirror is a different version of Lindsey Graham — only they call themselves journalists as opposed to senator. The farce is the same. The cowardice is the same. The record will show that when the starting gun sounded nobody came close to Joe Scarborough and Mika Brzezinski with their Usain Bolt-like dash to Mar-a-Lago. Bezos must look at them through his capitulant lens as visionaries. Perhaps they will have the opportunity to summer aboard Koru, his yacht, with the Lady Sanchez in the south of France. Given that Bezos has green-lit a Melania documentary that explains her reemergence from witness protection, maybe she could be there as well, softly purring about her deep love of Donald and America.

[...] Jeff Bezos, Sam Altman, Elon Musk, and all the rest of America’s oligarchs hold the American people in contempt. Because they do, they can’t see the character of the steelworker, trucker, nurse, teacher or cop. They only see one thing, and that in the end, is why this whole miserable MAGA project will crash and burn. They are locusts preparing to swarm to engorge themselves even though they feel no hunger and want for nothing. Donald Trump will keep pushing until someone, somewhere, some day, effectively pushes back again. I hope that day comes soon because until then they are going to be full speed ahead. By the time the inaugural address is over there will be perfect clarity around what must be fiercely opposed as indecent and un-American.

Steve Schmidt’s column is on the nose here. It’s insulting to see so many people and institutions obey in advance and capitulate to Trumpism, especially the Washington Post.

[tuttle-did-it]

Okay, I'm not done. Soap box, here. 📣 Regular M*A*S*H and television content will resume shortly. Just bear with me a minute.

Here's what I need people to understand.

I was not always disabled. In fact, from the time I was 15-30, I was working 80 hours a week. I left to go back into further education, but even then, I was incredibly active. I was an athlete-- a gymnast, a rock climber, a snowboarder. I was in theatre- both production and performance. I volunteered to help train service dogs and teach elderly people how to use sign language. I travelled frequently. I never sat still. Even as a deaf person, I still didn't really consider myself disabled because I'm very good at lip-reading.

What happened, Tuttle? Well, thanks for asking, friend! My broken body happened. One day, I woke up, and didn't feel right. Eventually went to the doctor, and day by day, my body started to break. And then more doctor appointments. And more. and more diagnosis. After another. But this isn't about me.

This is about abled people who really don't care that much. About people who don't actually understand how difficult it is to get around on crutches or in a wheelchair, or without subtitles or a sign interpreter, or without verbal queues for a blind person to know when to cross the road.

So, to the able-minded and able-bodied people out there who really don't care about all this stuff cos it has nothing to do with you? Or worse-- who think disabled people are just leeching off the government because we're all lazy pigs? This is what I want you to think about:

At any moment, you could become disabled. You are one car accident away from needing disability benefits. You are one medical diagnosis from being permanently unable to function. You are a burnout at work away from needing to go on disability. You could wake up with a twinge, and go to the doctor, and suddenly, your entire life is changed. You are one family member who is disabled away from needing to claim benefits because your loved one cannot function without you dropping your entire life to make sure they survive.

I hope these days never come for you. But they came for me. They came for the vast majority of my friends. One day, they all woke up and something wasn't right.

Again-- I would not wish this on ANYONE. (okay maybe there are a few sadistic corrupt bastards in several different governments I might joke about wishing it on them-- but this is more so that they may understand how their actions can truly destroy people.) No, in all honestly, I would not wish any physical, emotional, mental, or even financial difficulties on any one-- even someone I hated.

I do not want anyone to suffer even a fraction of how much I (and countless others) do.

But this is what I need people to understand.

It could be you.

You are one diagnosis away from needing this support that the government is decimating. You are one diagnosis away from being told by the government that you still have to work even if you are not physically or mentally able to do so. You are one diagnosis away from being called a 'scrounger' by people on the street. You are one diagnosis away from the government telling you that your condition isn't really as serious as you or your doctors say.

This is why you cannot turn a blind eye when a corrupt government filled with billionaires are slashing funding for support for those of us who are unable to work for some reason. This is why, even if you are in perfect health, you need to fight against cuts in support for the NHS and support for people who are not in perfect health.

So abled people, if you take ANYTHING from ANY of my words here: (behold- the TL;DR)

the people on disability are not scroungers. We are not lazy, we are not scamming the system, we are not having parties with people's tax money. We are in pain. We are suffering. And the people around us are often forced to support us because the government keeps stripping it back. And YOU or someone you love may, at any moment, need this support that you currently really don't even notice or care about. So. if you want that support and help to be available IF it ever DOES happen to you (I hope it does not), then fight to protect and help those of us that are already in it.

And I hope-- very much so-- that if it ever does happen, you have all the support you need. Financial, mental, physical, emotional. I hope the doctor's take you seriously and investigate without fobbing you off. I hope the government happily offers you any and all support available. I hope you do not have to deal with the indignities, the cruelties, the occasionally sadistic and vicious disregard and scepticism so many of us experience when we try to ask for help. I'm not being sarcastic. I genuinely, truly hope this for every single person who experiences struggles who need support.

Okay. Soap box over. The megaphone has been put away. Normal operations will resume.

If you are a UK resident or citizen, please consider filling out this form for the government. The corrupt,bastard billionaires in our government continue to cut and make life incredibly difficult for disabled and unwell people. They are making DRASTIC cuts to benefits for people who are in need and unable to work.

I guess they think we will be less trouble if they just kill us all with these cuts.

This does take a little time, but please consider offering support if you are able to help push back against this.

[mrs-saturday]

🏹 The Archer (LS2)

♥ my masterlist!

♥ pairing: Logan Sargeant x Reader

♥ synopsis: The aftermath.

♥ a/n: Im so upset. Im broken. This is my grieving process

Combat, I'm ready for combat,

The pre-race ritual has always been the same for Logan and you. In front of the mirror, your hands slipping around his toned midriff, nails tracing the evidence of gym sessions beneath his race suit, his helmet on its stand, air at a standstill, as his head falls back onto your shoulder with a shaky exhale.

He knew it, and you knew it.

Zandvoort was the last one, and even though no one knew that for certain, and Vowles hadn't called the meeting, hadn’t thrown down the gavel on the blonde’s dream, you both knew it and it sat in your stomachs like a weight.

He picks his head back up, and turns to face you, planting a small kiss on your nose, and you do the same.

His nose is awfully cold, but you watch him slip the helmet on, and pray that it warms him through.

I say I don't want that, but what if I do?

Watching him spin out was like the nail in the coffin.

Watching orange tongues lap at the rear of his car was enough to drive you to a Hamlet-like state; to jump in his grave, pull the casket lid wide, and scream to the onlookers your love. 

When he’s back from medical, he looks at you, a silent acceptance of the end of his career quite literally going up in flames. He runs over, head buried in your chest as silent sobs wrack through his trembling frame. “Logan…” you mutter into his hair, about to ask what he thought would happen to his seat.

“I don’t even want it anymore…” he cries

“But, what if you do?”

'Cause cruelty wins in the movies,

He was told he was out 2 days before they announced it. The young Argentinian with his head hung low in the meeting room, unable to look at Logan. The cold fist of Vowles telling him what he’d been expecting, but the thought of him ruining this young boy’s career filled him with rage. 

How dare he do this again. How dare he do this to another bright star, to ignite his explosion all too short of a supernova. 

I've got a hundred thrown-out speeches I almost said to you

You try to get him to stop for a moment, but he’s sat furiously typing. He has to get it all out, he says. Too many thoughts, he says. He types and types as you hold him. Every frustration, every late upgrade, every lost nugget of feedback, every false promise, the results of which spilled into the American’s notes app like he was a teenage girl, feeling her heartbreak through lines of shower thoughts and ill-placed rhymes.

When he finished, he exhaled, and looked at you, with a weak smile, and hit delete on the note. 

Easy they come, easy they go

You two don’t stay in the UK long. The boxes are full the day it’s announced and the flights to Florida only a few days after. 

“Home” he had begged on that night, “If the track can’t be, I want to make home with you”

And you agreed, you packed up your life in England alongside him, the helmets and trophies of past delegated to a manila coloured box labelled “FRAGILE: HANDLE WITH CARE”

They would stay there.

For a while, at least.

I jump from the train, I ride off alone

The last thing he does is visit Oscar. Or at least, he tries to. His rosy knuckles tap on the Australian’s door one last time before he realises Oscar is not answering, despite the party going on inside the house. He is far too busy living their dream to remember to answer to the door to a boy delegated to a photograph on his mother’s refrigerator. 

I never grew up, it's getting so old, Help me hold onto you

It’s like he’s 11 again, in his parent’s living room, watching ‘Top Gun’, and eating popcorn. No one has bought it up. Not you, not his parents, not Dalton, it hangs in the air like the wheel had clung to his car by a wire’s length. Instead, you all ignore it for the simple pleasure of family. You laugh as he throws popcorn at his brother like they’re children. And you smile to yourself.

He never got to be a kid, really so why not hold onto that freedom now?

I've been the archer

He’d been the winner

I've been the prey

He was the prey

Who could ever leave me, darling?

You could never leave him, darling.

But who could stay?

Home always stayed.

[aurae-rori]

Wanna ask if you have any headcannons for aventio modern au

( cause I am obsessed with modern aus)

hellyeah brother i'm here to serve the masses

hcs about ratio:

still a doctor still has 8 phds

knows about student debt and hates it with a burning passion

has a duck keychain that he puts on his keychain with all of his keys like the keys to his house

once crushed a soda can in his hands during his student years bcs he was that fucking mad about the homework questions not being stated in a clear manner (he just like me fr)

has several duck plushies in his bed and theyre all named after either greek philosophers or roman politicians

can speak latin fluently and mutters curse words and creative expressions in latin during the classes that he teaches because he is that pissed off

used to be a full time doctor, but decided to turn to teaching instead after some time

hyper-empathy due to childhood neglect (he just like me fr)

eyebags that he covers up with makeup, he still has those from his student years and cant fucking get them to leave no matter how many hours he sleeps for

enjoys occasionally a rum & coke

really likes lattes and london fogs

had a british accent once because he travelled to the uk and picked up on it, when he came back he was mortified

fucking loves ducks so much he has a camera roll dedicated to duck photos

he got to pet a duck once he was happy for the rest of the week thats how much he loves them

massive nerd & dork

undiagnosed autism with a side of gifted child trauma

really likes jazz and lofi it calms him down fast and makes him happy

wrings his hands when he's really happy

touch starved

makes really good soup

hopeless romantic

more mentally unstable than you think he is. he is actually suffering from burnout but doesnt want to let people around him down.

doing his best. sometimes on the weekends he just nestles into a cocoon of blankets and refuses to leave. texture....

cannot not wear socks he will die without them

cat magnet for some reason??? all neighbourhood cats are at his doorstep even when he and aven already have three. ig hes just cat dad now

aventurine hcs:

still has those glasses, his eyes are more sensitive to light too

really fucking likes fluffy stuff he loves the fluffy he loves the fluffy he-

big fan of sheep and peacocks

eternally terrified that ratio secretly hates him even when they start dating

bpd & adhd & probably autism (ALL BPD HAVERS FUCKING WIN WITH THIS ONE!!!!! I SEE YALL)

masks so often its insane

used to smoke and drink heavily, but has started to lay off ever since he met ratio

still an adrenaline junkie and still has his stupidly good good luck

really likes coffee too, coffee addict, has horrible eyebags, a shitty sleep schedule, and overworks himself half to death

cant fucking cook what the hell is a kitchen

very fond of stelle/caelus and sees them as his surrogate younger siblings. stelle taught him how to play video games and now he plays with them whenever his thoughts get really bitchy to him

horrible at relying on other people but is slowly unlearning that

can do a backflip (why? idk)

high pain tolerance

has a collection of sheep plushies that his friends bought for him

numby and him get along really well. he and topaz still have that sibling esque relationship.

i think he still works for the ipc in this au but its not as bad as it is in canon

starved of touch and does not really know what a healthy relationship is before ratio comes along

loves blankets he has like ten blankets on his bed at once idk why

once poured monster energy into coffee and then drank it. he suffered the consequences. even good luck can't save you from that

listens to generic pop (lie. he actually loves indie guitar)

MENTAL ILLNESS REP IN THIS MAN

accidentally big brothered some kids. help how does he deal with affection

buys stuff for stelle and caelus too. he buys them sheep plushies. they will defend said sheep plushies with their lives. they buy him racoon plushie in return. he does not cry.

his fingers shake so bad sometimes (PTSD goes hard)

motor skills can and will die on him occasionally

unhealthy coping mechanisms but hes getting better guys

he does relapse occasionally but hes putting in effort. finally got his ass to therapy thanks to ratio :)

second cat dad. he loves his cat children he will die for his cat children.

the cats like laying next to him as he eeps if ratio isnt there. they purr and help him with his nightmares.

(ily people w bpd you deserve this rep!!! enjoy :3)

them together hcs!!!!

ratio already had background information on bpd due to his psych degree beforehand but did more researching into it when he realized that aven had bpd because he wanted to support his partner as much as he could :)

ratio is big on physical touch but aven needed some time to get used to it and he was very big on it

aven really likes spoiling the absolute shit out of ratio and likes getting him gifts because sometimes he doesn't know how to word how much he appreciates ratio

aven likes to wash ratios hair for him and visa versa, non sexual intimacy always fucking wins

ratio still worries about aven and doesn't like him gambling all the time, aven makes an active effort to better himself for him even if it's really hard

at the start it was really fucking shitty between the two of them but eventually aven started to learn how to properly and safely communicate with ratio and ratio learned how to phrase his thoughts in a way that wouldn't trigger something, and although they both make mistakes they are doing their best for one another and generally have a good impact on one another's stages of healing (im not projecting im not projecting i-)

aven will hold ratio in his arms and tell him that he's good enough when the thoughts get really bad

they love cuddling, who's big spoon and small spoon switches regularly because they both like being held and holding the other

aven will stop by ratio after his classes and take him home when hes too tired

ratio shuts down sometimes and aven messes with his hair and just stays with him until he reboots

they kiss <33333333333

they cuddle so much they hold one another going to bed

ratio likes giving aven little headkisses and peppers his face with them

they are gay and in love and healthy actually

they were never toxic yaoi never will they be. they are healthy.

they get married <333

this is so much more than what you asked for probably but here you go.

[captain-mj]

I know I've been doing a lot of these lately but high me constantly has ideas that high me can't write lol

But ngl dead dove (09 SoapGhost) idea where Roba, who got frustrated with Simon for not bending, instead of killing him, just sells him to some strange person in the UK. It's implied multiple times in the comics that he's attractive, so it's not like... an unbelievable idea.

The guy gets irritated with him after a bit and Ghost bounces from person to person before ending up in a certain MacTavish's lap. He's not bought directly by him, instead being purchased as a gift and given to him. Soap accepts, can't really turn down something like this. Maybe it's a person who loves too much to report. So he hides everything and just.... keeps Ghost.

Ghost being extremely closed off and Soap having to coax him into doing anything, even eating. He's not crying or acting like Soap would expect, still snapping back at him and fighting. But he never attempts to escape.

Eventually Soap manages to pry out of him that Ghost believes people are watching him and if he tries to escape they'll kill his family.

[fuchsea]

𝒀𝑶𝑼 𝑺𝑴𝑰𝑳𝑬 𝑨𝑻 𝑴𝑬 𝑨𝑵𝑫 𝑺𝑨𝒀 '𝑰𝑻'𝑺 𝑻𝑰𝑴𝑬 𝑻𝑶 𝑮𝑶',

𝑩𝑼𝑻 𝑰 𝑫𝑶𝑵'𝑻 𝑭𝑬𝑬𝑳 𝑳𝑰𝑲𝑬 𝑮𝑶𝑰𝑵𝑮 𝑯𝑶𝑴𝑬.

this is going to be a journal archive for me, but feel free to reblog or whatever.

the first ever time i saw louis was in manchester, uk : a place close to where louis calls home. it happened out of nowhere, stacks of luck falling my way where i moved to the uk to study and my lovely friend jas was selling her ticket. my first ever concert and i was so incredibly excited and lost in the love and memories that show held. over the past three years, i've seen him twelve times in total, something that even as i type this feels so surreal to me.

there was something cosmic working my way when the moment i decided to move back home, it was announced that louis would be performing in india. when i thought i'd never see him again, he somehow, without even knowing gave me hope to never say never. and so the wait began. i bought the ticket six months ago. two days after that i found out i wasn't moving home afterall, instead flying continents away to latin america. never fret, i said to myself. louis would tour here for lt3, i said. even still, my heart clenched thinking about how he's performing at my home and i wouldn't be there. maybe it was the same cosmos returning, or maybe it was a new string of fate tugging, but after i went through a depressive spiral and circumstances failed me, i did end up moving back home afterall. as i held myself and my suitcases, with tears filling my eyes and no idea what i was going to do with my life, i latched onto the only hopeful thing i could see at that point : at least i will get to see louis in india, at least there's that good thing still happening, unsnatched and unbridled.

and so, the excitement began. mixed still with that one nagging thought that it might all go wrong. i reached mumbai on friday, and the air felt fresh. hopeful. i met with some lovely friends on saturday, and the air felt like love on a summer's day. hopeful. i woke up at 5 a.m on sunday and ran for my life at 2 p.m and i sat down, starfishing, holding space for my friends, out of breath, grime all over me, my back aching, face drenched in sweat. hopeful.

at ten past seven, with my heart caught up in my throat, i looked up and there he was. in his white tank top and yellow trousers. magnificent. ethereal. live. there's something so magical about a live show, wherein the artist takes you in and you look right back at them with so much awe held in your eyes that it sizzles through the air. you could see the disbelief evident on his face and so when two songs in, he introduced himself and said he's a kid from doncaster in nothern england and never in a million years did he think he'd ever come to india and the gratitude swept over his words, that same disbelief washed over us. that how is it possible that he's here, in front of us. he kept saying the same thing so many times because he was left without words by how welcoming we were. in that moment, my previous 11 shows passed by in a blur and this 12th show felt like the first, but more special. he couldn't believe how loud we were and from the first moment itself he knew this was going to be a special gig, he said so a few times. and who were we to take that joy from him? we gave it back tenfold, we made sure he felt every single voice, every single breath, every single heartbeat. we were louder than him but the love present at the field was the loudest ever booming echo.

a moment of calm, cameras and signs down, soft strings of the band gearing up for the next song, a halo of blue lights surrounding him. i fanned myself with my left hand to beat the heat and i see him making a thumbs up sign. i look around me, to see if someone was feeling down and needed a breather. but i found no one and when i turned back, he made the sign again and pointed at me, as if to say "yes, you" and i signed back to him, "all okay"; he checked again and after the confirmation, started singing again. i'd like to hope that he also saw the zouis shirt i was wearing. i'd like to hope that i never forget this night.

halfway through the set, his confidence grew back and it roared, "this is my fucking lot", and yet again who were we to deny him that. the disbelief, ever present but now there was unadulterated happiness and a good overwhelm mingling. the amount of times he pointed to us, to here, to now, to this night showed how much it meant to him. he spoke more than he sang, his thank yous more than his songs.

on a sunday evening as the sun set down over the coast of mumbai, he sang saturday with a heavy voice, as though he couldn't hold his emotions in anymore. he let them pour out with each exhale, each word, each note. and we gathered it up, held it safe, and gave it back to him in the form of our unending love. a note change at the word "shade" and the confidence was back once again.

and so came the time we all hate, the goodbye, the hopeful temporary distance. it wasn't just us though, louis was right there with us, a pout on his face, saying he doesn't want this to be over, that he has to let go now. he starts singing, and i see tears stream down all around me. he's never once sang the words "i don't feel like going home" out loud but on a sunday in mumbai, he sang them, he meant them, he didn't feel like going home.

the bridge came upon us, the last few minutes of louis in mumbai. in my previous shows, i have noticed that before the bridge he says something along the lines of "sing as loud as you can, let's finish this together". but as everything that's happened so far, this sunday in march was different. he took a pause, took the crowd in, and said "i will never, ever forget this. let's finish this together. thank you, thank you, thank you." and took a leap to the sea of desis gathered on the field for him. he giggled through barricade, held hands, touched faces and soared, "i don't feel like going home" as he ran back, with one last swaying dance move and taking our voices and hearts along with him.

you'd think that now that he's left the stage, it'll be calm. you'll realise it's over, even though he didn't want it to end. and when has louis ever let go of his stubbornness? he posts pictures from the show immediately after, somewhere amidst the grounds as green day finish their set. and we feel the love soaring from him, the pride and the joy. moments later, still maybe reeling from the adrenaline, he tweets "from doncaster to mumbai" and seals a permanent home for himself in our country and our hearts.

as i lay in the field with my friends, our heads touching and hearts synced with a bone deep ache in us, i think to myself, there is so much hope in the world yet. it took 15 years for louis to come to our home, but it was worth the wait for him and for us. it may sound parasocial but i feel such kinship to louis and how i am drawn to him and he to me. to me, louis represents hope and strength. hope beats in our hearts, still, yet, and forever.

the last time i saw louis was in mumbai, india : a place close to where i call home. and so, the story ends here. or at least until a new string of fate tugs and the cosmos fall in line again.

[colettebronte]

30,000 Feet Up in the Air (Drop Down)

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Bridgerton Masterlist

Pairing: Modern!Anthony Bridgerton x Fem Reader

Summary: A sequel to (Not Exactly) A Fairytale in New York, our couple decides to join the Mile High Club on a Transatlantic flight for two on Valentine's Day

Word Count: 2.8k

Warnings: 18+ specifically for vaginal fingering and anal sex. Minors DNI. I will put this up on Ao3 so please do not repost my work elsewhere

Author’s Note: I knew I wanted to revisit this version of Anthony and Reader for Valentine’s Day. The title comes from a line from the Gregory Porter song, Concorde. This was a another fun one to write and I hope you enjoy it. Thank you to @fayes-fics for betaing. Yoda best, my friend! 🫶❤️

If someone had told you that having the entire contents of a large cup of iced coffee dumped all over you just days before Christmas would lead to you dating a viscount, let alone one had his own airplane, you’d have told them they were nuts. And yet . . . . 

In the month and a half since you met Anthony “Please for the love of everything, stop calling me Lord” Bridgerton; you’ve amassed more stamps in your passport than you have in the last several years you’ve had one. First, it was ringing in the New Year in Paris. Then it was a long January weekend in Bruges. Next it was an overnight stay in Amsterdam. In between all those were weekend jaunts across the pond to stay at his apartment in London.

So you were unsurprised when on your lunch break, just days before Valentine’s Day, Anthony texted to see if you wanted to spend a long weekend in the UK, this time meeting his family at their country estate. While you were nervous, you were also excited to take your relationship to the next level. Never mind that you and his mother were already texting on a regular basis.

It’s early evening when you step out of the town car and onto the tarmac, the plane you dubbed “Anthony One” sitting with the bay door open and the stairs down, waiting for you. You thank the driver as they pull out your luggage and hand it off to Mary, one of the flight attendants. Taking hold of the silver railing, you climb up and into the plane.

Once aboard, the sight before you leaves you speechless. The long, plush couch that spans half the length of the main cabin of the plane is lined with six of the largest bouquets of roses you have ever seen, each a different color, the air fragrant with the scent of fresh petals. Anthony emerges from the back and chuckles softly at your shocked face.

He comes to stand beside you, taking your hand and says, “I wasn’t sure which was your favorite color so I . . . .”

“Bought out an entire florist’s shop supply of roses,” you finish for him.

He shakes his head and smiles. “Something like that.”

You reach up and tug him down into a kiss, moaning into his mouth as his tongue dips effortlessly into yours. After a few moments, you break apart to catch your breath. 

“Ant, this is too much,” you gesture to the half-dozen bouquets. He gently pulls you back against his body, wrapping his arms around your waist.

He nuzzles against your cheek and then murmurs into your ear, “Think of them as a thank you gift in advance for dealing with my family this weekend.”

You huff a laugh. “Still. What am I going to do with all these roses?”

Anthony presses a kiss into your hair and then pulls back, entwining your fingers together. “You could just enjoy them all,” he suggests.

What you choose to do instead is pick your two favorites and before the crew makes the final preparations for departure, you give the remaining four bouquets to Mary, the other flight attendant Theo, the pilot and co-pilot.

Once the door is closed and secure, you and Anthony sit in a pair of large, plushly cushioned captain armchairs and buckle in as the plane prepares to depart. As you taxi down the runway, you look out the window and watch as the city lights begin to fade in the distance, becoming tiny dots of light as the plane takes off and begins to gain altitude.

Soon enough, Theo comes into the cabin to let you know you’re able to unbuckle and move freely about the cabin as he takes your drink and dinner orders.

Toeing off your shoes, you get up and move to sit in your favorite spot, Anthony’s lap. He smiles up at you as you tangle your fingers into his hair and press your face into the crook of his neck, inhaling the scent of his cologne. You reach down to undo his tie and the first few buttons of his dress shirt. Anthony shifts around you to tug off his suit jacket. Before you can unbutton his shirt all the way, Theo returns with a bottle of champagne and a bowl of chocolate-covered strawberries.

“Surely not dessert before dinner,” you gasp in mock horror.

Anthony smiles and shrugs as you go back to your seat and swivel it around to face him. Theo says nothing as he sets the bottle and strawberries down on a small table and places it between you and Anthony. A moment later, Theo produces a pair of champagne flutes as well. You take a strawberry while the bottle is uncorked. Once Theo hands you both filled glasses, you toast each other and then enjoy the strawberries and chat about your day while you wait for dinner to be served.

You’re flying over the Atlantic Ocean when Mary comes into the cabin carrying your dinners on a large tray. You and Anthony move to the other side where a large table with cushy seats on either side sits near a large tv mounted to the wall in front of it. She places the tray down on the table and you both sit and tuck into the meal. After being assured you both have everything you need, Mary excuses herself back into the crew cabin.

Dinner passes pleasantly as you continue to catch up, a movie playing on the screen while you eat. Once you finish, Mary returns to clear your meal while Theo offers to turn down the bed.

The bed. The first time you ever entered Anthony One, your eyes had been drawn to the queen-sized bed that sat at the rear of the main cabin. Lavishly decorated in a plush, light blue comforter, adorned with gold and light blue accent pillows, it was your second favorite spot in the whole plane. After a long day of work you love snuggling under the soft blankets and against the 500 thread count sheets. None of this has ever been your normal, but if this was the price that came with being in love with and loved by Anthony Bridgerton, it was a sacrifice you were willing to make.

While Theo turns down the bed, you step into the bathroom; which has an actual shower, to wash your face and change into something cozier to rest in… along with a little surprise you have for Anthony underneath your fleece sleep pants and loose-fitting sweatshirt.

When you emerge, ready to beckon him to join you in bed, you find the window shades closed, the cabin lights dimmed and your boyfriend nowhere in sight. After a moment, he emerges from the cockpit, still fully dressed, his messenger bag in hand.

“Apologies, Love,” he says softly. “I have to check in on the Asian markets, but I’ll join you in a bit.”

You pout inelegantly and Anthony places his bag down and comes over to you. He tugs you into a heated kiss, pleasure zinging through your core. You wrap your arms around his neck and hop up to wrap your legs around his waist. He rocks back to land on the couch and you get lost in each other for a few minutes, hands roaming up and down his back, attempting to free his dress shirt from his pants. Anthony finally pulls back, out of breath, hair adorably mussed. The glint in his eye holds a promise even as he gently extricates himself from you.

“You are far too distracting,” he murmurs as he pulls out his laptop.

You stand, your smile unrepentant as you head to the back of the cabin. “You have ten minutes to get your work done, Lord Bridgerton.”

Anthony laughs and counters, “Thirty minutes.”

You turn around and shake your head, putting an extra sway in your step. “Fifteen,” you call out.

“Deal,” Anthony says with a laugh as you pull closed the curtain that separates the bed from the rest of the cabin.

**********

You awaken alone sometime later, unsure of the time, but you’re certain it’s been far longer than fifteen minutes. Sitting up, you push back the blankets, pick your phone up off the charging station and check the flight path tracker to see where you are.  Frowning, you note it’s been nearly two hours since you fell asleep. With a sigh, you get up and push aside the curtain, ready to give Anthony a piece of your mind for not joining you.

But as you stride into the main cabin, you stop short at the sight before you. Anthony is fast asleep on the long couch, his partially unbuttoned shirt and dress pants rumpled, head lolled to the side with the blue light of his laptop illuminating his handsome face. You wince as you imagine how much his neck is going to be hurting. Sighing, you close his laptop and gently shake his shoulder. He comes awake with a jolt, blinking up at you in the dimly lit cabin, his hair adorably sticking up in all directions. 

Taking in both you and his surroundings, with a wince he offers up a quiet, “I’m sorry.” He sits up and rubs his neck as you push away his laptop and sit down on his lap. You feel Anthony’s interest, hot and hard, through your sleep pants as you grind down. He tugs you closer, hands banding around your ass.  You undo three more buttons on his shirt, exposing the dark thatch of hair on his chest that you love running your fingers through.

As you do just that, fingers slowly walking across his pecs, you lean into his ear and whisper, “My Lord, I would love to join the Mile High Club. I don’t suppose you can help me with that, can you?”

Trapped between the couch and your body, Anthony leans back a fraction of an inch to stare into your eyes. Even in the semi-dark, you can see them glimmer with mischief. “We can join it together,” he murmurs hotly.

Without another word, you pull your sweatshirt over your head, tossing it behind you, showing off part of your surprise. Anthony moans as the top of your see-through black lace lingerie is revealed.

In one fluid motion, Anthony stands with your legs wrapped around his waist. Drawing you into a heated kiss, he starts to walk you to the bed, but you tug on his hair and he pulls back to look at you curiously.

Standing on your own feet, you gently push him back down on the couch. Anthony glances towards the bed and you gently chide him.

“We fuck in beds all the time, My Lord. I think for the true Mile High experience, we ought to use the couch,” you pause to add, “or better yet, one of the captain’s chairs.”

Anthony growls and then you squeal as he picks you up to carry you bridal style over to one of the large, plush swivel chairs, dropping you carefully into the seat as he unceremoniously strips off his clothes. You pull off your sleep pants while he kicks off his boxers to land in the pile with the rest of your clothes. You take his hand to tug him down towards your body. He gently lands on the floor before you on his knees, staring up at you reverently, pushing aside sheer black lace as you part your legs.

“No panties,” he murmurs as he runs a finger along your slit.

You can only moan as you slouch down in the chair, allowing him full access to the lower part of your body.

Breathless, you ask him, “What do you plan to do about that, My Lord?”

Anthony’s smile is sharp as he rocks back onto his heels. “Why don’t you ask me very nicely what it is you want and find out.”

Widening your legs, you say, “Please My Lord, touch me.”

Anthony clicks his tongue. In a low growl, he says, “Look how wet you are. Surely My Girl can do better than that.”

Nipples instantly hardening into pebbled peaks, you squirm in the chair as you try, and fail to keep the whine out of your voice as you beg, “Anthony, please, please use your fingers to make me come. Please.”

Anthony shifts only a fraction closer. “Where do you want me to touch you?”

His tone alone could bring you off, but you look him straight in the eyes and say, “My pussy, please.”

Anthony smiles another sinful smile and at last rucks your lingerie up around your hips, exposing your lower half to the warm air of the cabin. Leaning in, he nuzzles against one of your thighs as he dips his index finger into your soaked folds. You reach up to grasp the top of the chair to keep yourself from slipping down.

“You are so wet, aren’t you, My Girl,” Anthony murmurs. You moan in response, which seems to satisfy him as he adds a second finger. “How many fingers can you take, I wonder,” he muses.

You cry out, “All of them!” as he adds another one and swirls around your clit. He makes a thoughtful noise as he adds the fourth, continuing to move around inside you.

“We’ll save my thumb for another day,” he says softly and you nod. He strokes your clit with expert precision, your pleasure ebbing and flowing under his careful ministrations. Just when you’re sure you’re about to come, he carefully withdraws his fingers. You watch in fascination as he takes his wet digits into his mouth and stares into your eyes and smiles as he sucks your juices off them. Your eyes shift from his face to his fingers, down to his flushed, leaking cock.

Once finished, he pulls his fingers out of his mouth. Sitting up, you moan and tug him up into your lap. Grabbing his face you whisper, “Forget your fingers; I want to ride you in this chair, right here, right now, until we both come.”

Anthony’s shocked face gives way to another sharp smile. “As My Girl commands,” he says, rising up and then you’re shifting on shaky legs to sit on his lap as he takes your place on the chair. 

For a moment, you fight for balance as the chair starts to swivel under you, but Anthony plants his feet down firmly, steadying you both. Lifting the hem of your lingerie, you seat yourself fully onto his cock, which feels like velvety steel inside you. Anthony whines as you settle yourself as comfortably as you can, both of you feeling every minute movement you make. You grab onto his shoulders and he takes hold of your hips. You stare deeply into each other's eyes as you begin to move in tandem, easily building a rhythm. You’re still near the edge from his earlier ministrations and it’s not long before he joins you, leaning forward to gasp into the side of your neck, keening with pleasure.

You reach around to run your fingers up and down his bare back, something you know he loves the feel of as you continue to bounce gleefully on his cock. He reaches up to support your back and then soon enough, Anthony is throwing his head back against the chair and starts to yell out your name as bright, hot white light overtakes your senses as you, too, tumble over the precipice, crying out his name in return.

After regaining your breath a few minutes later, you carefully unseat yourself from him and, on even shakier legs, pull him towards the bed. Clearly spent, Anthony leans heavily on you as you walk slowly to the back of the cabin. Anthony falls onto the bed and you go into the bathroom to get a wet washcloth to clean you both up with.

Once the task is done and you’re both settled comfortably under the blankets, Anthony pulls you onto his chest, your head resting under his chin. Sleepily, he says, “The sex was wonderful, as always, but I have to say . . .”

“Joining the Mile High Club in an airplane seat, no matter how cushy is not all it’s hyped up to be,” you finish, your last word punctuated with a yawn.

Anthony nods and with a yawn of his own says, “Exactly. Let’s stick to the bed from now on, shall we?”

You press a kiss to the underside of his jaw. “I like the way you think, Lord Bridgerton.” On the charging stand, your phone chimes with a notification that it’s officially midnight back home. “Happy Valentine’s Day,” you murmur sleepily.

Anthony kisses the top of your head. “Happy Valentine’s Day, My Beautiful Girl.”

taglist: @queen-of-the-misfit-toys @faye-tale @cosmiclove330 @abridgerton @fiction-is-life @kmc1989 @alexandrainlove @ietss @multi-fandom-lover7667 @turtle-cant-communicate @liliac-dreamer @hottytoddyhistory @laniec03 @kwbaby24 @queenofmean14 @jtheteenagewitch

[nylqnder]

𝐒𝐎 𝐀𝐌𝐄𝐑𝐈𝐂𝐀𝐍 | 𝐑𝐔𝐓𝐆𝐄𝐑 𝐌𝐂𝐆𝐑𝐎𝐀𝐑𝐓𝐘

word count: 1.35k

summary: on your way to the spend a weekend at the lake house with his teammates, you think about your future with rutger

warnings: british reader!, mentions of some other umich players (nick, duke brothers), brief sad thoughts

notes: based on 'so american' by olivia rodrigo. who am i if not writing fics based on songs.

The morning sun was beginning to rise, casting a golden hue on Rutger’s jeep that rumbled down the highway, its tires humming against the asphalt. Rutger sat in the driver's seat, his left hand holding a loose grip on the wheel, while you sat comfortably in the passenger seat, your feet were propped up on the dashboard. Rutger insisted you hit the road early to get to Jacob’s lake house around mid-morning. You felt that was a little too early, but he was excited to spend some spare time at the end of the semester with his friends and girlfriend, relaxing on the water. To make up for the early start time, Rutger bought you an iced coffee and promised that you could sleep in the car on the way over.

However, you couldn’t find yourself able to fall back asleep, instead taking over aux, the early morning air that flowed through the cracked windows helping to rejuvenate you. You tapped your fingers against the door handle, matching the beat of the song you’d selected. Dirt On My Boots by Jon Pardi filled the space, a contented smile gracing your lips.

“You’ve turned so American.” Rutger says, pulling your brain out of its brief daze.

“What?” You ask, your brows furrowing.

“I mean… look at you,” Rutger says with a chuckle. “You’re sitting there with your feet on the dash, you’re listening to country music, and you’re repping USA merch.”

Rutger motions to one of his hoodies that you’d thrown on as you were leaving. It was one given to him by the world juniors team he’d just played on, the letters U-S-A largely displayed on the chest.

You turned to him, adjusting your position in the seat. "Oh, please, don't say that. I'm still very much British, thank you very much." You retort, rejecting the idea that you’d become American in any way.

When you applied for an exchange to the University of Michigan, nothing could’ve prepared you for what would’ve come. On your first day of classes in the new country, you met Rutger. When a pretty girl sat next to him in one of his classes, he knew he had to talk to her. It didn’t take long for the two of you to develop feelings, Rutger soon being the ‘dreamy American’ that your friends had jokingly told you you’d fall for. And fall for him you did.

It was unfair of Rutger to make you feel this much when you both knew your future was uncertain.

“Hey, there is nothing wrong with being American.” Rutger points out.

“Yeah says the American.” You tease, rolling your eyes. “Thank god I’m going home soon. I need to reconnect with my roots if you think I’ve become American.”

Despite that being a joke, you couldn't shake the underlying sadness that gnawed at you. In just one week, you were leaving Michigan and returning to the UK. The thought of leaving Rutger and the life you’d established in Michigan weighed heavily on your heart. You knew that the bond you’d established with Rutger would withstand the miles and borders, however the prospect of being separated from him felt like tearing away a piece of you.

Rutger, sensing the shift in your demeanour as well as knowing that the inevitable move was weighing on you, reached over, taking your hand in his. His cold fingers lacing between yours quickly drew you back to reality.

“Hey,” He said softly. “Try not to think about it for now. Enjoy this weekend. We’ve got ages to figure it all out.”

You squeezed Rutger’s hand drawing comfort from his touch. With a gentle smile, you met his gaze, gratitude shining in your eyes. “Thank you, Rut.” You said softly.

Rutger returned your smile, turning his attention back to the road while keeping your hand in his. You continued the drive, doing your best to expel the thoughts of leaving from your mind.

Three hours later, Rutger pulled down a laneway that ultimately led to a large house on the water. Rutger’s teammates were already outside, eagerly awaiting your arrival.

“Hey guys!” Rutger called out as they stepped out of the car. Rutger’s teammates come over, greeting the two of them.

“This place is beautiful.” You comment, admiring the glimpse of the water you could see past the house.

“God, I will never get over the accent.” Nick said. Rutger shoved his shoulder while you playfully rolled your eyes.

You considered yourself lucky that you’d become friends with Rutger’s teammates. From the moment Rutger introduced you to them, they’d welcomed you with open arms. And as you spent more time with them, they weren’t just Rutger’s teammates, they were your friends as well.

“Alright, now go get changed, we’re hitting the water.” Luca said, ushering the two of you inside.

You headed up to your room, changed into the swimsuits you’d brought, and then headed downstairs to meet the rest of the group. The rest of the afternoon, you guys remained on the water. You all took turns on the tube, as well as some of the boys deciding to test their water skiing skills. When the sun began to descend towards the horizon, a golden hue being cast on the water, you headed back to the house to start dinner, which was a full team activity in which everyone was put to work doing something. You and Rutger were put in charge of the barbecue on the back patio, teaming up with Dylan and Tyler to grill the burgers and corn.

After dinner was demolished, you headed down to the fire pit, relaxing in the Adirondack chairs, talking about whatever came to mind. The flames cast flickering glows on everyone's faces as you discussed sports, your exams, and random childhood anecdotes whether relevant or not. After a while of drinking and chatting, both you and Rutger hit your limits and decide to call it a night.

The second that Rutger’s head hits the pillow, he’s out like a light, the day’s activities catching up with him. After a full day of tubing and waterskiing, combined with the drinks they’d consumed throughout the day, everyone was wiped. You, however, lay awake, the moonlight reflecting off the water and into the open window.

You traced your fingers through Rutger's hair, watching his bare chest rise and fall with steady breaths. With the tranquillity of the room enveloping you, you find yourself lost in a maze of thoughts, your mind swirling with visions of Rutger and the future they could share.

England was home. England was where you grew up, where your family and friends still resided. The thought of leaving them to be in North America made your heart tense. However, lying in the sheets and staring up at the ceiling, you couldn’t help but imagine moving to North America to be with Rutger. As you look over at him, still peacefully asleep, you imagine the prospect of uprooting your life for the American boy you fell in love with, of bridging the distance to be with Rutger.

Your thoughts continue to wander, picturing what could come of life in America with Rutger. Your mind entertains the notion of marriage, a distant yet possible milestone. That might be a little presumptuous of you, with your relationship still being in its infancy, but you practically couldn’t help it. The way he’d made you feel in the past 8 months was unlike anything you’d ever experienced before. Every moment with him felt like a moment torn from a romance book. Every moment with him was filled with laughter and stolen glances, creating an undeniable intimacy and connection.

You had to eventually force those thoughts out of your mind or else they would’ve kept you up all night. You rolled over, curling into Rutger’s side, and placing a delicate hand on his abs. Rutger stirred momentarily, instinctively wrapping his arm around you, drawing you closer. For now, you were content to simply be in this moment with him, cherishing the time you had left before you had to return home.

[invinciblelikeu]

i love Dream so much sometimes it makes my heart hurt 🥹 remember when he was on stream worrying if it'd be wrong if the socks he put in homeless kits were old instead of new. and the time he watched the hurricane and started worrying about the stray cats. or when he got a whole new mattress for Parker bc he realized he wasn't comfortable with the one in the guest room. or when he heard what George's favorite chocolates were so he got some from the UK and got all nervous when he was opening the gift. or when he'd tell fans to use prime on other CCs instead. I think Dreamie is a teddy bear that made a wish to a fairy to become a human so he could hug his friends back and spread love into the universe.

or when he thought of giving away misprinted dream merch to homeless shelters, offered to buy groceries for sylvee and Sam’s cooking streams, uses a breathalyzer on his friends before they go home to make sure they drive safe, felt bad about wasting food in George’s bday stream so he decided to donate food to the homeless, bought sketching pads for fan artists, bought someone a car bc theirs broke down, paid off his grandparents’ mortgage, bought his family new iPhones… yeah

[allywthsr]

CHRISTMAS TREE | (l.norris)

summary: you and Lando decorate the Christmas tree

wordcount: 1.2k words

pairing: landonorris x fem!reader

warnings: none!

notes: I can’t wait for when we set up our Christmas tree🥹, what are your thoughts??

advent calendar

It was the beginning of December and it was time for a Christmas tree. Lando and you loved to put up a real tree instead of just fakes, so every year you went to a farm where you could buy one. In Monaco there wasn’t a farm, so you had to go to the supermarket to get one, but whenever you were in the UK, farm it is.

Currently, Lando was driving you two to the farm, the trunk was cleaned and enough space was made so it would fit inside of the car. With one hand on your thigh and the other on the steering wheel, Lando was maneuvering you through the small streets. Christmas songs were playing from the speakers that you connected to your phone and it was cold outside. The perfect atmosphere to buy a Christmas tree, if you‘d ask me. Both of you were wrapped in multiple clothing layers, to keep yourselves warm.

When you arrived, a lot of Christmas trees were standing on the farmyard and the place was crowded. At least you were living in a small town, where everyone knew Lando and he wasn’t Lando Norris the racing driver but Lando the neighbor, so you two had no problem with taking your time.

You two greeted Garry, the owner, and looked through the different varieties of trees. They were big and bushy, or tall and thin, a mix of both these things or just weird-looking ones. You spent at least thirty minutes looking for the one, sentences like” No it has a bald spot“ or ” It’s wonky, can’t you see that?“ or even ”he‘s just ugly“ were used more often, but when you saw one of the last ones Garry had to offer, you knew you found the perfect match for this year. He was tall, but bushy and had no bald spots, he was perfect. Garry kindly wrapped the tree for you and loaded him in the trunk of your car, the tree was bigger than you thought and the tip was in between Lando and you on the drive home, he still kept his hand on your thigh the whole time, he was a clingy boy.

At home, Lando brought the tree into the living room and put it in the stand that you bought recently because the old one was broken. Together you tried to get it as straight as possible, but whenever you thought he was straight and Lando tightened the stand, he somehow was bent more to the left or to the right side, it was a disaster. After an almost fight because you two were so angry with the tree for not cooperating, he finally was how you wanted him to stand. He wasn’t perfect, but you gave up perfect twenty minutes ago, the tree was bent a little more to the right, but you turned it around so it faced the wall, that way you couldn’t really see it. Lando and you celebrated with a big hug and some kisses, you really deserved that.

Lando got the box with the baubles from the basement while you were vacuuming the space around the tree and tried to clean up the pine needles that fell off the tree while setting it up. The box was filled with orange baubles and special ones as well, like candy canes or Santa’s. The orange-colored ones were Lando’s idea, he desperately wanted to represent McLaren on his tree and who were you to disappoint him and insist on different colored baubles. For the background entertainment, you opened Netflix and looked for a Christmas movie, and when you found one that was interesting, you started it and got to work.

The fairy lights were more difficult to place around the tree as you had in mind. Every year you thought this was the fun part, but you forgot how hard it was to wrap it around the tree evenly and the cable couldn’t be too short or otherwise, it wouldn’t be able to plug the plug in the socket. Lando tried to navigate you from the couch, but when he saw you struggling, he got up and did it himself. He was taller than you anyway and was able to reach the top better. When the task was done, you could move on to the baubles.

Carefully you placed the glitter baubles all around the tree on the fir branches, Lando was supposed to help, but he sat on the couch, too invested in the movie, so he only passed out the different ornaments from the box. The sheer ones found their way on the tree as well, finding the right spot for the bauble had always been a rather hard task, you couldn’t decide where you wanted them to be placed, so you changed them around a lot before you were completely happy with the end result.

When Lando got up to help you, he wasn’t that big of a help, he randomly placed baubles everywhere and didn’t really look. There were two normal orange ones directly next to each other and it didn’t bother him! So you scooched him over to the other side, while you fixed the mess and hung the ornaments more far away from the other.

Last but not least you placed the special ornaments on the tree. You had colorful candy canes, some Santas, a few reindeer, and weird ones like a cupcake that Lando had bought a few years ago. He had bet that you wouldn’t hang it on the tree, and let’s just say, he loses five pounds every year.

But you also had cool ones where someone painted a picture of you and Lando on an ornament and gifted it to you, you loved how it looked and could not not hang it on the tree. This year you left some spaces in between the baubles because you wanted to do some ornaments with Lando, it might sound lame, but you turned it into a date night and Lando couldn’t deny those. Every two weeks someone would choose something to do during date night, and last week, Lando decided to stream and look through memes for two hours straight. You loved memes, and you loved streaming, but for two hours? It got boring after thirty minutes, but you waited until Lando said it was over because whenever someone chooses a date night, it had to be done, so he could make some ornaments with you.

The tree was perfect, but there was one last thing to do, to put the star on top of the tree. So you chose the perfect one, it was white and had silver specks in it, and Lando wrapped his arms around you under your butt and lifted you up, so you could reach the tip and place the star on top of it.

You two made some steps away from the tree and looked at it while hugging the other.

”It‘s perfect, isn’t it?“

All you could do was nod against his shoulder and kiss it.

”Thank you for doing this with me.“

”Always and everything, baby.“

[borninwinter81]

Black metal battle vest update

A few more patches here - still plenty of space, but I'm getting to the point where the free spots are small and/or awkward.

Many of these are traced or stencilled and painted with black fabric paint onto white fabric.

The Greek lettering is from Rotting Christ and means "666". I don't understand Greek so I don't know how that works, but I feel like less of a teenage edgelord with this than I would a patch that just says "666".

Impaled Rektum is the band from the movie Hevi Reissu (Heavy Trip). Strictly speaking they don't belong on a BM vest as their music in the movie definitely leans more towards death metal (or more accurately symphonic post-apocalyptic reindeer-grinding Christ-abusing extreme war pagan fennoscandian metal) but I love that movie. Plus all the characters in the band represent a different genre, and Pasi/Xytrax is clearly supposed to embody BM.

Morbid is the band Per Ohlin/Dead was in before Mayhem. They only did one EP plus a few tracks that were only ever performed live, but they're awesome. Again not BM really, but with the Dead connection I felt like I could include them. Plus the shape is perfect for this spot 😁

Behemoth and Satyricon shouldn't need any introduction - those are both painted - and Rotting Christ underneath, which I bought from their bandcamp store. Seems appropriate to have those 3 together since I'm seeing them all on The Unholy Trinity tour next year.

The Alcest one is also painted. One of their logos is a little more complicated and I didn't even attempt it, but luckily they have another which is very simple and fits this spot perfectly. Alcest are a French band, and created blackgaze, a fusion of BM and shoegaze. Their music is gorgeous.

Last of the painted ones, and the first one I did using my tracing method. I got so much confidence from this that it led me to making all the others. Sarcófago, phenomenal Brazilian band who played a huge part in shaping what we think of as BM today.

As did Celtic Frost just underneath, this patch came from the Danse Macabre boxset because I'm a heathen who uses her collectible merch instead of keeping it pristine.

On that subject... two Immortal patches. Northern Chaos Gods was bought singly but War Against All was from the boxset too. I don't know whether I'm likely to get shit for this or not, but I've listened to Immortal for years, and I honestly think the last two albums (the ones since Abbath left) are their best ever, which is why I'm representing both of them here.

The War Against All box also had a pin badge but I haven't decided where on the vest I want to put it. It also came with an artcard signed by Demonaz which is exclusive to Eyesore Merch in the UK.

Backpatch. This was also homemade, but I'm not skilled enough to paint it, so it was done with printer transfer paper. Ulver are one of my favourite bands of all time, from their 90s BM, to their avant-garde, neoclassical, experimental, noise, psychedelic, and 80s synth style. All their work is absolute genius, and Nattens Madrigal is my favourite of their early material.

Lastly a couple of purchased ones, Bathory who again should need no introduction, and Agalloch who are another all-time favourite of mine, everything they've ever created is stunningly beautiful.

[kimberleyjean]

What did Adam change? (Part 1)

To follow up on my recent reblog about the baby swap, I'm going to take a closer look at Adam where we leave him at the end of S1. Because, by the end of S1, Adam had changed quite a few things... and I'm going to use both the TV show and the book to provide evidence.

To become the Young's real son, I don't think Adam really needed to change all that much. He just says the words to Satan, Satan disappears, and that should be it, right? But no, because Adam goes much further, and I think he does it because he can.

Because Adam has opinions, you see. Opinions on how the world should be and what he wants to happen. Except, unlike Agnes, who needs to write a prophecy and then wait 300 years for her descendant to enact it, Adam can just make it so.

The Other Two Babies

I originally thought about putting all the things Adam changes into a single post, but instead I'm going to make this a short series of posts, because he changes a fair bit. Let's start with where we left off with the baby swap, crack open a copy of the book and discuss the changes for Warlock and Greasy first.

Warlock

Here's some excerpts of Warlock flying home from Megiddo to America (my bolds for emphasis):

It was Sunday afternoon. High over England a 747 droned westwards. In the first-class cabin a boy called Warlock put down his comic and stared out of the window.

...

And now he was going back to the States. There had been some sort of problem with tickets or flights or airport destination-boards or something. It was weird; he was pretty sure his father had meant to go back to England. Warlock liked England. It was a nice country to be an American in.

...

And Warlock flew on to America. He deserved something (after all, you never forget the first friends you ever had, even if you were all a few hours old at the time) and the power that was controlling the fate of all mankind at that precise time was thinking: Well, he's going to America, isn't he? Don't see how you could have anythin' better than going to America. They've got thirty-nine flavors of ice cream there. Maybe even more.

So it's Adam who has sent Warlock back to America, despite Warlock wanting (even, expecting) to be on his way to England. And he's controlling the fate of all mankind.

Greasy

Likewise, he has changes for Greasy Johnson too (the discarded baby who grows up to win prizes for his tropical fish).

The plane was at that point passing right above the Lower Tadfield bedroom of Greasy Johnson, who was aimlessly leafing through a photography magazine that he'd bought merely because it had a rather good picture of a tropical fish on the cover. A few pages below Greasy's listless finger was a spread on American football, and how it was really catching on in Europe. Which was odd… because when the magazine had been printed, those pages had been about photography in desert conditions. It was about to change his life.

Adam is deciding here how to alter Warlock and Greasy's paths. Warlock wants to be back in the UK, but Adam thinks America is better, while Greasy's magazine is changed to American football, which I guess is implying he's going to become an American footballer.

Now, not everyone may be aware, but these parts weren't in the first release of the novel. It only came about later, in the American edition. Apparently the changes were in response to prompting from the American editor, but they got "carried away" making those changes (source).

Season 3 (warning: speculation)

So, do you think this could be relevant for S3? For me personally, the fact that these bits were added later makes me wonder if this was helping to set up for a potential sequel. It's certainly poetic - just like the baby swap that originally involved all three, we are now implying a potential adolescent swap of Greasy, who is interested in American football, and Warlock, who is interested to return to the U.K.

If you've read at all about the hypothetical plot of the proposed written sequel, you'll know that it involved a trip to America, ostensibly to look for a lost Jesus. So, if the next book was originally meant to be about going and finding someone (Jesus?) in America, then Greasy or Warlock could make sense. It would be a switcheroo all over again if Warlock had left for the UK and Greasy for America.

Another alternative is that all three could end up converging in America, since Warlock already lives there and both Adam and Greasy have interests in going there. But if that's the intention, why mention that Warlock wants to be back "home" in the U.K.?

So, those are my possible takes on how this passage can be interpreted. I know there are some theories that either Greasy or Warlock may be the Second Coming. I've also seen a theory now that Adam himself could be a contender (both spawn of Satan and spawn of God - it'd certainly be interesting!). I'm not placing bets on any of these outcomes just yet.

In addition to this passage in the book, we also see some interesting changes made by Adam which are featured more prominently in the show - one's that have implications for the ineffable husbands.

Part 2 coming soon!

Thanks as always to everyone at the @ineffable-detective-agency (including @noneorother, @embracing-the-ineffable, @lookingatacupoftea, @251-dmr, @somehow-a-human, @maufungi, @havemyheartaziraphale, @theastrophysicistnextdoor, @dunkthebiscuit, @komorezuki, & @ghstptats).

[emkayewrites]

I wrote another behind-the-scenes-of-Bridgerton-Season-3 moment in my Lukola fanfic. This time, it's about the making of the mirror scene....

(Excerpt taken from my fanfiction 'Curtain Fall')

5th October 2022 – Buckinghamshire (UK)

He stood in front of her with a face full of determination.

“I will always stand up for you.” He insisted. “Because I love you… Pen.”

“Are-are you sure?” She found her words catching in her throat as she swallowed back tears.

He met her wide-eyed, slightly terrified gaze with a small yet reassuring smile.

“Everything I said to your mother is true.”  He looked away from her and towards the full-length rectangular mirror that was propped against the brick wall behind her. “And you shall see it as well.”

With those words and with some grace, he gently maneuvered her so that she was turned away from him; her back pressing into his abdomen, his arms hugging her from behind.  They both directed their gaze into the mirror before them, catching each other’s’ eyes in the reflection.

This part came easily to Nicola.  Conveying the hope that he truly loved you but not being able to let go of the fear that it was all a mistake or hoax somehow.  That any moment, he might pull away with the coldness and unfamiliarity of a stranger.  She knew as she played the part and said the words that she was channelling feelings that were years old and about Ezra, and the unrequited nature of their relationship.  She did not want those dots to connect but this was part of the challenge of being an actor; you did not get to choose what the work bought up for you.  This was what had kept happening to her every time they walked through these scenes.  She tried to orient herself to the present moment: to the fact that she and Luke were in a practice being presided over by Lizzy in a small rehearsal studio in the middle of nowhere.  This was not real.  Yet, this exercise only pulled her further away from the pivotal emotions she needed for the scene.

Luke’s hands travelled up her bare arms and rested tenderly on her shoulders as he bought his mouth close to her ear.  She inhaled deeply, holding his gaze in the mirror. 

“You… are the cleverest, bravest woman I have ever known.” His breath was warm against her skin.

This was meant to be an emotional moment; she felt the energy reverberating through him as he continued speaking to her with the passion of a man deeply in love.  Yet, she was no longer in the moment because she actively was trying not to be. The emotions had felt too difficult to hold.  She took another deep breath, trying to portray the feelings of overwhelm that Penelope would have to those words being spoken to her. 

“You make me feel seen in ways I have never felt seen before.” Luke had disappeared, all she could see and hear was Colin.  He was on fire.  “And then there is…”

He reached up to her hair which was gathered up rather sloppily in a bun and held there by a long, green hairpin.  He gently plucked it out and let it drop to the floor, letting her hair fall to her shoulders.  Nicola knew she should emote here but instead, she focused on Lizzy who she could see out of the corner of her eyes, huddled in the corner, watching them with a kind of enthrallment Nicola rarely saw.  She noticed Luke becoming aware of her distractedness; it was evident in the way he slightly stiffened, almost breaking character for the millisecond it took him to process what she was and was not doing.

“The way your hair cascades down your shoulder…” He carried on, but she could hear a change in his voice.  It was less romantic, more unnerved.  “The way your eyes shine when you look at me, like two blue pools.” 

He paused and turned his gaze from the mirror to her, making a point to look directly into her eyes.  She tried to hold his gaze with the nervous, lovesick eyes of Penelope Featherington but it felt impossible.  She no longer felt the tension and climatic build-up associated with romance, instead she felt like a thirty-something-year old in a slightly stained t-shirt and leggings play-acting the most ridiculous scenario. 

Comparing blue eyes to two blue pools? Really? She wanted to laugh.

Luke moved an index finger up to her chin and then began to run it ever-so-delicately across her bottom lip. “The firmness of your lips parted just so...”

It became too much.  It would have been fine if all he had to do was the talking but as usual, the touch pushed her beyond her threshold.  It came through as a small giggle at first, startling him slightly but he retained his resolve and tried to continue.

“…And the softness of your skin…”

No sooner had he finished the sentence than she had found herself bursting into laughter.  He let out a slightly frustrated sigh and dropped his arms, releasing her from him. 

“I’m sorry, I’m really sorry.” She apologized. “We can go again, I’ll keep getting better.”

“This keeps happening.” Luke was addressing Lizzy, not her.

“OK, well that was really great from both of you until that moment.” Lizzy reassured, standing up and walking towards them.  “I really got the emotions from you both but then you seemed to shift, Nicola.”

Nicola was not used to feeling the spotlight hit her and wanting to hide from it but, in that instance, she was not sure how to respond and wanted to avoid the topic altogether.  Lizzy was right, she had been the one to break character and there had been nothing going on in the room that had taken her attention away.  It was all internal and she was not sure she was ready to share what the content of that was.

“I was really trying.” Nicola lied.

“Are you sure?  Could what the mirror scene involves be making you get a little in your head?”  Lizzy prodded gently.  Luke was also appraising her carefully, a mix of concern and annoyance on his face.

“No, God, I’m alright with the upcoming nudity, honestly.  I might just be a little tired.” Nicola replied, hoping this would lead to a break and allow them to move on from the matter. 

There was a scoff from Luke that took her aback.  She fixed him with a frown.

“Anything you want to say, Luke?” Lizzy queried, picking up on the atmosphere.

“I don’t think you’re tired because this has been happening for ages, every time I’m delivering the most heartrending of lines.  You’re not tired, be honest.” He spoke with a frustration she had never really heard in his voice before.  Again, it surprised her and on some level, it also angered her.  She was trying, she was tired and yes, she was also secretly distracted by the complex emotions involved with Ezra right now, but he did not know that part, so how dare he accusingly state that there was something more to the situation?  She knew her train of logic was unfair but, in that moment, after several days of rehearsal, she did not care.

“I am tired.” She spat with some venom.  She noticed Lizzy tense up as she took stock of the direction the situation was going in. 

“OK, well I think we can communicate through this.” Lizzy spoke carefully. “Delivering highly emotional and sexually charged scenes is intense, it can bring up a lot.  I think it would be useful just to take a step back and check in with ourselves – what is coming up here?  Luke, can you elaborate?”

“Alright, I’ll say it.” He spoke with a forthrightness that was unusual for him.  “What’s coming up for me – I’m intimidated by you, Nic.  I’ve respected you and your craft and I’m just here trying to measure up. Every time I put heart and soul into a scene, it’s not convincing enough for you, you’re laughing or your breaking character.  It’s giving the distinct impression I’m not measuring up here.”

Nicola took a second to absorb the words.  This was the most emotionally exposed she had ever seen him.  She felt a sharp sting at his words and at the realisation that he had not just been nervous about playing a lead, but he had been worried about playing a lead alongside her.  There were always many jokes made about her perceived success and experience in the industry by many on the Bridgerton set.  They were a cast of many unknowns or first-time actors, therefore it was not difficult to stand out even with a few acting credits to your name.  As such, Nicola had never paid too much mind to these light-hearted comparisons.  Clearly, Luke, the conscientious overthinker that she now recognised him to be, did.

Standing beside her, Lizzy also seemed to be receiving his words with a solemness. She reached out and put a hand on his shoulder.

“Luke, I’m really glad you shared that.  I think we can forget how our performances are incredibly enmeshed and there is a metanarrative running through what you both do, in character and out of character.” Lizzy looked at Nicola expectantly.  “Do you have any thoughts, Nicola?”

“Well, I feel like a right dickhead, for one.” Nicola replied. She watched his features soften and relax. “It’s not you, mate. Lizzy is right, there is a metanarrative that I was hoping I could push past but it’s clearly affecting me, and now you.”

“What metanarrative?” He asked.  There was a look of relief spreading about him that made her feel simultaneously better and awful – she could not believe he had been carrying that much worry about his own performance.  She owed him an explanation.

“It’s…” She started but was not sure how to continue.

Sensing an opportunity, Lizzy interjected.  “You know what? I think… this is a great thing to talk through over a break and a coffee.  Maybe journal out your thoughts first and then share them with each other if that is easier.  Work out a way to support each other through your differing metanarratives?”

“That’s a great idea.”  Luke stated and Nicola nodded in person but in mind, the idea was terrifying. 

But it’s necessary. She thought.

[isalisewrites]

I just read your addition to another persons ask where you said the Harry Potter fandom not being responsible for JRK bullshit and honestly thank you.

I am so freaking exhausted of having to defend myself for finding comfort in a fandom that has been with me since I was a kid. Just because I’m not burning the books I bought 20 years ago doesn’t mean I support anything about her now.

She has her billions. Even if no one on earth bought another Harry Potter thing again. She would still have it. Whether or not I read fanfiction or watch movies I already own make zero difference.

You said it better than I ever could. But One day she will be dead and gone. And no one will care. But Harry Potter will still be around. Because it and its community is bigger and better than JKR will ever be.

Anyway. Just wanted to say that. It felt good to read something other than hate for HP again. If you would be up for talking without the anonymity let me know?

*huggles*

I’m just as weary, too, sweetie.

“There’s no ethical consumption of Harry Potter.”

Let’s be brutally realistic here. If you’re not living off grid in the woods where you’re 100% self sufficient with growing your own food, making your own clothes, drawing up well water, generating your own power, and buying nothing, then you’re not living ethically either. If you’re getting a Starbucks, then guess what? You’re supporting genocide. McDonalds? Yup, genocide. Going to Target? Uh oh, you’re supporting racism and sexism.

The reality is there is no ethical consumption under CAPITALISM.

There are literally hundreds of companies that support Israel’s genocide of Gaza and hundreds who financially supported Trump. I wonder how many companies supported UK’s ultra conservative politics. It’s not just JKR, I can promise you that.

It’s impossible for the average person to avoid every company. You have to buy food. You have to buy essentials. You have to buy gas if you use a car to get to work. 

You have to survive.

It’s not our fault these greedy companies support the politics that preserve their power and their ability to make more and more money. JKR is a drop in the bucket of hate. She is one of MANY. Where the UK’s fucking 900 paged manifesto of hate? The American Project 2025 that’s currently being pushed by the Trump party wants to make it so that the mere appearance of wearing clothes that don’t align with your birth sex equate to pornography.

And then they want to make pornography a federal crime.

But I understand. We all feel powerless. So, what people do to give themselves power is they target someone easy. Instead of going after the roots of the problem, they attack the budding flowers on the tree. 

I’m aggrieved for UK’s transpeople. I’m devastated for them. But it’s bad everywhere and we’re not to blame for the actions of our government leaders. We can vote. We can protest. We can spend our money in the right places as best as possible. A storm is likely coming, but it’s not our fault. Evil people are in power. The wealth imbalance is astronomical. The world is controlled by oligarchs and there isn’t a ton that we can do, except survive and try to spend less money overall. 

In the end, I cope by taking these characters and creating something beautiful. Terrible, But Great is about love and redemption. Elysium’s Sanctuary is about love and healing. TBG contains my soul, while ES contains my broken heart. Badger Prey and Moon Rite are also about love; they're written to shake off the chains of purity culture. All of these stories are precious to me.

I’d hope that in a hundred years, there will still be readers discovering Harry Potter fanfics. Someone years to come will read our works and be touched by our words, both our stories and our author’s notes. JKR will go down in history as a woman who used her influence for terrible things while the Harry Potter fandom will stand as a beacon who rose above her. 

What she hates, we celebrate. We protect. 

Yes, you are absolutely free to DM me. Anyone can. Just DM me with more than a Hi, haha. Otherwise, I won't know it's more than a random bot or something.

I know it’s so very hard to maintain hope in these times. I keep having to repeat to myself, "Show me how good it can get." Even when it feels like everything is falling apart. Instead of falling into despair, I pour my soul into writing for both my own healing and the healing of others.

Spread love, not hate. And when you can, create. Keep trying. <3 Because it’s worth more than all of the combined wealth in the world.

Isa

[loadingbones]

Hello!! breakdown of Choir Cosplay!! This is not really gonna be a step by step but a general vibe of what I did to make this cosplay :) To note: I haven’t sewn anything since I was in highschool which was 8 years ago, so a lot of this is like a ‘ya that works’ - make improvements where I could not :p Overall I wanted the cosplay to not be an exact copy of what is in game, personally I prefer more fitted clothing so I went close to my size with the pattern. Fabric: I used an ivory polycotton, ivory satin and black cotton. 1. I started hunting for a pattern that at least captured the vibe of the choir garb. I had split up the garment in my head into 3 separate parts: The base, the capelet, all the extra fancy bits. The big concern when picking fabric is I didn’t want the garment to be translucent, which is a problem for lighter coloured fabric. BUT!! I found that I didn’t have to make a lining and could instead flatline the fabric - where you cut double the piece and stitch them flat against each other - making it both thicker and opaque!  

Flatlining tutorial:

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=5N-qdP9tcc4&pp=ygUSZmxhdCBsaW5pbmcgc2V3aW5n

I found this pattern by Gunnar Deatherage on Etsy (as a beginner I loved this pattern, it’s very in depth and easy to follow) 

https://www.etsy.com/uk/listing/1270370974/maxi-duster-wrap-pattern-instant?ga_order=most_relevant&ga_search_type=all&ga_view_type=gallery&ga_search_query=gunnar+deatherage&ref=sr_gallery-1-14&pro=1&sts=1&dd=1&content_source=95a164c411331c5aaff8fee029dee1e6377d3f92%253A1270370974&search_preloaded_img=1&organic_search_click=1

I did not use the sleeve pattern from it, instead I made my own to have the right fall and size.

Use the sleeve cap from the pattern so it can attach correctly to the bodice/back pieces - then where the sleeve starts to become longer draw out diagonally on both sides. For length I used the original pattern and went slightly longer! :) I used the same pattern for the peplum sorta top section and again for the skirt on the bottom. It creates a stitch line along the front but it’ll be covered by the belt!

I bought this embroidered ribbon and attached it around the edges of the garment! https://www.etsy.com/uk/listing/840215852/35-mm-golden-victorian-jade-jacquard?click_key=2c042e9416627d9bf9d2f1e85385ba93e48ca464%3A840215852&click_sum=1fe453a7&ref=shop_home_active_1&sts=1  Corset/rolled sleeves: I did this last Corset pieces: Cut out 4 pieces (twice) - and attach them together leaving the end open to turn them inside out. Use a grommet tool and punch some holes through your fabric - make sure they line up. Roll the sleeves to roughly where your inner elbow is and attach another piece of fabric around the width of the roll - pin it in place. Hand sew the corset pieces on and the other piece of fabric so it is all secure :) Thread some similar coloured lacing to the fabric through the holes. 

2. The belt! (My mum helped me a lot on this and was my voice of reason) Originally I had bought an elasticated belt with a clasp, but it didn't work at all and ruined the fall of the garment.

I chopped off the end of the belt, leaving me with some elasticated ‘fabric’ and the clasp. Measured my waist and cut out a thick piece of fabric twice and one piece of iron on interfacing. The measurement I did with the base on and added slightly more for both seam allowance and so there was breathing room for myself. Put the clasp piece on either end of the fabric and sew it all together! :)  (marks are from the paint of the chain rubbing off onto the fabric :P)

3. The caplet!  For the capelet I used this tutorial                           Easy DIY Capelets | For Halloween, Thanksgiving & Christmas🎃🍂🎄          (The only issue with this is I couldn’t get my head around how to attach a non circle collar) Ivory polycotton + Ivory satin used. Doing the base of this is pretty straightforward with the tutorial - it’s just a circle skirt but for your neck. If you want to be evil to yourself, you can do what I did and hand sew bridal applique all around the garment. If you can machine sew it please do :p I went for a big swooping shaped applique in ivory - any gaps I had were filled with more applique  ​​https://www.etsy.com/uk/listing/628065500/beaded-sequinned-lace-flower-wedding?click_key=d8b4937d8079ab34b301cf2d4dc7fbd0d6ede960%3A628065500&click_sum=81fb49a9&ref=shop_home_recs_1 I used poppers on the base and the cape to attach them together - it kept choking me if i didn’t  4. The collar - made me want to cry ngl I could not figure out for the life of me how to attach a non circle collar to the capelet (which is how I wanted it). Instead we have a removable collar!! I copied the size of collar from one of my own shirts and followed these tutorials                           TWO PIECE COLLAR TUTORIAL | KIM DAVE                                     How to Sew a Collar and Collar Stand Easily by Sew Sew Live     5. Graduation hood???? For some reason you can’t just buy these in the UK without paying £30, so I made my own Cut out double for the pieces around your neck and one for the ‘hood’ part Gather the ends of the rectangular piece and attach them to the other pieces!

6. The Fancy back panel piece Measure from mid shoulder blade to the bottom of the garment for the main rectangular piece. Cut out two other rectangles of the same width coming into an arrow shape. Sew them all together and start sketching on the design. The great thing here is you can make it up, because it’s too complicated and nobody is gonna look at it and be like ‘u did it wrong’ I used a fabric medium and gold metallic acrylic 

Once it’s all done, I machine sewed it to the back of the base garment because it’s hidden by the cape.  7. THE REST Chain: Me and the chain belt had a fight - Originally I used metal chain,, but I’m allergic to some metal and can’t deal with the smell,, I switched to a plastic chain with 2 D Ring clasps - had to sand it down but the gold spray paint loves to flake off. If I knew about it before, I’d use EVA foam chain :) Black pieces underneath: I bought a turtle neck and a long black skirt :P but you could make it as a dress or smth! Purchased long black velvet gloves, a pocket watch and a key necklace (I didn’t want to use a censer - and they are v expensive/idk how to make one) Ribbon + brooch: I bought chunky soft blue ribbon and found a vintage brooch on vinted 

The mask: If you have contacts you’d probably be fine, but I don’t and this mask messed with my depth perception and balance so I had to take it off so I could wear my glasses :( 

Use buckram plastic mesh - the thicker kind, used for fursuit eyes and in black! You can see out but nobody can see in. I made a mock up with paper but sorta looks like this shape :)

Eva foam pieces cut out into swirls and filigree like shapes, glue it onto the buckram I did a base coat in grey over the entire thing and painted it with black, gold and bronze acrylic! I hole punched and put the ribbon through it so the mask could be tied around my head.

If you’re making the mask and hat - I’d attach the mask to the hat so it’s one piece :)  Where I went wrong/what I’d improve I wish I had been able to attach the collar to the rest of the garment. There is a gap that appears between the collar and the caplet/base at the back (mainly due to gravity and it moving) that can be annoying, since my hair is on the longer side it was covered but still I wish it wasn’t there. I’d also want a bigger collar! I’d not use satin as a lining for the skirt and capelet - it’s so annoying to use and it’s so slippery Maybe would not hand sew all that applique because it took me over a week :P  BUT OVERALL for a first cosplay, it’s pretty good! I’m mostly happy with the outcome and it was one of my dream ones to do! :) I hope this helps, I didn’t take photos of all the steps unfortunately but hopefully it makes sense :)