#low price petticoat | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

homeimprovementway · 4 months

Text

Upgrade Your Living Room with Slipper Chairs: Find the Perfect Fit

Slipper chairs are armless, low-seated upholstered chairs ideal for the living room. Slipper chairs are a versatile and stylish addition to any living room. These armless chairs are designed to sit lower to the ground, providing a comfortable seating option for relaxation. Originating from the Victorian era, slipper chairs were initially used to assist high-class women in putting on their shoes or slippers. With a variety of styles and materials available, slipper chairs offer both comfort and aesthetics to enhance the overall decor of your living space. Whether used as accent pieces or functional seating, slipper chairs provide a cozy and inviting atmosphere for lounging or entertaining guests.

Benefits Of Slipper Chairs

Enhance your living room with slipper chairs, stylish and space-saving seating options. These armless chairs bring a touch of elegance and versatility, perfect for creating a cozy and inviting atmosphere in any home. Upgrade your decor with the comfort and charm of slipper chairs. Slipper chairs offer comfort and style in one package. With their plush upholstery and supportive cushioning, these chairs provide a cozy seating option for your living room. Their sleek design and varied fabric options allow them to seamlessly blend into any decor, adding a touch of elegance to the space. Versatility In Placement The compact size and armless design of slipper chairs make them highly versatile in placement. Whether used as accent pieces in the living room, comfy additions to a bedroom, or even as dining chairs, they can be easily repositioned to suit different needs and spaces.

Finding The Perfect Fit

Slipper chairs for the living room offer stylish and comfortable seating. With their low profile and armless design, slipper chairs are perfect for smaller spaces. These chairs are versatile and come in a variety of styles, making it easy to find the perfect fit for any living room. Consider Your Space A slipper chair is a versatile addition to any living room, but it's crucial to consider your space before making a purchase. Measure the area where you plan to place the chair to ensure it fits seamlessly into your layout. Matching Your Decor When choosing a slipper chair, match the color and style to your existing decor. Opt for a chair that complements your room's aesthetic, whether you prefer a modern, traditional, or eclectic look.

Popular Slipper Chair Options

A slipper chair is a medium to large upholstered occasional chair that lacks arms and sits low to the ground. These high-back chairs got their name during the Victorian era. The Black Boucle Wool Nova Lounge Chair offers a luxurious curved design with boucle wool upholstery, priced at $772.00 from Rove Concepts. - Modern Slipper Chair Living Room Chairs with Solid Wood Legs - Makeup Vanity Chair Fabric Comfy Upholstered - Beige Polyester Blend Slipper Accent Chair from Wayfair at $135.99 - Bali Upholstered Slipper Chair Fabric: Mint Cotton priced at $767.00 from Birch Lane

Purpose And Functionality

A slipper chair is a medium to large upholstered occasional chair that lacks arms and sits low to the ground. These high-back chairs got their name during the Victorian era, when they were used to comfortably seat high-society women whose attire included cumbersome layers of petticoats, making it easier for them to slip in and out of the chair. Today, slipper chairs are valued for their versatile functionality and timeless aesthetic appeal, making them an excellent addition to any living room. Use In Various Rooms Slipper chairs are versatile and can be used in various rooms throughout the home. Their compact size and armless design make them particularly suitable for smaller spaces, such as living rooms, bedrooms, and home offices. In the living room, slipper chairs can be used as additional seating without taking up too much space, while in the bedroom, they can serve as a cozy reading nook or a stylish accent piece. Their adaptability also makes them a popular choice for creating a sophisticated seating area in a home office or a quiet corner in a library or study. Historical Purpose The historical purpose of slipper chairs dates back to the Victorian era, where they were primarily designed to provide comfortable seating for women wearing elaborate, floor-length dresses. The armless and low-profile design of slipper chairs allowed women to easily slide in and out of the chair without the hindrance of armrests, making them a practical and fashionable seating option. Over time, the functionality and elegance of slipper chairs have transcended their historical roots, and they continue to be favored for their timeless appeal and adaptability in modern interior design.

Comfort And Style

A slipper chair is an essential addition to any living room, offering both comfort and style. With their modern upholstery and plush seating, these chairs effortlessly blend functionality and aesthetics to enhance any living space. Modern Upholstery Slipper chairs are designed with a focus on modern upholstery, offering a wide range of fabric options to suit various interior design preferences. From luxurious velvet to durable linen, the upholstery choices allow homeowners to customize their chairs to complement their living room decor. Plush Seating One of the key features of slipper chairs is their plush seating. The ample cushioning and ergonomic design provide a comfortable and supportive sitting experience. Whether used for reading, relaxing, or entertaining guests, the plush seating of slipper chairs ensures a cozy and inviting atmosphere in the living room.

Where To Use Slipper Chairs

Slipper chairs are versatile pieces perfect for living rooms. Their armless design and low profile make them ideal for small spaces, cozy reading nooks, or as accent seating. These chairs add a touch of elegance and functionality to any living room setting. ass women who wore voluminous dresses and needed to slip their feet out of their shoes. Today, slipper chairs are a popular choice for adding extra seating and style to any room in your home. In this section, we'll explore where to use slipper chairs in your living room, bedroom, and dining area. Living Room A slipper chair can be a versatile addition to your living room decor. They are perfect for small spaces where you need extra seating but don't want to overcrowd the room. Place one next to your sofa or coffee table to create a cozy reading nook. You can also use a pair of slipper chairs to anchor a larger seating area. Choose a bold pattern or color to add a pop of visual interest to your living room. Bedroom A slipper chair can add a touch of elegance to your bedroom decor. Use it as a comfortable spot to sit and put on your shoes or to read a book before bed. A slipper chair can also be a great alternative to a traditional desk chair, providing a comfortable place to work on your laptop or do some journaling. Choose a chair with a soft, plush fabric to create a cozy and inviting atmosphere in your bedroom. Dining Area While slipper chairs are not typically used as dining chairs, they can be a stylish addition to your dining area. Use them as accent chairs at the head of your dining table to add some visual interest to your space. Slipper chairs can also be used to create a cozy and intimate dining experience in a small space. Choose chairs with a durable, stain-resistant fabric to ensure they can withstand the occasional spill or stain. In conclusion, slipper chairs can be a versatile and stylish addition to any room in your home. Whether you're looking to add some extra seating to your living room, create a cozy reading nook in your bedroom, or add some visual interest to your dining area, slipper chairs are a great choice. Choose a chair with a fabric and design that complements your existing decor and enjoy the comfort and style that slipper chairs can provide.

Frequently Asked Questions

What Is The Purpose Of A Slipper Chair? A slipper chair is an armless, low-seated upholstered chair, historically used for putting on shoes. What Is The Difference Between A Side Chair And A Slipper Chair? A side chair typically has arms and sits higher, while a slipper chair lacks arms and sits low to the ground. Are Slipper Chairs Comfortable? Slipper chairs are comfortable with plush upholstery and clean lines, suitable for various living spaces. Where Can I Use A Slipper Chair? A slipper chair is a medium to large upholstered occasional chair that lacks arms and sits low to the ground. They are versatile and can be used in various areas such as the living room, bedroom, and even the dining room. Slipper chairs are comfortable and perfect for lounging or relaxing.

Conclusion

When it comes to enhancing your living room with style and comfort, slipper chairs are the perfect choice. With their versatile designs and comfortable seating, slipper chairs add a touch of elegance to any space. Whether you prefer a modern or traditional look, slipper chairs offer both fashion and function. Elevate your living room with a slipper chair and experience a perfect blend of comfort and style. https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=343sIIHJGuo Read the full article

0 notes

yesterdayscake · 8 months

Text

I’m very uninspired by what I can find in my size at my price point rn and I have a beloved sister’s wedding coming up in April, so I’m going to try and make a dress based on the One Hour Dress

the goal is to make it out of silk, or (even better, imo), a fine cotton voile if I find one that is quality enough for a wedding, xomplete with a petticoat because I’ve grown out of my good one and hate most of the ones in stores. and I think I want to add a little bit of fluff to lend a scant hint of the very very fun robe de style width and froth without actually having to go into the house of lanvin quality rigging or have to calculate to their level of dressmaking geometry.

goals are that this is a very low spoon project so I don’t want to fall into my very autistic penchant for doing painstaking repetitive tasks (Like I see the pin-tucks in these extant garments and want so bad to do it but oh my god not now lmao. maybe one day but not now.

another goal is that I don’t want to look like i’m trying to be the bride becausde I’m not, it’s just my sister is a fashion person and I feel like I want to bring it to her wedding.

and finally I want to feel pretty in a disabled body!

which means:

—I need to work out how to have some decent back support without it ruining the lines of the dress

—i sweat a lot so I need to make sure there is some wicking going on and that I’m not overheated or flustered

—I want to feel pretty but also gender, so gotta find a balance

—and also it has to feel fairly current and not like Imm trying to larp, because I have no energy to try and perfect finger curls or whatever else in this time frame. I’ll probably do space buns again if I don’t think of anything else

#project file #one hour dress #wedding guest #real people clothes #home sewing #1920 #2024

1 note · View note

dragonstepp · 1 year

Text

Mother Nature

As a Pagan who believes in a higher entity that rules over all. But I also believe s/he has given Mother Nature freedom to fight against human nature in the climate problems.

But, having said that, I cannot help but wonder if humans gave Mother Nature help along with all these disasters.

I wonder if the fires on Maui was human made. I wonder if the explosion in Pennsylvania was human error. I wonder if so many fires across the US, Canada, and Europe were caused by human actions.

I smoke, not a lot since I have drastically cut down, but I am not thowing hot butts into nature. In fact, I smoke in only one place in my own apartment, with an ash tray within reach. No butts thrown in any place but that ash tray. I cannot say anyone else does otherwise.

Are there any fires run rampant in the Southern Hemisphere? Or all these in the Northern Hemisphere, where there is a high-level of heat everywhere?

I wonder at my own long life. I think 82 is not considered overly high in these days - there are many who are living into the 80s and 90s. Are we here to warn youth to cut back on technology which seems to be a huge problem, worse for humankind than helpful.

I lived my early years without air conditioning. I lived in my early years with low-tech automobiles. In 1957, when I was in high school, my car was a 1940 Ford coupe. We wore skirts and dresses with large petticoats. We did not think about being hot.

But we did start seeing things in the 60s that gave many of us thoughts of what might come. And then technology started manufacturing things that was supposed to make things easier for humans, but may have back-fired over time, and many thought they needed to buy/obtain better and better things, with no thought for how it would impact on Mother Nature.

So we are paying high prices now. Can we ever go back?

Carol

1 note · View note

20dollarlolita · 3 years

Note

Hello! I’m pretty new to Lolita fashion, and I was curious if you’d have any suggestions for what would be good for a beginner just starting out to wear? I only ever find big brands when I look for Lolita online, and I’m just not sure if I’m ready to spend $500 on a single whole outfit yet (this might be because I’m plus-sized though)

I’m assuming you are asking this because you’ve done research on your own and would like my specific opinion about this. If you haven’t done your own research, I’d recommend that you do that. I really like answering questions like this. However, the general community has a policy that, in the livejournal days, was summed up as “READ THE DARN MEMORIES BEFORE YOU MAKE YOUR FIRST POST” and now, in the facebook days, has refined itself into, “Try using the search function; someone asks this pretty much every day.”

That’s not to say that people don’t want to help. I love helping, and the big sisters in Big Sisters of Lolita Fashion group on facebook are in that group specifically to help. However, a lot of people get tired of answering questions that there’s already resources about.

Again, though, I really don’t mind. (Slightly selfish motivation: when I write resources that appeal to a lot of people who are interested in the fashion, it really boosts the blog. I don’t make money on this blog but I do get enjoyment out of watching my follower count slowly approach 2000). Just be aware that there’s pretty good beginner guides out there, and my opinions don’t reflect the entire community at large.

So let’s jump in to 20dollarlolita’s guide to doing your first look for a budget:

Generally, the dress/skirt will be the most expensive part of your first coord. The petticoat might be an exception to this, but I’ll save that for the second point.

Some dresses are $300. Some dresses are $30. Here’s the point where you have the potential to save the most. The secret is to find an inexpensive dress that still holds up to lolita standards.

Part number 1, your single most important focus when buying inexpensively is to not buy a replica. Anyone selling replicas at very low prices is selling you a really badly made replica. I bought several just to prove a point and they were all absolutely awful (though I’ve gotten a ton of jokes out of that $14 Mary Magdalene replica). Make sure that the listing has multiple angles and images of a dress, and that it doesn’t look like stolen pictures. Check their other listings and see if they have a consistent way of photographing, or if it looks like each of their products was photographed in a different place and by different people and with different models.

A lot of dresses on Taobao (which is sort of China’s eBay) are much less expensive than mainstream lolita brands, but you need to use a shopping service like SpreeNow to get them shipped to you. If that’s intimidating (and it is for me), you can check out Bodyline.

Bodyline’s quality is firmly known as, “Y’know, that’s...that’s fine...I guess it’s fine.” If you’re not sure if you want to get into lolita for a big time, that’s probably perfectly acceptable quality. I have a lot of Bodyline pieces, and I like them because they’re cheap, have acceptable quality, and are very easy to order from. Just look carefully at the pictures, and use your existing knowledge of lolita standards to make sure you’re not getting something that looks cosplay or very strange.

If you need the burando and don’t have the dollaroni, the two places that are best to buy used from are probably Lace Market and Wunderwelt. Closet Child is another used reseller, but I’ve never bought from them and don’t know what their shipping process is like.

Lace Market is a marketplace site for used lolita clothes, so your shipping experience will depend on who is selling them to you. Wunderwelt is a single store that sells used (and some new) items. Wunderwelt is also nice in that they’ll sell damaged dresses for relatively cheap. I’ve gotten Atelier Boz and Black Peace Now for $25 per dress, and they just needed a bit of cleaning up and a few stitches to make them work. Wunderwelt ships to the USA very easily.

Most lolita is sold by the measurement, not by a size, and Bodyline and Wunderwelt both post measurements. Someone on Lace Market should be able to provide them, if you ask.

If you want to make your first dress, here’s some tips. I’ll also pick up with making a handmade dress at the bottom of this post, because that topic builds on the rest of what I’ll say.

You need a petticoat. There are three different schools of thought about petticoats for your first look.

Option 1, get a really good petticoat off the bat. This one has the obvious advantage of coming out best in the long run. You will need a really good petticoat if you’re going to do lolita more than once or twice.

Option 2, make yourself a petticoat. This is my recommended if you want to sew lolita. If you’re sewing things, you need to know how to cut out rectangles and gather them evenly. Petticoats are nice to start on, because there’s quite a bit of forgiveness for errors.

Option 3, accept that your first coord will have a bad petticoat, and just don’t get a good one for your coordinate. You will get a ton of feedback about getting a better petticoat, but hey, you spent $19 and you could have spent $50.

If you’re getting a good petticoat, I love Wunderwelt’s petticoat. I’ve never had any trouble with this petticoat.

If you’re making your own, I have a tutorial here for the original petticoat tutorial, and here for an easier one that doesn’t have as much poof. I made both of these because I didn’t like the tutorials I found online for other petticoats, so I’m going to be arrogant and just only link my tutorials.

If you’re just going to get a bad petticoat, if you’re already ordering from Bodyline, you can use their petticoat gatcha and get a petticoat for $3. Will it be good? Will it be terrible? Will it be lime neon green? We just don’t know, but it’s $3.

[Fullview, lolita-inspired coordinate to show petticoat skills, not a good reference for actual lolita]

If you want a tiny bit more confidence and you’re already ordering from Bodyline, Pan088 is one that i got in a lucky pack and it’s acceptable, but not great.

Otherwise, just kind of go out there and look for a knee-length petticoat with not a lot of tulle hanging out at the bottom. Here’s a post about various petticoat shapes and it has some advice on picking a petticoat that’s not lolita-specific and that doesn’t look awful. Most importantly, pick a petticoat that you can’t see when you’re wearing the dress. Too little poof is better than your underwear hanging out from the bottom of your skirt. Just brace yourself for a lot of your initial coord feedback to be “try to get a better petticoat.”

Shoes. Again, two schools of thought here: get lolita-specific shoes, or get kinda okay shoes and accept your concrit about them.

Almost all my lolita shoes are from Bodyline, because they sometimes have good sales and then I go freaking nuts and buy shoes all over the place. Sometimes, they break apart, but I’ve written a couple of guides for fixing them. Soles fell off, toes blew out. (Note: I’ve discovered that for black/brown/white shoes, a vinyl/leather upholstery repair kit can fix blown out toes amazingly well, too) In this case, it’s a solid case of “well if you’re already ordering from Bodyline, might as well save on shipping.”

Cotton Candy Feet makes amazing shoes, too. I have not heard of them having a reputation for falling apart in Target while you’re just trying to buy some damn pasta.

If you’re going non-lolita sellers, be sure you’re familiar with what good lolita shoes look like. Demonia and Hades Footwear have some shoes that sometimes might work for some styles, and also sell shoes that don’t work for lolita at all. If you need to get them at a normie store, you can usually get away with a generic Mary Jane style, which a lot of stores will carry somewhere. If you’re doing that, just remember that the rounder the toe and the chunkier the heel, the better.

[fullview]

If you can’t find shoes in a color you like, Angelus brand leather paint is the only stuff I know that actually does the job and doesn’t flake off. Here’s my 10-year-old Bodyline tea parties that were once brown, had the toes blown out twice, and had to be re-soled with a chunk of fake leather and the bottom of a couch that we were going to light on fire. The shoes are damaged and uneven, but a glittery coat of Angelus on top of the regular gold paint hid most of that. Angelus glitter comes is like 25 colors so you can usually find one that matches. You can see the shoe on the right (my left shoe) looks a tiny bit funky. That’s the one that got fixed with the couch repair kit. 10/10 would recommend wearing your shoes until they’re absolutely dead.

Which gets me to another point, just as a side note, the Sam Vimes’ Boots Theory of Socioeconomic Unfairness: at a certain point, buying cheap lolita staples (stacking cheap petticoats and things like that) will cost you more money that buying the right thing on the second try. You want to cheap out on the first coord, that’s cool, but invest in better things for coord number 2. It saves you money and you also look better.

Mid-post note: I’ve said like three times that you can “just get something that’s not great and accept the concrit about it” and I need to add one more note: You can really only skip on one or two things per coord before it stops being a lolita coord and starts being a really strange outfit. You can mess up a thing or two. You can’t half-ass the whole coord and just say it’s still lolita when it only barely resembles it.

Blouse: If you’re wearing a JSK or a skirt, you need a blouse. I hope it was obvious that you need a blouse if you’re wearing a skirt, but we can’t be sure these days as to how people interpret your advice.

I’ve said it before, if you’re going to get into handmade lolita, you should absolutely buy your first lolita blouse, and you should buy a nice one. Most of the lolita standards are things that you understand better when you can touch the lace and look inside the blouse. You get a better understanding of how details are spaced and incorporated. You also can use that blouse for multiple coords, in addition to using it as inspiration and research.

At the time of me writing this, the cheapest blouse on Wunderwelt that looks like it’d work super well in my personal lolita style would run an alarming $36 for an Angelic Pretty blouse, $43 for Innocent World, $41 for Baby, The Stars Shine Bright, $46 for Metamorphose. A plain white collared shirt at Target from the women’s section is $35. $45 gets you actual brandname lolita brand blouse. Most of those blouses are ranked Class D (major stains or damage) by Wunderwelt’s quality system, but my professional opinion as a costume design and technician assesses that most of them need a good soak in some oxidizing cleaner and a nice press with an iron to be perfectly fine. (For those of you not familiar with the job of theatrical costume technician, I basically have a college degree in laundry).

If you want to make your own blouse, I have a pretty easy tutorial here for what we affectionately call “the lolita crop top” blouse. You can also grab a pattern for a regular button-down shirt and sub out the collar for the sort of technically wrong but easy and looks good collar pattern that I go over how to draft here. Just remember to keep the level of detail up! I know it’s just a blouse, but you don’t want it to be a plain and boring blouse.

[Fullview: Warning, cw snake, cw tobacco use, full picture contains my friend’s pet snake in the foreground and their hookah in the background]

You only get two points of “doing it wrong and not caring” before you have done the whole coord wrong, but if you want to do it wrong, you can just get a blouse with a pointed collar and decide that you don’t care if it’s wrong. If you make up for this with the rest of the coord being good, then you can probably get away with it.

Socks: You’ve got to put something on your legs. Legs are a great place to add details, because with a lot of lolita you want to cram every detail you can into it, in a balanced way.

If we want to compare to relatively solid-color dresses and two different approaches to the problem of adding details on the bottom half of the coordinate, you can see how me investing in some detailed socks breaks up the cream-colored space, and coordinates with the details in the umbrella. Navy tights that match the navy dress, with no color breakup, and then the gold shoes just draws the attention to the shoes looking out of place. (It’s worth noting that this coord did originally have a relatively ornate bonnet that balanced out the shoes better than the headbow, but I had to go out in public and didn’t want a giant spoon on my head).

So, if you can find them, patterned socks or tights really help with upping the level of detail. It’s relatively easy to find sheer tights with some kind of floral lace pattern on them, but in general we want our lolita leg covering to be opaque. Depending on many things, it might be possible to layer sheer patterned tights over opaque tights of a coordinating color, but you also need to look at the combination and be honest with yourself about if it actually looks good.

If you have socks, you can easily slap a line of lace around the top of them and get some additional detail level on them. (Side note, that post features the SAME BODYLINE TEA PARTIES)

Just, you know, put something covering your legs. Bonus points if it has details. Try to make it coordinate with what you already have. You probably don’t want ankle socks on your first go.

Stuff on Your Head: People who are making their own lolita often underestimate the amount of detail that you need to put on a headbow or headdress.

Here’s the outside of a Baby, the Stars Shine Bright bonnet. It has lace on the brim. It has rose lace on the lace. It has rose lace on the band. It has cluny lace on the rose lace. It has a bow. It has lace on the bow. It has a ruffle on the back. It has lace on the ruffle. This bonnet also has lace on the inside, to frame your face.

When you make or find your first hair accessory, make sure you have that level of detail. However, do not allow an obsession with the level of detail cause you to lose sight of the level of balance and taste that you also need. This bonnet has lace on velveteen on lace on lace on bow on lace, but it’s all in balance with itself.

When you first start, you might feel like a large hair accessory is a bit much. If you want to use one of your points of doing it wrong (remember, you only get 2), you might want to just check out the hair accessory section of your local department store, and get something more laid back. Just keep balance in mind. If your dress is very ornate, you need to continue that level of detail up into your head. If you are more casual and subdued, you can use a smaller bow.

If you want to make your own bow from scratch, I did a tutorial here. If you want something simpler than that, here’s a different tutorial (fun story, I posted this one when tumblr was cracking down on pr0n posts and they flagged it as inappropriate. First post, but not last post, that I had to appeal).

If you’re starting out, a good ol headbow is a good start, because they’re consistently accepted in every style. Bonnets, rectangle headdresses, tiny hats and tiny tiaras, and the so on, are all sort of specific to certain substyles. If you’re new, you’re probably not going to have the kind of experience to know when and where to use these.

The other part: Shoes, socks, petticoat, dress, blouse, bow, what else do you need?

Something.

You got a necklace, ring, wrist cuffs, cute bag? Just find that last thing or things to really make the coord complete. All lolita fashion is considered over the top by mainstream fashion (and if they thing casual lolita is over the top, they’re not ready for OTT sweet) so why not push it that last little bit to get it all the way over the top.

Don’t just go with the bare minimum. Also, if you used both of your “not doing this right and accepting the concrit” card, you probably want to find two additional, nice accessories for this part.

Okay so I know I said I’d talk more about making your first dress, but this took me too long to write and I have to go to work now so I’ll do that when I get back from work if I remember and my shift doesn’t kill me. Be nice to your retail associates, people, or else they’ll anonymously post about you to their 1800 blog followers.

#long post #ask #anon #beginner lolita #lolita fashion #how to #budget lolita #lolita diy #handmade lolita fashion #20dollarlolita quality posts

47 notes · View notes

awhilesince · 3 years

Text

Monday, 2 August 1830 (travel journals)

5 25/..

11 1/4

ready in 3 /4 hour – saw them all off at 6 20/.. – then went to the barracks near an hour there 88 in 1 stable 28 young in another – fed every 2 hours – ordinary allowance per day 8 lbs. [pounds] avoine 12 fourrage 15 straw (paille) besides sonde (mashes)? at noon – 1 very strong large norman (gray) 3000/. others 1500/. to 2000/. price – all stalons – some as colts bought at 400/. from 15 to 50 mares allowed them per annum – several crosses between this Country breed and barbes – some English horses – the man said they got thicker in the neck by the climate 8 of the horses aux caux – some sent every year – one a very fine gray sent because he coughed a little and they were afraid of his wind – some Turkish horses some de Limoges and some Norman, and some pure breed of the Pyrennees Gray or dark bay pretty little clean legged animals 1 man to 4 horses – all apparently very gentle all done by kindness – the manège not so fine as I expected –

drizzling rain from 6 25/.. – thick no view – back at 7 1/2 wished to be off in an hour – no horses till 2 – breakfast – went to my banker – all business at a stand – choice whether to take 25/. or not – yes! for £50 circular –

appalling news from Paris paid the bill here for us all – always give 6/. to the servants find Jean gives 2/50 more for the servants – so it seems we give altogether 8/50.! Sat writing journal and to my aunt till 2 –

off at 2 6/.. – Tarbes really a nice little town – 3 churches – the cathedral a small poorish concern, nor much of transepts near side aisles at all – the church I was in this morning (St. Anne’s) a poor little place, but almost as good as the cathedral – the steeple that seems to have belonged to a tolerably good church is merely part of what is left and now filled with forage for the cavallery – neat barracks (saw them this morning) built for them very lately – I have been more comfortable at Tarbes than anywhere – have nowhere had so good a room –

drizzling rain Till from 6 25/.. to after 12 – then began to clear a little and on leaving Tarbes fair and streets dry and atmosphere clear enough to leave the mountains pretty distinct – quite a farce to compare them with the alps – Tarbes seems placed at the foot of a wide Extended circular gently rising rich fertile plain stretching out obliquely on the right into a sort of isthmus or neck

the high pyrennees sweeping about 1/5 of the circle left Towards the front – and below them a low range of hill extending all round to the neck closed in by a low range quite in the distance the low range in front covered with wood – the other parts yellow with corn stubble (harvest everywhere since before Bordeaux got in) or ploughed land; or wooded or green under vine cultivation – the lands here seem no where more than 4 feet English at most – look like filons, threads – great deal of bled de Turquie – just out of Tarbes pass thro’ orchards of peach trees oppressed with vines –

Fahrenheit 74° at 2 40/.. and quite cool and pleasant – the dust just agreeably laid – the church of Ibos high squary mass (left) a fine object – 1 small tower – the houses of the town not seen till one mounts the hill – and seems a large one had been taken down as low as the roof of the nave –

at 2 began to feel a little indigestion pain and now at 2 3/4 feel it more was it the mutton last night – I never by any chance touch meat without feeling it, and have it not when I stick to my vegetables! –

as we reach the wooded range of hill 3 traverses up it, get out – walk to the top of the hill and 1/2 way over the ridge in 20 minutes and got a good heating in spite of the fine cool hair for the man urged his horses up as fast as he could without stopping and it was hardish work to get much before him –

mountain side wooded chesnuts – near the top heather – top brackens which completely subdue the heather and merely a bit here and there to be seen thro’ it – a few black sheep (hill and heather always make good mutton) and a few horses, i.e. mares and foals – a little scattered generally straw thatched? village – small enclosures – hedges full of thorn and sloe and wild roses hedge row trees – chiefly oak – a few chesnuts gravelled road – fine oaks each side the road and straw thatched and some blue slated neat farm houses here and there vines, a few peaches and much maize –

picturesque straw thatched cottages – women with their red capulets bound with black spinning with a distaff under their arm and the bobbin Twirling against their aprons – beautifully green pastures – fine chesnut Timber as well as oak, hiding the picturesque cottages –

how I enjoy this – I might be – could fancy myself in England save for the capulets, and odd little low narrow waggons and bells and clumsy gear of my 3 abreast carriage horses –

another village – fête here too and dancing to a fiddle and clarionet – peaches and nectarines in the hedges – have no where seen hedge cut and laid – always or buckheaded rather short or clipped – great many pollard oaks, particularly in hedge rows – these pollard oaks form capital hedges for shelter – wherever not cultivated the top of this ridge covered with bracken, and right look up pretty little valley – mountain-top valley evidently small green enclosures by hedges –

road mended with pretty well broken boulder of mountain (primitive?) limestone – dark coloured, veined with quartz? have only seen one patch of oats – standing and another in swathe nothing but maize and a few potatoes –

at 3 55/.. neat white washed hotel des voyageurs a few little accacias and platannes round it and shearing (a man and woman) a good plot of oats – a man and woman courting by the roadside he putting his hand into her right pocket hole and another pair walk amorously set me wrong between three and four which ended in incurring cross about four

about 1/4 hour on the top of the hill and at 1 1/4 very fine view descend into the beautifully wooded rich charming vale of Pau? sprinkled in all directions with towns villages and pretty thatched white washed cottages and farms – water would make it lovely quite – ‘route bordée et ombragée de bois touffus (pollard oaks) – de chênes and châtaigniers all along – the at 1st thro’ a forest and very beautiful Itineraire Midi page 70 says ‘ou est Toujours dans les riches et fertiles plaines de Tarbes’ – these ‘bois touffus’ pollard oaks are really beautifully and thickly umbrageous – should not have dreamt they could look so well – pollard from a thick trunk perhaps 10 feet high from the ground – small enclosures – pretty low hedges – small dun cows picturesque straw thatched or blue slated white washed cottages – charming (very small dun oxen dragged the little waggons and carts on the Top, the plateaus of the hill – pigs lying and feeding under the oaks –

at 4 29/.. good post house in the very picturesque scattered one long street (trees and gardens between the neat houses) village of Les Bordes-d’Expoey red-dun cows with bells and regular dun mare with one young mule and a brown mare with ditto – green champs Elysée of oaks at this end of the village under which herds pigs lying and feeding – Lombardy poplars – Charming the women here with white bound with black capulets and black aprons and spinning as they walk – lock under the left arm and spinning with left hand and twirling the spindle with right hand – said George 10 sols de payé – oui – said the postillion ce quelque chosée pagata –

off in 8 minutes – all the walling done with boulder stones in a cement chiefly blue slated cottages – vines creeping high in the trees – wood côteau – low line of hills right – higher range wooded at bottom heather at top (right) – groves, as it were of pollard oaks – why pollard? postillion from here whip slung round his shoulder with a large worsted tassel as the german postillions sling their bugle horn – the men wear Ayrshire caps – white with red tassel at the top – or one postillion as have observed before wellington blue without tassel –

I enjoy today’s drive exceedingly –

Long straight road before me from Bordes d’Expoey the hedge row trees generally pollard oaks forming sort of avenue all along – all the women spinning but have only once seen some women heckling short line – woman astride white black bound capulet and white handkerchief and blue coarse linen? small white spotted gown with her long petticoats covering even her toes – I think she had her knees much stuck forming a hump on each side not ungraceful under the petticoat and certainly not looking masculine –

so many people afloat on the road near all the villages must be a general fête? – quite in the basses Pyrenées now – left the high pyrennees on descending the hill into the beautiful valley of Bordes d’Expouey or does mist hide everything (left)? at a little distance (right) a low nicely wooded fertile range which wheels round towards the front of me but soon wears itself out –

a great many of the country waggons on the road – most of them drawn by 2 little dun oxen and 2 little horses wrapped up in linen sheets white first the leaders – the road all along quite gay and in places thronged with waggons and people –

the women that ride have their petticoat slit open fore and aft I see and thus it so covers gracefully will covers the whole leg and foot – get prints of all this and the waggons at Pau – pass malle poste at 5 3/4 – strange to find common sense only among the Pyrennees – where else do the women ride astride! where else do they not torture their horses and themselves by a position equally dangerous to the one leg unnatural and uncomfortable to both? –

at 5 3/4 a little drizzling rain begins – Fahrenheit still 73° – all alive in Pau a fair or fête or what? a fair? enter by long small boulder stone paved street (paved or boulder-stoned as at Tarbes) – desperate to walk on in thin shoes – a sort of gateway (2 posts) spacious street – of splashed dirty white good 3 story houses – full of people carts and business –

at Hotel de France Pau at 6 – heard all the news from Lady Stuart – dinner wrote to my aunt not directed at 7 1/2 – came to my room at 10 20/.. – Fahrenheit 74° at 11

left margin:

Fahrenheit 73° at 4 1/4 p.m.

reference number: SH:7/ML/TR/5/0027 - 0031

#annelistercodebreaker #annelister #traveljournals #pyrenees #august1830

2 notes · View notes

bates--boy · 4 years

Text

In the moments when everything is still and silent, Peter’s skin still itches from the sensation of that man. It still crawls with the memory of that John's lips sucking at his neck, the graze of cheap fabric as the bastard ground his wanting bulge against Peter's bare thighs, and the moist palms as John groped and pawed with the grace of a fool who really thought he was doing something.

And the absolute fuckery of it all? Peter wants to go back.

Not because the moist groping and aimless dry humping elicited an arousal from Peter. Far from it (unless instinctual repulsion is another new, trending kink that he is unaware of). Success of any kind does something to a man, and a narrow success from a self-appointed dare that could have had many terrible outcomes? Shit, that's a drug. It's a mind-altering drug that makes Peter fantasize about sauntering to that same hotel bar, in something a little tighter with a higher hem, or maybe shoulder-less and back-less, with bolder makeup. In these fantasies, Peter lets these executives and socialites and wealthy pseudo-philanthropists pull him into their rooms, and they tend to have brand new shoes and high-end blazers that are just his size, or the new make-up palettes and jewelry that he'd otherwise have to wait for months to go on sale. They have bulking wads of cash in their wallets (as tourists do) or the new generation of tech that'll go for a high price. In these fantasies, these people have asses.

But there's always the come down, and for Peter, it's acknowledging that this new game isn't sustainable. There cannot possibly be that many married or committed cheaters to justify relieving them of their possessions, and the number would be even less after taking out ones who aren't aroused by an occasional cross-dresser. There is also recognizing that he may never be able to return to that hotel bar ever again, or at least until John dies.

Peter has yet to see his name, face, or description in the news, and he knows that there are cameras in that hall Peter and his first target stumbled around in; a couple of them must have recorded him taking selfies with his loot. He doesn't know why John hasn't reported him, but he can guess that admitting to his spouse and Sweden's authorities that he propositioned a supposed hooker during Sweden's sex-purchasing crackdown would not go over favorably. But how many of those clients in Peter's fantasy would be as scared of a broken relationship, an arrest, and a ruined reputation as John presumably was? What if things go south and they use their influence to make him suffer, or force his hand and drive him to use his strength--

No, he can't go back.

Which isn't a total loss, considering how watery and expensive the drinks were, and how his last killing wasn't something to write home to. A wedding band, sitting somewhere in a pawn shop, a couple thousand krona notes, half of it spent on better wine and half going to his saving accounts, and the watch.

Peter picks it up from the bedside table and dangles it. The cubic zirconia twinkles in the lamplight, crowning the black velvet face and drawing the eye to the golden hands. He turns it around and scowls at the designer brand etched in rose gold cursive.

Gacci.

"Stupid unpawnable piece of garbage," Peter grumbles, before he latches his trophy around his wrist.

Though he knows that he's made the right decision, Peter still thrums with loose cannon energy that he must exhaust through some channel, something that beats sitting in a semi-dark room at two in the morning. He turns his wrist back and forth to catch the light in the glass pieces and silver band. Then, his eyes wander to the orange light in the window, to the shadows that filled the frame, a silhouette backdrop of the district he lived in. The immediate neighborhood is artsy and quirky, a mix of contemporary and vintage; white and ultramodern apartments and townhomes, sitting alongside their older but renovated counterparts and shops. But an energy carries from beyond this square, from across the bridge.

Night life. Neon lights. High hemlines and low necklines. Fruity cocktails and smiley face tabs, all bathed in a type of music that stirs the blood and dirties the soul.

Downtown.

How long has it been since Peter got White Boy Wasted?

Peter turns back to his laptop sitting in front of him to finish his online Christmas shopping for the night, then hops off the bed to skip to his closet. He yanks the door open and paws through the clothing on the hangers.

Indian red off-shoulder blouse, high-waisted black cut-offs, black ankle-high leather boots. Otherwise known as Peter’s most regrettable decision that night, as snowy winds cut through his winter petticoat during his motorbike ride across the bridge. But Peter doesn’t feel the need to complain about the cold; this weather doesn’t remind him of a home he wants to forget, plus there is something delicious about it, the way the pelting flakes bite into his bare legs and neck that grounds him yet makes him feel like he’s flying. It helps that he can’t feel John’s fingers and lips, anymore.

Upon reaching the other end of the bridge, Peter weaves through the streets, eyeing the picturesque nightlife for action through the whipping curtain of his loose hair. Most of these clubs and bars and cabarets Peter has tried out, and even deemed a couple of them favorite places to frequent. Tonight, however, he wants some new excitement, so he takes a street that leads into the uncharted territory. The gradual contrast between the downtown epicenter and this but of fringe land is stark, almost jarring; here, the blocks are darker, and in that darkness, the more brazen move through the unlit areas like shadowy monsters, these stumbling drunks and partiers high out of their goddamn minds.

He's getting close, he can feel it.

He turns a corner, nodding a greeting at a bunch of leggy people standing around the street sign pole, and almost loses himself in trying to guess if they are hookers or not when something catches his eye.

Up ahead, another nightlife creature stumbled out into the open, but before the darkness swallows her as well, Peter catches the way her silver sequin dress flashes red from the lights blinking in the doorway -- his beacon.

He sweeps his bike into the alley a couple buildings down and hops off, hanging the helmet on a handlebar and briskly walking to the club. He can feel the thrum of the music through the soles of his boots with every step he takes. He stops for a moment in front of the woman, who now slides down against the wall. For someone who isn't wearing any form of winter gear and is sitting in an inch of snow, she is smiling a lot, dreamy and sweet as her gaze is fixed on the dark sky.

"Er..." Peter says, bending down slightly to meet her eye. "Hey, ma'am, are you okay?"

The woman blinks, snapping her attention to him, and her dreamy smile melts even more as she reaches to cup and smoosh his cheeks. "Awww, there's my wittle white wabbit!"

Peter's face scrunches as he tries to understand the slow and slurring Swedish accent, made nearly untranslatable by the cutesy baby talk. "Ha ha, right..." Peter takes her hands off his face and nods toward the door. "Do you want to head back inside where it's warm?"

The woman shakes her head. "'Sokay, rabbit, I'm waiting for my friend!"

Peter gives her a half-frown and shrugs. He unbuttons his coat and takes it off, helping the woman into it. She looks like she'd scream if Peter tries to push the chivalrous act and pressure her to get inside the building.

He makes his way to the door, resisting the need to hug himself and rub at his arms. Once there, he stops himself from yelping as a goddamn giant creeps from around the threshold, crossing his arms over his barreled chest. Peter presses his hand onto his own chest and exhales. "Shit, man, I almost pissed myself!"

"Sorry," says the giant whose deadpanned voice and unchanged expression denote his lack of remorse.

"Hmph." Peter juts his chin at the space behind the bouncer. "So, are you going to let me in, or...?"

"450 krona."

Peter pulls his wallet out from within his shorts. "Drinks covered?"

"Nah, you pay at the bar."

Well, shit, Peter snarks in his head, counting out the money. This place is more high-end than it looks!

"It's 800 even if you want to go to Wonderland."

Peter pauses counting out the bank notes, raising his brow at the giant basking in the red glow. "...What?"

The giant quirks an unkempt eyebrow right back at him, his lips twitching in just the slightest grin. The bouncer offers no explanation, and Peter is instantly sold.

Peter holds out the wad of money to the bouncer. The bouncer reaches for it, but when their hands meet, the bouncer grabs Peter's and turns it over, his thick wrist flashing a tuft of dark hair through his sleeve. Peter only has a split second to let out a shocked and protesting yelp as the bouncer pulls something out of his sports jacket's pocket and stabs it onto Peter's skin.

"What the hell, man?!" Peter screeches, snatching his arm away. He examines the back of his hand for signs of damage, afraid of what he may find. He's only somewhat relieved to find that, besides the pinkish ring marking his skin, there is no bruising, just a slightly smudged and shimmering holographic stamp: a top hat.

Peter's eyes wander back up to the bouncer, whose smile is in full stretch across his face, alight with baffled amusement, tight as he tries to stifle a giggle. Peter wonders if he can get away with knocking a couple of this chucklefuck's front teeth out.

Said chucklefuck then instructs him, "Go to the set of doors at the other end of the club, right behind the platform. Middle door. Down the hall, make a right, and ask for the Mad Hatta at the curtain."

Peter nods and rubs his stamped hand, careful so he doesn’t smudge it further. The bouncer steps to the side and beckons him in.

The entryway feels like a tunnel to an underground bunker, the lights flashing a warning of an attack above ground. If it weren’t for the electropop beating against his skin, or the air of sweat and ecstasy and carelessness so thick that Peter can taste it, he might have succumbed to the images of swooping Luftwaffe aircraft that still haunts the back of his mind.

But, no, tonight, he is not the split and damaged identity of Fort Roughs and the Principality of Sealand; hell, he is not even half-year soldier Peter Kirkland. Tonight, he’s a dumb kid looking for Wonderland.

He descends the gentle slope into the wide, square opening, and he is swallowed whole.

No matter which they dance, everyone seems to move as one, arms waving and jerking high above their heads, bodies drawing to each other even if some of them may be dancing alone, bouncing and swaying and swishing. The sickeningly alluring stench that fills the entrance is now strong with so many different types of alcohol that Peter already feels drunk. The red lights bathes the bumping stereos and the people in a nightmare, and the rare streaks of black and white lights makes everything a euphoric horror movie still frame.

Peter grins as a pleasant tingle of adrenaline zips up his back.

He slips through the crowd, twisting and dodging and ducking. He wants to jump into the fun immediately, especially with a few dancers passing him dreamy smiles and curling their fingers at him when he meets their far-away gazes. But the stamp itches on his hand, and he’s going to take that as a sign from the universe that destiny awaits with this “Mad Hatta” (which is far better than the panic that his body is having an adverse reaction to the ink). He makes his way around the platform centered in the dance floor and notices movement high above him. He glances up and tilts his head curiously at the pairs of heavy duty chains hanging between spotlights on the girder frame.

“Huh...” he mumbles as he continues on. He takes the middle door as instructed, and finds a bit of relief that the hallway has normal, if a bit dimmed, lighting. He wishes something can be done about the sounds cutting through the walls and echoing around the hall, that the party music was loud in here and can cover the sounds of puking, crying, laughing, and moaning that Peter convinces himself was from pain (and blushes something fierce when he hears how breathy it is, and picks up the pace when the woman whimpers deeper. Fuck, deeper.)

For all this nonsense, Peter’s a tad disappointed that the curtain isn’t some grand thing of red velvet, or a sheer, sexy black thing with gems woven in like the night sky, but a plain white shower curtain. He glances at the stamp. You better be worth it, he scolds internally as he tugs the curtain to the side enough to poke his head in.

“Hello?”

“Your hair wants cutting!”

Peter jumps, his eyes darting around what is nothing more than a walk-in closet filled with mirrors and plants. “Mad Hatta?”

A hand slowly comes from behind one of the antique standing mirrors, holding out a black suede top hat with a long pearl feather. The Mad Hatta twirls into view after, plopping the hat on his head of auburn curls and throwing his arms out in one motion. The silver glitter of his tuxedo sparkle in all the mirrors and on all the plants; Peter gasps at the visual effect.

“The one and only! Oh, come in, come in! Don’t be shy!”

Peter enters and approaches the sparkly man. The Mad Hatta claps and reaches a hand out. “Do you come looking for Wonderland?” Peter places his hand in the other’s outstretched one. The Mad Hatta takes one look at the shimmering stamp on Peter’s skin and claps again, even bouncing on his toes. “Yes! Yes! Oh, my dear, you are in for quite a trip! A magical world awaits you!”

The Mad Hatta reaches into his inner breast pocket and flicks out a white piece of cardstock. He holds it out to Peter with a wink. “Have fun, my wonderful little Alice.”

Peter takes the card and is immediately ushered back out into the hallway. As he walks, he flips the tiny cardstock over. On its other side is a pale pink snowflake, about half the size of the blank business card its adhered to. There’s a black, fancy script printed on the top, in a font that’s made to look like whimsical vines and leaves:

TAKE ONE ONLY!

Peter rubs a thumb over the snowflake, nibbling his bottom lip in so deep a thought that he, blessedly, misses the woman’s climatic cry. He thinks about going back to the Mad Hatta and demand to know what type of drug this is and what it’s made of; he thinks about the two steps forward and five steps back he’s taken recently; he thinks about the recent danger he’d put himself and that man in in that hotel room. He thinks about Penelope’s recent confession to being an addict and wonders if, like Peter once upon a time, she’s picked up a bad habit of self-medicating her trauma from the only adult figures she’s ever known. (Shit, does Peter share in that guilt, and not just as an unwitting supplier and victim of theft?)

He pushes out into the dance floor and eyes the platform that stands like the altar in England, and Peter thinks back to the confession. He remembers the gut-grinding terror of his tantrum blowing up in his face, and how he couldn’t even face Ollie without ten walls of intoxication barricading him.

Peter is suddenly tired. He wants to go home.

He also remembers that this shit had cost three hundred fifty krona.

He peels the pink snowflake off and lays it on his tongue.

It all hits his palette at once from so many directions. The snowflake turns into fluff, and it tastes like powdered sugar. The strong, cool minty taste makes him shiver, and for a minute, Peter’s mouth goes numb and tingly. It travels up to his nostrils, so that when he inhales, he’s taking in a whiff of winter air.

He waits until the powder dissolves and licks his lips. Spearmint cotton candy.

With a quick shake of his arms and shoulders, Peter hops right into the fray and invites the music to draw him in. The meld of industrial techno metal makes the harsh red lights even more jarring, but at least this combo makes more sense than with the bubbly electropop. Plus, somehow, this mix is easier to take in. The guttural scream bites into his bones; the synths make his blood boil; the bass pounds against his chest and makes it hard to breath or slow the stammer of his heart. He’s suffocating, drowning in the heavy sensual air all over again. He’s not Fort Roughs, he’s not Sealand.

Hell, he’s not even Peter Kirkland.

He’s not human (though, was he ever human?). He’s an unidentifiable mass within this large pool of energy, an entity feeling like he’s going to melt every time someone brushes against his bare legs and shoulders. He leans into that melting sensation, swishing and swaying up and down, throwing up his arms and flicking his wrist, tossing his already-damp hair. He doesn’t fight whoever rubs their hand along his hips and guides him close. He grinds and bumps against them, even if their body heat against his back and ass makes him want to collapse. He’s taking in so much heat from all around him, but when he breathes, he breathes pleasantly cold air. He breaks apart from his dance partner to throw his head back and breathe. He opens his eyes.

“...Holy shit,” he gasps, because everything is fucking beautiful.

Nothing changes -- Peter is aware of that, yet everything feels... pastel. Odd, but in a fairytale way. The flashing lights lose some of their harshness, and look like they were cast down from heaven itself. Everything has a softness to their edges; Peter squints, and he sees a gentle, golden aura around everyone. White spots flicker in his vision like falling snow, kissing the cheeks of the dancers around him; is that why everyone’s cheeks are so rosy? He reaches to catch one of the dots, but it sinks into his palm. He lets his hand fall to his side, lets the music hug him like a wool blanket. No one pays attention to the new Alice with his neck craned back and the familiar dazed look in his eyes, or the chuckle that’s drowned out by the music. But they welcome him back into their bubble when he resumes slithering like a cat in heat.

Someone grabs his wrist and whips him around, yanking Peter against them. Happily skipping through Wonderland, Peter has lost some of his quick reflexes, and fights back too late when the person grabs the back of his head and smashes their mouths together. He jolts when the person stabs their tongue into his mouth, and hell no! Wonderland may be loosening everything in him, but Peter is not going to do the tongue-battling-for-dominance thing with some crazed freak.

He gets his hands between their torsos to push this person away, but then the minty cotton candy coats his tongue, and he presses further into this person. His hands roam up and down their chest, and he’s surprised to feel soft bumps through the tank top. He’s further surprised that this person letting him squeeze. They pull apart for Peter to find a dark rivulet running from their nostril. He should feel revulsion, but he takes out his handkerchief to wipe it off, spins this person -- this person with around twenty pounds of muscle and five inches of height on him -- and pulls them in, snaking his hand from their hip to underneath their shirt, feeling their abs tighten under his touch the higher up he went.

Peter pauses, thinking of going down, of undoing their belt and sliding his fingers, inexperienced and eager as they are, in their waistband, and forget his stupid rule to protect the last bit of self-worth he has and coax this person to the back room. Then the lights blink faster, the music goes slower. The crowd turns and cheers, converge to the center. The person turns and pushes Peter along, forcing him into the tide that crash around the platform. The rainbow spotlights -- actual rainbow spotlights, not supposedly white ones seen through the eyes of an Alice -- sweep around. Four people stand like sentries by the chains, arms crossed, smiling as people clamor around them.

The crowd hoists a petite woman in sharp stilettoes onto the platform. She’s rocking and nearly tilts over, but the stagehand steadies her, lifts her arms, and fixes her wrists into the chains’ loops. Next, the epitome of gay bears climbs right on, serving everyone his double scoops of ass in soft leather pants and nothing else that Peter can see. His thick wrists goes into the chain loops, too. The crowd is screaming and pumping their fists. Peter cups his hands around his mouth and howls as the third tribute, another Amazonian in a skintight leopard jumpsuit, gets chained.

He’s bouncing on his toes, watching with wide eyes as he awaits the fourth person. He doesn’t care that burning hands are grabbing his legs and his ass. In fact, he’s bouncing so much that he’s somehow flying up to the stage, carried on the vibrating cheer of the crowd. He trips on his feet, but the man catches him and turns him so he’s facing the same way as the others. The man takes Peter’s wrists and yanks them up above Peter’s head. The chains have an odd coolness to them, and their chill runs through Peter’s body. The man slides his palms down Peter’s arms, stopping at Peter’s waist. The man brings his mouth to Peter’s ear. The music is just about to pick back up.

“Dance, queen.”

The stagehands hop off the platform, the music eats into Peter’s flesh, and he dances. He twists the chains around for a better grip, and the links bite into him. He feels the chains clink as he throws himself around, as he jerks and thrusts and twists and drops and jumps. Even with his eyes closed and his head hanging, Peter can see the red and black lights. The couple times he cracks his eyes opens, he spots phones lifted high in the air, horizontal and aimed at them. A spike of panic shoots up in him, but then things start to blur and brighten. He tastes the minty spun sugar in the back of his throat, feels it take on a second wave.

His skin is on fire. His skin is a layer of burning ice that he wants to claw off, but he wants more of it. He wants more until he can’t feel John’s fingers anymore. He wants to be blazing until the shame and belittlement of the other representations don’t even matter, anymore. He wants to be set on fire until he can forget that he's been promised forever, that that promise was broken, and his fort will fall apart and he’s going to become a slowly dying human. He wants to become a pile of ash before this cheering crowd, before circumstance claims him first. He wants to forget about dead stars eating his soul once his time is up. Shit, let him be a dying star!

Peter stiffens his arms and swings up his legs until he’s upside down. The moves he pulls are just as familiar on the chains as they are on the aerial silks, though they are harder to achieve because the damn things don't swivel on ball bearings. But he angles his body and locks his feet and legs and arms when they need to, contorting his body into art. He doesn't even see the crowd, anymore. Not the spotlights nor the chains. It's all lost in the burning cold fuzz of golden white.

It's over too soon, and the stagehand works to undo the locked mess of Peter's chains. He frees Peter and wraps an arm around the dancer to catch him from collapsing. "You did great, sweetheart," he cooed, getting ready to help Peter off the stage. But there's a hesitance in his voice that Peter catches; he feels a hand through the blizzard around him cup his face and tilts it up. The man's eyes appears through the blizzard, hardens, and disappears as he swears.

"Fuck. Hey! Hey! This one's blitzed out!"

He's swept into the snowstorm. His vision winks in and out: the stagehand carrying him bridal-style -- Mad Hatta clicking his tongue and shaking his head -- another of the stagehands shooing half-dressed club-goers out the restroom. In the white, Peter hears snapping rubber. He feels the rubber curling into his mouth and tastes latex in the back of his throat.

"Why do I always have to do this?" Groans a faceless voice.

The latex shoves in deeper, and it burns -- oh shit, it burns! -- coming back up. Peter's body jerks and his lungs heave, his throat contracting around the fingers and his stomach getting sicker from the bitter taste.

"Okay, buddy," the voice says. "There we go. Let it all out."

How much does Peter have to let out? He's sure that it isn't much considering he had skipped dinner, but it takes forever for it to end. But it does ends, with the blinding snowstorm disappearing. Peter's greeted by a disgusting toilet coated with his Pepto Bismo pink puke, and cool tiles under his knees. He's twitching and shivering, his teeth chattering despite still feeling like there's a fire in his core.

"You okay?" Someone asks over his shoulder. Peter tries to nod or say yes, but his jaw is locked tight, his voice is frozen in his chest. Peter can hear the man snapping the glove off and unzipping something. Peter has no energy to protest being pulled into a body for the third time that night, but he's relieved when he's taken into the man's jacket and sheltered in the body heat instead. So they sit like that, Peter tremoring against this man's chest, his body fighting to keep the freezing magic in him.

"Gail should be back soon with your blanket and water," the man says. Peter misses his guy's smoother, more fun and enticing tone on the platform. Dance, queen. This voice is too different and too serious, too clinical, when he asks, "How many snowflakes did you take?"

Peter sighs and slumps against him. "Only two."

"You're supposed to have only one at a time," the man scolds. He gently taps Peter's cheek. "Stay up. You need to get some water first. Do you have any friends who can drive you home?"

Peter, try as he might, only manages a head shake, before his head lolls back on the man's shoulder.

The man lifts Peter's head and lightly slaps his cheeks once more. "Okay, you'll need a cot, too, then."

Thank goodness Gail returns, wrapping the wool blanket around Peter and forcing him to suck down half a bottle of water. The two club workers half-carry Peter out of the middle door and into the rightmost one, into a stretch of whitewashed tunnel lined with cots on both sides. Here, they lay him down on the cot under the watching eye of guards.

Peter curls up on his side and tucks his hands under his head. With a gentle smile on his face, Peter falls asleep in the world blanketed in soft white.

#life thus far ( story )#droid noodles ( writing )#drugs tw #ain't safe for lookin'#vomit tw #my brain @me: please...please i beg of you....listen to ANYTHING but hatari #me: (blasts all yhe hatari albums throughout the whole weekend)#down the rabbit hole

3 notes · View notes

the-bjd-community-confess · 4 years

Text

You wouldn’t mind paying $100 or more for a good outfit. Let’s see what that means. So take my example of $40 in materials and 8 hours of work for one dress. You want a whole outfit, so I’ll be generous and we’ll say only $5 more in materials and 4 more hours to get you a petticoat and bloomers and idk some fancy stockings. Cool. So 100 - 45 for materials leaves 55 to pay me for my 12 hours of work, which works out to about $4.50 an hour. That’s less than a third of minimum wage where I live. Now you did say “or more” so maybe you’d toss me an extra $20 if you were really impressed, but that means that to you, my labor at a base rate isn’t even worth a third of what the state says is ok to pay entry level workers, and my education—yes, it’s a real education, I took classes in pattern drafting and everything!—is worth nothing. And you expect the work of a master tailor for that? I’m sorry, but your expectations are too high.

The doll companies are able to use factory equipment, cheap materials bought in bulk, and lower paid and less skilled workers following simple instructions (and living somewhere with low wages and low cost of living) to create those factory fashions. Most experienced textile artists don’t even pay themselves a fair rate because of how undervalued our labor is in a world that’s gotten used to sweat shop fast fashion, but the sellers who can come close to the company’s low prices—the ones you’re complaining about selling low quality clothes—are deliberately selling far under the value of what their labor would be worth if they were more experienced so they can make back some of the expense of learning the trade, which is the exact reason you’re seeing flaws like crooked seams and poor finishing. It’s like you’re going to $8 discount haircut day at the beauty school, and when you don’t come out looking like a runway model you complain to the manager of the upscale salon next door because they want more than $8 to fix it.

~Anonymous

#BJD #ABJD #BJD Confessions #TrueBJDConfessions #BJD Fashion #Artisans

17 notes · View notes

blackbridesmaiddresses1 · 4 years

Text

You’ll also want to have your undergarments with you once you go to your first fitting wedding dress@^&*((!~ under 1000

Jocelyn: We wanted a really simple and intimate wedding where we could have good conversations with all our guests, so we really limited the guest list to close friends and family ideas for prom dresses, and we had our wedding at a pretty caf'. We also wrote cards for our friends and family ?C which was the best part I think ' we just have so much we wanted to thank them for and that was the perfect opportunity to say all the cheesy things (haha). We also made the d'cor ourselves and it was so much fun creating all those good memories with our friends. Chia De Xin (Dex), 28, Freelance Actor, and Kenneth Fam Weiyang, 29, Senior Sales Engineer exchanged their vows in a church wedding in Singapore, then celebrated their wedding on 22 July 2017 with only family and close friends in a gorgeous and romantic Lombok wedding filled with hanging flowers and bohemian rugs. In a private villa at Kebun Villas & Resorts, the couple made a wish on a floating lotus, created a unity monogram, drank all night and ended the night with a blow-out after party in their private pool! You'll also want to have your undergarments with you once you go to your first fitting wedding dress under 1000, so you'll need to take care of this detail, as well. You will need to pick up a specific kind of bra based on the style of your dress's back and neckline, as well as choose the proper shapewear for the occasion. You might also need a petticoat to make your dress fluff out. This is also a good point at which to order your garter belt. Joyce: From the outfits we were wearing in Japan, we sygdljdress20112 drew quite a bit of attention and we could tell from the reactions of passersby that they were genuinely happy for us (they knew we were doing a pre-wedding shoot). We would also pretend to be in character for the most part, as if we were in some Studio Ghibli movie, wearing kimonos and pretending to be owners of an izakaya, just for the fun of it price of a wedding dress.

Sabrina: Lufti and I met at our previous job. At first, we didn't like each other very much and barely spoke lamira dresses. Until one day when we had to work together on a project. We started talking and realised that we had gotten each other wrong all these while! The more we talked, the more we started to like each other, and started dating towards the end. Yes, and it is illogical: the truth is that what have became known as 'polka dots' (more on that to come) were called something entirely else before the Polka Dance craze named them. According to this overview, 'Dotted-Swiss referred to raised dots on transparent tulle,' and in France, 'quinconce described the diagonal arrangement of dots seen on the 5-side of dice.' In the event that you are not able to get in touch with said guests high low prom dresses 2020, always err on the side of caution and include them in your final head count. It's always better to have extra seats and food than to have them turn up at the last minute and find themselves without a seat or food. You May Also Like: you're able to guarantee that they also have an excellent ... Nevertheless vintage wedding dresses cheap~OIUYTgh really should be utilized if purchasing a dry up tidier evening gowns ... wedding dresses — pay apart from wedding dresses Brisbane ... short evening dresses – shortpromdresseschiceveningdresse

#wedding dress under 1000

2 notes · View notes

mahou-queen · 4 years

Text

♡52 Weeks of Lolita Questionnaire♡

In a recent Lovely Lor video, Lor answered questions from Loliprompts’ questionnaire “52 weeks of lolita”. It seems like a fun list of questions and I thought I would answer them too~ ♡

1. What is your favorite brand, and why? What’s its history? ♡ I guess my favorite brand would have to be Angelic Pretty. I love a lot of other brands, but the majority of dresses in my wish list right now are Angelic Pretty. As for their history? I don’t really know haha, I guess I should research that a bit.

2. How would you describe lolita fashion to a curious person you met in passing? ♡ I always just say I am apart of a fashion club? People don’t generally require more than that but if they did I would probably tell them that it’s an alternative fashion based on Victorian fashion and we have a fashion club and we get dressed up and meet for tea and stuff.

3. What style do you think is the most underrated, and why? ♡ qi and wa lolita. I almost never see them, or see interest in them which is a shame because there are some really beautiful dresses out there that are suited for these styles.

4. What does the phrase “lolita lifestyle” mean to you, and do you, or would you like to, adhere to it? ♡ lolita lifestyle is when you try to bring lolita or lolita-esque aesthetics into every aspect of your life. Maybe wearing lolita every or most days, and having a very “loliable” home/room. I could never be a lifestyler because I have other fashion interests. Also lolita is not appropriate at my workplace.

5. What do you think constitutes lolita etiquette or good manners? ♡ I don’t believe there is any “lolita etiquette” I think you should just be yourself. Good manner are good manners, don’t be rude to your comm members, don’t dance on the tables at a tea party. But that’s just commonsense I don’t think there is a way to behave that is lolita.

6. Does your style change with the seasons, or do you dress the same and try to bear the cold/heat? ♡ I try, but admittedly I am awful at it. I try to keep berets in the cooler months, as well as long sleeves. BUT I’m a sucker for ankle socks and I wear them all year despite the cold and I do freeze my legs off at winter meets.

7. Do you have a fashion role-model? What do you admire most about them? ♡ I actually have several! I will list them and their instagrams here: sleepyriri - Her coords are so dreamy looking, very light floaty aesthetic which I love. She also has her own lolita brand! Le_verger_sucre - Her coords are so pink and princess-y. I find myself sharing her photos a lot. Fannyrosie - the classic lolita queen. Need I say more? Tokimeki.bunny - I love the cuteness of her coords. They always have a lot of extra elements and are so well balanced. She’s also really good at coordinating printed tights which I am awful at. Tsumikko - Lavender QUEEN! I love her use of aprons, layering, and color balancing. Very light, floaty vibes. Milkcircus - Print QUEEN. Her use of prints and patterns absolutely inspires me. Coords are always very multi-dimensional Cursed.Kaiser - They’re coords are honestly so cool, there’s a kind of drama in them that I really like. Darkxdelirium - She almost made me want honey cake with her impeccable coording skills.

8. What are the top 10 things you love most about lolita? Can you also compile a list of things you hate? ♡ I don’t think I can come up with 10 but I’ll do my best. ♡ Loves: The community aspect, the ability to reclaim my femininity through lolita, the creativity that goes into building coords, crafting to make one of a kind pieces, being able to feel beautiful without being “sexy”, having a hobby to focus on when I need something to escape to.

♡ Hates: Second-hand market price fluctuation, brands still releasing dresses with a max 96cm bust, buying petticoats, storing my stuff (especially purses), brands who charge astronomical prices for low quality materials (AP purses, Q-pot jewelry, etc).

9. How strict are you in applying the rules to yourself? To others? ♡ I am pretty strict on myself. For a long time I was terrified to be seen as ita. I was even afraid to wear bodyline for fear of being ”ita” even though my coord was good. These days I am less strict on myself and worry much less about these things, but I still struggle to get out of the strict mindset from time to time. others? I love experimentation even if I am afraid to do so so I am really not too strict on others, if it works, it works, and I am not going to criticize anyone.

10. What’s the weirdest thing you’ve ever incorporated into a coord, or the weirdest material you’ve ever worn? ♡ The weirdest thing I think I have ever worn in a coord were a pair of korilakkuma bell earrings. As you can imagine, bells on your ears? not great.

11. What’s the story behind your discovery of lolita fashion? ♡ When I was a senior in high school, a new girl started attending my school. She wore fairy kei and sweet lolita to school. We became friends through art class and eventually she ended up teaching me about the fashion. She sold me my first dress, and later my first brand piece. I am really glad to have met her and to have been exposed to lolita. You can follow her on instagram here

12. What is the one item that you’ve owned the longest? ♡ I still own my very first dress I got in 2012. Bodyline Squirrel Party. However, I am planning to sell it since I’ve worn it in everyway I can think of.

13. Do you think lolita is only about clothes, or does it also encompass a certain attitude or mindset? ♡ Lolita is about the fashion. All kinds of people are lolitas and they like it or wear it for different reasons.

14. Have you ever decorated a room or other space (car?) with lolita aesthetics in mind? ♡ My old bedroom used to be very “kawaii”. I love pink so my car stuff, my desk, as much as I can get away with, is pink.

15. Is it possible to be too obsessed with lolita? ♡ If lolita is interfering with your ability to pay your bills, or to be happy, or to focus on school or work or family then you should probably pull back. Some people do get very absorbed by things and in those cases it can become too much.

16. What are you favorite and least favorite trends? Do you think it’s important to follow them, or to do as you like regardless of them? ♡ My favorite trend ever is the chiffon half blouse. So comfortable, affordable, light, cute, and much more size inclusive. Least favorite trend? mis-matched shoes from the 2010 era. I like my shoes to get equal wear. I think these days more than ever, you can really just do whatever you want. Wear the fashion is right now is like anything goes which I think is great,

17. How do you define “lolita cosplay” and how do you feel about it? ♡ Lolita cosplay is stupid. sorry

18. Are there other fashions that you wear regularly, or are you an everyday lolita? ♡ I don't wear other street fashions anymore. I used to wear fairy kei and himekaji but these days I just dress regular outside of lolita.

19. Do you look for bargains to save as much money as possible, or are you willing to make sacrifices for high-quality products? ♡ I try to find the best prices when applicable but if I am in love with something I’ll do what I have to do.

20. When was the last time you wore lolita, and what did you do that day? If you wear it daily, when was the last time you went OTT or extra-fancy? ♡ The last time I wore lolita was in April lmao. For a virtual meet-up with my comm.

21. If you were to combine lolita fashion with an unrelated style or theme, what would your new creation be? ♡uhhhh I honestly have no idea at all.

22. What is your favorite accessory, and why is it your favorite? ♡ I have 2, 2-way bow clips from back when bodyline had a massive “sundries” section. They're no longer available and haven't been for a long time. I am really glad I got them, I wish I had bought more sundries when that section was still there.

23. What’s your favorite online lolita community or forum? Are there any that you avoid? ♡ I don’t have a favorite tbh. I have never been on 4chan and I never will be.

24. What is your favorite theme (e.g. school loli, pirate loli, nurse loli) or motif (e.g. deer, music notes, stars/constellations)? ♡ black and gold stars! Valentines day! fruits! gingham!

25. Is there any music that you associate with lolita? ♡ orange caramel lol

26. Will you ever be too old for lolita? ♡ never

27. Do you enjoy sewing? Why or why not? ♡ I don’t know how to sew :(

28. How does your location affect your involvement in the local lolita community? Would you like to move elsewhere to be closer, or perhaps farther away? ♡ I drive about 1.5 hours for meetups because that’s the closest active comm. I do not mind so much. I’d like to maybe be closer.

29. Does your sleepwear resemble lolita at all? ♡ not at all. I sleep in oversized t-shirts

30. Can you admit to any unpopular opinions regarding lolita? ♡ I hate peeking bloomers. I’m sorry :(

31. How do you feel about Visual kei or Jrock, and do you feel it’s related to lolita, or not? ♡ Love it, and absolutely. Visual Kei is like lolitas relative.

32. Whether or not you wear them (looking at you, Ouji), do you prefer the look of skirts, JSKs, and OPs with or without prints? ♡ I like both, but these days I am appreciating non-printed items more.

33. How has your style evolved over time? ♡ It hasn't really, just gotten more refined.

34. If applicable, what other communities do you belong to? What other identities do you adopt? ♡ I’m queer, so the LGBTQ community is important to me.

35. What are your favorite shoes to wear with your style, or what’s your dream pair? ♡ I love heels. I do not like flat shoes because I like to elongate my legs. I don’t have a dream pair.

36. Would you, or have you ever, dressed your pets in lolita? ♡ lol I’d try but I don't think it would work.

37. How do you feel about people who wear lolita for Halloween? Does it depend on whether that person is already a lolita? ♡ Wearing lolita for Halloween as a lolita is fine, but wearing it as a costume is kind of meh.

38. Excluding fashion shows, what’s the most amount of outfits you’ve ever worn in a day? ♡ just 1 haha

39. What’s your worst lolita horror story? ♡ I don’t really have any. I one time went with some of my college friends to a con and I left my dorm building in full sweet early in the morning. I was afraid my dormmates would see me cause I did not want to explain but luckily no one was awake and I made it to the van unscathed.

40. Do you like sweets? If so, what’s your favorite dessert? ♡ I love angel food cake

41. Do you have any beauty products, health routines, or special diet to keep you at your best? ♡ I take co-q-10 for my eczema, I like laneige lip sleeping mask, especially in the winter.

42. What were the best and worst meetups you’ve hosted? If you haven’t hosted, would you like to someday? ♡ I wanted to host a garden meet this summer but covid ruined that. Maybe next year.

43. Who is your favorite artist? If not famous for lolita art, do you think they have lolita appeal? ♡ I love a lot of artists, some of them I think are lolita-adjacent because their style is kawaii. I’ll list some here: jisaaaa! ubokhee MISOART_ meowwniz gojio_ hanavbara Fancy Surprise Arcade Healer Yurie Sekiya and many many more. Go stalk my following on instagram for lots of kawaii artists.

44. How do you feel about wigs? Do you wear any, or style your natural hair? ♡ I used to wear wigs, but my hair is too long now so I use my natural hair with fake bangs.

45. What’s your favorite animal motif? ♡ bears?

46. Have you ever visited a brand’s shop/boutique? If so, what was your reaction? If not, what shop would you most like to visit? ♡ I want to visit AP San Francisco

47. Do you think posting photos of your coord online is a crucial part of belonging to the community? ♡ YES, it’s how we all stay connected and inspired

48. How has the lolita community changed since you became a part of it? Where do you see lolita heading in the future in terms of community and networking? ♡ I think it’s become way more accepting and accessible. When I got into lolita there were virtually no legit resellers, the community was entirely on livejournal, buying second hand was a nightmare. Buying anything! was a nightmare. There was so much stress around looking “ita”, and the superiority of brand. These days its just not like that. So much amazing taobao brands have really helped even the field for lolita. We have so much more access to the clothes, the community, everything. It’s great. I only see it getting better as years go on.

49. What advice would you give someone who is nervous about starting lolita? Or do you think they should learn their own lessons? ♡ I think too many lolitas today rely on seasoned lolitas to tell them everything. I would say, go watch lovely lor, read @lolita-tips and look at other peoples coordinates. Lolita Tips tumblr taught me basically everything I know back in the day and it a wealth of info and concrit. Part of what makes the lolita journey so great is the research, the learning, the mistakes. You don’t wanna be like someone else, you wanna be you. So you really need to do the work yourself so you can put your personal flair into the fashion. That’s when it’s at its best.

50. What’s your dream dress/garment? Is it a faraway goal or have you obtained it? ♡ My dream dress was AP sweetie violet jsk in lavender. Which I got in 2019. My new dream dress is AP rose tea garden jsk in navy. It’ll probably be a while before I can afford to buy one.

51. How do you feel about the stereotype that lolitas are full of drama? What’s the worst drama you’ve ever witnessed or been involved in? ♡ I think any and all groups of people are bound to have drama. I don’t believe that’s specific to lolita at all. I personally have not been involved in any lolita drama.

52. Are you loyal to any particular makeup brands? ♡ I am very particular about my makeup because I do not like to use certain ingredients. I really like Pacifica. But I also like some Korean brands like The Saem, MISSHA, and TonyMoly.

This was super long but I had fun answering all the questions. Have you done this questionnaire? I’d love to see your answers~

#about me #lolita asks #loliprompts #52 weeks of lolita #lolita fashion #egl community #j fashion

1 note · View note

popculturekuma · 4 years

Text

A Brief Look at Lolita Fashion

There is a difference between Lolita and lolita—one referring to the Nabokov novel from 1955, and one referring to the Japanese alternative fashion. Unfortunately, those not familiar with anime, Japanese culture, or alternative fashion, are confused when people use the term “lolita” to describe the fashion because of the association with the Nabakov novel. To be clear, lolita fashion has nothing to do with the book, and with this article, I want to explore the history of lolita, the assumptions of sexuality about lolita, and feminism in this “cutesy” fashion.

Lolita fashion started gaining prominence in the Harajuku district of Japan in the 1980s. Referred to as Elegant Gothic Lolita, or EGL, the style drew on inspiration from historical clothing from the Victorian and French Rococo, the lavish dresses and oh, the frills! Despite the idea of lolita being all pink, there are actually several substyles within lolita—including classic, sweet, and gothic. Each substyle has their own general color schemes and accessories, but they all follow the same respective silhouettes and guidelines.

(Diagram from PenguinLolita)

An outfit is called a coordinate, and there are multiple pieces that make up a single coordinate. PenguinLolita uses a great diagram to showcase the anatomy of a coord (shorthand for coordinate). A coordinate includes either a one piece dress (OP), a jumperskirt (JSK) with a blouse, or a skirt with a blouse, a petticoat beneath the dress to help achieve an A-line shape, bloomers beneath the petti, usually worn to preserve modesty in case any curious outsiders try to pull the skirts up, socks or tights, shoes (typically a tea party shoe or Mary Jane style), and a head piece. The idea of the head piece is to balance out the volume and shape of the coordinate. Coordinate-inspired accessories are also encouraged, and Over the Top (OTT) coordinates are all the rage. Accessories can include, but are not limited to, rings, bracelets, wrist cuffs, necklaces, and bows. Parasols and purses are often seen to round out the look!

So where does the EGL community and the Nabokov book overlap? Well, they don’t. However, because the fashion shares a name with the Nabokov novel, it is easy for outsiders of the community to perceive EGL as something sexual. Coined as a “lolita complex,” or “lolicon,” this is the idea of older men, typically middle age, being attracted to younger girls, in line with the Nabokov novel. The EGL community is a place for women of all ages to honor this fashion and its roots as a fashion inspired by French Rococo styles. As PenguinLolita puts it, “The lolita subculture emphasises modesty and youthfulness, as well as drawing from the Japanese kawaii aesthetic, and isn't considered overtly sexual by its followers.”

It is, unfortunately, a common occurrence for lolitas to come across those who have assumptions and perceptions of what lolita is. Because of its youthfulness and cute fashion, members of the EGL community are often assumed to be dressing up to play out some sort of sexual fantasy. This really could not be further from the truth. Some lolitas have been attracted to the fashion because of its lack of sexualization and emphasis on expressing oneself. Lolita fashion inherently subverts the social expectation of how women should dress. I’m not saying it’s not impossible for people to be attracted to the fashion and try to use pieces that are “lolita” inspired to fulfil some sexual desire, but that would not be lolita—plain and simple.

Coordinates can be incredibly expensive, especially when considering that pieces are not mass produced, thus emphasizing paying for the unique print, manufacturing of the garment, waiting for the garment to be made, and shipping. Buying pieces from brands such as Angelic Pretty and Baby, The Stars Shine Bright can reach up to $1,000+ USD. Considering everything that goes into a basic coordinate, this can be an easy deterrent for those who are not devoted to the fashion, or for those looking at it in a way that is purely sexual, so it is relatively easy to spot someone who is claiming to be part of the EGL community for all the wrong reasons. Additionally, the EGL community tends to use the terms lolita (lowercase ‘L’), EGL, and “lolita fashion” when discussing the fashion, and they avoid using the words Lolita (uppercase ‘L’), and loli.

What is the appeal to lolita fashion, and is it for everyone? As discussed before, the fashion is inherently nonsexual, and is something people of all ages can enjoy and wear. It is not just for women, though. The idea of lolita is to embrace non-traditional femininity, something that is incredibly important when masculinity is favored so prominently throughout the world. It defies this idea that women need to dress to attract work, love, and have kids. Lolita embraces cuteness and fun, and you can embrace everything that makes you YOU, all while engaging with the EGL fashion, whether you are Black, White, or part of the LGBTQIA+ community. Lolita is about honoring femininity and oneself, and there is a substyle for everyone. Recently, ouji has been becoming more popular to accompany lolita fashion. The term “ouji” refers to a “prince-like” style. If lolita is a “princess-like” style, then ouji is its counterpart. Frills galore, but add pants; and this is the perfect fashion for individuals who love and appreciate the fashion, but do not feel comfortable in dresses or skirts (for a variety of reasons).

More than ever, lolita fashion is accessible to those not living in Japan, or individuals who do not fit in the “one size” (one size fits small) many name brand lolita companies use. Bodyline offers lolita pieces at a low price, and it is easy to buy directly from their Japanese site if you live out of the country. Additionally, Taobao lolita brands are becoming increasingly popular, and consumers outside of China and Japan can use shopping services for both Taobao brands and Japanese lolita brands. There are U.S. stores and websites for Angelic Pretty and Baby, The Stars Shine Bright, so North American lolitas can buy directly from there in English. Lolita has become so much more than an alternative fashion seen on the streets of Harajuku, Kei-Con, a convention for kawaii alternative fashion enthusiasts, popping up in Toronto, Canada, and Paradiso, a J-fashion convention based in the Midwest. With tea parties held at the Angelic Pretty stores around the world, the alternative fashion is becoming increasingly visible outside of Japan and accepted through various local EGL communities.

What about plus size lolitas? Many Taobao brands offer custom sizing on select pieces to help lolitas that don’t fit in the small sizing “standard.” Dollbe on Etsy offers JSKs and OPs up to 5XL, and their sizing is so inclusive. Dollbe is also a Black-owned lolita company! Another size inclusive shop is Lady Sloth, a lolita brand from Poland. They offer custom sizing, as well, and their pieces range from sweet lolita to gothic lolita with classic disbursed between.

The EGL community is wonderfully inclusive and accepting. It embraces differences in those who participate in the fashion. The EGL community is, at its core, alternative fashion, which is accepting of all individuals who want to embrace femininity. Aside from the beautiful coordinates, lolita is about being yourself, truly. It can be an amazing and breathtaking experience to put on your first full coordinate. If you’re interested in lolita fashion, don’t be afraid to reach out to your local lolita community. Additionally, there are many lovely lolitas on Youtube that can aid you in your quest to build the lolita wardrobe of your dreams.

For links to my sources and additionally readings can be found here: Google Doc

A special thank you to the lovely lolitas from my own community in Michigan for helping me with this piece!

#lolita #lolitafashion #lolita fashion #egl #elegantgothiclolita #elegant gothic lolita #japanesefashion #jfashion #j fashion #japanese fashion #alternativefashion #fashion #altfashion #alternative fashion #egl community

4 notes · View notes

kecharacosplay · 5 years

Photo

Rose top listing is now live and available for purchase! There is only ONE available at this incredibly low price!

Don't believe me? To give you an idea, if I were making this new as a commission, it would cost at least $400! The star detail is hand-embroidered, which took four days all by itself!

As stated in the listing, contact me if you'd like to commission a matching skirt, which will also cost around 400, possibly more if I have to make a petticoat for it or if you have your own.

And if these measurements don't fit you, but you would like your own dress, then message me about that too! And PS: I DON'T HAVE A SIZING LIMIT. My prices are the same too, whether you're a size 10 or a size 30. ♥️🧡💛💚💙💜

#rose quartz #Rose cosplay #steven universe #Cosplay #for sale #StorEnvy #costume #corset

6 notes · View notes

reddeaddufus · 5 years

Text

Red Dead Deliverance

Summary: She’s a woman with a secret and a goal. And Arthur has no idea the trap he’s fallen into. Can they survive each other, or are they in over their heads?

Author’s Notes: This is part three of the Red Dead Pursuit series. Part one can be found here while part two can be found here. Don’t do sexy things under false pretenses, folks. Not cool, even if you do have a nice horse.

Tags: med honor Arthur, original female character, bounty hunter, O’ Driscolls, horses

Word Count: about 4,790

“It’s just that I don’t think I can even stand,” Arthur chuckled. “That's embarrassin’.”

“You think that's bad,” Nathalie started, pulling back from Arthur. She leaned back on her heels and began slipping her hands beneath her skirt. Arthur just watched, entranced with her climbing fingers. “You're really going to be embarrassed now.”

With a small, somewhat sad smile she withdrew her hands swiftly and held a cattleman revolver directly to Arthur’s chest.

“Stay down, Mr. Morgan,” Nathalie continued. Her face was hard and steely. Nothing in her standing suggested she’d been intimate only minutes before, save her wild hair and gaping blouse. Arthur just gawped.

Had he had his wits about him he might have reacted very differently. She was close, too close to him. He might have thrown his body into hers and slammed her awkward stance to the side, then taken back control of the situation. The animal part of Arthur’s brain acknowledged the scenario. The man in Arthur was just dumbfounded.

Nathalie propped herself up off his lap and her knees and quickly backed away. The barrel remained steadfast on Arthur’s breast, affixed to the same spot she’d scratched in passion just minutes earlier.

“I’d appreciate it if you refrained from the usual slurs and insults,” she stated matter of factly. Her feet worked fast, kicking his gun belt far out of Arthur’s reach. “Calling me a whore and a slut isn’t going to get you anywhere and I’d recommend you don’t try. If you want the gentlest ride to the sheriff’s you’re going to have to play nice.” While she talked she pulled a saddlebag from her stallion. He’d meandered towards them sometime during their tryst, and both Orwell and Tamar were contentedly munching grass in the sun.

Arthur couldn’t help it. A small, bark of laughter bubbled from his throat. And then another, a little louder. He was belly laughing. Nathalie just watched. A small scowl crossed her face, wrinkling her nose. She hefted a coil of rope in her free hand while she waited for Arthur to speak. But his chuckles only grew, punctuated by occasional roars of renewed laughter. By the time his convulsions slowed he had watery drops caught in the crow’s feet around his handsome, weathered features.

“Y-You’re serious!” Arthur guffawed. “This was a bounty? You’re a bounty hunter?!”

Nathalie’s shoulders sagged slightly. Despite his mirth, Arthur was quick to note how her aim faltered briefly before reaffixing to his chest. Despite his situation Arthur rolled his head cockily, looking her straight in the eyes. His wide grin faded to a lazy, confident smile. For a con woman, her body language was too obvious. She’d gotten me real good, he thought. He'd give her that. But he had been practically raised by Hosea and Dutch. He knew a tell when he saw one. That moment of dropping her guard had told him all he needed to know. She was relatively inexperienced, for all her…. Experience. She was at least inexperienced enough with bounty hunting to show it.

“Are you going to share the joke?” she asked somewhat crossly. “There’s a hell of a price tag on your head. Ankles together, Mr. Morgan.”

He obeyed easily, bound hands raised glibly towards her.

“It's just that's the best ambush I've ever had. I still don't think I can stand,” He chuckled, shaking his head. “So this wasn’t about the damn treasure at all. I guess that’s well and good - that tree on yer map isn’t here, it’s over with Lenny and Sean. I was hopin’ to get you alone.” He snorted again at the thought.

“And here you have me, Mr. Morgan!” chirped Nathalie. “Is Mr. Morgan too formal? It is a little formal,” She smiled then, taking her sweet time as she wound the length of rope around his ankles. “I feel like once you swallow someone down you can pretty much get a pass on what society dictates as polite.”

“I suppose yer’ right, although I wouldn’t know,” He replied wryly. “Do you do this to all your bounties?”

“I don't normally like to even let my bounties touch me, but God I almost wish we'd fucked first before I caught you up. You're something else, Arthur,” she paused as she tested her knots, then flicked her gaze to meet his. “Your poster didn't indicate you'd be so handsome.”

Arthur raised an eyebrow incredulously but said nothing to that. He swallowed, thinking back to the heat, the passion, her lips had wrought. He quickly changed the topic. “Was the map even real?” he asked, thinking again of Lenny and Sean. Once he made it back to camp they’d never let him hear the end of this.

“The map should be real. I got it from another bounty.” Nathalie tossed him a bright, self satisfied smile. Arthur tugged experimentally on his bindings, and then again, harder, when she turned away from him and pulled something from her saddlebag. He stilled when her attention returned to him. Not that it did much good. Her inexperience may have made her combat attention to detail sloppy but her knots were excellent.

Arthur’s eyebrows shot higher as Nathalie shrugged out of her blouse and tossed it onto the ground. While he watched she shimmied out of an underbust corset, her skirts, and her petticoat, revealing Nathalie in her entirety. Her breasts were full and moderate, peaking in the cold. Arthur drank in her form with wide eyes. His gaze traced her narrow waist before catching on her full hips and thighs. She was stocky and shapely. She was also entirely unabashed. Arthur was distinctly aware of his own manhood, now clammy with spend and spit and still very much exposed. He struggled for a moment to cover himself with the hem of his open shirt before awkwardy poking and tugging himself back into his trousers. His fly was still wide open but he settled on just folding his elbows forward and toward his knees.

Arthur wondered dimly how many times she’d done this before. Even as she redressed herself she was quick to retrain her gun back on her target. Her mistake was in taking her focus off of him at all, even in the milliseconds it took to pull a men’s shirt over her head and to tug on a pair of trousers. Fortunately for Nathalie, Arthur was content to just watch. She reaffixed her tan ranch hat back over her curls, carefully tucking them in. Before his eyes she’d transformed into a familiar looking slight and short youth. With her baggy shirt and the brim of her hat pulled low over her face she looked like a young man. The kid from the sheriff’s, Arthur started.

“On your feet, Arthur,” Nathalie smiled knowingly. She motioned for him to rise as she whistled. Orwell raised his head with a huff and slowly ambled over, stopping with his flank to her side. Arthur shifted to his feet and shuffled forward. He was barely able to move his ankles - she’d certainly hobbled him well.

“You know I ain't goin’ to hang, right?” Arthur asked wryly. Nathalie quickly gave Orwell a once over, frowning slightly as she thumbed a faint welt on his withers. Realizing her lapse in attention she yanked the gun up, pointing it menacingly at Arthur’s neck.

“To be honest, I hope you don't,” she replied. “I rather like you. It's just that I unfortunately like your bounty a lot more. Onto the horse, Mr. Morgan.” She tossed the long end of the rope binding his wrists over Orwell’s flank. With a quick and practiced movement she was on the other side and pulling hard. Arthur yelled as he was pulled off balance and up. Orwell shifted uneasily, his roan coat pricking Arthur’s cheek. Arthur tasted dirt, horse hair, and heavy annoyance. With another rough and sharp tug he was haphazardly keelhauled over the thoroughbred’s rump.

“And speaking of horses,” Nathalie’s voice chirped. She was moving out of his sight. “Don’t worry about Tamar. I’m going to do right by her. She’s a magnificent girl!” Somewhere behind him he heard his mare whicker and step closer to Orwell’s other side. There was a moment of movement during which Arthur could only assume Nathalie was securing Tamar’s reins. He wiggled his body to test his balance, frustrated.

Small hands patted him in place briefly, making him jump. They casually hitched a belt loop to the seat of her saddle. The hands were gone and then Nathalie was pulling the old black bandana from his neck, folding it, and tying it snuggly into position around his head and into his mouth. He felt the familiar worn leather of his hat on his head as she pushed it into place. She snapped his collar into proper position as he glared at her. She smiled winningly back.

“It’s just business, Mr. Morgan!” She hollered, swinging herself up into the saddle in front of him. With a light slap of leather reins on the saddle they were jolting forward into a trot. Arthur screwed his eyes closed and did his best to lean into Orwell’s jarring steps. He’d been hogtied and on the back of a horse before, many times even, but he could never get used to it. The world pitched as they moved. When he found himself watching the blur of the ground and hooves he felt bile rise low in his throat. After that he did his best to either keep his eyes closed or to focus them only to the stretch of Orwell’s glossy haunch visible to him.

They rode for a while in silence, broken occasionally by a jauntily whistled tune from Nathalie or a snort from one of the horses. Arthur was grateful that Nathalie didn’t do much in the way of talking to him. He was busy working his jaw back and forth on his bandana, chewing where he could in an attempt to loosen it. If the brief glances he’d gotten in to the landscape were any indication they were moving south into the heartlands. Maybe, with any luck, they’d ride right past Horseshoe Overlook. It was a meager plan but it was all Arthur had at the moment. Even if he could just drop his hat, maybe they’d know to look for him… Somehow, Arthur doubted that. He grimaced as he thought about the long stretches he’d been gone from camp before returning. He’d been gone for up to a week and then some on a regular basis. It was unlikely that anyone would recognize his absence as out of the ordinary. By the time someone even noticed his absence at all he might have already swung.

By the time they’d been riding for about thirty minutes they had passed several other travelers. Arthur was dimly aware of a small child gawking on the back of a wagon and a farmer’s unintelligible call to Nathalie. She quipped something back and he heard laughter. As another passerby moved by she called out, warning them to keep their distance. They must have for Arthur heard nothing but receding hoofbeats.

It was the third set of riders who Arthur started at. He was all but hypnotized in-between the rhythmic rocking of Orwell’s pace and his haze of nausea when out of periphery he watched a pair of feathered brown hooves walking away from him. Arthur shouted out, his cry muffled by his own bandana. The hooves slowed and veered closer to another set of smaller gray and white hooves. As the world swam he saw legs clad in crusty denim kick a shaggy brown flank into a sharp turn.

Nathalie clucked, and snapped her reigns gently. She squared her shoulders and lent forward. Arthur bucked his body against his ropes. He shifted violently forward and the ground lurched before him until he jerked to a stop, his weight caught on his belt loop.

“Isn’t that Arthur?” Bill’s voice questioned his companion.

Nathalie hunched lower. In response to some signal Orwell shifted into a casual trot. Arthur’s nose bounced against the horse’s haunches and he heard something pop.

Javier’s voice replied something unintelligible.

“Fuck,” Nathalie hissed. Her legs surged forward and her body tightened low to Orwell’s back and they were galloping again.

“Hey!” Bill shouted. Javier whooped. Bill shouted something distantly into the wind, but Arthur and his captor were already well on their way to being gone.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck,” Nathalie hissed. Just her fucking luck. If that bastard had just held still... Nathalie grimaced. She could feel Arthur writhing around behind her, throwing off their center of gravity. Orwell whinnied and she noticed with a sinking heart his already sweat soaked shoulders. His lovely flecked hide was spattered with mud, sap, and froth. She made a silent promise to her horse that she’d only race him twice in a day in the future and to groom him extra indulgently as soon as she could. He was a hell of a good horse, but running him like this three times in a day was pushing it. Tamar was already slowing them down - the lead to her bridle tugged insistently as she nervously tossed her head.

Something whizzed by Arthur’s head and knocked off his hat. A bullet. A fucking bullet, he seethed. He thrashed his head violently and was rewarded as his gag slipped its way down his chin and dropped, swallowed by the blur of the ground flying by. Another shot rang out and narrowly missed Orwell’s heaving neck.

“Stop fuckin’ shootin’!” Arthur bellowed.

Someone cried out indignantly from behind, but no further shots came. Nathalie responded by hunkering lower and lifting one arm and hand out in a one finger salute.

Javier countered with a curse. He was gaining.

Something whistled by Nathalie’s head and she watched the loop of a lasso fall benignly to her left. Jesus christ. Her hand scrabbled at her hip, withdrawing with the cattleman. She fired blindly into the air. It was just a warning shot, but they didn’t have to know that. Nathalie grimaced as Javier inched closer. Stupid. Of course outlaws are going to ignore a warning shot. I should have fucking stuck with easy marks. It was rapidly becoming clear that Arthur Morgan, however pleasurable a pursuit he may have begun, was not going to be easy pickings.

In a last ditch effort she stretched back, fingers scrabbling at Tamar’s lead. With a sharp tug the mare’s knotted reins came free. Tamar whinnied and immediately slowed, nearly derailing the big bearded brute on the warhorse. No such luck for the closer pursuer. Freeing Tamar may have helped Orwell’s speed incrementally, but they were going to need something fantastic if she wanted to escape with her prize. Fortunately, she knew their location better than she had where she’d raced Arthur.

With a wild cry she wrenched the reins sharply to her right. Orwell screamed in response, drifting on an impossibly tight turn. The swarthy latino man almost directly behind them overshot the stalled horse and rider immediately. With a shout the woman urged her mount back into a gallop again, this time seemingly directly into the second, bulier man. He cried out as she urged Orwell to veer aside at the last possible second. His horse bucked at the closeness, but the wild-eyed stallion and his rider were already veering down a small overgrown hunting trail. They were encroaching the edge of a rocky ravine face dangerously quickly. The trail deadened to a cliff face. Beyond were only roaring river waters and farther still, a minute rough outcropping from an impossibly distant trail.

Arthur had no time to comprehend what was coming. He only saw it all as it happened, only felt the stallion’s body tense like a coiled spring, only realized that there was no trail ahead as he saw it. He had time only to yell, a strangled, choked sound, before they were airborne. Nathalie was screaming too - or was it a whoop? Arthur didn’t care. This was the way it ended, with his stomach in his throat and strapped to the back of a maniac bounty hunter’s horse.

Nathalie was aware only of her horse, the wind on her face, and the distant ledge across.

The horrified shout of her captive audience barely registered. She felt so fucking free. If this was the way it all ended, so be it. At least she died an individual, subject only to herself. No degradations, no beatings, no hurt, just reckless abandonment and wild spontaneity and distinctly her. Escaped and liberated and as wild as she’d ever felt before.

It was only by the grace of some god that they made it at all. The ground was shockingly jarring. Rocks and dirt sprayed underfoot, birthing a cloud of eye-watering dust. Arthur’s nose slammed into Orwell’s flank again, and this time there was a definite crack. His cheek immediately became warm and wet. His shout broke abruptly as all the air in his lungs was knocked out of his chest. Nathalie was vaguely aware of the scream of her horse and the wordless shout of her bounty behind the dull throbbing of her pulse in her ears. Orwell scrambled to stay afoot and nearly failed. He skidded and pinwheeled for a loose and sloppy moment before he was shooting forward again.

She slumped against the horn of her saddle, slightly slack jawed and breathing hard. She wasn’t pushing Orwell any more - his continued dash was likely bourne more out of his own blind panic than anything she had done. It was all she could do just to hang on as her horse careened off trail and into the dark thicket ahead. She lifted her head and shifted her head to the side for a moment to check on Arthur. Blood poured from his nose. Cornflower blue eyes met her gaze for one moment before he sagged his head back onto her horse’s bloody flank. No words were said, but the exhaustion, bewildering, and incredulous nature of the entire situation was shared easily enough. Nathalie felt similarly. She hoped it didn’t show. Steeling herself, she turned forward in the saddle and began to reach to slow Orwell.

It was at this exact moment that they hit something hard. Orwell crashed down and sideways. The stallion’s back and side slammed into the undergrowth. He might have crushed his cargo had not Nathalie and Arthur also been thrown so violently. Arthur felt like he was in a dream. He watched in slow motion as the horse went one way and Nathalie went the other. The bounty hunter’s hand slid over his side as she arched overhead. At the last possible second she snagged one of Arthur’s suspenders. The secure grip on his belt loop vanished as his belt loop ripped. For a single bemused moment Arthur was glad he’d worn his nice leather pair of suspenders today. The leather had no give, and he followed her easily.

The moment was over in a millisecond. Arthur’s weight slammed into the ground and he rolled. There was a very solid sound and he felt his heel connect with Nathalie’s temple. She cried out wordlessly nearby and scrambled to her hands and knees. Arthur would have apologized, but he could taste bile again. There was a ringing in his ears that sounded familiar. He dropped his head back and greedily drank in clean air. His single minded focus was broken as Nathalie yanked his suspender, dragging him sharply to her side and behind a large log. She ducked, and Arthur heard the ringing again.

Her lips were moving, but Arthur couldn’t hear what she was saying. Her mouth moved again, shouting silently. He prepared to respond and was suddenly flooded with the boom of many guns. Bullets whizzed by and created plumes of dirt and bark as they burrowed into the old wood of their makeshift cover. Out of the frying pan and into the damn fire, Arthur thought numbly. It was the last thought he had before he threw up.

Nathalie’s hands trembled as she unholstered her Cattleman. She tilted her head to the side, trying to still the pulsating sharpness in her head. Clumsily she pressed herself against the log and lined her eye to the sight of her gun. She almost dropped the gun when she fired. Her shot pinged harmlessly a few feet from her target. They were well and truly fucked. Her poor horse had galloped into a tripline strung on the borders of a camp. Nathalie didn’t recognize any of the men from bounty posters, but they were clearly from a gang. The majority of them wore green on their person, and some of the hollers and shouts seemed to have a distinct Irish lilt. Her hands shook wildly as she attempted to reload. She flinched as a bullet roared past her head, only inches away.

Aim. Fire. Repeat. Repeat. Her pulse pounded in her ears. She felt sick. She envied the handsome bastard retching beside her. She wasn’t cut out for this. Reload. Aim. Fire. Repeat. The world swam as she fired blindly.

“What the fuck,” Arthur gasped. He thudded his body limply beside her, his back to their log. “The fuck.”

“Stay down,” Nathalie hissed. Her voice shook.

Arthur spat and pointedly ignored her advice, awkwardly twisting his head back to peep over their cover. A bullet narrowly missed him and he slumped back down.

“O’Driscolls,” he snarled. “Let me shoot.”

Nathalie didn’t answer him, only lowered her head and fired again. The shot went wide.

“You’re a terrible shot, girl!” Arthur growled. “Untie me.” He struggled, scraping his bound hands fruitlessly against the rough bark behind him.

Nathalie ignored him. Her hands shook as she reloaded. Someone shouted, and their voice sounded considerably closer than anyone had been a moment ago. She grimaced and fired several times, her thumb awkward and slow on the hammer. The voices were definitely closer now.

“What are you doing fuckin’ around right now?!” bellowed Arthur. His body surged against his bindings.

“I’m trying, goddamn it!” She screamed back at him. There was a slightly hysterical edge to her voice.

“For God's sake woman, just let me shoot!” He spat back. Nathalie hesitated. He could practically see the gears turning inside her head. He sagged towards her. “I fuckin’ swear you can turn me in, just give me the gun! I’ll - ”

His words were cut off as she suddenly lunged towards him and scrabbled around and at his back. He angled his arms towards her as well as he could and hissed his relief as he felt the bind and grip of his restraints fall away. He didn’t waste any time taking the gun she awkwardly dropped into his hands. In a second he had pulled her roughly down into better cover and was firing rapidly. A small, quivering hand pushed a paper box to his knees, braced on the ground. His hands were a blur. He held the revolver like an extension of himself, like he himself was the weapon. And he was, Nathalie noted dimly. His movements were measured, precise, and lightning quick. She gawked stupidly while she cowered beside him.

“Get ready to ride!” Arthur shouted. Nathalie nodded rapidly, and swallowed hard. She whistled and heard the familiar bulk of her horse crashing through the brush behind them. She dropped lower still and grabbed at Arthur’s feet. He did not react towards her at all as she cut away the rope around his ankles. He was instantaneous death. Based on the assuredness of his movements and the focus he bore Nathalie very much doubted he had to fire at the same target twice.

Orwell materialized a few steps back, tossing his head nervously. To her relief Nathalie noted that he looked none the worse for wear aside from a few new scratches. Nathalie tugged on Arthur’s shirt. He afforded her a quick glance and nodded as she motioned to Orwell. He hung back, still shooting as she swung herself up on the stallion. There was a break in the deafening shots and then she was reaching for him. His calloused hand grasped hers firmly as she pulled. In one easy movement he was astride and behind her. She snapped the reins, and if Arthur hadn’t been ready for it he might have fallen backwards. Instead he wrapped one broad arm around her waist and lent back, firing rapidly as the O’ Driscoll encampment receded into the forest depths.

If anyone followed them, Nathalie wasn’t aware of them. There was only the ever constant ringing in her head, the warmth of the strange man behind her, and the frenzied bolting of her horse. Sweat stung her eyes, but she didn’t dare wipe her face. Her knuckles were white around the reins. She murmured reassurances to her horse like prayers. When the trees finally thinned and they broke out onto the road she gently pulled the stallion to a nervous trot. Arthur slumped into her and tiredly dropped the gun down to rest against his leg.

If Nathalie’s ears weren’t still ringing with phantom gunshot she might have heard the three horses quickly approaching behind them. As it was, she did not. Arthur only afforded Javier a shallow nod as the gang member rode up and neatly flicked a lasso loop around the girl in front of him. John and Bill slowed to a stop in a shallow semi circle around the strawberry roan.

Nathalie swore loudly and twisted in the saddle. Much to Arthur’s surprise he watched as she shimmied and yanked herself out of the ropes. Before she could do much else Arthur reached around and firmly grabbed her thrashing arms.

“Son of a fucking bitch,” Nathalie hissed. “You swore I could take you in, you bastard.” She struggled wildly. Even in his weariness Arthur restrained her arms behind her back quickly. Nathalie felt a rush of fear shoot beneath her rage.

“Sorry sweetness,” Arthur grunted. “I lied.”

In one easy movement he slid off of the stallion. Not ungently he pulled the woman down after him. He kept his hold easily even as she jerked and swore, spitting like a hellcat. Bill met him on the ground and reached forward with a length of rope. Arthur’s hands held her wrists easily enough and only let go once Bill had tugged on the bindings experimentally. Bill hefted Nathalie’s weight easily.

“So you’re still in one peice, huh?” John offered, tossing Arthur a swaggering grin. “You haven’t been caught in a while. You must be gettin’ old.”

Arthur scowled in response. “This one was a bit different.” He watched as Bill muscled Nathalie into a better position and attempted to feed a bandana around her mouth in a makeshift gag.

“Yeah,” John chortled. “This one’s tiny!”

“Jesus fuck!” Bill shouted. All three of the other men snapped their heads to watch as the slight youth bit solidly into Bill’s thick too-slow fingers. Javier laughed as Bill lurched backwards, flicking his injured hand.

“Yeah, well,” Arthur denoted dryly. “She’s fiesty.”

“Merde, a woman?” Javier asked, eying Nathalie bemusedly. “I’ve never seen a woman ride like that. Or anyone, I guess.”

“She bit off my fucking finger!” Bill bellowed.

“Relax, she didn’t bite off your finger,” John chuckled. He dismounted to investigate while Bill whined. “Just a good bite, see? Try and move it.”

Arthur ignored the exchange and watched as Javier carefully bound Nathalie’s feet. He carefully avoided her teeth as he hoisted her over his paint’s back. Orwell whickered agitatedly behind Arthur, so he turned to stroke the stallion. The horse stilled beneath his ministrations.

“You want to ride with me Arthur, or are you going to take that thing?” John called out, having moved on from Bill’s low groans. He swung onto his horse easily and kicked Old Boy towards Arthur. “If he really made that jump I’ll take him if you don’t want him.”

Nathalie protested with a wordless and muffled cry somewhere behind them. Arthur eyed her carefully and then smiled. “Nah, I want him. I’m goin’ to do right by him.”

A pair of large grey eyes furrowed angrily over Javier’s horse’s haunch. Arthur just smiled. He swung himself up into the saddle stiffly, but relaxed into the seat.

“You can do right by us by buckling up your pants, amigo,” Javier teased wryly. Bill and John’s heads immediately snapped to look.

“Wha-” John started to question.

“Don’t ask,” Arthur growled. He hastily tucked in his shirt and fastened the fly. “Let’s get back to camp.” He snapped the reigns and was starting down the road before anyone could say anything else.

#red dead redemption 2 #rdr2 #fanfic #fanfiction #arthur morgan x oc #Medium honor Arthur #med honor arthur #bounty hunter #o' driscoll #rdr #horse #Horsies are cool too

15 notes · View notes