#i like trying to go from just ‘utilitarian thing’ to ‘vintage utilitarian thing that is also beautiful and i love it’

[autumnhobbit]

for reasons (i love frustrating myself) i was watching caroline winkler’s video on how to discover your interior design tastes and she basically specifically made a pinterest board with a lot of different stuff so you could see things of variation and not just based off what you clicked on last in the algorithm, so she had you go through and save anything you just loved, ask what you love about it, if there’s anything you dislike about it, and slowly whittle down from there till everything is both something you love and cohesive.

so i did that. and i thiiink what i wound up with is cohesive but idk what i’d call it.

[vyl3tpwny]

A thought about the Music Process®

Prophet V Synthesizer, one of my favourite synthesizers ever. Ironically, this isn't about synthesizers, though. You'll see

—

I'm not actually sure what the most in depth way of saying any of this is. So I'd just like to consider it from my limited lexicon (pun intended, for my vintage reverb fans out there).

But the ways i think of it are like this:

Writing / Composition — The act of actually conceptualizing the music, composing it melodically, establishing parts for instruments, writing lyrics, etc.

Recording — Capturing any live performances such as guitars, vocals, drums, etc.

Sound Design — Depending on the genre, this may not be a thing. But for me, it's designing instruments from scratch, curating interesting instruments (possibly paired with some effect chains that sound cool), experimenting with sounds and musical phrases independently of a song's context, etc.

Production — Kind of a blend of the first three, but a sort of higher level of polish is involved and often involves taking each smaller idea and concept to a interesting and pristine level. Usually includes stuff like instrumentation as well.

Arranging — Deciding where all the elements go, when they come in, how they make their exit, etc.

Mixing — Using tools like EQ's, compressors, saturation, and other tools to make individual tracks/instruments/sounds work together in the context of a full song and establishing a distinct sonic style for the instruments and track as a whole.

Mastering — Taking a full mix of a song and doing similar things like with Mixing, except instead of applying these ideas to individual tracks, you're applying them to the song as a whole. Often this process involves trying to reach a target loudness for the song as well as make it as compatible as possible with other platforms, devices, and listening situations.

A lot of people think of these things as separate. In a lot of cases they are.

However. That is not how I do anything, actually. Most of these things, aside from mastering, sort of blend together for me. The writing process may yield sound design ideas, or vice versa. And I always find myself mixing while arranging and writing. And this sort of blending together of the parts of the "music process®" is common for independent musicians these days.

Traditionally, different roles are taken on by different people. Even one role can be taken up by multiple people; most bands do various parts of the writing and composition, while other engineers help with recording, production, mixing, mastering, etc.

Most independent musicians that find themselves taking on many or all of these roles usually admit to not enjoying most of the utilitarian, engineering aspects, and prefer to emphasize their passion for the abstractly creative part of the process (namely writing, recording, and sound design.)

I do every single aspect of my music, and I like it that way. I know that if something sucks, it's all on me and nobody else takes the fall. But if something is good... Well, that's all me too. And I'm super proud of that. But where a lot of people in my sort of position usually loathe half of the entire process, I shall confess—

—I really really really REALLY love the engineering part of everything. I love problem solving with my equipment and learning new things about it. I love trying to figure out how to make new musical ideas work cohesively with things. It's even harder for me than a lot of other people because I do as many genres as I can get my disgusting little hooves on. Engineering ideas and concepts shift depending on the genre, and so everytime I try something new, I also have to learn how to produce, arrange, mix, and master for it. AND I FUCKING LOVE IT.

Of all these things, though, the thing I really really adore the most is mixing. I usually don't do it as its own process; mixing usually is a part of the song creation process for me. It's like another aspect of sound design honestly. But I love fixing things in sound that doesn't work as it should properly. I love trying to figure out how to get all the tracks to fit together and feel coherent. AND I LOVE. THE TOOLS.

This is why I even wanted to discuss any of this. I love exploring and learning EQs and compressors and all sorts of things. I honestly want to talk more about it and use this space as a way to just ramble and maybe share my love for this stuff with people who have no idea what it is or no idea why to care or even find themselves intimidated at the thought of the engineering process.

I have a hyperfixation with audio dynamic compressors. I always warn people that if somehow the conversation we're having is steering towards engineering, specifically compressors, that they have to be super careful or else I won't shut the fuck up. I love them so much.

They all have so much personality and always have their own sound. That's the point.

API 2500 Stereo Bus Compressor

Manley VariMu Compressor/Limiter

Neve33609 Compressor/Limiter

HOW CAN YOU LOOK AT THESE AND NOT HAVE YOUR CURIOSITY PIQUED?? AUGH. I love the VU's (the meters with the needles) so much and they often are what define a compressor's visual vibe to me.

They all have software counterparts that I use (I can't ever afford a real physical hardware compressor lol they run in the thousands)

Universal Audio's API 2500 VST Plugin

Pulsar's MU VST Plugin

Arturia's Comp DIODE-609 VST Plugin

If you think about these tools like art tools, right. Different styles and brands of pens, pencils, markers, pastels, charcoals, clays, etc, all deal with the same basic concept and all attempt to fulfill a particular aspect of the process. But you also know that the differences between styles and brands are often huge. Despite all attempting to do the same thing, you know which ones will get you closest to the ideas in your head fastest depending on what the idea and situation is. Audio engineering tools are like that too, especially compressors.

Before computers, these were exclusively analog. Each compressor designed was uniquely flawed in it's own way. Once computers dominated the music making process, compressors went digital. For a while, people were excited to finally make digital compressors that were mathematically perfect. But we actually discovered that it killed the life of a lot of music as a result. The imperfections of analog compressors (and other audio equipment) is what made them unique.

Even if each one does the same thing, they all actually feel very different. And I just get so excited about it!

If you've come this far and actually don't know what an audio dynamics compressor is, that is impressive you stayed with me this long. A compressor in music is basically a device that allows you to manipulate the dynamic range of audio. That is a long winded way of saying you can take a sound and make the quieter parts louder, and the louder parts quieter. Or. You could do the inverse (called expansion). That, itself, is also a long winded way of saying: You can use compressors to make sounds punchier, or smoother, or more controlled, or more present, or more exciting, or beefier, or other descriptors in that vein. You can take a weak sounding kick drum and give it some actual punch and presence. You can take a vocal recording and squish it so that it's really up front and full of energy, helping it to rise above the other instruments without just turning the volume up.

Compressors are so important, that their use and application has — very early on — defined styles of music.

Here's an example where I create different dynamic feels for a drum track using Pulsar's 1178 VST Plugin. I won't describe how it sounds to me, I'm sure you can think in your own way about how the compressor is changing the sound!

I'd love to talk more about this stuff in the future.. let me know if you'd be interested in that. Because I can talk forever. Trust me.

I think I'll create a tag for any audio engineering nerd talk. I'll call it: #Vynamics

(Even if I'll talk about more than dynamics processing.. I think it works..)

Lmk what you think. Thanks <3 (Also I'm delegating #Vyop to be my personal post tag, so from now on you will be able to find all my own posts with that. I'll add this to my blog bio sometime.)

[dingochef]

Pairing: Jake "Hangman" Seresin x You (OFC)

Warnings: Swearing, Smut (MDNI 18+ Only), Angst with a Happy Ending, Stalking, P in V, oral (female and male receiving), Semi-public sex, light spanking,

Summary: You and Jake geek out at the fly in.  Later things get heated and you start to realize you might be in over your head with the feelings you're developing for Jake. 

Word Count: 2.6k

Masterlist

Chapter 9

Chapter 10: Vintage

Group Chat: Your favorite hoes

Members: Lydia, Beth

Lydia: How was the date with Bob, just Bob?  Any good action?

Beth: It was good. 

Beth: Real good.

You: Details! 

Beth: Let's just say he has a bit of an oral fixation and he's definitely more of a giver, 😉

Lydia: It all makes sense.  Like he knew he had to be really great at eating pussy to make up for some of the initial blandness

Beth: You're so vulgar

Lydia: But you love me for it, 😍

You: Still waters run deep…..like his tongue deep inside you

Beth: Not you too. 

Beth: Speaking of the devil, he's calling.  Buh-bye

It's Saturday morning and you're pulling together the last few items for your day bag for the air show.  You're looking forward to spending the day with Jake and checking out the vintage aircraft.  Jake is picking you up here shortly, he mentioned something about having the better car for today and purposely remained vague on details.  

I'm looking out the window when you see a turquoise vintage Corvette convertible pull up with the fabric top up.  You can't see who is driving as the car stops at the curb in front of your  house. A familiar head of blond hair followed by a leather bomber jacket with mission patches unfolds out of the driver's seat.  Jake is of course wearing his aviators. He just smiles wide and stretches his arms out presenting the car, he shouts, 

"A vintage ride to a vintage air show!" as you walk out to meet him.  He runs around the car to greet you with a hug and a kiss and opens the door for you.  

"Ooh, vintage manners too," you coo as you get into the car.  He shuts your door and walks around the car and climbs into the driver seat.  He starts the car and you are off towards Chula Vista where the fly in is being held.  

"You know, if you had told me you had a 61 Corvette when we first met, I might have been nicer to you," you say as he pulls on the freeway heading south from San Diego, hand trailing on the dash. 

"The lady knows her cars," Jake replies.

"Of course I do, I'm the daughter of an automotive engineer from Michigan.  In fact my dad worked for GM." 

"And yet you drive a Honda CR-V, the store brand vanilla ice cream of cars." He teases back.  

"Yeah, it's definitely utilitarian and I got a good deal on it from a friend who was moving overseas. Besides, I drive way too many miles for my  job to have anything like this."

The rest of the drive passes quickly and soon you're pulling into the lot at the general aviation airport hosting the event.  Jake and you walk up to the entrance and grab a map,

"So where do we want to go first? Ooh, they have a World War 2 section," you ask scanning the map.  Jake hooks his chin on your shoulder to peek at the map. He scans the map and says, 

"That sounds good, we'll have to make sure to see the fighters," Jake says pointing at the map from over your shoulder.

"I wouldn't dare miss that, dear," you say to Jake as you kiss his cheek.  It comes so naturally to you that the intimacy of the gesture doesn't register till you start walking handing hand towards where the World War II planes are arranged on the tarmac.  This has definitely moved past fuck buddies and you try to convince yourself it's just friends with benefits, ignoring the slight panic that flutters up in your gut.  

There are dozens of aircraft from World War II lined up on the tarmac.  You and Jake find yourself gravitating to the bombers.  

“These always intrigued me because of just how many people were in a crew, how many people it took to fly these and hit targets.  All of that stuff we can just do with one or two people now,"  you say as you wander around a B-29. 

“I’ve always liked the WWII bombers for the nose art, mostly the pin up girls to be honest.  I had a few posters of some of them on your  wall in high school.  Closest I could get to putting up a bikini model poster without my mom freaking out,”  Jake replies.  

You laugh at the thought of Jake as horny teenager looking at pin up girls for hormonal inspiration.  

“So, you’re saying you like the pin up look.”

“I’d have you on the side of my jet, but I think the Navy’s not going to be into that,” he leans in closer and whispers, 

“But that doesn’t mean I wouldn’t ravage you the second I saw you all gussied up like that.” 

He points up to the classic nose art of a woman astride a bomb, skimpy red dress and heels, and Jessica Rabbit style red hair.  You make a mental note for later.  

You’ve traversed most of the air show and you finally get to fighter jet row after lunch from a food truck.  The way Jake kept catching your  eye as you were trying to eat a ridiculously large Italian sausage made you nearly choke on it with laughter. 

“You’re going to kill me if you keep that up,” you joke as you bump shoulders with him.    

“Whatever do you mean? I just see a woman really enjoying a large girthy sausage,” he replies back with an innocent look. 

As you walk through the planes it's apparent whoever curated the show did a great job with lining the aircraft up in chronological order.  It’s easy to see the evolution of the planes.  Jake stops when we get to a F-14 Tomcat.  

“Maverick flew one of these when he was at Top Gun,” he says.  

Climbing up the step ladder you check out the cockpit.  All the same elements that are in the jets you work on are there, but they're so rudimentary compared to what we equip aircraft with now.   

���It’s like looking back at a stone hammer versus buying one at Home Depot,” you say. “There’s actually a few guys I work with who worked on the F-16s around the time this was made by Grunnam.”  

“It does give me a tiny, tiny” he pinches his fingers together, “bit more respect for the old man to have shot down as many planes as he has when he had this to work with.”

The afternoon is getting hot so you call it and head back to Jake’s car, the turquoise is easy to spot in the field of cars.  As we get closer, Jake looks at you and asks, 

“How about I put the top down and we can drive back by the coast?”  

“That sounds good,”  you quickly find a hair tie out of your  purse and pull your hair back to keep it from flying around in the wind as we drive.  After navigating through town you finally make it out to the main coast road that will take you back to Coronado Island.  The wind noise is so loud you can’t really talk, but you find yourself looking at Jake a lot of the way back and just how beautiful he is especially with the setting sun behind him as we drive.  Every once in a while he catches you staring and smiles that panty dropper smile of his.   

You see a sign for a scenic turnout and you point it out to Jake. He nods, turning the car into the gravel lot and pulls to the far end of the lot.  You get out to stretch our legs and watch the sunset.  As you lean against the front of the car Jake wraps his arm around you and you curl into his side as the cool ocean breeze rolls in.  The sun slowly sets and Jake turns to kiss you.  You stand up between Jake's legs where he is leaning on against the car.  He is finally at a height where you can access his lips easily.  You reach in his bomber jacket and wrap your  arms around his back.  He grabs your hips and pulls you in close.  The kiss deepens and you can feel that familiar tug low in your belly. Grabbing the lapels of his jacket you pull him in closer. The kissing and sliding of hands over each other's bodies starts to build, the heat between you rising.

Jake stands up to his full height and gently pushes you away and runs to the back of the car and starts to pull the top of the car into place. His plan becomes clear when he sits down in the passenger seat and pats his lap.  You're thankful you're wearing a dress.  Jake is already hauling his pants and boxers down and stroking his cock. He pulls a condom out of his pocket and rolls it on as he watches you  walk up to the open door, lean down and slip your underwear off and climb in. As you straddle his lap Jake closes the door.  He reaches in between you and grabs the base of his cock and guides himself into you.  You sink down on him as far as you can.   He pants out between groans, 

"Fuck, El, so good." 

Jake reaches up to push the denim jacket you have over your sundress off and slide the straps of your dress and bra down exposing your breasts.  His firms hands slide up and palm your tits as he works each nipple with his mouth and rough fingers. 

The pleasure of his mouth and hands becomes too much and you start to ride him, desperate to quell the ache between your thighs. Your moans get louder and breathier and Jake pants out a few words,

"God damn, El, ride my cock." 

His hands have slipped down your side and are holding the globes of your ass.  He pulls your dress over your hips and kneads at the flesh of your ass.

Fucking his head to yours he whispers, 

"Such a pretty ass, makes me want to slap and spank it."

He grabs and holds you still against his cock as he squeezes your butt hard. 

You clench around him at the thought of his big hands leaving red hand prints on your smooth flesh.

He chuckles, having picked up on your response to his dirty thoughts.

"Oh El, you dirty girl. You want me to slap your ass, make it hurt a little, hurt in a good way?"

You can't control the whine that escapes your throat while you rock into him harder. Taking your response as permission he pulls back his hand and lands a resounding slap on your soft flesh. The sound is deafening in the closed car.  You whine in pleasure at the flash of pain.   

"You like that?" he asks, in a soft tone.

You duck your head into his neck, a little embarrassed, but oh so turned on. Ignoring the thought of your feminist credentials being tarnished by this, you reply,

"Yes, I do."

He slaps your other cheek, and says, 

"Say 'Yes, sir.'"

You pull your head back and look him directly in the eyes and challenge him and gain back a little control, 

"I do, Lieutenant."

He raises an eyebrow and pulls his mouth into that smirk right before he slaps both of your cheeks at the same time.  The delicious pain ricochets down through your clit causing you to clench hard around him finally breaking his cool facade, 

"Fuck, so good.'

You start to lift up and down on Jake's cock at a faster pace while he rubs your ass, keeping it warm and the hint of pain lingering.  Your mutual heavy breathing fills the car.  Jake moves one hand to place his thumb over your clit and starts slowly rolling circles around your  sensitive point.  The slowness of his touch is contrast to your frantic pace. His other hand pulls your  head down to him and he gives you a filthy kiss as he says, 

"You ride me so good, like you were made to do that, El."

"Yes, Lieutenant, your cock is so good. Give it to me, please," you whine in response.  

The tension is starting to build in your belly and you keep riding Jake even though your legs are starting to ache and shake with strain.  

Jake's hand on your ass is helping lift you each time and to keep your pace going. 

His thumb on your clit pushes down harder and he slaps your ass at the same time, breaking that wave of pleasure over you. 

"Fuck, fuck, oh my god," you rasp as your release triggers Jake's and he goes slack under you, the tension released. 

The air in the car is thick with your deep breaths as you both come down from your highs. You tuck your head into Jake's neck and he wraps his strong arms around you. You and him just exist for a few minutes, still joined. 

The casual closeness of the moment startles you, the safety and security, and mostly just how right it feels to be in Jake's arms. It  overwhelms you, sending a niggling sense of panic and alarm through you. That familiar wave of vulnerability and fear rolls through you and you push back off Jake's chest, desperate to get rid of these feelings. This is not what you had planned on, developing feelings for him, not for anyone after Liam. Jake's arms are still around your waist, his head leaned back and his eyes closed, he doesn't pick up on your unease.

Your next words are chosen intentionally to break the spell you're under.

"Hey there, did I fuck your brains out there, Lieutenant?" you ask as Jake comes back to reality.  His cock twitches inside you as you say Lieutenant.  He looks into your eyes with an expression that you can't place, almost hopeful and wistful, and you know that the enormity of the moment has surrounded him also. Your own panic and doubt  starts to swell as he pulls your head down for one more deep kiss before you separate hoping to quell this tsunami of emotions brewing in you. You step out of the car and rummage around in your purse to find some tissues to clean up, handing some to Jake as you piece yourselves back together and get back on the road.

The ride back is quiet, the night turned dark.  Jake has taken your hand in his and is rubbing his thumb on the back of yours as he drives. As you slow down and roll through the residential streets to get back to your  house, he asks,

"Hungry?”  

The question startles you from your thoughts, and you fumble for an answer,

“Yes, I was too into the scenery to think about dinner till now.”  

He grins back at you full of self satisfaction as you realize the secondary meaning of your statement.  You give him an affectionate eye roll in return.

“Want to hit the Hard Deck? You can’t beat the fish tacos,” he asks.

“Works for me,” you reply, happy that they'll be something to redirect your attention and thoughts when you get there.

It doesn’t take long for you to pull into the parking lot and the place is its usual level of busy for an early Saturday night.  Jake parks the car and you walk over hand in hand to the entrance when Jake suddenly stops, his shoes crunching on the gravel in response the abruptness of his motion, and says, 

“Shit, my squadron is here.”

--

Worry not my pretties, the next chapter is on deck and will be posted soon (I have no impulse control, lol.)

Chapter 11

@starswholistenanddreamsanswered

@mayhemmanaged

@callmemana

@dempy

@hangmanscoming

@lanie-k

@callsign-viper

@senjoritanana

@djs8891

@atarmychick007

[johannestevans]

Hey, i just read ur first Finding Ur Personal Style post (the shape & silhouette one) and wanted to say i really liked it and how you structured it to rly invite oneself to question not just what looks “good” but what one enjoys and feels confident in. as a person who’s always been on the bigger side, it’s really lovely to see, esp bc im currently trying to more firmly develop my own sense of style.

so yeah, im excited to read the other parts and wanted to give a quick shout of appreciation to u for formulating these posts!

Finding Your Style, Part I: Shape & Silhouette (x)

I'm so glad, thank you so much for reaching out and letting me know!

I'm very aware that as a very slim white guy with an hourglass figure who passes as a man without issue, it's often easier for me to buy clothes that fit with what I want and the figure that I enjoy cutting, but also people are a lot more open with praise for me because I'm a slim, conventionally attractive white guy that can be gender nonconforming and still "pass" as male.

Part of the reason I look so good is I have a particular style that I want and I go for it, and I know how to make a cohesive outfit, but it took me time and study to build those skills, and they were aided by people fully supporting the ways in which I experimented.

Most people have a lot of bigotry they need to get over when it comes to people's clothes and outfits - not just around people's size, whether being fatter or broader, bigger, etc, or other visible aspects such as people's disability, skin colour, race, gender and perceived gender, and so forth.

That comes across in how style guides are written, often with a line of desiring that certain people should hide their bodies or dress themselves down more, and it comes across in how open people are with praise for people's outfits and bodies themselves as well. It's hard to experiment with this stuff without feeling like people are supporting you in that, without feeling like you're not just "allowed" to but like it's good and fun to do so, and it's hard to know where to start with that, you know?

I shop a lot in vintage shops with my boyfriends and with friends who are much bigger than I am or who have very different desires for their figures or style than I would or I do, and I know from working with some of them that like...

Without having someone ask them the questions, it's hard to start, which is why this series of guides is going to be about how to settle on these potential questions and dig into the details that you don't necessarily know how to look for until someone teaches you they're there.

With cooking and with food, you're taught from a very young age that there are different tastes - salty, sweet, umami, sour, and bitter - and you're not taught that one of these is good or better or only acceptable compared to the others, and you're taught about the ways these tastes interact with and complement one another.

You don't necessarily get taught to develop that same sense of tastes with style, much of the time. You might get taught some styles "look good" or that some are cringe, and sometimes this will be based along the lines of class indicators and commercialism - these are expensive clothes, or look expensive; these look cheap. These look slutty, these look tasteful. These look "slimming", or these bulk you up.

None of these descriptors describe the clothes. They almost entirely describe people's ("society"'s) potential reaction or relationship with the clothes or styles you might favour, because they're about like... what people will like, or if they'll think of you as professional or trustworthy as a consumer or employee or sexual partner, etc. None of that's about like, your actual personality, but about conformity.

Even terms like "cozy" or "utilitarian" have become appropriated for commercial reasons, to the extent that they indicate a certain buying class, you know?

And the thing about all of those styles is that they're often applied to people's bodies as much as they are the actual clothes - the same clothes on one body might be praised, and then heavily policed or even abused on another. The personality you have and your manner of expression is less relevant than the desire you should conform.

So yeah, this is important for me!

I feel very strongly about my personal style as someone who's very much a dandy and enjoys my combination of period styles, and I want people to be able to play with the same tool set and seek out things that make them feel as joyful about how they dress and style themselves as I feel about mine, regardless of their own bodies or what people have said to them or expressed to them in the past!

And to feel like... the important thing for your style is you rather than a nebulous set of approvals people or groups might or might not have of you.

I'm glad it's helpful, Anon, and I hope the next few guides are useful as primers too. <3

[virtuoshosh]

“More,” instructed Sascha, and their assistant obediently yanked on the cords of the piece of corsetry that was wrapped around the body of Cassius Halestorm; both the boy and Sascha’s assistant made grunting noises at the effort, but still the corset barely budged.

They’d been at this for nearly an hour.

They were in Sascha’s private atelier within the Haus of Holbein, where the vampire had called in their young client for a fitting. The newly-reunited band Cthulhu had had several consultations with Sascha since Shoshana had asked Sascha to be the band’s stylist, and the looks they had collectively come up with for all of the other band members were nearly complete, hanging on mannequins around the atelier; for Shosh, a slim-cut multi-paneled overcoat trimmed with black lace and velvet, made from reclaimed vintage upholstery fabric, that she could remove during a performance to reveal a bodysuit underneath, paired with her signature thigh-highs, of course. The wolf, Henrietta, had requested what was essentially a full-body harness, made of up intricate patterns of overlapping, woven straps and buckles (made of platinum and bronze, never silver), with utilitarian pockets and patches that could be removed, rearranged, and replaced with other attachables at her discretion. The new bassist had wanted elevated streetwear, with cargo pants and cropped jackets that flared and hugged in all the right places.

It was just Cassius who’d had trouble nailing down a design.

And it’s not as if Sascha was imposing this on the boy; it had been Cass who’d marked corsetry as something he wanted to try, when they’d all been given lookbooks to flip through for inspiration.

Sascha sighed, and pursed their lips; if you wanted something done right, oftentimes you had to do it yourself. “Leave us,” they said, not unkindly, to their assistant, who nodded with barely contained grateful relief before scurrying out of the workroom. 

Sascha glided across the room behind Cass and took the corset strings in hand, which caused the latter to tense up. “This isn’t going to work if you don’t relax…” Sascha chided, and caught Cass’ eye-roll reflected in the mirror. Gradually, with slow and painstaking patience (which, as an immortal creature, Sascha had plenty of), Sascha pulled on the laces, millimeter by millimeter, holding the strings taught. “…it would also help if you slowed down your pulse, stopped breathing so frequently.” As a dhampir, Cass didn’t have the luxury to stop breathing altogether, as full-blooded vampires did. But he didn’t need nearly as much oxygen and blood-flow as he seemed to be in the habit of using, and would function perfectly well on less with a little bit of discipline.

Which is one thing the boy seemed to be woefully lacking.

To make conversation, and to distract from the slow, vice-like tightening of the corset, Sascha said, “…Shoshana tells me you’re a relation of one of the rare Redlocke vampires—Verlie. Tell me—how is she faring, with her new role? I know she was resistant to being…how did she put it?—‘on fucking house arrest in this abysmal country.’” Sascha chuckled, and tightened, remembering the veritable tantrum the young Redlocke vampire had thrown when she’d appeared to plead her case before the Vampire High Council, her own family representing the opposition against her. That had been an interesting deliberation, to be sure.

@casshasfangs

[ifuckinglovestvincent]

NY TIMES: St. Vincent Is Trying to Understand People

As she releases her sixth album, “Daddy’s Home,” the musician expounds on the lengthy documentaries, Janet Jackson bust and Joni Mitchell album that feed her creativity.

By Olivia Horn

May 4, 2021, 10:00 a.m. ET

Despite the hardships of the past year, Annie Clark’s sixth studio album came together with remarkable ease. “Maybe I earned a fun one,” Clark, who records under the name St. Vincent, mused. “Usually there’s some kind of ‘Dark Night of the Soul’ moment. And there just wasn’t.”

Clark, 38, spent much of 2020 shuttling between her home in Los Angeles and her family’s in Texas. But the record (“Daddy’s Home,” due May 14) was born at Electric Lady Studios in Manhattan, where she and her repeat collaborator Jack Antonoff landed on 1970s New York as their lodestar. The resulting songs ease away from the angular art-pop of “Masseduction” from 2017, opting for gentler, slouchier rock. The relative softness corresponds to Clark’s effort to treat the troubled, complicated characters that populate her record with care. Among them are the broke and lovelorn protagonist of the lead single “Pay Your Way in Pain,” Nina Simone, Marilyn Monroe and her own father, whose release from prison in 2019 inspired the title track.

Clark confessed that she did not meet her quarantine goals of learning conversational Italian or writing a tour bus cookbook, but she did read some books about the gulag. Calling from her “utilitarian” Los Angeles studio, she detailed 10 of her favorite things to watch, read and hear — many of her picks reflecting a fascination with history and an eagerness to unpack social and aesthetic violence. These are edited excerpts from the conversation.

1. William Scott Sculptures

I discovered William Scott’s work through David Byrne, at his place in New York. And when we were on tour with “Love This Giant,” we went to Creative Growth in Oakland [a nonprofit that supports artists with disabilities]. I had my eye on this bust of Janet Jackson. And then when I was back, I went and bought a bust of CeCe Winans. So I have these busts in my library.

A lot of the artists whose work I collect are people who are marginalized from society in one way or another. What I like about it is that the expression feels very pure. These are people who might not have all of the tools at their disposal or the education, or any of that, but they are compelled to make work. That kind of irrepressible urge in people — that I just find so inspiring and heartening and cool. And it’s completely divorced from any of the status of the quote, unquote, “art world.”

2. Adam Curtis’s Documentary Series “Century of the Self”

The way his work has been described is as emotional history or impressionistic history. The lines that he draws between events and trends are not exactly “A plus B equals C,” but the general thesis is like, “the collective consciousness is saying this.” As a writer, I’m always trying to understand systems and understand people.

3. Ric Burns’s “New York: A Documentary Film”

I used to live in a rent-controlled place in the East Village. But it was shady how I lived there, so I was never able to get utilities in my name. I lived there for 10 years and I didn’t have the internet, so I had DVDs. I used to go to Kim’s Video all the time and buy DVDs so when I would wake up hung over and be like, “Oh, just can’t quite make it out of bed today,” I would have something to put on. If I wanted to watch something it wasn’t like “Netflix and chill.” I associate that Ric Burns documentary with being either hung over or tired or both, and watching it in my bed.

4. Joni Mitchell’s “Hejira”

This is one of those Joni Mitchell records that I didn’t hear until I was in my early 20s. Everybody knows “Blue” and “Ladies of the Canyon,” but this is when I became a Joni Mitchell fan, with a capital F. This record’s just so deep. Her lyrics are … Cubist. I’m thinking of the one where she’s like, “In the mirrors of a modern bank/From the window of a hotel room.” And it’s all wiggles, you know? It’s like water, that record. And I don’t mean to make it about me, but I feel like I can understand some of the things that Joni talks about, like the refuge of the road, or watching the world from an airplane or being in a hotel room.

5. Maggie Nelson’s “The Art of Cruelty”

This is one of those books that I picked up six times and would get through a few pages and be like, “This is really brilliant,” but it felt impenetrable at first. Then I had this one weekend where the clouds parted, and I just could see it and plowed through it. It talks about the ethics of being an artist in a way that is so brilliant, and so not orthodox or finger wagging. I think it’s one of those books you can revisit at various points of your life.

6. Her Own STV Signature Series Guitar

Part of it was inspired by Klaus Nomi’s tuxedo. And I wanted it to hit my sternum in a particular way. I am cis female, so the way that it hits the sternum and then has a little bit of a cutaway, it makes room for my breast. But just one of them. There’s only room for one! I love it. It’s the only electric that I play, with very rare exception.

I saw people’s pictures of it from the Met [in the exhibition “Play It Loud: Instruments of Rock & Roll”], because I never got a chance to go and see it in real life. Most of the time, I just kind of like quietly put my head down and work — and then every once in a while, I look up and see something that I’ve made, and it’s mysterious that it’s in the world.

7. Wim Wenders’s “Pina”

I love Pina Bausch’s work. I was really inspired by “The Rite of Spring,” where the virgin dances herself to death. There’s this one particular movement that was like, drawing your hand above your head, and then when you pull it down, your elbow goes into your stomach — sort of like you’re open and then you’re impaling yourself. It just moved me to tears. So when I worked with my friend Annie-B Parson to choreograph the Digital Witness Tour, I was like, “Can we please incorporate this?” Another big thing: I was obsessed with falling. That was another big part of the Bausch work. How do you fall and make it look violent but not hurt yourself? I’d get a rehearsal room with Annie-B and just practice falling.

8. Vintage RCA 77-D Microphone

It’s an old ribbon mic, and it just sounds so good and warm. I know these are words that might not mean that much — when people describe sound as warm, it’s reductive. But it makes things sound and feel true. I don’t mean that it has perfect fidelity. What I mean is that when you sing into this microphone, what comes back at you feels honest. My friend Cian Riordan, who mixed “Daddy’s Home,” hipped me to this mic.

9. “Hidden Brain” Podcast

There was one recently about the idea of honor culture. You know, if someone is insulting someone’s masculinity and masculinity is tied up with honor, you have to avenge that insult. A lot of these “honor societies” end up with more violence because you have to save face and there’s less ways to assimilate conflict. The premise of so much of “Hidden Brain” is that we live by the stories we tell ourselves. And as a storyteller, that idea is very liberating to me, because if we live by the stories we tell ourselves, it means that when we get new information, we can assimilate that information and tell ourselves new stories.

10. Piazza della Signoria in Florence

The first time I was there was with my mom and sisters. I remember just walking through this piazza and having a wonderful time and wonderful conversation, and really being awe-struck by the architecture and the history, and just that life was beautiful. Another time, a number of years later, I was on tour with David Byrne and we had our last show in Florence, and I remember walking through with band members and then having the best dinner of my life after. It’s one of those places where, at very pivotal points of my life, I’ve been there and only beautiful things have happened to me.

[pbandjesse]

It's raining. Storming. We got a bunch of warnings but the main bad rain didn't start until James got home from working at the theater so I'm thankful for that.

Today was really an excellent day. I was very happy for most of it. I slept well. I felt cute. I had a bagel. I drove to work. It was a good day.

When I got to the museum James was there opening the door for me. I wasn't like super thrilled to be there. Mostly because I am just real tired. I want to be home. But I was going to attack the day with positive energy.

First thing up was a tour. Everyone seemed to be running late today. Apparently traffic was very bad. But Jordan would come with plenty of time before the tour started. He got to try to lead some galleries today and while he struggled with the narrative aspect, he tried and that's all that matters. He'll get it with time.

I did have some annoying moments today though. Just people not pulling their weight. Moving things that shouldn't be moved. And having to talk to management because of continued weirdness. And it sucks because like this person isn't mean or anything. They just don't seem to be getting the team player part of the job and it's frustrating to have to keep asking and not be understood.

But I did get to share the stamp I made and everyone seemed excited. I still think I can make it better but for a first go I still think it's good. Just a little rough. But we we re e able to give them out today and that was really fun for me. Plus I found a note from someone saying they would recommend my classes and that just felt so nice.

I lead an assembly line for my second program after lunch. And really I haven't done a two row alone in a while and it was fun and they were good kids. They were really funny and fun honestly. And we got to watch the new video that a former educator made and it was my first time seeing it and it was so good! It's a little quiet but that's not a huge deal. It was awesome having an updated one because the visuals from the old one was pretty outdated, specifically of the "modern" stuff. Which was from the 90s and always gave us a laugh. But the new one is so good.

My last program was watching Becca lead roller coaster making. And she struggled a little but she had most of the info and was able to pull it together in the closing. We did have someone cry?? But they were second graders and it's understandable but would help make their coaster work and it was all good.

Me and Becca made our own coaster and it mostly worked and it was fun. I think we did a good job as a team for the class.

But we were both happy to be done I think. I cleaned up while she took the group to the front. And then I went to help with clean up and supplies.

I did some more stamping. But I really wanted to go. I would leave a little early. I would come back to get James but first I wanted to go to a thrift store. I feel like it's been forever. I don't know that that is true. But that is what I felt like.

I drove over to the value village and I had a great time. I got a very cute mini vase. And two candle sticks. I also got another vintage nightgown for my collection. And a very utilitarian dress that I thought would have great potential. I would also get James a plant stand and Jess a chicken. I also found an interesting leather purse. It has lots of pockets. There were other things I liked. Photographs above. But I left them and will only be a little sad about it.

I left there and stopped for a snack at taco bell. My tacos were very messy and I slightly regretted them. I should have gotten the nacho fries instead. But that's alright.

I drove back to the museum. Chatted with Stanley because Phil accidently took his keys home and so he was stuck until Phil came back. We chatted outside until James was done and then we were off.

I had a meeting at 430. But when we got home we ran into Kim and our other neighbor Albert. He is apparently moving next month! So that's exciting for him. And it was really just so nice to see Kim. She's such a bright spot.

I went to get ready for this brainstorming meeting. And it was honestly lovely. Richard was on my tour the other week and wanted to brainstorm about his research into slavery in Baltimore. He has created this incredible, but a little cumbersome, map. And I showed him so idea for how to use Canva to make infographics and possibly breaking them up into theme rather then all the areas. But then we also chatted about modern slavery and prison and incarceration being slavery by another name. And I hope I can help him with the project further because it's such a worthwhile project and it's really awesome that he has made all this as a volunteer.

Once I was done with that call I would work on using my signature stamp on my finished pieces. I have a few more to print and even more to color but at least this big chunk is done. James would help cut them down and pack them in their plastic sleeves. And that felt good.

I started work on the dress with potential I got. It's a long red denim dress. With a square neck and a waist tie. I cut it about three inches under where the slit starts. So it's a midi length. And then used a red float bias tape to hem the edge. Is it perfect? No. But I am super proud of trying and the length is so much better and I love the dress now. And it was only $4 so I am the winner.

Because I can never stop I would dye my hair next. Just a little refresh. Since I haven't been mixing in with my conditioner. After my perm next week I probably will again but for now this is good. Makes me feel cute.

After cleaning up the dye I wrapped my hair and played Pokemon for a bit. It's so close to being done but honestly it's dragging a bit. So I don't love playing it but I want to finish. So I will keep slowly going through.

James went to the theater to work. I did my last row of knitting for March. I cleaned Frenchy's tank a little. Watched him eat spinach. And went to wash my hair.

I got the dye rinsed and once that was clean I took a bath. Which was fine. Could have been better. But my skin felt a little better after.

James got home later then planned because they went to two 711s to look for a snack for me. But no luck. They would come home and make me a tortilla pizza. And get on a call for their podcast.

I have been chilling since then. I did a small project cutting up an old mattress topper. My mattress topper from when I lived at Moore. A decade ago. I cut it up so we can use it under the cushions on the couches. And honestly to worked so well. I'm very pleased that I'm still getting use out of it this many years on. I haven't been able to sleep on it in years, as it makes the bed to squishy which makes my back hurt. But I couldn't throw it out. So it was in the ravioli in the studio. But now that that has been taken apart it is nice to have another function for it.

Now I am in bed. Waiting for James to finish recording. It has been a really good day. Busy and full and fun.

Tomorrow is another busy day. With both the museum and the science center. And only a couple hours in the middle. I hope I can take a nap

I hope you all have a great sleep. I am going to enjoy the rain. Remember to wash your hands!!!

[starryeyed-spacegirl]

Types of Girls: Star Trek Edition

PLEASE NOTE: I’ve omitted characters from shows I haven’t seen yet and/or don’t know enough about to create a mood for. If you have anything you’d like to add for ladies from Next Gen, DS9, or any other boss babes I happened to miss, please feel free to do so! :) 

Original Series:

Uhura- The OG. Type 2. Breaks every stereotype. Trailblazer. Fierce eyeliner. Keeps them boys IN LINE. This girl can *sing*. Humble friend. Spunky AF. Gets things done, and looks fabulous while doing it. A big tease. Groovy icon. The friend we all aspire to be. Doesn’t need to take credit. INSPIRATION. Great interpersonal communication. Major vintage vibes. The one who works to keep everyone on task. Hufflepuff.

SPECTRUM (SAY MY NAME)- Florence + The Machine

Voyager:

Janeway- Wears the pants in the relationship. Type 2. Strong leader. Capable. Empathetic. “Do no harm but take no shit”. Best work is done on the fly. Really knows how to pull off those mom jeans. The one you want calling the shots. Patience of a saint. Coffee fiend. Major Tired ™ vibes. Savior complex. Makes everyone feel cared for and useful. Always in your corner. Master of *Emphatic eye roll*. Gryffindor.

WHISTLE (WHILE YOU WORK IT)- Katy Tiz

B’Elanna- The She Hulk. Type 4. Takes no shit. Gets things done. Literally does whatever she wants. Strong. Low-key depressed. Big fan of fighting. Feels unworthy, and always trying to be better. Polarizing personality. Looks like she can kill you, actually can kill you. Not subtle (Like, at all). Bold. Quick to anger, but quick to apologize. Doesn’t care if you don’t like her. Always searching for her place in the world. Really hard on herself. Vintage rock and roll t-shirts. Gryffindor through and through.

WHATEVER IT TAKES- Imagine Dragons

Seven of Nine- *Precise*. Type 1. A little OCD. Utilitarian, but still killing it in the fashion game. Thrives on order. Workaholic. Will tell you like it is. Isn’t afraid of pushing buttons. Socially awkward. Deals with stress by working or cleaning. Has mastered the no-make-up make-up look. Solid integrity. Knows every worst case scenario. Has great skin. Their own worst critic. Perfect sleep schedule. Never a hair out of place. Ravenclaw. 

STRESSED OUT- Twenty One Pilots

Enterprise:

T’Pol- SARCASM QUEEN. Type 5. Thinks she’s smarter than you, definitely is smarter than you. Doesn’t like showoffs. Vegan. Easily annoyed. Loves a good accent. Resting b-face. Encourages everyone to do yoga and meditation. Likes leaving people guessing. Really into crop tops and low rise jeans. Emotionally repressed ™. Can dish it out but not take it back. Very by the book. Was probably emo in high school. Guilty pleasure: cheesy rom-coms. Takes minimalism to the next level. Candle obsession. Ravenclaw. 

JOGA- Bjork

Hoshi- “I did not sign up for this”. Type 6. Easily frightened. Looks like a cinnamon roll, is actually a cinnamon roll. Legitimately loves learning. High anxiety. Sweetly naive. Tends to overreact. The baby of the friend group. Strength of character. Anime fiend. Bookworm. Major teacher vibes. Language nerd. Has to be dragged into adventures. Safety first! Can be a brat sometimes, but has a good heart. *Kawaii*. Ravenpuff.

MY FUTURE- Billie Eilish

Reboot:

Uhura- Sassy pants. Type 8. “Has a talented tongue”. Ultimate mom friend. Isn’t afraid to tell it like it is. Will take care of you even if you won’t. Can be super bossy. THAT WINGED LINER THOUGH. Genuinely just living her best life. Douchebag meter very accurate. Asks for what she wants. Is right like 99% of the time (And will rub it in your face). Accepting of everyone. Gives people space to be and grow. Knows her own worth. Knows how to have a good time. Solid Gryffinpuff.

RUN THE WORLD (GIRLS)- Beyonce

Jaylah- INDEPENDENT. Type 8. Knows her own strengths and weaknesses. Highly intuitive. Clever as they come. Goes with the flow. Can sense a good person when they meet them. A little high-key ™. Everything is a competition. Starving for knowledge. Blunt but not mean. Street style on point. Can be a tad bit aggressive. Protective of self. Objective thinker. Wants to go everywhere and do everything. Master of the no plan plan. Best case Slytherin. 

GENIUS- LSD feat. Sia, Diplo, Labrinth

Discovery:

Burnham- Kills it all day every day. Type 5. The ultimate devil’s advocate. Takes on every responsibility, even if it isn’t hers. COOL. Will do whatever it takes to get a job done, even if it hurts. Mysterious. Has thick walls, but once you make it through she loves you deeply. Reliable. Calm outside, tempest inside. Not very in tune with her emotions. Loves to question authority. A realist. Blunt. Trusts in facts. Boldly goes. Strong rebel vibes. Verbal processor. Prefers to be alone. Slytherin.

WHEN THE MOMENT COMES- Mia Dyson

(BONUS: HIGH HOPES- Panic! At the Disco)

Tilly- Solid gold. Type 7. ADHD. “Science is so f-ing cool”. Can make friends with anyone, anywhere, anytime. Legitimate ray of sunshine. Off the charts smart. Nothing gets her down. Thinks faster than her mouth moves. Enthusiastic. Maybe never sleeps, ever. Wins best hair award ™. Friend you must protect at all costs. Ride or die BFF. The one you call when you need a shoulder to cry on. No filter (None). Strong wing-woman vibes. Please don’t give her espresso. The most Hufflepuffy Hufflepuff to ever Huffle.

GIRL ON FIRE- Alicia Keys

(BONUS SONG: SPACE ODDITY- David Bowie)

Mirror Georgiou- “The Man”. Type 8. A wolf not even trying to hide she’s a wolf. Ambitious is too weak of a word... Scary clever. Subtext is everything. The one you go for fashion advice. If it sounds like she’s threatening you, she is. Has major soft spots for her friends, but would never admit it. Words sharp as knives. Competitive AF. Laughs in the face of danger. Intimidated by nothing. Sexy and she knows it. Can and will destroy you if you hurt her friends. Not afraid to use all her assets. Wins every argument. Slytherin to the MAX.

BAD REPUTATION- Joan Jett

[casually-inlove]

Right, so I had an extra half an hour of free time and decided to pick up on that prompt for the newest TianShan illustration. I usually don’t do it like this, but I decided to make a lil exception. Something like an AU where He Tian is a diplomat and Mo is his (unlucky) bodyguard. A quick drabble, have fun.

The door closed with a barely audible creak, his nose catching a whiff of scented soap and a rich freshener before his eyes did.

Inside the room was dimmer than he expected — light falling through the ceiling felt unnecessarily washed, diffused almost. Intimate. The soft gleam bounced off the walls and the sugar white of the sinks, casting tiny halos over muted surfaces of stalls. It was extravagant — all marble tiles, riddled with thick veins like dark twigs growing; art-deco brass adorning the mirrors the way a frame might catch at the edges of an old masterpiece. Reed diffusers cut from fine glass and propped proudly on top of the wooden shelves, oozing warm notes of fleur d’oranger — and who the heck puts reed diffusers into a fucking privy, anyway?

Guan Shan’s eyes traversed the vast space with a hint of resentment — it didn’t feel right to be made feel insignificant by the sheer luxury of something as utilitarian as a toilet, for fuck’s sake. A gold-tinted sheen in the corner of the nearest sink caught his eye. Above the whiteness of it, there rose a sleek curve of a faucet, craning its neck like a swan might. Only it wasn’t chromed. It was gilded, a shiny trinket placed among the bare necessities as if it belonged.

He felt his jaw get slack before the brief awe dissipated into the tight tangle in his throat. It was nauseating in a sense that Guan Shan had never known before: affluence brandished as something dispensable. It was bad enough coursing through a crowded hall, blending in with other bodyguards and waiters, all while seeing those rich and mighty splashing out, indulging in the idle gossip about things that held no importance to those struggling to keep their heads above water. Diplomatic receptions, he concluded, were not unlike those glitterati parties, the only difference being that tonight nobody was taking a dip in a champagne-filled pool. But here, in an empty toilet? He felt like a fucking prop placed against the backdrop, a mere décor, no more distinguishable than a wall clock or a pretty flask. Disgust churned in his stomach, his train of thought utterly derailed when something snaked around his ribs and a hot breath washed over his nape.

‘Fuck!’, he reeled, pushing hard at the arms that reached out to him. ‘What are you doing?’

It bordered on embarrassing — here he was, caught off guard while staring at the shiny faucet like a damn magpie. There was an amused smile tugging at the corners of He Tian’s mouth that sent a shudder creeping down his spine. Grey eyes were overcast with something dark, a sinful promise whispering from every feature. With his hair sleeked back — finely undercut and extra glossy — he could be easily mistaken for a gangster from the vintage movies, sporting a bow-tie and pulling the trigger with not an ounce of remorse. The fancy tuxedo did little to hide his formidable frame, broad shoulders followed by the sharp V of his hips, causing a slight pang of jealousy prickle at Guan Shan’s nape. The fucker made him feel inferior without even trying. Up close an inch or two of height difference appeared to become feet — so smothering was the other man’s aura. And that waist, that obscenely narrow waist —

He could imagine it vividly. A girl — her dress hiked up, sequins spilling all over bare thighs, lacy panties askew — wrapping her legs around that waist inside a closet or one of the stalls. An envoy, who had been chatting He Tian just a few moments ago, soul already sold for his coy smile and a silver tongue — or maybe a waiter. He could imagine him indulging in an easy fuck like that, treating everything as nothing but a game, all people toys at his disposal. The thought made him cringe.

‘We don’t have much time’, He Tian murmured, taking a stride towards him, eyes darkening with something hungry and dangerous, and Guan Shan’s mouth went abruptly dry, a wicked slur fizzling out on the tip of his tongue. The memory of their awkward kiss came unbeckoned.

Was this the reason? Was this why He Tian had quit exchanging civil pleasantries in the hall? So that he could press his body against him in a toilet stall?

‘I need to take a piss, my ass!’, he snarled, growing angry at the mere implication. He felt his neck grow hot as realization struck him. Suddenly the uniform felt stifling, the bulletproof vest too tight around his chest, his heart hammering against the plate of it.

‘Maybe not’, a curl of the lip, mischievous. ‘But isn’t your duty to cover my back? I needed you to save me, and so you did. Otherwise, I would be still discussing the Bangkok merger with Ms Zhao, pure torture’, He Tian scoffed, clicking his tongue as if contemplating the horrors that the extra small talk with the consul held in stock.

‘Suits you just fine’, Guan Shan gritted his teeth. ‘That’s what you and the likes of you do at the parties like this. Deciding the fate of the fucking world with your idle chatter.’

He Tian took a step closer, his fingertips brushing against Guan Shan’s wrist briefly, and the latter barely suppressed the urge to bat the hand away. Too fucking close. Too fucking familiar.

The glint in the grey eyes became something else, something sharper and unyielding forming around the corners of his eyes as if he felt no joy over being here today.

‘Diplomacy’, He Tian said, taking another step closer, his voice chillingly even, ‘is not unlike a lover’s game. A promise here, a mouthful of compliments there. A dance of learning what makes the other weak in the knees, all steps deliberate to a tee. It’s nothing personal either.’

Was it? All Guan Shan saw today was money changing hands, favours being brokered, fake smiles and wicked eyes scrutinizing, angling for a personal gain. Flattery that served as coin, gossip traded as easily as chips at the stock market. His throat tightened, lifelong bitterness dripping on his tongue.

‘Yeah right. That’s why you entitled pricks hold discussions about Thai royal weddings, Hang Seng indices and other bullshit while somewhere those who weren’t born into your wealth get fucked over your shameless politicking and scramble just to get by, because somebody here decided it was a diplomatically ingenious move to pour money into a separatist cell or two’, he spat, casting the other man a vexed look.

He Tian was now standing way too close, towering above him like an ancient idol. The smell of him — the smell of champagne and a ghost of sweet fragrance — flooded Guan Shan’s nostrils, making his stomach jolt. Not a minute ago he could feel the anger prickling at his skin, but now it dissipated like smoke, giving way to an unintelligible mix of reactions. The look He Tian was giving him send a surge of electricity running up his spine.

Suddenly there was a hand hovering next to his face, thumb outstretched to glide over his chin and Guan Shan was lost for words, profanities stuck in his throat as if he had no strength to push them out, the collar of his dark shirt damp with sweat.

‘You have a cruel mouth, Little Mo’, He Tian murmured softly, eyes caressing his face from under the half-dropped eyelids, travelling down his neck, to where the tightly buttoned shirt met the dip of the black kevlar vest, and back to his mouth; the sound of his voice low and malleable. It made Guan Shan want to shut him up, to wipe that undecipherable expression off the normally arrogant face.

A touch that came seconds later was nothing but a soft brush of the thumb over his lips, right where a pale scar sliced through Guan Shan’s skin.

It was a thin line, barely a groove, marking his lips like a bracket. A souvenir left by a piece of shrapnel from a hotel bombing, all that reminded him about his past days in the anti-terrorist squad. All that’s left of it too. He had long since noticed that He Tian, for some unimaginable reason, was compelled to look at it whenever Guan Shan was next to him. Each time his gaze darkened, becoming unreadable and almost flash-frozen as if seeing an old wound made his mind go blank.

He couldn’t move. Couldn’t understand why his feet wouldn’t budge an inch. Couldn’t understand why the heck he was staring back. Taking in the way He Tian’s face shut down, brows slightly furrowed as if it was his own lip that got shredded to bloody bits. He read my file prior to hiring me, Guan Shan realized. There was no fucking way he didn’t know where he had gotten that scar.

A shaky sigh escaped him, and before he knew it, his lips slightly parted, cool thumb barely touching his gums. What was it in He Tian that made Guan Shan’s head spin? Whenever he was this close, he felt as if his brain short-circuited, spewing random emotions like arbitrary bits of code. There was fear, irritation, confusion…something base too. Something deep-seated and vulnerable, that was absolutely defenceless against the arch of other man’s brow and the curl of his lip.

Fuck, he thought.

Fuck.

His mind protested, rushing off the beaten track like a train derailed, thoughts colliding with the force of shrapnel bursting, bits of code inside his head producing unstable combinations.

And then his mouth crashed against He Tian’s, fingers grabbing a handful of jet-black tresses and pulling hard. A breathy moan filled the space, leaking into grooves and crevices between their bodies and there was a tremor running up his legs as if floor tiles went collapsing right underneath him.

He felt himself get pushed towards the sinks, He Tian’s palms wandering his back. His own hands tugged at the tuxedo lapel. Next thing he knew, his spine collided with the cool white of the sink, the kiss broken. He swallowed, breathless. His eyelids felt leaden and it took some effort just to open his eyes.

The look on the other man’s face made his stomach spin a somersault. The cool and collected façade was smashed to pieces, He Tian’s brows drawn into a broken line, lips swollen and glistening, the hungering kiss still haunting the red marks where Guan Shan had bit him. There was nothing light left in his eyes, coal-grey completely devoured by the blown pupils. He was breathing hard — Guan Shan could see his chest heaving as if instead of taking a few steps he had been running for miles. The urgency with which he fumbled to undo his own jacket was almost unbecoming, and Guan Shan could no longer bear watching it, reaching out and helping him get the damn tuxedo off. The other man’s face was close — so close he could feel moist breath on his mouth. The feathery-light touch that came next nearly startled him. There was a flick of a tongue — careful and calculated — that glided over his lips, right where the pale scar was etched into his flesh. His head went vacant, pulse beating somewhere in his throat, completely incapable of thinking or acting. He couldn’t recall getting rid of the gloves, nor could he recall sliding his palms over He Tian’s chest. All he would remember was an erratic pulsation beneath his skin and the syrupy-thick heat pooling in his groin.

The room around them felt blurred like a watercolour doused with dirty water: layers of colours mixing, halos of light catching at the ends of jet-black strands, all sounds outside muted as if coming through a wall of thick ice. Something jabbed at the small of Guan Shan’s back, obtuse pain barely a distraction. That fucking faucet, he thought absently, breath hitching in his throat as He Tian sucked kisses into his collarbone.

His vest landed on the floor tiles with a loud thud, right next to where a tuxedo lay forlorn on the floor. Hot fingers hooked themselves around the underside of his knee and he could almost feel them searing his skin off as they pulled his leg up and to the side. And there was nothing Guan Shan could do but comply, clutching at the broad shoulders beneath the starched white of a shirt, wrapping legs around that obscenely narrow waist and gasping as the heavy body pressed into him. There was too much touching: fingers at his nape, fingers squeezing his thigh, a thumb brushing his shaved temple and learning the curve of his jaw. It made him dizzy, blood ebbing away from his head and rushing down.

His insides felt on fire, the tips of his ears undoubtedly taking on a shade of pink, and he couldn’t even tell what distressed him more — that he just willingly let his employer fondle his ass or the fact that they were about to fuck in a public restroom and anyone could walk in at any given moment?

The fabric of his pants bit tightly into the bulge between his legs, making him hiss and draw He Tian closer. A diplomatic scandal was the least of his worries now.

[ainda-mais]

i hate to ask this (because there’s so many of them) but here goes: which look of nancy’s is your favorite?

Okay this is a tough one, mainly because I REFUSE to choose a single look lol. Whoever sent this, first of all apologies for answering so late, and secondly thank you so much, but you’ll prooooobably regret it :D I tend to go on multiple tangents re things I like, so… enter at your own peril :)

Monsterpost follows:

In terms of day-to-day “work” outfits, I have quiiiite a few. Here comes a long shitty post of assorted ramblings from me about Nancy’s style. I actually wanted to open a blog called NancyPelosiStyleFile at some point, but then I realised that meant I had to actually post nice, organised, well thought out things as opposed to the pell-mell I’m posting now, and I’m lazy, and…yeah lol.

1. This is really more of a category than a single look tbh, b/c all these are pretty much the same dress, but… different :) I really love her work outfits, most of them are so well cut and tailored (thumbs up, Paul :D), and it’s mostly classic, staple pieces that she updates by smart use of colour and accessories. The cut of this dress is basically the cut of all of Audrey Hepburn’s dresses in the 50s and 60s and unless the sci-fi vision of utilitarian clothing comes true (i.e. we’ll all be wearing one variation or another of a jumpsuit *shivers*), it will be fashionable even 50 yrs from now imho.

a) The green dress because… 1) green lol. I’m addicted to green, so that was pretty easy. 2) it fits so well, in that it showcases her most, erm, prominent assets to perfection (I’m trying to be respectful here without calling a spade a spade lol), while also having a slightly loose fit which gives it a sort of flowy and almost casual vibe. I particularly love the ton-sur-ton accesorising here, those agate beads are sthg else entirely.

b) The navy work dress, that neckline is amazing and it looks so prim&proper in a stern-but-fair-teacher way (yeah thanks for not judging me for that remark lol). It’s basically the same cut as the other, but… cleaner somehow, more severe, but also really rather… hot? (or, as Miss Jean Brodie would put it: “for those who like that sort of thing, that is the sort of thing they like” :)))) What I love about this one is that, b/c of that neckline, she gets to wear it in different ways - with a necklace over the collar or with a scarf under it, and it looks different and fresh every time. She really has a knack for tasteful accessorising. I wish she wore this one more.

On a side note, this also introduces the “hot @ funerals” special category… yeah, sorry abt that. 

(But seriously, go on ze vast expanse of ze internetz and check out Nancy at funerals lol. You won’t be sorry. And yes, I can appreciate how weird that just sounded lol.)

c) The Red Dress of Absolute Sexiness. I honestly don’t know how she makes work outfits so sexy (well, I do, but that’s another matter altogether :D), but this is one of my favourites - it fits her so well and the use of the detailing in the neck/chest area is so smart because apart from looking really pretty and interesting, it allows the fabric to accommodate… things lol. Love the golden zipper detail as well. I think this dress is probably the one that best showcases her hourglass figure.

Red dress + Hermès scarf = amazing.

Special mentions in no particular order:

The lavender skirt suit - this is totally her colour. While she suits EVERY damn colour in the rainbow (which is frankly quite annoying, because no one is 100% neutral… or so I thought lol), this one complements her complexion to perfection.

Almost all the pantsuits that she wears now, I’m esp. partial to the way she uses scarves and the lining of the jackets and of the raised lapels to colour coordinate with the tops. Here’s an example:

Any of the older suits (esp. the pinstripe one) with crisp white shirts (this was such a look, and now she’s not wearing shirts anymore and…sigh. She really needs to bring them back.)

The Carolina Herrera blue dress or, as I like to call it, “the picnic dress” :) The colour is so pretty and the cut is so girly and playful and it just looks amazing on her.

2. a) As for evening looks, this navy dress is one of my faves, again, the fit is amazing here. It’s really quite surprising to me how very prim and demure outfits look so damn sexy on her, I suspect it’s because of that waist-hip ratio that just draws the eyes :D  

b) Also in the evening outfits category, probably the one I love the most because it’s just so… her: this Mugler white ensemble she wore for a State Dinner (or, as she described it, “some very old thing” that was hanging in the back of her closet lol. Let me KonMari your closet, Nancy :D). The cut, the colour, the fabric, the details, I love everything about it, I think it’s just incredible in a very tribute-to-classy-vintage-80s way. Love how the jacket hugs her curves and then slightly flares so gracefully at the hips. This is elegant and demure and refined and imho it’s very… essentially Nancy. I really like that Art Deco-inspired choker with it too, it goes so well with that neckline.

Special mention:

This aqua-turquoise-navy number that looks amazing on her (with bonus Paul and also adorable chipmunk face lol):

3. In the Napa-lazy-evenings-at-the-vineyard-summer-house category, this white lattice-like lace dress that I adore (I’m really crazy abt geometric patterns, but YMMV). It’s so chic and elegant but also breezy and playful, just the perfect summer dress. I also love how she wore it with that white suit jacket (raised lapels again ftw).

And this is, as they say, it. On a side note, I think this question was rather unfair, b/c the answer barely scratches the surface in terms of the outfits I like :D But there’s probably a length limit for tumblr posts lol.

Some of these photos were shamelessly nicked from @dontbesodroopy​‘s moste excellente bloge, so thanks for that :P 

Again, thanks for asking!

[tsgminneapolisminnesota]

6 Interior Designers Discuss the Design Trends to Embrace in 2019

By Sarah Dawson February 13, 2019

If, like us, you tend to carefully assess your home at the beginning of a new year, looking for ways to spruce up a space or inspiration for a spring project, you’re in luck: according to six designers we spoke with, 2019 brings a variety of chic and refreshing trends worth trying. Here, our experts share the design shifts they’re excited to see take hold in the coming year, from second kitchens to embracing maximalism to a migration toward moodier palettes—and more.

Bringing the outdoors in, and vice versa. “As technology usurps much of our daily lives, and we spend more time working inside, we’re starting to blur the lines between indoors and out. A simple way to accomplish this is by adding plants to our interiors: succulents, air plants, giant palms, and fresh flowers. We’re also opening up the walls from the inside out, moving walls, and adding Nano walls (folding glass walls) and sliding doors that open onto porches, lanais, and patios. There’s also a gravitation toward true outdoor living rooms that are suitable for long conversations and welcome lounging.” —Lucy Penfield of Lucy Interior Design in Minneapolis, Minnesota

Mixing your metals and finishes. “The concept of every finish being the same is over. When you mix your metals in a curated way throughout your space, it doesn’t look like a mistake; it creates a layered look that has character. Your faucet doesn’t have to match your island chandelier or cabinet hardware. Instead, choose no more than three per room. My favorites are nickel, antique brass, and polished chrome.” —Caroline Brackett of Caroline Brackett Studio of Design in Greenville, South Carolina

Design: Redo Home + Design. Photography: Kristen Mayfield Photography

Saying hello to an extra kitchen. “We’ve all gotten on board with the open concept, and that’s made the kitchen party central. But that also means dishes are piling up in the sink and the stove and oven can heat up the whole room. I’ve started designing homes with a workspace behind the beautiful kitchen. These spaces feature an extra dishwasher, cabinetry, ovens, and an extra sink. A dirty kitchen allows for prep and cleanup to be tucked away while the kitchen is open for your guests to linger.” —Lori Paranjape of Redo Home + Design in Nashville, Tennessee

Welcoming the ombre gradient on walls. “We’ll be seeing a lot less white walls and trim in the coming year. Instead, we’re taking one color and expressing it in five different ways, working our way through a gradient, where the trim, wainscoting, walls, and ceiling are all variants of one color. Think of it as a reinterpretation of the classic ombre.”  —Zoe Feldman of Zoe Feldman Design in Washington, D.C.

Design: Lucy Interior Design

Reusing, repurposing, and salvaging. “Naturally, we are drawn to our history, a story of yesteryear, a connection to something that once was, but now has been repurposed. This is all about that connection to the earth and re-using old and reclaimed wood for furniture, doors, accent walls, and cabinets. We love remaking vintage textiles and worn rugs into lovely pillows, or upholstering a found stool or a French chair. We are all working hard to reduce our footprint and to be mindful of waste. This trend, that’s not fussy and perfect for our busy lives, does just that.” —Lucy Penfield of Lucy Interior Design in Minneapolis, Minnesota

Getting moody with color. “The most noticeable design trend for 2019 is shifting away from rooms that are all white and introducing moody, thought-evoking colors. You are going to start seeing kitchens, foyers, and bathrooms take on a much different look in the next year when it comes to richer color tones. After 10 years of my shop being Benjamin Moore Decorator’s White, I recently painted it Farrow and Ball Railings. It’s a black/blue that makes art and antiques really pop, even more so than on a white wall.” —Shaun Smith of Shaun Smith Home in New Orleans, Louisiana

Design: Zoe Feldman Design

Moving away from traditional kitchen cabinetry. “We’re seeing homeowners opting for built-ins and standalone pieces that have more of a furniture feel in lieu of standard cabinets. Think work tables as islands, open shelving, hanging pots, hoods that are plaster or brass, and paneled appliances. We’re trading in the pure utilitarian nature of kitchens of the past and focusing on a more decorative feel; it’s about time, considering the amount of waking hours we spend in these spaces.” —Zoe Feldman of Zoe Feldman Design in Washington, D.C.

Bringing 80s furniture back. “The trends from the decade of excess have returned, but thankfully we aren’t revisiting all of them. Designers are turning out huge, oversized furniture, like plush sofas and chunky glass tables with a brass bottom. We’re also seeing more textures that shimmer in sequins and velvets. One of my favorite ways to incorporate this trend is with fixtures, like a cool, huge brass and lucite acrylic chandelier. Make this trend work by choosing just one or two pieces to mix into your existing decor and keep your house looking balanced. This is also a great opportunity to scour consignment shops and antique stores for amazing vintage finds. The real thing is often better than the reproduction.” —Tula Summerford of Design by Tula in Raleigh, North Carolina

Design: Shaun Smith Home

Taking it to the max. “There’s a departure from minimalism as its polar opposite, maximalism, takes a stand in the new year with its bold presence of personality. The trend is expressed in an explosion of color, texture, and pattern in the room. Think woven grassy texture living seamlessly with silks and rich velvets while playing on bright colors on everything—from Chintz to Damask prints. Another major key is having juxtaposing periods and style in the same space. For example, if you have a marble or lucite coffee table, think of doing a rustic wood dining table. Maximalism has an emotional and personal quality because you’re ultimately drawing on all the things you love.” —Shaun Smith of Shaun Smith Home in New Orleans, Louisiana

Replacing black and white with brown. “There’s a departure from cooler tones like grey or ‘greige’ in favor of deeper, richer colors, particularly chocolate brown. This earthy palette paired with dark woods allows for a sense of luxury, creating a nearly neutral look that foregoes the need for blacks and whites.” —Zoe Feldman of Zoe Feldman Design in Washington, D.C.

Design: Caroline Brackett Studio of Design. Photography: Erin Comerford

Bringing back your grandmother’s florals. “Floral fabrics and wallpaper are everywhere in a fresh, new way. This is a classic, British layered look with a mix of other patterns like stripes and small-scale prints. En suite bedrooms are featuring window treatments, wallpaper, and fabric all in the same pattern. A great way to make this trend work is to pull colors in the wallpaper into the rest of the room.” —Caroline Brackett of Caroline Brackett Studio of Design in Greenville, South Carolina

Embracing mismatched patterns. “As was evident on fashion runways in Alice & Olivia and Gucci, we’re seeing this trend of mismatching five different prints pop up in furniture design, too. When mismatching on your own, it all comes down to scale. If you have a large-scale floral print on a pillow or the back of a chair, choose a coordinating color fabric in a geometric small print or a stripe.” —Tula Summerford of Design by Tula in Raleigh, North Carolina

[minoukatze]

A Proposal

Oh look! It’s some self-indulgent Vermintide fluff. 

“Come,” Victor took her trembling hand and squeezed it. “Let us get back to the inn. I have not eaten, and I’m guessing you haven’t either. It has been a very long day. Let us celebrate its end.”

Walburga allowed herself to be led from the grotesque scene, relief washing over her. While she felt as if a massive weight were lifted from her shoulders, seeing her lifelong tormentors screaming in agony, their flesh bubbling and blackening atop a mountain of flaming refuse only left Walburga feeling nauseated. Considering what they had unleashed upon the town, there was no question that their fate was well-deserved, but Walburga took no pleasure in their torture. Gilbert and Gretchen burned, but Walburga’s home, livelihood, her every possession…these things were still gone.

The reality of the situation had not quite settled upon her yet. Walburga allowed herself to be distracted by her duties, which were numerous enough to keep her busy the entire day. When everyone was summoned to the edge of town, she could no longer ignore the devastation wrought. Senden demanded blood for its wounds, and every able-bodied citizen was required to bear witness. Walburga certainly couldn’t begrudge them, considering how many had lost kin and home in the onslaught. Walburga would have thought that Victor would have taken particular glee in condemning the Falkenraths, but he seemed just as weary and disgusted as she had been.

The town was empty as Victor led her though, past the remains of the erstwhile burgher’s manor, past the chapterhouse, to the market… Walburga felt the weight of the fug of smoke permeating the air. She refused to incline her head to the right, for if she did not, she could pretend that her bakery still stood. Perhaps Victor sensed her distress, or simply assumed it. He squeezed her hand gently and quickened his pace, and Walburga was grateful for the gesture.

Walburga furtively sneaked a glance at her companion. Victor strode purposefully, chin raised and determined, as if the Chaos gods themselves would part to make way for him. Walburga wondered what it was like to have that kind of confidence and self-assurance, and why on earth he would bother with her at all. Walburga looked up again and he caught her peeking. She averted her eyes quickly.

Walburga wanted to scrutinize him, study every angle and furrow of his striking face, but somehow feared that regarding him for too long would frighten him away. She supposed that after this morning it shouldn’t have been so much of an imposition, but she still felt rather bashful in Victor’s presence. Her world was in total flux, and she was not comfortable placing this man as her anchor, but she could not help but do so. Walburga did not like being in this position. She had always prided herself upon being the one others relied on, the quick patch up, the ready shoulder to cry upon, and, from time to time, the shelter from the cold. She refused to turn to Oswald in her time of need, as the de-facto burgher for the moment, he was swamped with keeping the town held together. Beyond that, he had his own family to see to. Walburga knew that he would look after his mother cheerfully and without question, but she would not be yet another burden upon him. Likewise, she would not turn to any of the others in town, as they had troubles of their own. For the second time, however, Victor showed up just as her strength was about to fail, and she followed him without question. There was something about his demeanor which compelled obedience, and Walburga didn’t have it in her at the moment to protest. If (when) he departed, she would manage with difficulty, but for now, it was easy to follow when he took the lead.

They reached the inn, and Victor asked if she wished to dine with the rest of the townspeople taking advantage of Klaus’ generosity. Normally Walburga would have been happy to chat with them, but after a long day of treating patient after patient, comforting the grieving, and watching the doom of her lifelong tormentors; she didn’t have it in her. She felt like a razor-thin dam holding back an ocean.

“No,” Walburga replied quietly.

Victor nodded. “Would you like me to accompany you?”

“Yes.”

Walburga thought she saw relief briefly wash over his features. They entered, and Victor approached Klaus, requesting that food and drink be sent to her chamber. Her chamber. Walburga hadn’t realized that Victor had reserved the room for her. Of course, he stays at the chapter house, doesn’t he? She knew she should feel guilty for this privilege, that she would be afforded privacy and comfort while half the town languished in the Town Hall, but, again, she was too exhausted to care.

Wulf Andresen spotted Walburga as she entered and rose from his seat, most likely to ask about the graze upon his ankle. Victor shot him a glare, and the man sat right back down again. Walburga stifled a giggle. She wanted to thank Victor, but was unsure how, considering the whole exchange was a matter of seconds. So instead she followed him back to the chamber, where she found her crusty, disgusting overdress gone and three tidy linen underdresses and three sturdy woolen overdresses awaiting her.

“How…” Walburga examined them in wonder. “How…”

“The tailor escaped damage,” Victor explained. “I attempted to purchase these, but he refused any recompense once he found out who would benefit from them. If they do not fit properly, we will purchase others when materials are available.”

Walburga could not speak for the lump rising in her throat. The dresses were lovely things, plain but charming and utilitarian. She’d been meaning to save up for a new overdress for some time, but just hadn’t gotten around to it. There had always been a more important expense. But here they were, not one but three, clean, free from tears and stains, ready for wear. She bit her lip to keep the tears at bay.

A knock at the door called her back, and she opened it to receive a tray of stew, bread and cheese for two from Klaus, just like the previous evening, though Victor produced a bottle of Touch of Morr wine from the desk. Walburga thanked him and set the tray down upon the table. They sat in an awkward quiet, nothing but the sound of their chewing disturbing the silence, Victor pouring the wine into two earthenware cups. Walburga was unused to such fine spirits, usually treating herself to a mug of ale at the end of the day were there any left over from her meat pies. The tang of the wine was sharp and sour, but not unpleasant. She wondered if Victor often indulged in such luxury. Looking at his dagged velvet sleeves, his carved pipe, the gold signet ring gleaming upon his bony finger, Walburga decided that he must have. He was clearly accustomed to better things, a life wildly and richly lived. She suddenly felt very shabby in his presence, still wearing her underdress (now stained after the day’s obligations), her thick and tangled waves tied haphazardly back and out of her face, even the way she scarfed down her meal. Tears inexplicably stinging her eyes, Walburga looked away, forcing herself to slow and sipping a bit more of the wine. The circumstances were making her oversensitive, she decided.

“How fares the townspeople?” Victor asked suddenly, and Walburga nearly jumped.

“Hanging in, mostly,” Walburga managed. “Don’t know if you remember Mr. Fleischer, but he passed this afternoon. Amazed he lasted the night with those injuries, but still…” She trailed off, not knowing where she was going. “But…uh, most seem to be improving rapidly, thank Shallya. Had Karin send a message through the scribe to Carroburg to the Temple requesting aid, so hopefully we’ll get some reinforcements.”

Victor nodded, pouring himself a bit more of the vintage. “Wise decision. The sooner the town’s residents are functional, the better.”

Walburga watched Victor as he slurped his soup. Difficult to believe that just that morning they had been writhing naked together in the morning sunlight. Why was this so stilted?  One would think they’d be a bit more comfortable. Suddenly, the realization hit Walburga with the force of a gale.

Because he would be leaving soon.

Probably already had his mind on the next mission, already miles away from here. Just passing through. It suddenly became hard to breathe. With everything going on, this should have been the least of Walburga’s woes, but…

“I…” Walburga downed her cup in one gulp, trying to control the tremor in her voice. “I suppose you and your friends will be moving on soon.”

“I cannot speak for my companions,” Victor replied. “But it seems I am here to stay. I will be remaining to take over Captain Weber’s position in the Senden chapter house.”

“Truly?” The hand that held the cup shook.

“Indeed,” Victor continued. “Johann had asked me a little while back if I would succeed him. I made the decision during the battle. If I survived, I would ensure that this town would never be left so vulnerable ever again.”

It was the crack that set the dam, which had valiantly held the entire day, finally to collapse. Walburga burst into great heaving sobs; mortified, but unable to stop. Victor looked rather alarmed and frankly hurt by this reaction, disappointment flickering over his features briefly before he cleared his throat and composed himself.

“I did not realize that the prospect of my remaining would upset you so much,” Victor sniffed, pushing back from his chair and rising when Walburga leapt up to block his exit.

She violently shook her head, still unable to speak. She tugged at Victor’s arm to keep him from leaving, and he stared at her, dumbfounded, as she tried to summon words but could only produce gulps and croaks. She found herself beginning to laugh as well at the absurdity of it all, adding a snort to the bizarre repertoire of noises she was producing. Walburga grabbed a napkin and wiped her face vigorously until she was able a regain a bit of composure.

“I-I’m… I’m so sorry. Not upset, not at all…just relieved.” She finally managed, chuckling wetly between gasps. “I think…I am so accustomed to bad news that I wasn’t prepared for good news.”

“So, you believe this is good news?” Victor raised his eyebrow, faintly amused.

“I had assumed that you would be shaking the dust from this backwater town the moment you got the chance.” Walburga began to regain control of her breath. “You always seemed destined for greater things than Senden.”

“That was not an answer to my question.”

Walburga stared at her hands, which were fiddling with the thin fabric of her cambric gown. She began to worry a little fray in the fabric, ripping the threads, splitting a minor tear into a sizeable hole. She heaved a sigh.

“It is a wondrous thing,” Walburga murmured, still scrutinizing the now mauled dress. “I…I could not believe it was a possibility. We need someone to keep the town safe…”

Walburga trailed off, continuing to fidget. She heard Victor set down his hat but did not look up until he raised her chin with his finger. He looked very different without the authority of his headgear. His face was relaxed, and there was a softness to his expression she had never seen before.

“And what about you?” he asked, his eye searching, but for once not piercing. “Do you need me here?”

He needs to hear it. Walburga felt her lips curve into a smile. Here was a man who has stared down daemons, commanded troops, rescued the town…and he craved her approval. She caressed his cheek and the look in his eye went slightly liquid.

“It seems I do.”

Walburga had been isolated for a good portion of her life ever since she’d had Oswald. Not many fellows in Senden were keen to take a girl with a young child to wife, her only options the elderly and the desperate. She’d had one promising sweetheart, Hans Hanson, the butcher; who promised her the sun and the moon for one night together. Her parents made her demand a vase, and Hans had promised it to her when he had traveled to Altdorf for supplies. He returned with a red, sheepish face and a young, frisky wife. Walburga didn’t blame him and, honestly, had been rather relieved in the end. Hans always stank of onions and never washed his hands. She could never abide by that. It wasn’t until she was thirty-four, after her parents had passed (Morr rest their souls), that she finally found the liberty to indulge in a bit of amusement. Her first (and habitual) lover was a shifty but charming spice merchant who claimed Tilean origin. A fraud, truly, but the touch-starved Walburga hadn’t cared. His hair glistened with lampblack and his accent infrequent but, by Shallya, his hands had been clever and his mouth deft. He never tarried long, and Walburga was grateful for it. A little of “Arturo” went a long way. A handful of others followed over the years, usually the odd merchant or traveling performer, people whom she knew would not stay and, better, would not tell. She’d had enough scandal for one lifetime.

Thus, Walburga was not terribly experienced in the matters of love, but she had been surprised to find that Victor was even less so. She had assumed that someone as worldly as him would have had plenty of opportunity, and that the sweet clumsiness of their first time together was borne of exhaustion and urgency. However…Victor was all passion and desperation, but no skill. He mashed his lips against hers, scrabbling at her shoulders, her back, shaking and whimpering. Walburga found that she was enthralled by it. There was something pure about his unskilled and open longing, and she returned his ungainly embrace with equal fervor. She’d seen how deft and graceful he could be. It was just a matter of practice.

“Wait.” Walburga pulled back slightly, her hands upon his shoulders.

She watched the rise and fall of his breast, the flare of his nostrils, the desperation in his face. It was what had enthralled and shocked her earlier that morning, when she lay before him, the way he looked upon her as if she were something precious. She cupped his thin cheeks in her hands.

“Stay still,” she ordered gently, and pressed her lips to his.

Walburga kissed him softly and he obeyed, staying still. She savored his quiet gasps, the tremble in his stubbly jaw. She parted her lips just a little, and Victor, overeager, opened his mouth wide. Walburga drew back once more, placing her thumb upon his chin and gently shutting his mouth.

“Patience, love,” she chastised, smiling.

Victor took a deep breath, a flush rising to his cheeks.

“I am masterful in many arenas,” Victor grumbled, casting his eye to the ground. “I suppose I must admit that I had never seen fit to excel in this one.”

“No shame in that, love,” Walburga replied, lifting his chin. “I’ve no doubt you’re a quick study…”

Victor looked so crestfallen that Walburga decided to give him a little incentive. She slowly lifted her gown over her head, hoping that his inclination would not have turned to regret over the course of the day.

“Does this help?”

A strange grunt rumbled in the back of Victor’s throat. “Most definitely.”

Walburga drew close, again taking his face in her hands and kissing him softly. He responded in kind, this time, controlling his reaction this time and tentatively exploring her mouth with his tongue. The rest of his body was stiff and clenched, as if he were staving off whatever reflex would take over. Walburga pressed herself against him but quickly withdrew, his many belts and bits of armor digging into her flesh.

Victor smiled, unhooking his shoulder guard. “Shall I even the playing field?”

Walburga nodded, grinning. “It’s only fair.”

He shed his many, many layers of leather and steel until he was down to his linens. “All right then.”

“That’s not an even playing field,” Walburga smirked.

“It is for me,” Victor countered, toying with a lock of her hair. “I lack a sumptuous mane with which to obscure myself.”

“If you insist,” Walburga replied, drawing him toward the bed. “You may find those a bit confining, though…”

“Ah…” Victor seemed pleasantly surprised by how things were progressing, and it seemed to give him the wherewithal to doff his remaining apparel. “I defer to your superior judgment.”

 ***

  Months passed, and bakery was finished at last. Their time in the quiet, back chamber in the Inn came to a close. It was bittersweet. Walburga had grown comfortable in that dim little corner of Senden. It was a refuge from the outside world, a sanctuary where she could cast off her stoic façade and Victor could shed his authority and bravado like a weighty coat. They ate and chatted and confided and made love over and over, and when they would don their veneers of confidence and calm every morning, they did so smiling and ready to face the day. The room was cozy and warm and felt like theirs and theirs alone. Having that oasis from the ravages around her kept her sane and functional. Walburga had known from the start that the arrangement was temporary, and her new bakery was everything she had ever dreamed of since she was young, but she had become attached to the room nonetheless.

It was with great relief, then, that Victor had wished to continue their arrangement after moving into her new home.

“I fit,” he observed with surprise that first evening, regarding his feet at the bottom of the bed, plenty of room to spare for his lanky form.

“Indeed you do, very well.” Walburga grinned, and he chuckled in response.

“You had this made for me, didn’t you?” he asked.

“Perhaps I pitied your poor ankles, resting on the frame of the other bed,” Walburga replied. “Perhaps I like the extra space.”

“Either way, it is appreciated.” Victor rolled over to pin Walburga underneath him. “Allow me to demonstrate my gratitude.”

During their time together, Victor’s skills had improved vastly from their first sweet but fumbling encounter, as he had proved to be every bit the quick study she expected he would be. His hands were ten times as deft as Arturo’s had ever been, and his kisses passionate. If Victor tended to lose control in the throes, Walburga certainly didn’t mind, on the contrary. She’d never felt so desired and certainly never expected it in this late stage, when she had considered that aspect of her life passed. She was happy, happy in a way Walburga never thought she could be. There was no cloud hanging over, no need to work around evil bureaucrats, no need to put on a brave face for customers, no need for any façade at all. Not “happy, but” or “happy, for,” simply happy.

Until…

Victor arrived one evening not long after Walburga had moved into the new bakery distracted and rather nervy.

“What’s wrong?” she asked, sitting him down in front of a steaming plate of shepherd’s pie.

“Nothing wrong, really.” Victor took a deep breath. “Quite the opposite. I have been summoned to Altdorf to deliver my report. I am pleased to show them in person how Senden has improved since the attack, and hopefully gain a bit more funding for our chapter house.”

“Oh.” Walburga pecked at her food. “Well, that is exciting.”

“It is indeed,” Victor replied, and the pair ate in silence for the duration.

Walburga knew that she would not see Victor for weeks, but she turned from him that night, his touch only increasing the despair taking hold of her. She chastised herself but could not shake it. Victor had seemed in a similar mood as well, and for the first night since they became involved they retired without their nightly exertions, laying with ample space between the other. Walburga barely slept at all, watching the streetlamp flicker from her window and feeling as if she’d been hollowed out.

She awoke him the next morning with a piping hot buttered slice of olive and rosemary loaf, fermented herring, and pickled radishes as an apology for the awkwardness of the previous night. Victor squeezed her hand as he ate with vigor, then washed down the meal with a sharp, steaming cup of tea. They could hear a steady tap of soft rain on the cobblestones outside. Victor dressed quickly and made his way to the front door, glaring balefully at the gloomy weather outside.

“How…how long will you be gone?” Every word Walburga managed seemed to cost her.

“About three weeks,” Victor replied, buttoning his coat and fastening his shoulder guard. “It is the transit that drains the most time.”

“I wish you safe travels,” Walburga said, handing him his hat as he stood in the threshold. “Sienna’s accompanying you, is she not?”

Victor made an annoyed sort of noise. “She is. Has a mission from Lohner, apparently. The journey will feel thrice as long, undoubtedly.”

“I’m glad you will have backup,” Walburga replied, finally able to crack a smile.

“I suppose it’s for the best. Walburga…” Victor paused, stroking her cheek, seemingly searching for words.

They stared at each other for a moment, and Victor kissed her then, sudden and messy, the kind of kiss he would have given her in their first days together. He drew back, donned his hat, and charged off down the road without another word. Walburga watched his receding form as he walked, leaving nary a backward glance behind him.

Walburga snapped out of her stupor when the clock tolled six bells. Moping was not going to provide sweet rolls for the morning rush. It was time to get to work.

 ***

 “You’re uncharacteristically quiet this morning, Saltzpyre,” Sienna observed about an hour into their journey.

“Mentally organizing my notes,” Victor replied, staring out at the passing trees.

“Hmm…” Sienna replied, tapping the iron pendant in her hands. “From my vantage point, it looks to me that you’re pining.”

“You assume much, Witch,” Victor replied distantly. He knew that she was spoiling for an argument, but he didn’t have it in him to oblige, and he sure as hell wasn’t going to give her the satisfaction of being right.

“Assume? You pride yourself on your observation skills, but I am no slouch myself.” Sienna preened. “One, you have said nothing about my attire, which would normally earn me quite the lecture. Two, I have been humming for the past forty-five minutes, and you haven’t made a peep about that. I don’t think you’ve even noticed at all. Three…”

Victor sighed, exasperated. “Are you sure you are not projecting, Fuegonasus? You make much of my supposed mooning, when you haven’t stopped fidgeting with that pendant since we set off. I know for a fact that it was a gift.” When Sienna colored, sputtering, this rare verbal victory made Victor temporarily forget his doldrums. “That tune you were humming was the song Adelbert often sings when he cleans the tables at the inn. “A Lady of Marienburg,” if I remember correctly. His mother was famous for warbling it through the market and often collected a crowd of admirers. Thirdly, I assume you were going to mention the massive love bite on your neck, which would give you yet another excuse to ponder your paramour. I honestly do not care how it was earned.” Grinning savagely, Victor went in for the kill. “You are so desperate to distract yourself from your own lovesickness that you attempt to goad me into admitting my own.”

“I..I…”

For the first time, Victor could see how Sienna could gain so much satisfaction from annoying him. It was rather enjoyable. Finally, Sienna folded her arms in a huff.

“Shows what you know,” she finally managed. “And you’re losing your edge. The hickey would have gotten me at least an hour’s rant. I’d had a much smaller one back in Carroburg and you wouldn’t stop going on about purity and self-respect.”

“I am in no mood to criticize the work of family,” Victor replied dryly. “We’ve always been an excitable breed, I suppose.”

Sienna’s mouth dropped open. “Was that…was that a joke? Who are you?”

Victor wearily sighed again, watching the scenery once more. He knew he didn’t want to discuss the matter weighing heavily upon him, and he certainly didn’t want to discuss it with Fuegonasus, but she was the only option and the notion had grown so much that it filled him completely and could no longer be contained.

“I…” Victor admitted finally. “I am considering…I believe I am going to buy a vase.”

He half-expected her to make a joke and demur, stating that she wasn’t interested, but instead she continued to goggle at him.

“About damn time!” She laughed finally. “There’s a good pottery district near the College. I’ll steer you in the right direction.”

“I am capable of finding a proper offering on my own!” Victor replied huffily.

“No, you’re not,” Sienna countered. “Leave it up to you and poor ‘Burga ends up with something covered in skulls and hammers.”

“Nothing wrong with a good, honest skull!” Victor replied. “It’s…”

“Oh Volans, stop proving me right!” Sienna insisted. “No, you’re coming with me, and no arguments. I won’t have you bungle this up.”

 ***

 “You’re looking rather spry this morning, Klaus!” Walburga smiled, handing over her sack of pastries for the Inn’s breakfast.

“That’s what a decent night’s sleep will do,” Klaus replied amiably. “Boring, but definitely has its benefits.”

“Ah, that explains it,” Walburga replied, passing him a meat pie. Lad never ate enough. “So you seem to be coping fairly well.”

Klaus shrugged, gratefully taking the pie. “Don’t have much of a choice, I s’pose. It’s strange. When she’s here, it’s like Sonnstill every day, with everything that goes along with it, bright and loud and fun and debauched and completely bloody exhausting. And the next day, you get to rest in a bit and you’re relieved.” Klaus paused and sighed. “For a moment. And then everything’s normal and dull again and you wish it were back. Does that make sense? I’m talking rubbish, aren’t I?”

He didn’t even need to mention her name.

“I understand completely,” Walburga assured him warmly. “Sounds like…”

“Mornin’, lads!” Susanna the miller’s wife plunked her basket down between them. “What’s the good word?”

“Looks like it’s going to be a chilly one,” Walburga replied, handing over a loaf of brown bread.

“So both of yours are off?” Susanna observed, placing coin into Walburga’s hand. “Guess that’s it then. Off to Altdorf he goes. Pretty nice while it lasted, right?”

Walburga bit the inside of her lip. “Mmm…”

“What’s that then?” Klaus asked mildly.

“Oh, just Hans Hansen all over again, isn’t it?” Susanna replied cheerfully. “Maybe you were too young for that one, Klaus. Our men always head to Altdorf and come back with a wife. Right, ‘Burga? Wulf Andresen too. Promises to moon and stars to Lorna, goes to the capital and comes back with a teenager. Always get their heads turned.” She slapped Walburga’s shoulder. “Am I right? That’s why I had to snag my Lars early, keep ‘im here! But you had your fun, right? Bit stringy and grim for my tastes, but I guess dames of our age can’t be picky. So, when are you…”

“Oh, Susanna,” Klaus broke in. “I just remembered. That chamber your husband wanted to reserve will available on the fourteenth, and I’ll be able to get the flowers and wine after all.”

Susanna tilted her head, perplexed. “Come again?”

“The room your husband wanted to reserve. I assumed you knew? Perhaps it was supposed to be an anniversary surprise.” Klaus shook his head, chuckling. “Damn. Should’ve kept my mouth shut.”

“But our anniversary’s in…” Susanna’s face began to turn an interesting shade of purple.

“Right!” Susanna gathered her goods and backed away. “I’ll be seeing you later!”

“Was that necessary?” Walburga asked, smirking.

“Extremely,” Klaus nodded. “Miss ‘Burga, you know she’s just full of rubbish, right? The Captain adores you. Sienna says he’s never been so easy to deal with and gets this dreamy look in his eye when someone mentions you. I’ve seen it too!” Klaus shuddered. “Rather unnerving, truth be told.”

“Thanks, Klaus,” Walburga replied. “And you say that you think you’ve seen the last of Sienna, but I’m fairly certain she’ll be back sooner rather than later.”

“I won’t hold my breath.” Klaus shrugged again, shouldering the sack of pastries. “She’s not one to stick in one place, and you know me, Miss ‘Burga. Can’t pin this lone wolf down.”

“Indeed,” Walburga smiled. You keep telling yourself that, Klaus. “Well, tell Oswald to stop by later on the way back. I’ve made a treat for the kids.”

“Will do.” Klaus waved. “See you later.”

Walburga waited until he was out of sight and rushed back into the kitchen, grabbing her rolling pin and smacking it against the table. It was a foolish thing to do. She could have broken what was a perfectly good kitchen implement and dented her new table, but she’d needed to exercise her frustrations on something.

She hadn’t needed it said. When it was said, that made it real. Walburga knew, of course she did. She’d been so stupid, letting her guard down the way she had. She should have known that it was too good to be true, an important man like him showing interest in a washed-up old trout like her. She should have considered their time together just a bit of fun, the way Klaus did with Sienna. Victor had come to her with fumbling hands and sloppy kisses, and left with a light and deft touch that would make Arturo seem a heavy-handed amateur. She’d been excellent practice.

When would he return? And with whom? Walburga was accustomed to pasting on a smile and masking pain, but she feared that seeing Victor parade around some lovely young thing could be too much for her. Stop it, Walburga ordered herself. She knew she was being petulant and selfish. She reminded herself of everything Victor had done for her. The room at the Inn, her stipend for her bakery, her new wardrobe, and so many little things…he had been exceedingly generous and kind. Victor owed her nothing. Even so, Walburga stood in her kitchen, fists clenched, willing herself to keep her composure.

“Miss ‘Burga!” Karin called as she ambled in, her arms full of apples. “Tarts for today?”

Walburga straightened up and wiped her eyes quickly, grateful for the distraction. “Yes indeed, Karin! Let’s get the cinnamon and nutmeg. The market is going to smell glorious.”

 ***

The shadows of the Great Temple grew long as Victor exited, greatly relieved to be finished. It had taken all of his self-control to keep from ranting about how it had been the Skaven influence which had nearly destroyed Senden, but he kept the account of the attack brief and emphasized the bravery of the Senden Order, and how they could serve as a model for other chapter houses throughout the Empire. The report was well-received, more or less, and Victor was able to leave feeling as if he’d nudged them that much closer to being the well-oiled Skaven-annihilating force the Empire so desperately needed. He strode from the Temple feeling considerably lighter than when he had entered it, with only one more task before he could journey home.

A familiar silhouette leaned against the wall of a Heldenhammer Platz armory. Upon seeing him, Sienna leapt up and scampered over, reminding Victor more of a candy-addled child than a Maven of the Flame.

“It’s done,” she said, fairly bouncing on her heels. “I’ve seen it. I’ve seen it before you have! It’s gorgeous, she’s going to love it!”

Victor smiled faintly. “For someone who finds marriage repugnant, you’re showing an incredible amount of enthusiasm.”

“I find marriage repugnant for me,” Sienna explained, hustling Victor along. “I otherwise find the spectacle and the rituals leading up to it fascinating, and I have a certain appreciation for high-end stoneware. Also, the concept of your wedding is so bizarre that I cannot look away. Come on! You need to see it!”

Amused, Victor followed as Sienna charged forward.

“There are some excellent tailors, and I took the liberty of examining some of the gowns on display. I have a few suggestions and have made a list for Walburga to peruse. She’d look nice with lots of flowers, I think…”

“Aren’t you supposedly on mission?” Victor asked wryly.

“Pish.” Sienna waved the question away. “Minor carta issues. I can handle that in a matter of hours. This? This is important.”

They reached a small neighborhood in the shadow of the furnace that was the Bright College. Apprentice pyromancers parted to make way for the Maven, and Victor could feel her beaming even from a few feet ahead of him. A weathered-looking redhead noticed their approach and rose from her wheel to meet them.

“One moment,” the potter said, nodding respectfully to the pair (more so to Sienna rather than Victor).

The potter quickly washed her hands and retrieved the vase. Upon seeing it, the reality of the situation settled upon Victor, the exhilaration, the terror, the joy of it all. The vase was a masterwork, a subtle gradation from deep indigo to a pale lavender, echoing an evening sky. Subtle arcs of gold and silver rimmed the mouth and spangled throughout, and, at the center of the piece, a silver dove entwined with a golden comet.

“It’s perfect, isn’t it?” Sienna enthused, all but clapping her hands in glee.

Victor nodded, refusing to allow himself to become overwhelmed. “I believe it will do.”

He handed over a sizeable sack of coin and stowed the vase in a large leather sack, saddened to obscure the piece and fully planning to admire it as soon as he was seated in the carriage.

“Well.” Victor straightened up. “If I want to catch the afternoon coach to Carroburg, I’d best be off.”

“Can’t wait another second, can you?” Sienna grinned.

Victor rubbed the back of his neck with his hand. “Truth be told, I just want the whole matter settled.”

“I can understand that,” Sienna replied warmly. “Long road ahead. I may be passing through Senden en route to Marienburg before long. Lohner hints there may be a job there.”

Several disturbing things occurred to Victor at once. The first was that he realized that he would miss Sienna’s company, and that he enjoyed it to begin with. Even when she was obnoxious and scandalous. Sometimes especially because of it. The second was that, not only did he consider the bright wizard a friend, that she was probably his closest friend. The third was that Sienna’s happiness was extremely important to him, and that he had never seen her as contented as when she was with Adelbert. All of these revelations threatened to make Victor very grumpy, and he refused to ponder them further.

“Well, I know that Walburga and the innkeeper would be grateful,” Victor replied evenly. “Be sure to do so. Farewell, Fuegonasus. Try not to end up in prison.”

“I’ll do my best,” Sienna laughed. “And Victor, don’t worry. Walburga would be mad to turn you down. Granted, she’s mad for being interested in the first place, but still. Good luck and swift journey.”

 ***

 “So,” Klaus began, leaning on Walburga’s stall. “How long has it been?”

Two weeks, five days, and six hours, but who’s counting? Walburga rolled her eyes. “About three weeks, I s’pose.”

“Well,” Klaus continued with a roguish grin. “I happened to notice a certain trap from Carroburg was arriving just as I started my walk here.”

Walburga handed Klaus his usual lunchtime repast of a pork and potato pasty. “Did you now?”

“I did.” Klaus nodded. “Might have a certain Captain on board not so patiently waiting for his luggage.”

Walburga’s stomach squirmed, and she forced herself to keep her breath steady. “I shouldn’t leave the bakery during the lunch rush…”

“Bloody hell, Miss ‘Burga! Karin can manage for a few minutes!” Klaus tugged at her sleeve. “Come on, he’ll be thrilled you came to see him.”

Walburga dithered for a moment, then untied her apron. “Oh, very well. Lead the way.”

They made their way through the town as it bustled in the wintry noonday sun. Klaus strode cheerfully before her, and as they approached the bottom of the hill Walburga could see the carriage waiting not far from the inn. Walburga’s heart leapt into her throat. Victor was lecturing the driver, who was struggling with his trunk. She quickened her steps, opening her mouth to call out a greeting, when the carriage door opened. A pretty young woman peeked out, then began to descend. The girl stumbled, and Victor sprang away from his argument to catch her, steadying her arm and guiding her to her feet. Walburga halted immediately, suddenly feeling the chill in the air.

“Wait, that’s probably not what it looks like,” Klaus assured her. “C’mon, Miss ‘Burga…”

Walburga turned without another word and scampered back to the bakery as fast as her feet would carry her, ignoring Klaus’ protests. She could see a line forming at the bakery, and a very harried Karin hustling to accommodate everyone. Good. Busy meant she didn’t have to think. As long as she was busy, she wouldn’t fall apart.

 ***

 The journey had stretched for ages. The coach had been full for the trip to Carroburg, which irked Victor. He’d wanted to examine his vase a bit and had to content himself with reaching into the leather sack from time to time and running his fingers over its smooth surface, following the subtle ridges and eddies. It wasn’t so much that he feared his traveling companions would covet the expensive item (they looked as if they would piss themselves if he so much as said a word to them), more that he preferred to look upon it alone and ponder its significance.

He had barely been able to sleep. Nerves had never been an issue in previous excursions. He tossed and turned, wondering how Walburga was faring, if she had any inkling of what awaited her when he returned. What if the time apart convinced her that she preferred him gone? That she slept better without his snoring? He’d become accustomed to her warmth beside him. Victor chastised himself. He truly was growing soft.

As soon as the sky lightened Victor was off, having messily devoured a hard roll and downed a flagon of water. After the squashed two-day trip to Carroburg, Victor was looking well forward to having a mail coach to himself. He found the carriage waiting on the outskirts of the city, a pitiful-looking affair with ill-padded seats and sacks of mail piled atop the roof. Not the most luxurious of accommodations but guaranteed to deliver Victor to Senden before the day’s end. A scruffy-looking young man groomed the horses and readied them for the trip.

“Is there any chance we can depart straightaway?” Victor asked, leveling the driver with a withering glare.

The look had then intended effect. “Y-yes, Sir!”

While the driver bustled about, loading Victor’s trunk, Victor settled himself inside with the leather pack on his lap, tipping his hat over his eyes, finally drowsy. The coach sprang to life, and Victor smiled. Finally.

“Wait, wait!”

The coach halted, to Victor’s extreme annoyance. There were scuffling noises outside, and a harried-looking young woman burst into the coach. She started when she saw Victor, then burst into a fit of nervous giggles.

“And here I was worried traveling on my own,” the girl rambled. “Don’ think no one’ll mess with us with you in the coach!”

“Quite,” Victor replied snidely, tipping the hat over his eyes once more.

Her name was Anneke. Victor found this out, and basically every other detail of her life, and the driver’s as well; as she and the lad (Fritz, as it turned out) gabbed incessantly through the window in the coach. The chatter prevented Victor from napping, but he found that it at least sped the journey along. By the time they reached Senden, Fritz and Anneke were practically engaged. It was lucky for Fritz that Anneke was headed to Bruena, and would be accompanying him for the duration. As the carriage rolled to a stop, Victor took a deep breath and burst out of it the moment the wheels creaked to a halt.

“Come now!” Victor exhorted the driver, clutching the vase to his chest. “I have great need of haste!”

“Right, Sir!” Fritz dragged himself away from his conversation and began to unhook the mail bags.

“My trunk, my trunk!” Victor scolded as Fritz fumbled. “Come now, boy!”

“Where’s the…” Anneke opened the carriage and attempted to exit, but her the heel of her shoe caught upon her skirt and she tripped. The girl would have been face-first in a mud puddle were it not for Victor’s reflexes. He caught her just in time, and she thanked him as she found her feet.

“Anneke!” Fritz leapt forward, mailbags forgotten and tumbling into the dirt as he rushed to the girl. “Are you all right?”

Oh, trunk be damned. As Fritz attended to Anneke, Victor charged toward the bakery. It would be the lunch rush, but Victor couldn’t wait another second. Two weeks, six days, and five hours. It had been agony. He passed Adelbert en route and nodded. The innkeeper tried to tell him something, but Victor was in too much of a hurry to listen.

Victor was intoxicated by the aroma of baking bread. He followed it to the lines of townsfolk queued up and saw Walburga and Karin barely keeping up with demand. He strode to her, the crowds of customers parting before him, and Walburga looked up in surprise. The color drained from her face, and her jaw clenched, as if she were steeling herself. Not exactly the reaction he’d been anticipating.

“Walburga.” Victor clutched the sack to him for strength as he approached. “I need to speak with you.”

“Not the best time,” she replied brusquely. “Can this not wait?”

Victor inhaled deeply, straightening up.

“No,” he insisted, glaring at the customers until they scattered. “It truly cannot. It has been three weeks. I need to speak with you.”

Walburga seemed to crumple. She nodded in a defeated sort of way.

“Very well,” she murmured, trudging into the kitchen.

Victor followed her warily, dumbfounded and stung. She’d been distant the night before he’d left, but up until that point they had seemed content. He’d had the impression things were serious. What had happened while he had gone? Had she rethought her situation? She’d had an extra-long bed constructed. Did she just have a predilection for unusually tall men? Victor’s hands started to shake, but he was in too far now. He had to know her answer, for good or for ill.

“You do not seem pleased to see me.” Victor began flatly.

“I am glad that you have returned safe and whole,” Walburga replied in a wobbling voice, staring determinedly out the window.

“And I am glad to see you, even if you don’t seem to share the sentiment.”

“Well,” Walburga replied. “What did you need to discuss?”

“Right.” Victor took a deep breath, clutching the leather sack under his arm. “I have been thinking about the future.”

Walburga nodded absently.

“The future,” she repeated in a distant sort of voice.

“And I do not think things should continue as they are. I have made a decision.”

Walburga turned her eyes to him finally, and Victor realized that she seemed utterly devastated. She twisted her fingers in her apron so tightly that he winced.

She swallowed heavily. “I just want to know. When did you make that decision? Was it in Altdorf, or before?”

“Before,” Victor replied, perplexed.

This was not going at all the way he had hoped. Walburga’s eyes widened, her hands bunched painfully in the fabric.

“Right.” Her voice cracked. “How long before?”

“Quite some time,” Victor admitted. “At Kruber’s wedding, truth be told. I…”

“That far back?” Her voice had taken a hysterical edge. “All this time, you were making plans…”

“Walburga,” Victor interrupted roughly. “I don’t understand. I would have expected you to be happy about this!”

“Happy?!?” Walburga shrieked. “Happy to see you abandon me? Toss me aside? Happy to see you parade around your fresh-faced young wife, give your children free sweets? Put on a brave face for the town yet again, I’m supposed to be happy about…”

“Walburga, what the hell are you talking about?” Victor demanded, flabbergasted. “What young wife? What children?”

“That’s what happens. It’s what always happens. They go away, and return with something better,” Walburga’s voice trembled. She regarded him again, those river-green eyes nearly overflowing. “I saw that girl you were escorting. I’m sure she’ll make you very happy.”

Victor let out a barking laugh. “You mean Anneke the apprentice glass-blower? She’s off to Bruena, and will most likely be hitched to Fritz by the end of the journey.”

“Wait, what?” Walburga tilted her fluffy head rather adorably. “Who’s Fritz?”

“The mail coach driver,” Victor explained quickly, placing the leather sack upon a flour-covered table and crossing the room to her. “Walburga, are you out of your bloody mind? Is this why you are acting so strangely?”

“I suppose I was always waiting for the other shoe to drop,” Walburga replied, her shoulders finally relaxing. “I was happy with you. Too happy. Something had to happen, and when you went to Altdorf…” She sniffed and looked away, shrugging. “It’s a thing that happens here.”

Victor took her chin in his hand. “Sigmar’s teeth, ‘Burga, do you think me so inconstant?”

“I suppose I think you an important man who need not settle for a dowdy baker whose best years are long past.” Walburga gazed at him, dazed. “I was convinced you’d come to end things.”

“You are insane.” Victor stroked her cheek. “I wanted today to be the beginning of something. Of everything. If you would have me.”

Walburga stared up into his face, a smile wavering upon her lips, as if she were afraid to believe it. “Are you sure, Victor?”

“I do not make decisions lightly,” he replied. “You should know that by now.”

“Me? Honestly? Victor, you know I cannot give you children.”

“Why the hell would I want children?” Victor asked incredulously. “Every day I must begin my day in a chapter house filled to the brim with soft, mewling apprentices. I’ve no desire to end my day that way as well.”

Walburga finally fell into his arms, and Victor reveled in her warmth, her pillowy softness, the sweetness of her scent. He clutched her tightly to him, his long fingers winding in her tawny waves.

He reluctantly released her, gesturing to the leather sack. “You should see what’s in there.”

Walburga opened the bag, and slowly withdrew the vase. She said nothing for a very long time, raising the vessel to the light, admiring it from all angles, reverentially gliding her fingertips over the comet and dove etched into it.

“You really did have this made for me…” Walburga murmured.

“No,” Victor replied snidely. “I was going to hand it to the first lady I stumbled across in town. By the way, you haven’t given me an answer. If it’s a no, just hand it back and I’ll toss it to whomever’s lurking outside. Is that fishwife Langemeier out there? I wonder if she’d be interested.”

“Stop!” Walburga guffawed, setting down the vase and rushing over to him. “Yes, of course! By Shallya’s feathery bum, I am so sorry, Victor. I would not be surprised if you wanted to take it back, given my atrocious behavior.”

“You’re quite mad, it’s true.” Victor grinned, squeezing her to him. “But I will have no other. I…”

He was interrupted by an urgent rap at the door. “Miss Burga! Miss Burga!”

Victor released Walburga to answer. “Klaus, what is it?”

“I just wanted to catch you before…” Klaus noticed Victor lingering behind, and the large, expensive vase upon the table. “Oh, thank bloody Taal! So it’s finally happening?”

Walburga beamed. “Despite my ridiculousness, yes. I guess we have a wedding to plan.”

Klaus slumped in relief. “You gave me a worry, Miss Burga. Bloody hell.”

“Oh, since you’re here, Adelbert.” Victor reached into his coat and produced a letter. “I have been tasked as a messenger boy, it seems.”

Klaus’ face lit up as he took the missive. “I…um…I’d, uh better get to the scribe…”

Klaus scampered away, calling his thanks as he departed. Walburga leaned against Victor, eyes closed, looking to him much like a contented cat.

“There’s the next wedding,” Victor said confidently. “By Sigmar, I will be sure of it.”

“Let’s just get ourselves hitched first,” Walburga replied with a smile. “I assume you haven’t eaten yet? Come. Sit. Tell me of your journey.”

Victor peered outside. “Your customers seem to be returning.”

Walburga kissed his forehead, and Victor felt light as air. “They can wait a moment. Let’s catch up.”

[putthison]

A Guide to Fall and Winter Trousers

Trousers are usually in the background of an outfit. They play a secondary role, setting the stage for whatever you’re wearing up top. As such, it’s easy to forget about them -- especially when you’re building a wardrobe. Almost everyone has blue jeans nowadays, and we’ve talked about the importance of grey pants. However, just as important as color is finding things in the right cloth. Spring and summer trousers are relatively easy since everything boils down to linen, cotton, and tropical wool. Your options can explode once it comes to fall and winter. A rundown of some of the more useful fabrics to consider:

Wool Flannel: This is your workhorse. If you wanted, you could build a wardrobe of just light- to mid-gray flannel trousers and be done with it. The fabric will go with everything from sport coats to sweaters to some casualwear, and depending on your region, can be worn almost year-round. Wool flannel is something like a smarter counterpart to cotton flannel -- it has a bit of a nap on the surface, which gives it that soft hand and incredible comfort (the material was once even used for underwear). 

When buying a pair, pay attention to the weight and weave. Mid-weight to heavyweight trousers will provide better insulation and drape. There’s also worsted flannel, where you can see a subtle twill running under the nap; then woolen, where you can’t. The first will be harder wearing, but the second will often have a bit more variegation in the color. 

Cavalry Twill, Covert Twill, and Whipcord: For all intents and purposes, these are basically the same thing. These steeply angled twills, made from either cotton or wool, were originally designed for hardwearing environments (think: countryside retreats and sporting events). Today, however, much like rustic tweeds and waxed cotton outerwear, they’ve come to define a sort of autumn and winter style that can be worn almost anywhere. You’re just as likely to see these today in downtown cafes as country homes. 

If you’re looking to expand past flannel trousers, start here. In neutral colors such as khaki, grey, and light brown, they can add some diversity to your wardrobe while still remaining versatile. If you go for a darker shade, look for something with mottling, such as these Rotas at No Man Walks Alone and The Armoury. Darker colored trousers can be harder to wear, but these shades can be nice in cavalry twill and whipcord because the colors look so great mottled. 

Corduroy: A little less useful with sport coats than the options mentioned above, but so wonderfully democratic and utilitarian. As Jesse said in his address to the Corduroy Club (yes, that’s a real thing), “corduroy has stood for what is right in our lives. Intellectual rigor. Fresh air. The comfort of a crackling fire. It is a fabric as forgiving and enduring as our spirits at their best.” Corduroy is the fabric of living -- whether that’s tucking your corduroy pants into your boots and feeding the pigs, or wearing them around college campuses. 

Corduroy is made with wales, which is a term for the textured ribs running down the pants. The thinner the wale, the more modern the trousers will look; the wider the wale, the frumpier and old school. Needlecord, which is the thinnest of wales, can be especially nice as five-pocket jeans. 

Tweed: Tweed can be tricky, as so many are either too loosely woven for trousers (which means they’ll bag easily) or they’re too bold for practical wear. The most useful in this category will be Donegal, which is a medium- to heavy-weight tweed that gets its name from the Donegal county of Ireland (where the fabric has been traditionally made, even if Donegal today is generically used for a style). Donegal tweed is defined by its nonlustrous, slubby yarns, which have flecks of color throughout. That’s what gives the fabric that beautiful texture you see above. 

Bold pants can be hard to wear, but Donegal is surprisingly useful. With a pattern as subtle as this, you can pair them with anything from sweaters to waxed cotton outerwear to even contrasting tweed sport coats. I like them in mid-gray, such as this pair at our sponsor Dapper Classics. 

Moleskin: Every description of moleskin has to start with a caveat that these are not, indeed, made from the skin of moles. Instead, this is a cotton fabric with a soft, almost suede-like texture. Like many of the fabrics mentioned above, moleskin started its life as a country cloth, used for hardwearing activities such as getting through thick, prickly brush. Today, it’s a common material in fall and winter clothes. 

Moleskin looks great when new, but it can also age in a slightly patchy way that I find makes it difficult to pair with tailored clothes. Still, it’s great for casualwear, particularly if you want something with a bit more interesting texture. And it’s fantastically comfortable. You’ll find them most useful in colors such as olive or khaki. Ledbury even has them right now as five-pocket pants. 

Gabardine: A tightly woven fabric, generally made in wool but also sometimes cotton, that simply drapes beautifully. It’s a dressier looking cloth than many of the options mentioned above, but terrific with things such as hopsack sport coats. Wool gabardine can be an ideal cloth for shoulder seasons, as it wears cool in the spring and warm in the fall. Depending on where you live, they can be a little too chilly or hot, however, in the summer and winter months. 

Unfortunately, gabardine trousers can be hard to find. As more and more of tailoring disappears, the once-popular cloth hasn’t fared as well in sales as the more popular Super 100s and basic flannels. If you can find a pair, pick them up in colors such as mid-gray or tan. The ones pictured above are available at O’Connell’s. 

Year Round Wools: All the options above are specific to fall and winter, but year-round wools are worth a mention. Typically, these are mid-weight wools, often woven in silkier Super 100s numbers, and they’re designed to go with almost anything. Pick them in solid colors such as grey or taupe. Navy can be nice, but you have to have the right clothes. 

Year-round wools can sound like the perfect solution for someone looking to build a minimalist wardrobe. And they are, depending on what kind of wardrobe you’re trying to build. At the same time, they can feel a bit too thin and silky for rugged jackets such as Barbour. And they won’t have the breathability you’ll want on a truly hot day. If you have the time and money for it, you’d be better off building a seasonal wardrobe -- tropical wools and linens for summer; heavier flannels and cavalry twills for winter. Year-round fabrics can be nice as a supplement, but leave you wanting if your wardrobe only consists of them. 

If you do get a year-round wool, consider solid colors and subtle patterns. Mid-grey pick-and-pick weaves, for example, can be surprisingly useful. 

Chinos and Denim: The two fabrics that actually do work year-round, at least in today’s dressed down world. If you’re buying a pair of chinos, pay attention to things such as the fit, side seams, and waistband. Chinos that have a cleaner, more tailored look, such as these from Drake’s and Ring Jacket, are easier to pair with sport coats than the more casual varieties you’ll find at J. Crew. See our guide on how to judge different types of chinos.

Denim will be the foundation for almost any casual wardrobe, although you can also make them work in certain cases with sport coats. Just find a straight-legged pair that sits a bit higher on the hips (although, don’t go too high). Levi’s Vintage Clothing’s 1947 and 1954 versions of their iconic 501 jeans are great for these purposes (especially in New Rinse, which helps take out the guesswork in shrinkage). So are Drake’s No. 3, Orslow 105, and The Armoury’s 1960s cut. Here’s one of our guides on how to wear sport coats with jeans. 

Recommendable Places to Buy Trousers

Finally, where are some places where you can buy good trousers? You can always start with the classic American clothiers, such as Ralph Lauren, Brooks Brothers, Paul Stuart, Ben Silver, J. Press, O’Connell’s, and The Andover Shop. The cuts will err on the side of traditional, but you’d be surprised how slim and flattering some of the models can look. Uber-slim pants often look awful anyway, if only because they’re much harder to fit (as the tailoring has to be pitch perfect to match your body, a goal nearly impossible for ready-to-wear). 

For value, we love Howard Yount, Epaulet, and Dapper Classics (the stack of trousers at the very top of this post is Dapper Classics’ new fall/ winter collection). Their pants are made in NYC to an excellent standard, and run for about $200. Still a bit pricey, but you’ll get a big jump in quality here from J. Crew and Banana Republic. They also won’t be as low-rise, which we think is important. 

If you have a bit more coin to spend, Rota is about the best you can get without going bespoke these days (they run about $400/ pair). The trousers are made in Italy, come in different fits, and just look and feel great. You can find them at No Man Walks Alone and The Armoury. They can also take made-to-orders, which really opens up a whole new world in terms of fabric possibilities. 

Lastly, if you’re in a city where Stoffa holds trunk shows, it’s worth paying them a visit. I find their made-to-measure pants to be some of the best non-bespoke trousers I’ve come across (they run for about $350-ish). The company’s owner and designer, Agyesh, is excellent at fitting people, and he offers some really interesting fabrics. His peached cottons are hard to get anywhere else and they look terrific. 

(photos via Voxsartoria, No Man Walks Alone, Paul Stuart, Dapper Classics, Tenue de Nimes, and Drake’s)

[ladymarcosplay]

Jack Harkness Costume Analysis Part 2

Fem Captain Jack Harkness Costume Build

In my last post, I shared my costume breakdown of what Captain Jack Harkness wears in Doctor Who and Torchwood. In this post, I'm going to go through each piece and show what I decided to do to recreate it in my fem Jack Harkness cosplay. I bought some pieces and made the others that were more specific to Jack. 

I decided it would be fun to do this cosplay as a genderbend. Because of that, I adapted a lot of the pieces instead of trying to recreate them exactly. I decided to base most of the clothes on women's clothing from the WWII era. That's what a lot of Jack's look is intended to evoke, so that's the theme I decided to stick with. I really love how this cosplay came out and I had a great time wearing it! 

Shirt:

For the shirt, I wanted to keep the blue color and the buttons down the front, but I wanted to make it more feminine. I did a lot of searching online and eventually decided to buy this one from Unique Vintage. 

Skirt:

I went back and forth a lot about whether I should wear pants or a skirt for this cosplay. In the end I decided to go with a skirt. It's a gray skirt out of what looks like a felted wool (but isn't actually wool). It has a pretty high waist, belt loops, and pleats at the front and back. The other thing I debated a lot was the length of the skirt. I've seen a lot of fem Jack Harkness cosplays that decided to go with a much shorter skirt, but I decided to go with a skirt that went just past my knees. I figured that's closer to what a woman would have worn at the time and Jack's flirtatiousness comes more from the way he wears his clothes than how revealing the clothes themselves are. 

Shoes:

The shoes were a bit of a departure from Jack's original costume. The shoes he wears are very utilitarian. I decided to get a really cute pair of heels. I bought this pair of white and brown T-strap heels. They fit in with the rest of the costume pieces and I really love them, even if they are the worst part of the costume when you consider walking around a con floor for several hours. 

Vortex Manipulator:

The vortex manipulator is one of the pieces that I made. It's also one of the few pieces that I really didn't change from the show references. This piece went through a couple versions before I figured out something that actually worked. I figured out what different pieces I needed and made a pattern (which you can find on my Etsy shop) and cut them out from some fake leather I bought. The strap was a replacement watch strap I bought separately. The console face was made of some thin craft foam that I painted. Finally, I got a self-contained blue LED that I put behind the face to make the appropriate spots glow blue. 

Holster and Gun:

The holster I made from the same fake leather as my vortex manipulator. It's just a basic pouch with a flap with a snap over the top and a loop on the back to thread a belt through. 

I made the gun out of craft foam. It's not the cleanest looking prop, but I actually had a lot of fun making it. I looked at reference images of the actual gun and tried to make every piece out of foam. It's the kind of puzzle I really enjoy. 

Other Accessories:

The other accessories were all little things I bought. I bought a basic brown belt (although it's a bit thinner than the one Jack wears). I bought a pair of gray suspenders and added suspender buttons for them into the skirt. I also bought a cheap watch with a black face and silver markings. 

Hair and Makeup:

This was one of my first adventures in wig styling. I started with a wig from Arda. I curled it and put in victory rolls at the top. Then I decided it was too curly and uncurled most of it except the bottom. 

I kept the makeup relatively simple. I had foundation, a little blush, and some blue eye shadow. I finished it all off with bright red lipstick. 

The Greatcoat:

The coat was the biggest piece of this cosplay that I made. I had some trouble finding a pattern that I liked before it occurred to me that I was already doing a genderbend cosplay and I should look at women's coat patterns. I ended up going with Burda 6845. I made a few changes to it. I made it double breasted, I added the top back vent between the shoulder blades, added a belt and belt loops, and I added the epaulets. 

I don't think my fabric choice was perfect, but it looks fine. I used a navy blue heavy denim fabric. I think the weight works pretty well, although it doesn't really look like the wool it should, but I wish I could have found a color with more gray in it. 

I made the trim that goes onto the rank bands on the epaulets by combining light blue and black ribbons. I found buttons I really liked, but they were only in silver. I ended up painting them gold and I really like the effect. It makes them look a little more worn. 

I hope you've enjoyed seeing how I took this cosplay from the initial stages through to the finished costume! You can see more of it over on my finished projects page. 

[owensrhodes]

Forget “Sparking Joy”: 8 Decluttering Questions That Actually Work

The wave of Marie Kondo’s popularity has devotees asking themselves if their cheese graters “spark joy” and thanking their college textbooks for their service. Her ruthless brand of decluttering, as depicted on Netflix’s Tidying up with Marie Kondo, centers around only keeping things that bring you joy in your home. When something no longer makes you happy, Kondo encourages homeowners to thank the item and pass it on or throw it out.

Hey, it makes for good TV. This approach is how Kondo gets cluttered spaces into organized havens. But while it works for Netflix, will it work for you? Wanting everything in your home to bring you joy is a noble goal, but it might not be the best approach. After all, some items in your home are simply utilitarian.

If the idea of decluttering with Kondo’s method leaves you feeling emotionally drained, it might be time for a different approach. Joy isn’t the only reason you purchase, use and store stuff in your home. Instead, try asking yourself these questions while decluttering.

Joy shouldn’t be the only thing you consider when decluttering. Image: Alesia Kan/Shutterstock

Have I used this in the past year?

Some of the stuff in your home is seasonal, but everything should be used at least once a year. Use 12 months as a metric for whether or not something is actually useful. If you forgot you had something and it’s been gathering dust for the last year, it’s probably time to pass it on.

Does this benefit my lifestyle?

This is one of the questions I keep in mind while shopping and decluttering. It ensures I don’t buy something just for the sake of buying it. Asking yourself if an item really, truly benefits your life in some way can help you stop thoughtless purchases and help in the decluttering process. Think objectively: is your life better because you have a certain item? If it isn’t, why are you making space for it?

Your stuff should blend seamlessly with your lifestyle. Image: Photographee.eu/Shutterstock

Do I have something else for the job?

It doesn’t matter if something sparks joy or not. If you already have something that does the job, you don’t need to make space in your home for it. From scrapping your double desk calendars to ditching an old food processor, getting rid of spares really frees up space in your home. It also helps you use your stuff more thoughtfully and even come up with different uses for your favorite things.

Would I take it if I moved?

Moving is the great equalizer when it comes to your stuff. When space comes at a premium and moving boxes are limited, you start to ask yourself what you really need at your new place. But you don’t have to wait until moving day to declutter. Ask yourself if you’d keep your stuff if you moved to a new home and you’ll quickly see what’s important and what you should pass on to someone else.

Declutter while thinking about why you’re keeping each item. Image: Myvisiuals/Shutterstock

Why am I keeping this?

A friend of my family made a beautiful needlepoint picture for my wedding. It was displayed at the wedding and it’s had a place on my wall for nearly 16 years. The problem? I didn’t really love it and it has never matched my decor. My home is decorated in an industrial style and the picture was definitely more vintage country.

When I thought about it, the only reason I was keeping the picture was out of pure guilt. Besides the fact it didn’t match anything, I had pretty negative feelings every time I saw it. Finally, I decided it was time to give it to someone else. I realized that I wasn’t any less grateful to my friend. I still appreciated the work that went into the gift. But I also realized that someone else could really enjoy it.

Think about why you’re keeping certain items in your home. Is it obligation? Guilt? Or because you truly love something and can’t imagine your home or life without it? It’s a question that bears asking and might have some surprising answers.

Would this be useful to someone else?

It’s easy to get attached to things in our homes. They’re often tokens of memories and experiences, even if they don’t really need to take up shelf space. But if you’re not actively using something, are you robbing someone else of the chance? It can be hard to let stuff go, so try being pragmatic. Would someone else use and love it the way you did? It’s easier to give your stuff a new life when you know it’ll be in good hands.

Keep your space organized by donating or passing on unused stuff. Image: Photographee.eu/Shutterstock

Would I buy this again?

As you’re decluttering, ask yourself, “If I saw this item in a store today, would I pay full price for it?” You’ll quickly see which items you’re keeping because you love them, and which items are just there because you haven’t decluttered yet. Your taste, lifestyle and preferences change over the years. If you wouldn’t get excited if you saw that picture frame, throw pillow or vase at the store, it’s probably time to let it go.

Does it make me happy?

Fine, I’ll admit that Kondo was onto something. While “sparking joy” shouldn’t be the only decluttering criteria, it can help you. It’s all too easy to hold onto things out of a sheer habit. It’s also easy to just make a clean sweep in the spirit of minimalism. Somewhere in the middle, however, is the reality: stuff can make you happy. Whether it brings memories, it’s useful or you just like it, if it makes you happy, it’s worth making the space. Just remember to not ascribe too much of your happiness to your stuff.

Decluttering your home can help you stay organized and tidy, reducing stress. But the very act of decluttering can be super stressful. While Marie Kondo is the leader of the anti-clutter movement, expecting your belongings to spark joy might be putting too much pressure on your favorite umbrella or childhood teddy. Think more objectively about the process and you’ll achieve a home that is decluttered, organized and, yes, even joyful.

The post Forget “Sparking Joy”: 8 Decluttering Questions That Actually Work appeared first on Freshome.com.

[cessanderson]

Forget “Sparking Joy”: 8 Decluttering Questions That Actually Work https://ift.tt/302zM38

The wave of Marie Kondo’s popularity has devotees asking themselves if their cheese graters “spark joy” and thanking their college textbooks for their service. Her ruthless brand of decluttering, as depicted on Netflix’s Tidying up with Marie Kondo, centers around only keeping things that bring you joy in your home. When something no longer makes you happy, Kondo encourages homeowners to thank the item and pass it on or throw it out.

Hey, it makes for good TV. This approach is how Kondo gets cluttered spaces into organized havens. But while it works for Netflix, will it work for you? Wanting everything in your home to bring you joy is a noble goal, but it might not be the best approach. After all, some items in your home are simply utilitarian.

If the idea of decluttering with Kondo’s method leaves you feeling emotionally drained, it might be time for a different approach. Joy isn’t the only reason you purchase, use and store stuff in your home. Instead, try asking yourself these questions while decluttering.

Joy shouldn’t be the only thing you consider when decluttering. Image: Alesia Kan/Shutterstock

Have I used this in the past year?

Some of the stuff in your home is seasonal, but everything should be used at least once a year. Use 12 months as a metric for whether or not something is actually useful. If you forgot you had something and it’s been gathering dust for the last year, it’s probably time to pass it on.

Does this benefit my lifestyle?

This is one of the questions I keep in mind while shopping and decluttering. It ensures I don’t buy something just for the sake of buying it. Asking yourself if an item really, truly benefits your life in some way can help you stop thoughtless purchases and help in the decluttering process. Think objectively: is your life better because you have a certain item? If it isn’t, why are you making space for it?

Your stuff should blend seamlessly with your lifestyle. Image: Photographee.eu/Shutterstock

Do I have something else for the job?

It doesn’t matter if something sparks joy or not. If you already have something that does the job, you don’t need to make space in your home for it. From scrapping your double desk calendars to ditching an old food processor, getting rid of spares really frees up space in your home. It also helps you use your stuff more thoughtfully and even come up with different uses for your favorite things.

Would I take it if I moved?

Moving is the great equalizer when it comes to your stuff. When space comes at a premium and moving boxes are limited, you start to ask yourself what you really need at your new place. But you don’t have to wait until moving day to declutter. Ask yourself if you’d keep your stuff if you moved to a new home and you’ll quickly see what’s important and what you should pass on to someone else.

Declutter while thinking about why you’re keeping each item. Image: Myvisiuals/Shutterstock

Why am I keeping this?

A friend of my family made a beautiful needlepoint picture for my wedding. It was displayed at the wedding and it’s had a place on my wall for nearly 16 years. The problem? I didn’t really love it and it has never matched my decor. My home is decorated in an industrial style and the picture was definitely more vintage country.

When I thought about it, the only reason I was keeping the picture was out of pure guilt. Besides the fact it didn’t match anything, I had pretty negative feelings every time I saw it. Finally, I decided it was time to give it to someone else. I realized that I wasn’t any less grateful to my friend. I still appreciated the work that went into the gift. But I also realized that someone else could really enjoy it.

Think about why you’re keeping certain items in your home. Is it obligation? Guilt? Or because you truly love something and can’t imagine your home or life without it? It’s a question that bears asking and might have some surprising answers.

Would this be useful to someone else?

It’s easy to get attached to things in our homes. They’re often tokens of memories and experiences, even if they don’t really need to take up shelf space. But if you’re not actively using something, are you robbing someone else of the chance? It can be hard to let stuff go, so try being pragmatic. Would someone else use and love it the way you did? It’s easier to give your stuff a new life when you know it’ll be in good hands.

Keep your space organized by donating or passing on unused stuff. Image: Photographee.eu/Shutterstock

Would I buy this again?

As you’re decluttering, ask yourself, “If I saw this item in a store today, would I pay full price for it?” You’ll quickly see which items you’re keeping because you love them, and which items are just there because you haven’t decluttered yet. Your taste, lifestyle and preferences change over the years. If you wouldn’t get excited if you saw that picture frame, throw pillow or vase at the store, it’s probably time to let it go.

Does it make me happy?

Fine, I’ll admit that Kondo was onto something. While “sparking joy” shouldn’t be the only decluttering criteria, it can help you. It’s all too easy to hold onto things out of a sheer habit. It’s also easy to just make a clean sweep in the spirit of minimalism. Somewhere in the middle, however, is the reality: stuff can make you happy. Whether it brings memories, it’s useful or you just like it, if it makes you happy, it’s worth making the space. Just remember to not ascribe too much of your happiness to your stuff.

Decluttering your home can help you stay organized and tidy, reducing stress. But the very act of decluttering can be super stressful. While Marie Kondo is the leader of the anti-clutter movement, expecting your belongings to spark joy might be putting too much pressure on your favorite umbrella or childhood teddy. Think more objectively about the process and you’ll achieve a home that is decluttered, organized and, yes, even joyful.

The post Forget “Sparking Joy”: 8 Decluttering Questions That Actually Work appeared first on Freshome.com.

Jae Curtis