#trying to streamline her silhouette if that makes sense?

[starrysharks]

working on her design a bit

[eolewyn1010]

Downton Abbey Fashion 28 - 1920s service worker fashion

And we’re back Downstairs! 1920 has left neither the uniforms nor the servants’ private garb untouched. Well, except for the men’s fashion, obviously, because some idiot in the 19th century decided that men’s fashion must be boring and only have two colors… But that’s why I’m talking only about women’s fashion here. That, and I am helplessly confounded by white tie, black tie, tails and dinner jackets.

Mrs Hughes gets two new dresses this season, both of which she keeps for a while – at least into the next season, perhaps longer. This first one is all black, business as usual, although I do quite like the subtle stripes. 1920s fashion has snuck in here as well; the dress is rather baggy, which I find unusual with the double-breasted closure. I’m used to seeing this kind of button rows on more structured garments. A wider, flatter collar than Mrs Hughes used to wear, but it doesn’t look half bad.

The other new dress is nowhere near as baggy in the top, although it’s still a rather streamlined cut, so it doesn’t look too dated. Well, it does have a waistband at the natural waist and this parted front over a lace layer; that does look a tad more Edwardian. I wish I could see the pattern of the black fabric better.

For her outside look, Mrs Hughes has one nice blue coat with a little black embroidery framing the collar (a coat she will inexplicably loose or toss out before next season) and two different hats. …Oh, for heaven’s sake; will I ever escape sloped, round black straw hats?

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I’m aware that this is the first time that I include Mrs Patmore in three seasons of looking at costumes, but honestly, she never seems to wear anything else than her grey dress with an apron up until this point when she actively puts an effort into dressing up. Also, I really resent her in the beginning for the amount of verbal abuse Daisy has to take from her. She even asks if this cherry blossom pink blouse with the bow tie closure is looking too girlish on her, but the coat tones it down. Nice coat, too, with the little piping details on the lapels, and the hat with the ruffle flowers gives it another spot of lighter color.

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One for O’Brien… Honestly, I don’t look a lot at O’Brien’s fashion because she only ever wears black because that is apparently the dress code for lady’s maids, and it’s usually frumpier than Mrs Hughes despite O’Brien being younger. Then again, she doesn’t seem to have a private life. I’ll make three crosses once I’ve reached the seasons without her. How is this so unpleasant to look at despite working with a striped top fabric and some layering? That ruffle down the front puts me in mind of a dressing robe. I have no idea what these sleeves are trying to be. This outfit somehow has at the same time too much and too little going on.

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Interesting that the new maid dresses are of a very similar, perhaps even the same greenish-grey printed fabric the old ones were. What’s changed is the silhouette: Instead of a high standing collar, we have a spread point collar that leaves the neck uncovered; instead of the dress gathered in at the waist and the sleeves at the wrists, it’s all quite straight-lined with no notable volume anywhere. The apron still has the tiniest strip of lace in it, but altogether, it’s all clean rectangles, and so is the cap. And the apron brings in the waistline conflict: 1920 means drop waist, but tying an apron around the hips makes very little sense in the department of fixture and practicality. So the compromise is, the waistband does sit at the natural waist to serve its purpose, but the dress beneath it is so streamlined that the waist isn’t made any more noticeable by the very wide band that is not taking in any dress volume. Ethel’s uniform when she starts working in Isobel’s house looks much the same, only the fabric of her dress is plaid and the collar dips into a little V instead of being spread.

The evening uniform is similar in the making, again a spread point collar, with just a tiny white piping trim. Only here, the cap is a flimsy chiffon headband and the apron is likewise more for decoration than anything else. The fact that the apron has no shoulder straps whatsoever made me initially think it’s sewn on as a little extra layer, but no; it’s still tied around the waist. So my guess is that the top of the apron is pinned to the dress under it.

For something from Anna’s private wardrobe, she wears a darling dark blue coat when visiting Bates in prison. Love the whimsical little embroidery on her waistband. Her hat is still the same brown straw hat from last season, I think, only she swapped out the ribbon. Here we see a side effect of the servants occasionally being gifted clothes from Upstairs: They might be a tiny bit behind, fashion-wise; Mary’s and Lavinia’s coats had wide collars with this double-point style in the back before the turn of the decade. Not that this makes the coat any less nice.

Can’t see much of Anna’s outfit when she and Bates are painting their new house, but I thought this cute apron deserved mention. It’s got tiny flowers all over! The only reason why she could get away wearing a white apron is because they are, in fact, painting white.

I’ll save up Anna’s black lady’s maid dresses for next season when she wears them pretty much full time instead of just the final episode, but we have one more leisure look from the picnic she’s having with her husband. It’s not very visible in this shot, but she wears a light brown skirt with this, and I quite like the stripey blouse. Plus the hat, which looks cute and a little playful.

And finally, the pretty white dress Anna wears for the Ghillies ball. Gillies? I don’t know; I’m sorry, Scotland. Interestingly, we see a few young women dancing there who wear various styles of dress – one has more volume in the skirt, gloves, and a drop waist; another has long sleeves and no gloves, plus a high waistband. But they all wear white / off-white, so there might be dress code for that. Anna fits in there nicely with some simple lace on sleeves, collar and drop waist, though I think she could have added a tiny bit of jewelry to that neckline.

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Yay, creep incoming. That is, Edna Braithwaite. She mostly runs around in her maid uniform in season 3, but we get this outfit when she attaches herself to Tom Branson like a leech when they go to the fair. The coat is rather nice; I like the lapels and the little lighter grey decoration elements on her waist. The hat is not a shape I find particularly flattering, but admittedly, the red tie on the straw makes for a nice color contrast.

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Daisy gets two new dresses that look so similar I first thought it’s the same dress and she just wears a different blouse under it, but no; that collar is attached to the dress, so it’s two separate outfits. Two dark grey dresses with the sleeves turned up to the elbow, the collar shape is the same, but one it beige with brown checker and the other is black with white checker. The variety of it. Ivy, as the new kitchen maid, can apparently wear whatever she wants, and while her collar has the same shape as Daisy’s, she’s opted for blue checker and a baggier top. I’m starting to think the double-breasted front closure in this time serves the purpose of making the top look wider and more square.

I like Daisy’s coat a little better – look at these adorable toggle buttons! And this orange knit hat that she wears a few times; finally another spot of color on her clothes. Because otherwise, I’m afraid we'll be stuck with grey cardigans and the palest of blue blouses with a wide sailor collar.

She also has a lighter-weight coat for less severe weather, but the hat is the same. To my aggravation, I only get the briefest glimpse at the dress Daisy is wearing here, something orange with vertical stripes. This puts her both in unison (design-wise) and in contrast (color-wise) with Ivy, her co-worker and sometimes friend-mostly rival. Ivy’s stripes are less wobbly, more clearly defined and blue – like her kitchen dress, come to think of it, whereas Daisy was established in salmon shades. I suppose the contrast is on purpose. Ivy’s knit cardigan and straw hat also make her look a tad more rural and girlish by comparison, but then, Daisy is a little older and already a widow; she may for once be the less naïve specimen here.

[tea-cat-arts]

Where would you rank every battlesuit of kiana,mei and bronya in terms of design?

Seen your recent post and thought of saying this

(That’s a lot of designs, so I’m not gonna do in depth commentary on each individual design here. If you have questions on certain ones rankings, I can elaborate elsewhere. Also, every design within the same tier is the same level of good. I’m not trying to say one design is better than the other if it’s placed higher up on the S tier segment than other)

Disclaimer: I’m trying my best to be objective here, but this is art so personal biases will come into play. I’m not trying to force anyone else’s opinion on this matter, just sharing my thoughts

S (fantastic, wouldn’t change a thing)-

Void drifter (combines elements of both her mother figures with Elements of HoV while still keeping signature elements of Kiana’s designs)

HoV (truly looks like a pissed off goddess ready to kick ass. Set the standard for Herrscher designs)

HoF (already explained this one elsewhere)

HoT (ok, we all already know this design is amazing. I don’t feel the need to explain this one)

Orochi Cuirass (takes the silhouette of Danzai Spectramancer, and refines/streamlines it. The different textures on the blacks help them stay separated. Little splashes of gold keep this design from feeling to flat)

Haxxor Bunny (Bronie was out here doing the cyberpunk edge runners look before edge runners was even a thing. The dot texture makes her feel like she walked straight out of a comic book)

HoR (she looks like the tech queen she is. All the frills help give her a much bigger/grander appearance)

A (good design, could be great with minor changes)

Valkyrie Ranger (very solid starting out design, very little lore relevance)

Prodigal Girl (takes what works with White Comet and makes it scrappier. Feels very true to Kiana’s personality)

Striker Fulminata (if they made the shirt a little longer or given her shorts or tights, I think this would’ve been an excellent starter design for Mei. Looks soft and comfy while still being combat ready)

Drive Kometa (takes the mech elements of Yamabuki armor, puts them into Bronya’s usual silhouette, and puts her in a much more complimentary color)

Silverwing N-EX (Bronya’s literally just living her best life here and I love that for her. Brings her into the APHO aesthetic while keeping bits and pieces of her mech and Angel aesthetics)

B (overall good, but has one minor thing that just isn’t working)

White Comet (solid starting out design, looks kinda like a wet suit ngl)

Knight Moonbeam (looks like a refined version of divine prayer. Feels almost like the type of Valkyrie Kiana was trying to be at the beginning of the story. Personally would’ve liked more color though)

Wolf’s Dawn (solid starter design. I miss the mech legs)

Snowy Sniper (wouldn’t be my first choice in snow gear, but it’s alright. Wish they gave her a bulkier jacket and scarf)

HoTr (oof I want to rank this higher since it’s an excellent evolution of HoR, but it just doesn’t work as part of the trio. Lacks Mei’s purple and Kiana’s orange)

Dimension Breaker (looks more like a snowy sniper skin than a whole new design.

C (overall good, but has one major thing that just isn’t working)

Red Lictor/Radiant Blaze (Void drifter but with more white and only 3 colors. Very flat tone wise)

Crimson Impulse (the first and thankfully last time we see Mei in pink. They added armor in places it just shouldn’t be and it ends up making the design look clunky. Revealing outfit is weird given Mei’s more modest personality at this point in the story)

Danzai Spectranancer (combat jorts. It’s just a lot of overlapping patterns in textures without really intention behind them)

Valkyrie Bladestrike (same color palette problem as Shadow Dash. There’s a lot of unnecessary gaps in the clothes, and the stiff, revealing design doesn’t make sense for her personality)

Valkyrie Chariot (would be ranked higher if it wasn’t for the panty shots. That’s literally my only gripe with this design. Just put her in tights)

Black Nucleus (man, early Honkai really was determined to show us as much Bronya ass as physical possible. I think they should’ve gone with a color other than red)

D (ya, this just isn’t working)

HoFi (already explained this one elsewhere)

Divine Prayer (why nun? Flat tone wise. Never seen a nun outfit turned into shorts before and after this, I never want to again)

Lightning Empress (Mihoyo, get out of here with the revealing school uniforms. Isn’t this supposed to be her Herrscher persona??? She’s not threatening in the slightest)

Shadow Dash (it’s just too much stuff. Having Mei in so much red and black so early in the story muddies the thematic intentions with HoT’s color palette)

Yamabuki Armor (get that 16 y/o’s ass off my screen Mihoyo. Unnecessarily revealing and yellow just isn’t a good main color on Bronya)

F (this is just blatantly a bad design)

HoO (explained this one elsewhere)

Overall thoughts: other than how weirdly sexualized Bronya was early on, I think she’s the most consistent in terms of having good designs, and Kiana is just overall very solid. I feel like the writers just didn’t know what to do with Mei early on, and that ended up getting reflected in her designs, but once they hit their stride they took off sprinting and fell flat on their faces in the end with HoO

[guipureanbridal]

The Artisan Journey of Custom Wedding Dress Creation

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[galacticlamps]

Ok I really do love the costume changes Victoria & Jamie go through in the first ten minutes of this serial, it really feels like a settling into their characters for both of them - not even the actors, I literally mean the characters into their roles as companions.

It's so hard to imagine Victoria anywhere else but Maxtible's mansion & Skaro in her 19th century dress, but the one she has here still preserves that delicacy her outfits will lose more as time goes on - with the little floral print and the neat pleating on the front - just with a significantly more streamlined silhouette. It’s such a good ‘ok well try this maybe?’ kind of dress, which is fitting considering she’s one of relatively few companions who get a ‘please change your clothes now’ moment at the start of their first adventure proper - you can see both the sense of putting her in something like this & her discomfort with it all at once, which I think makes it a wonderful bridge between her actual Victorian gown and her obviously more Victorian-inspired but significantly more pragmatic outfit for the next two serials. I think you can tell Jamie and/or the Doctor picked it out for her, aiming for a trimmed-down version of what they’ve seen her wearing so far, but it isn’t until Abominable Snowmen that she starts dressing herself and goes for something less overtly similar to what she wore before (in as much as gown -> dress looks like less of a leap than gown -> breeches) but that has its own through-line both historically and practically.

Jamie’s costume’s development is less pronounced, but it’s amazing what a different top can do - for one, it alters his whole silhouette, since he tucks the button-down in while the sweater over the kilt almost gave him a drop-waist look, but it’s also a more structured look all over, not just because of the now-visible belt but also the collar, pockets, epaulets, and cuffed sleeves vs rolled or just shoved up ones when you’re dealing with the sweater material. Even his hair seems to take on a more shape & texture compared to the very round bowl of the last few serials.

I’ve gotta say, I think Jamie’s Season 4 look suited him being the newest, youngest, most inexperienced member of the Tardis team SO well, it just had to go as soon as Victoria joined completely and took on that role herself. When we were in Victoria’s own time period it was fine for the contrast between them to come in the form of her in a larger, more structured and more detailed outfit and him in something decidedly looser, more informal, and frankly, futuristic - but now that we’ve left it behind and she’s changed into something she’s less comfortable wearing (& doing!), his way of welcoming her, guiding her, and preceding her is to evolve himself - in this case, into a more mature & practical guardian-type role, which his clothes clearly reflect. There’s something military about the shirt itself, but he wears it in a laid-back enough style with the sleeves up and the top button undone - though compared with the pieces he’ll accumulate later on in his tenure, there’s still something youthfully unencumbered about this first iteration without the ascots and the vests and the sporran, and the slimmer shoes with the long socks vs the chunkier boots with the shorter ones. It’s actually one of my favorite costumes for him, mainly because I think it hits that mark of no-longer-the-least-experienced-traveler so well - but for the same reason, I’m unreasonably peeved whenever it’s some version of this costume that appears on the cover of audios meant to be set during Season 4 when he’s traveling with Ben & Polly - the evolution feels so deliberate, that’s just not the same Jamie at all! And in that regard, Tomb really does feel like the start of a new season, a new stage in the characters’ lives, in a way that season openers don’t always do at this time in the show’s history, which is a nice fresh detail.

[screentonescast]

Screen Tones, a Webcomic Podcast

Show Notes

Character Design

Release Date: August 31, 2022

Featuring

Kristen Lee (Krispy) She/They https://www.ghostjunksickness.com/

Megan Davison - She/Her, https://www.webtoons.com/en/search?keyword=megasketch

Phineas Klier - They/Them, http://heirsoftheveil.fervorcraft.de

Claire Niebergall (Clam) - She/Her, www.phantomarine.com

In This Episode:

1:47 What are good character designs vs ‘bad’ character designs? How do you achieve that balance? Very subjective to personal taste. Some good starting points are:

Character designs and traits that fit with the character personality you are looking to convey. But on the same note, you don't need to visually show every part of their personality

Character designs can convey plot details and foreshadowing and cause people to ask questions and wonder

Don't fall into offensive and bad stereotypes

18:53 Comics require you drawing the same details again and again. How do we choose and understand the detail levels and aesthetics that make sense for both general appeal and to prevent drawing burnout?

Drop details that don't help convey your characters personality or things that don't mesh with the aesthetic or things that are just too difficult/frustrating to draw over and over. Carefully think through the pieces of a design that work and show the things you want and don't be afraid to get rid of what doesn't fit.

32:17 How have your character designs changed over the years? What have you streamlined or what have you added? Why?

Bonus Thoughts

Creating a distinctive, memorable, and great design for original characters can be a challenge, one of the many things we as webcomic creators have to do in order to deliver the full package of our story and its journey.  Several factors are present in deciding how to effectively create a character that not only works for your project, but leaves a large enough impact for the audience to care and want to follow their story more. What are the certain aspects we should consider with the design process?

Aesthetic: Keeping an eye on what works not only for a main character to be recognisable, but how they can fit in their world. Think of it the comic in its entirety, make sense for the certain designs to sit, fit, and work! Jarring differences in design can break immersion (when the intention isn’t there to do so) so keep in mind the overall aesthetic that you’re going for. Silhouette: Shapes, curves, lines, and a memorable shadow all tie in what makes a good silhouette. This is about creating something unique and dynamic enough to stand out to your readers (in a way that suits your work). Balance: It’s good to have fun when designing characters, giving them many features and personal touches to look as a a reader- It’s also good to keep in mind not to go overboard and create something still easy to digest and have solid legibility. Does your character need as many aspects as you have thrown at them? Would your character benefit from having more or less on their design? Keep these in mind when going through the motions of creating!

Inspiration: Talking about designing a cool characters can be easy for some, but where exactly do we start from to make it all happen? Consuming your favourite media in the genres you enjoy, the aesthetic you’re trying to push, or even just at random can help fuel where to start. Remember to workshop it, have a couple designs in the lineup, mash them up, and take your time! OC design can be one of the longest processes in creating a webcomic!

Thanks for Listening!

Have a comment? Question? Concern?

Contact us via Twitter @ScreenTonesCast or email screentonescast@gmail.com

Screen Tones Cast:

Ally Rom Colthoff (Varethane) - She/They http://chirault.sevensmith.net/ http://wychwoodcomic.com/

Christina Major (Delphina) - She/Her, www.sombulus.com

Claire Niebergall (Clam) - She/Her, www.phantomarine.com

Kristen Lee (Krispy) She/They https://www.ghostjunksickness.com/

Megan Davison - She/Her, https://www.webtoons.com/en/search?keyword=megasketch

Miranda Reoch - She/Her, mirandacakes.art 

Phineas Klier - They/Them, http://heirsoftheveil.fervorcraft.de

Rae Baade(Rae) - they/them, https://www.empyreancomic.com 

Renie Jesanis - She/They , www.kateblast.com

[theblogtini]

I had high hopes for Meghan’s wedding ensemble. I think a further fitting would not have necessarily made her gown slinkier but to create more of a waist cinching effect to the gown’s silhouette. Princess Charlene’s gown was beautiful and what helped it was her statuesque height. Meghan’s veil was nice but it needed a bit more needlework to it and it needed to be shrunk width wise if that makes sense. They say that some royal dresses are also designed to mimic the venue, Diana’s gown was over the top and long to match the breadth of St.Paul’s- i was thinking of a skinnier yet long veil length like Sophie’s was to match St.George’s. The hair could have been spectacular especially since Serge Normant was styling it. But it was styled like it was for a magazine editorial not for a live camera event. The tiara was the only element i thought was flawless.The flowers/bouquet could have been a bit more size wise. I felt overall the potential was there but it never quite reached it.

I think the width of Meghan's veil was perfect - especially since the silhouette of her gown was so streamlined. I really dislike skinny veils - specifically Sophie's, haha. Although to be fair it could be her fugly tiara that makes me dislike the veil - and her entire wedding look, really.

There's another royal bride - that I can't think of at the moment - that had a kind of skinny veil and it always just looks so bad to me. Like a piece of toilet paper that got stuck to her head.

I don't think Meghan's hair was even styled "for a magazine editorial." It was barely styled. I feel like what happened is that they fussed with it for a while but in the end they threw it up really quickly because he couldn't figure out how to get the tiara to work with it. I think they likely had a plan and it didn't work - and that's why we ended up with her hair in a sloppy half-chignon, half-messy bun that was falling apart and a tiara that wasn't sitting correctly on her head and wasn't pinned in properly. And that's why we got the stories about Harry's fight with Angela Kelly. They were trying to blame her bad wedding day hair on Angela (for not letting them use the tiara to practice) rather than on the stylist who should have practiced with a fake tiara (like Richard Ward did with Catherine).

[quickspinner]

Month of Miracles Day 9 - Tradition

Find the prompt list here!

I’m mixing up the prompts a bit here because I had a plan for ‘Moments of Wonder’ that can’t happen until a little bit further on in the Hallmark AU. I was just gonna do the next prompt while I got a little bit ahead on the Hallmark ones since they tend to be longer, but...this one wouldn’t leave me alone and I didn’t have enough time today to do both. Honestly, I might not be able to keep up the one a day through the next week, but whatever I miss, I’ll catch up on Christmas week where we have some planned time off. 

Hallmark Movie AU Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5 | Part 6 | Part 7 | Part 8 | Part 9 | Part 10 | Part 11 | Part 12 | Part 13 | Part 14 (end) | Read Month of Miracles on AO3

Marinette understood why her mother thought this trip would do her good, but the truth was that she felt at loose ends rattling around in Gina’s old-fashioned but large house, all alone. At home, there was always somewhere to pitch in, something that needed doing. Gina kept her life pretty streamlined, and when she was home, she delighted in fixing up anything that might be out of sorts in her home. Gina was just too efficient, so other than keeping her plants alive, which really wasn’t that difficult since Gina kept mostly hardy breeds that could survive being left under the care of a neighbor for weeks at a time, there just wasn’t much for Marinette to do. 

Finally Marinette planted herself on the couch, set the TV to a channel covering the most recent fashion shows, and sat down to sketch. She’d have a lot of work to catch up on when she got home, so she might as well take advantage of some of this quiet time to get ahead. 

She sketched a few basic silhouettes to warm up and get the juices flowing, but after that...nothing came. Every time she started a line, she quickly rubbed about it again. Stop editing yourself, she scolded. Just get it out, and you can fix it later. 

It didn’t work. Everything she did felt wrong. Audrey’s complaints echoed in her mind. Too derivative, too pedestrian, where’s the art, Marinette? That’s why I hired you, and all you ever give me is this trash! Did I make a mistake bringing you on?

Did Audrey make a mistake? Marinette put down her sketchbook and pulled her knees up, wrapping her arms around them as she dropped her face against her legs, fighting down the tears that threatened to overwhelm her. She swallowed hard and tried to breathe. 

Okay. So she couldn’t draw right now. That was okay. She’d do...something else.

She got up, leaving her sketchbook on the couch and the television on, and went into the kitchen. She started pulling out ingredients without conscious thought, the spiral in her mind continuing until she actually stood in front of the mixer, measuring cups in hand. 

Marinette took a deep breath. She began measuring out ingredients, repeating the recipes in her head as she worked. This, at least, was something she could do. Nobody got all twisted up over cookies, after all. 

Well. Except Audrey are you trying to destroy my figure you’re FIRED Bourgeois. Marinette pushed that thought aside. Rose would appreciate cookies, she was sure. Gina’s neighbors would too. Maybe even Sally...would it be insulting to take some to Sally? She tried to remember if she’d seen cookies for sale in the café, and finally gave up. She’d just make some, and figure out who could eat them later. 

This was something she could do, and nobody could say she didn’t do it well, and that...that mattered to her right now. She could feel herself relaxing into the process, and she began to consider what she could make. Gina’s supplies weren’t as extensive as Tom’s, but there were still plenty of options to choose from…

Her first batch was in the oven, and she was making some simple Russian teacakes for a breather, when Gina’s old-fashioned doorbell rang. 

Frowning, Marinette grabbed a towel from the oven and went to the door, wiping at least one hand as clean as she could get it before she opened it.

If she’d expected anything, it was a package delivery, or maybe even a neighbor stopping by with some cookies of their own—this seemed like the kind of place where that stuff happened. 

On the doorstep stood a grey-haired woman with a bright smile, glasses that made her blue eyes look huge, feet well apart, and her hands solidly on her hips. Behind her stood Luka Couffaine, his lips pressed together in exasperation, propping up a large Christmas tree. He gave her a tight smile when her eyes flicked over him, but the woman in front of him had a presence that was impossible to ignore. 

“Um,” Marinette said, smiling uncertainly. “Can I help you?” 

The woman stuck out her hand. “Hello, lass. Marinette, isn’t it? Anarka Couffaine! Yer grandma be a friend of mine. When I heard you were keeping house for her while she’s away I thought we’d best be bringing over her tree!”

“Her tree?” Marinette asked, mystified. She glanced at Luka, and couldn’t help a smile when he mouthed I am so sorry at her over his...mother? Surely she must be his mother. Only a parent could put that look of embarrassed frustration on a grown man. 

“Aye, Gina always gets a tree from us,” Anarka was saying. “Thought she wouldn’t be needing one this year since she’s gone. Hated to think of her not having one when she gets back, but it makes sense, no one here to take care of it and all. But since you’re here, all’s well. You can decorate it and have it ready for Gina when she comes home. She’s still planning t’be back for Christmas Day, aye?”

“Uh, yes,” Marinette said, reaching up to tug a pigtail and remembering just in time that she’d pinned up her hair, and that her hands were still dusted with flour despite the wiping. “She and my parents and all were supposed to meet back here for Christmas Eve, so I guess—but I don’t know if—”

“Ah, that’s what I thought,” Anarka burst out cheerfully. “She’ll definitely be wanting her tree, then. No worries, lass, we know where everything is. We won’t be in your way but for a moment.” 

She didn’t push past Marinette, but it was clear she intended to move forward, and Marinette backed out of the doorway on instinct.

Luka gave her a kill me now look as he hoisted the tree and followed his mother. Marinette giggled in spite of herself, and closed the door behind them. 

True to her word, Anarka knew exactly where to find Gina’s Christmas tree things, and ordered her son around with a brusqueness that left no room for argument or debate. Marinette hovered, a bit at a loss for what to do. She wondered if she should go change into clean clothes, but Anarka said they weren’t staying long, and she still wasn’t done in the kitchen—

The oven timer chimed, and she automatically turned to tend to it. She hesitated in the door to the kitchen for just a moment, but Luka was half under the tree, getting it adjusted in the stand while Anarka barked orders. Neither was paying any attention to her, and even if she wasn’t cooking for anyone in particular, she couldn’t stand to let perfectly good cookies burn for no good reason. 

She’d just gotten everything settled when Anarka’s booming voice behind her made her jump. “I’ve got to run, lass, but Luka can finish getting things set up. I’ve already told him what to do and where to put everything. We left the box of decorations out for ye, so ye can get things all nice for when Gina comes home. I’m sure we’ll be seeing each other again, so, goodbye for now. Don’t forget to check the water in the tree every day!” 

Marinette didn’t even have time to answer before Anarka was seeing herself out. 

As soon as the door banged closed behind Anarka, Luka made a beeline for the kitchen. Hands against the doorframe, he leaned in. “Hey.”

Marinette turned to look at him from where she stood rolling some kind of round cookie in powdered sugar. “I swear I tried to talk her out of it,” he told her, ears burning. “I’d have had more success wrestling a bear.” 

Marinette laughed, blushing, and Luka couldn’t help his grin. She looked adorable, with her hair pinned up and her sleeves pushed up to her elbows, flour streaking the red and green, frilled apron she wore. “I can imagine,” she replied, placing the sugar-coated ball carefully on a pile of others already in a dish on the counter. “She seems like someone it’s hard to say no to.” 

Luka shrugged. “That’s my mom.” They looked at each other for a moment, Luka thinking about what a sweet picture she made and her thinking—probably that he was completely weird, standing here staring at her. “Anyway,” he said hastily, pushing himself back upright, “I’ll get this finished up and get out of your hair. I just wanted to say I’m really sorry and I had nothing to do with this...whatever this is.”

Marinette giggled. “It’s fine.” Her shoulders came down a little, and Luka gave her one more grin before he went back to setting up the tree. He was starting, he reflected ruefully, to have some dangerous if only thoughts. If only they’d met sooner, if only she weren’t leaving in a couple of weeks...

If only the people in his life weren’t so damn pushy, so that he wasn’t sure how much of the attraction he felt was sincere or mutual. If only he could be sure he wasn’t seeing things because Rose put the idea in his head. 

Luka wasn’t sure what had put his mother on the scent. It was, just barely, possible that her motives were exactly what she said they were. Gina did buy a tree from them every year, and since they were friends it was usually more of a visit than a delivery, and Anarka had more than once hauled Luka out to help set the thing up when he was home. 

Luka doubted it though. Either Rose had blabbed, or someone else had. Sally, maybe, who might have seen him holding her hand at the café, or maybe one of the townspeople who had seen them say goodbye outside afterwards, smiling and friendly. Marinette blushed so easily, and he did find her extremely pretty. it might have been easy for someone to get the wrong idea. 

The television was on, but Luka hadn’t paid any attention to it until Marinette’s name caught his ear. He looked up, and saw a good-looking blonde man on screen, waving to the crowd before he turned to help a lady out of the limo he’d just exited. There was a smaller picture of Marinette on the arm of the same handsome blond in the corner. 

Luka put it together with what Marinette had told him at the café, and pressed his lips together, irrationally angry at the man. Clearly he has a type, Luka thought sourly, looking at the new woman on his arm as the couple proceeded down the red carpet. Luka glanced back at the kitchen, and then walked over and turned the television off. Marinette didn’t seem like she was watching it, and she certainly didn’t need to see something like that by accident. 

He finished up, making sure to clean up after himself as best he could, stacking the boxes that had held Gina’s things neatly where his mother had found them. Conveniently there was a broom in the same closet, so he was able to sweep up the needles he’d inevitably tracked all over the house. 

He put the broom back, and went back to find Marinette. Whatever she was making smelled amazing. Luka paused in the kitchen doorway. Marinette was concentrating hard, piping icing onto cookies laid out in front of her. Even focused as she was, he couldn’t help but note that she looked more content than he’d ever seen her, smiling and at peace, humming softly to herself. She leaned back to study what she’d done, and the humming turned to singing. 

Luka took a quick step back and turned, putting his back to the wall next to the door, one hand going to clutch at his heart as it suddenly decided to gallop away. 

She was singing one of his songs. 

So she’s a fan, he scolded himself. I knew that. And why should he care? By the end, Luke Stone had been almost an entirely separate entity from himself. An illusion created to sell music, not a real person. 

Except Luke Stone still played Luka Couffaine’s music. And it was one thing to know Luke Stone had fans, to see them screaming in a crowd or throwing themselves at the security ropes to get to him, but...it was entirely different to hear sweet, sincere Marinette, thoughtlessly humming Luka’s songs just because she was happy and she enjoyed them. It was what he’d always wanted, wasn’t it? To know that people appreciated the music, and not just the image. It was no wonder his pulse was racing. 

Luka sighed and closed his eyes.  I’m in trouble, he admitted to himself. 

Fiction Master Post | Month of Miracles 

[tales-unique]

A TORN HEART STILL BLEEDS  II

Chapter 2

“Another Witcher, like myself, you say?” “Aye, last saw him going to the resident Sorceress, parted ways with a Bard, too, he did.” “Thank you. Here, the Hag head. She’ll not be stealing your children now.” Kalrys bid the merchant farewell after receiving her pay, thankful to be done with the contract. The head had begun to stink and she had more important matters at hand. If Geralt was there then this was no mere coincidence, but the thought of meeting him again unsettled her. They had parted ways amicably but it had left her with more questions rather than any closure. If she remained in the city she would no doubt cross paths with him and she could then try to make sense of it all. As fate would have it, however, it wouldn’t be Geralt that Kalrys would encounter, but his fated lover instead.

The sensation could only be described as the disturbance caused when a lightning strike is about to hit; static irritates the air, making every hair stand to attention, while the undeniable feeling that something dangerous is about to happen bubbles within. Coming to a halt, Kalrys’ body stiffened at such a sudden change, warily looking around herself until she found a possible source for the dramatic and dangerous shift in atmosphere. Not far from her stood a most beautiful woman whose body was dressed in a fantastic gown of black and white. Black feathers adorned the bust and flowed upwards to form a collar around a streamlined neck, while the sleeves and hemline were dripping with black lace. A waft of lilac and gooseberries drifted before her keen senses and, for a moment, she felt weak at the knees; enraptured. This, however, did not last when striking violet eyes caught her stare, blazing like the very lightning that threatened to break. Clearly the conversation between the nobles didn’t interest her from the way she stared back at the Witcheress, unmoving and unwavering in its ferocity. A Sorceress— No, the Sorceress. Amidst her undeniably provocative scent was another, one she recognized to be Geralt’s, which matched what the merchant had told her. A fact that, when coupled with the intensity of her gaze, led Kalrys to believe there was so much more to all of this than she first realized. Fortifying herself, Kalrys decided against retreat and, instead, stood her ground, watching the raven haired beauty like a hawk. The Sorceress did the same, mirroring her rival as she went about her own business. When she went along with her envoy of nobles, Kalrys followed like a shadow — brazen and defiant — and this infuriated the Sorceress. Finally, when free of prying eyes at last as the nobles left Yennefer to her own business, it was time to put an end to this game of cat and mouse. “I assume you’re following me for a reason. Well, go on, explain yourself.” A statement, not a question, and a demand to round it off; how straightforward of her. It caused Kalrys to smirk lightly against her will. “Right to the point I see.” Kalrys replied curtly, shrugging her shoulders as she came to lean against an old cart. “I was curious about you,” she explained. There was no sense in lying, but she wasn’t about to give more than necessary to this woman. “About me? Surely you mean my connection with Geralt ,” Yennefer corrected, fixing the Witcheress with a pointed glare. Though she wasn’t about to stop there, not when faced with a rival for Geralt's affections that actually posed a real threat. “I know all about your little tryst in Valen, too,” she added spitefully, “so there’s no need to hide your intentions. Just get on with it so I can go on with my day!” This stunned the Witcheress, making her hesitate. It wasn’t everyday that she met a foe that truly intimidated her, especially one that was so forthright. “I wanted to know where he and I stand with one another, but seeing you...” Kalrys’ voice faded, the words wilting on her tongue. “Seeing me?” Yennefer pressed, raising an eyebrow. Her interest piqued by the sudden shift in the impressive woman before her, a strange elation coursing through her. Had she won without even really trying? A pity if that were true, but she’d understand if the Witcheress didn’t wish to find herself painting the alleyway with her own internal organs. “Seeing you,” Kalrys echoed, continuing, “I can see that no amount of words or action will sway him from you.” It was a bitter pill to swallow, but Kalrys knew that even with the bond they shared, she could never compete with the intricate threads of fate that bound Geralt and Yennefer together.  A bitter scoff rang clear as a bell in the heavy space between them and the pregnant silence ruptured, spilling forth with vehemence. Yeneffers eyes blazed with something the Witcheress couldn’t quite pinpoint, but it threatened her nonetheless. With a shake of her head she sported a fearsome smirk, walking a slow and deliberate circle around the wary woman. “A shame, and a pity. I was looking forward to testing your mettle.” “I was not put here to be your plaything, Sorceress,” Kalrys stated, golden eyes following her movements, “and I have said my piece. I will take my leave.”  Yennefer stood for a moment, stunned at the blatant disregard for her status, so much so that Kalrys managed to almost round the corner of the alley before Yennefer gave a snarl and pulled her back with a sharp motion of her hand. Falling back with a grunt of pain, the Witcheress hissed as she was drug through the rough dirt of the ground to lay at Yennefer's feet. “I didn’t say you could leave,” Yennefer stated darkly, her silhouette stark against the grey sky as Kalrys stared up at her, teeth bared in a snarl. “I am not your enemy, Sorceress!” She spat, sitting up carefully. Yennefer was poised for another attack, her body tense and ready to strike like a viper on its guard. She would need to be cautious, her timing precise, if she was to gain the upper hand. “We’re not done here! Tell me why you pursue Geralt, now!” It was at that moment that Yennefer realized that this wasn’t about Geralt at all. It was, in fact, about her own power and Kalrys’. Two powerful women in their own right, locked horns over something as simply and as trivial as love. A bitter laugh fell from Kalrys’ lips as she moved into a crouched position, shaking her head. “I pursue him for the same reason you have kept me here,” came her cryptic answer, a hand coming to shove the wild strands of hair from her face. “I need answers,” she continued after a moment, voice softer under the potent stare Yennefer fixed her with. A bitter laugh fell from Kalrys’ lips as she moved into a crouched position, shaking her head. “I pursue him for the same reason you have kept me here,” came her cryptic answer, a hand coming to shove the wild strands of hair from her face. “I need answers,” she continued after a moment, voice softer under the potent stare Yennefer fixed her with. While Yennefer watched her, the gravity of her words sinking in, Kalrys took the opportunity to get away. In an instant she pushed her arm out towards Yennefer, fingers together as she summoned the power of Aard. Having been distracted the Sorceress was unprepared for the magical attack, eyes wide as she shot back against the wall with a pained grunt. A few seconds of disorientation on Yennefer's part was all it took for Kalrys to escape, the Sorceress just catching a flash of copper hair slip around the corner through the haze of brick dust from her slumped place on the ground. Scrambling to her feet Yennefer gave a frustrated yell, caring little for the dishevelled look of her clothes as she chased after the Witcheress until the towns folk stared at her quizzically and she was forced to cease her efforts. It had all been in vain; Kalrys had slipped through her grasp and Yennefer felt an odd sense of panic settle in the pit of her stomach at the notion.

[appleziel]

Tender Ache

Tw: forced feminization, noncon, implied torture

For @p-totel, @qouii and @salty-squid-queen, who are all awful enablers 

Theon couldn’t draw in enough oxygen, but that didn’t stop his lungs from trying. Shallow, straining breaths in and out. Tears gummed up his eyelashes. They clumped together when he blinked.

Kneeling over him, Ramsay smoothed his large hands up the streamlined shape of Theon’s waist, cinched and pinched as it was in the crushing grip of the corset.

“This is a good look for you, love,” he said, settling his hands into the dips of Theon’s hipbones. He stroked over the divots once with his thumbs. “It does wonders for your silhouette.” Mirth danced in his eyes and there was a cruel pinch to his smile. “Aren’t you happy I brought it home for you to wear with your dress, darling?”

Four months ago, Theon would have spat in his face for the condescending talk. Now, he fixed his eyes on the cabin’s support beams, counting their number. Maybe if he was boring, Ramsay would leave him alone. Sometimes that worked.

Usually, it didn’t. 

Judging by the jingle of the handcuffs that kept his wrists pinned above him to the headboard, he wasn’t optimistic about his chances.

Ramsay’s grip around his waist tightened. The added pressure was unbearable. Theon writhed abortively and gasped, “Yes,” just to make him stop.

“Yes…?”

Theon’s eyes burned. “Yes, love.” A pregnant silence. Fear churned in Theon’s gut. What else did Ramsay want him to say? He wracked his brain, stumbling through the slow fog that had crept in over the past few weeks. “I—I like it.”

Ramsay was still watching expectantly, ice-chip eyes glittering.

Theon moistened his lips. “It makes—it makes me feel small.” Inwardly, he cringed at himself. 

A smile broke out across Ramsay’s face. He lowered himself with a whumph to the mattress so that his wide chest shouldered open Theon’s legs. His breath gusted over Theon’s flat groin, concealed as it was under the gossamer-thin layers of the godawful pink dress he’d been forced into.

“My pretty darling,” Ramsay said, turning to brush his lips over the inside of Theon’s thigh. He closed his eyes for a moment, which was good, because it meant he missed Theon’s shudder. “Beautiful sweet girl. You’ve been so good for me. You deserve a reward.”

And so saying, he leaned forward to press his lips against—against that shameful spot, the area Theon tried to never think about and barely even looked at, even when washing himself. The light pressure, though muffled through the dress, was unbearable.

“No!” the sob wrenched out of him. Theon yanked at the handcuffs. “Ramsay—please, please, please don’t—”

“You know how I feel about ‘please,’” Ramsay reminded him absently as he moved his lips over the area. One eye cracked open; Theon felt like a butterfly fixed to a corkboard. His teeth began to chatter uncontrollably. As jumbled and disorganized as his thoughts were these days, he could not figure out how to word his pleas in a way that would make Ramsay listen.

Don’t bother touching me there, husband, let me use my mouth, maybe, except Ramsay had already used his mouth earlier today after Theon finished washing up the breakfast dishes.

Let me give you a handjob instead, except Theon’s remaining fingers were stiff and clumsy with pain.

I’d rather you beat me, except Theon was still recovering from the last one.

“No need to be shy, needy girl,” Ramsay murmured, and slipped both hands under the dress’s hem. They were ice-cold against his bare skin and crept up his thighs like fat white spiders. His hands were large enough, or maybe Theon’s thighs were wasted enough, that only a few inches of space remained between the ring made by his fingers. They pulled the hem of the dress up with them until Theon felt the kiss of cold air on that area and knew the fabric had been bunched at his waist.

Theon bit his lip so hard he bled. Of course he had seen the mutilation, in those awful months after its infliction. Usually when he was changing or figuring out how to relieve himself, even if it made his head hurt to see the injury. Ramsay had left his balls. Above them was a swollen bump of gnarled scar tissue—the remainder of the root of his cock. 

When a warm, wet tongue touched the shiny scar there, Theon shrieked.

“Sensitive,” Ramsay remarked, and bent back to his task. His tongue traced a slow, back-and-forth path, applying even pressure. Most of the nerve endings were too damaged to work properly anymore, but some still did, and in comparison to the dead zones, they felt like livewire sparks whenever Ramsay’s tongue glided over them. 

Theon tossed his head into the pillows fitfully. He wanted to bite into something, anything, to muffle his noises, but he couldn’t reach his arm. His brain couldn’t seem to make sense of the sensation. Cold, then hot, agony like a raw wound and then glitters of aching pleasure. Propped over Ramsay’s shoulder, his foot kicked helplessly.

“Is this how you pleasured those other girls?” Ramsay whispered into his freshly-wetted skin. “What was your technique, I wonder?” 

Somehow, the reminder of Theon’s past sexual encounters hurt even worse than the touch. Tears blurred his vision and streaked down his temples into his wild sweat-damp hair, spread out on the pillow. He wanted to sob, but his lungs couldn’t draw in enough air to do so.

Another touch entered the mix. Ramsay had wormed his hand up between his thighs, and now was pressing with his fingers in tight little circles over one of the live zones while his tongue darted in between them. Theon’s hips tilted up, stiff so that Ramsay’s touch would stay right there, right there—

Theon didn’t recognize the sound that dragged out of him. It belonged to an injured animal. 

Ramsay had to pause for a moment so he could hide his snicker in Theon’s thigh. “Do you like it when I touch your clitty?” When he looked back at Theon’s flushed face, he’d composed himself. “Communication is important, love. You can’t use your hands right now, so I need you to tell me what you want.” He paused, did another tight circle with his fingers. Theon’s hips jumped. “Where do you want me to touch you?”

It had been months since Theon felt any pleasure at all, and longer still since his body had had its chance to reach completion. The confusing mix of pleasure and pain crowded out all shame and dignity. He couldn’t stop himself even if he tried. In that moment, he wanted more than anything to shove his fingers in front of Ramsay’s and do it for himself, form a fist that he could rock against maybe—

“High—higher,” he choked, breathless, loathing himself. Ramsay obeyed his instructions and Theon moaned, a thin, helpless noise, thighs spreading wider in the tight confines of the bunched up dress. Spots of black swam at the edge of his vision. “Ah, to the right—lighter—y-your tongue, gods—” 

As he spoke, a sudden memory flashed in front of his eyes: him, holding a girl’s soft thighs apart so he could give it to her wet folds with long licks of his tongue while she squealed and pulled at his hair. He’d been so good at oral, every one of his partners had told him so. To be on the receiving end, in that disgusting spot of his body…his muscles clenched up in horror. For a moment, he wondered if he might be sick. Would that even stop Ramsay? 

Between his legs, Ramsay was going at it enthusiastically with long drags of the flat of his tongue. Sometimes he’d alternate, shaping it into a harder point and laving the tip in the gaps between his massaging fingers. Everything was so slippery now. Theon had a brief, delirious impression that somehow, he really did have a cunt down there—that Ramsay had reached in and sliced him open and rearranged his flesh until it was just the way he liked. In that disorienting second, he hated Ramsay more intensely than he ever had before, so much so that the feeling transcended itself and circled right back into a confusing, cringing adoration.

“Oh, gods,” he heard himself say, tortured. Another hard circle of Ramsay’s fingers. He tried to buck up, but couldn’t, stopped by the handcuffs. “Gods!” 

Something was building in his groin. It had been so long since he’d felt any real pleasure that for a few heartbeats, he thought it was the insistent demands of his bladder. But no, it was the heavy tide of warmth he remembered, starting at his groin and melting throughout the rest of his body. He curled up as much as he was able to between the handcuffs and the corset. Now that he recognized the sensation, it seemed to rise even faster, rushing through his toes and ears and even the ends of his hair—

Ramsay pressed an open-mouthed kiss to the scar and sucked, one long, perfect pulse.

Theon came.

It wasn’t exactly the way he remembered it, but gods, it was good, so good. The thin muscles in his hamstrings trembled uncontrollably and his toes curled. Through the sea of white-hot pleasure, he was vaguely horrified by the sensation of warm liquid seeping down his thighs.

“You’re leaking!” Ramsay said, delighted. “You really do come like a girl now!” He laughed cruelly, rubbing Theon’s release between his fingers.

Theon barely heard him. The orgasm still had him in its wave. There was no room for thought of anything else. The grey tinge to his vision seemed to expand like soft down, covering his eyes and muffling his ears. He could not breathe.

Far away, he felt Ramsay wipe his fingers clean on the dress, and then the numb softness swept over his skin and severed that feeling too. Theon gratefully tipped backwards into unconsciousness and knew no more.

[bladekindeyewear]

Bloggin’ bout HS^2′s second upd8 continued.  > (==>)

And it had felt so real, almost like he could have reached out and touched him--

--Yeah, the next page is gonna be BGDirk just standing there like I saw before I read the update, right?

> (==>)

> (==>)

Two pages. Close enough.

> (==>)

Hah!  Get fucked, Dirk.  (Even if you’re supposedly one of the better Dirks.)

> (==>)

Yep, all see-thru and everything.

DIRK: You passed out in a puddle of your own drool. And what the fuck is that on your face? JAKE: My face? What do you mean on my face? DIRK: The moustache, Jake. Who’s idea was that. JAKE: Oh! You dont like it? DIRK: I didn’t say that.

Oh come the fuck on.  He looks good in a mustache, Jane-influence or no Jane-influence.

DIRK: We’ve had this conversation before, dingus. I’m you. And I’m me. But I only exist because of your powers. The fact that I’m manifesting here, in the new universe, outside of a dream, is evidence in itself for just how absolutely boned you are.

Now what exactly do you mean by that last part?  How is this a sign of trouble?

--Is it because this Dirk thinks he’s needed?  And therefore shit will be going down?

DIRK: You’ve been a useless sack of shit for two decades. I’m here to kick your ass back into active duty.

...Hm.

I mean, Jake MIGHT be able to help stop this stupid goddamn war, but this IS Dirk trying to help him, so...

JAKE: And what side am i supposed to be fighting on? for jane or against her? DIRK: Against her. Obviously. What the fuck, dude.

Pffff.

JAKE: But you were the one who wanted her to run in the first place! You wrote her bloody speeches! DIRK: Yeah, I did. And every single one of them kicked ass. I wanted Jane to be the democratically elected president. Not a cake-slinging Jeff Bezos with a great rack.

Pfff.  I mean, you didn’t do a great job the first way, either.  It’s heavily implied things in Canon-land were about to go to shit too.

Not as FAR to shit, nor as quickly, but still to shit.  So, really, how DIFFERENT is this from the way you wanted it done, Dirk?  How can you claim this isn’t half YOUR fuck-up too?

DIRK: Don’t worry about it. The point is, you have a chance to make a difference. You’re in the perfect position to infiltrate her operation.

Oh hell no.  Don’t send him back in THERE you utter horse’s ass!  How could THAT be good for his mental health!? What the fuck about Tavros?!?

DIRK: That’s horseshit and we both know it. Jane would take you back in a second. She loves you.

I think Jane’s definition of “taking him back” would be a bit broader than his body or soul could fucking afford.

> (==>)

Eugh.  You really liked the Condesce’s way of doing things right down to her style, huh?  To think you used to love the spoon.  Is that a fucking spork?  Is that zilly Battlespork your go-to weapon now?

Also, it took me a moment to realize those green and orange silhouettes were Jake and BGDirk.  I was a little like “how did Rose get here?!?”.

> (==>)

Have I mentioned how good all this art is?  So much attention being paid to the use of color, to making everything look so soft and streamlined?

Looks like she’s going in for at LEAST a hug.  And the art style might be mercifully light on showing us indulgent details of just how asset-laden Jane is supposed to be.  Shots of Jake’s manly bod aside, something in me doesn’t like the traditionally-sexualized stuff pushed like that in a canon that’s been light on it for so long...

> (==>)

Oh, that... THAT looks fake.  Or like, she’s about to turn around and happily wail on his ass or something.

JANE: Boo hoo hoo! Oh, Jake! Something awful has happened! JAKE: It--it has? You mean more awful than usual? JANE: The opposition has taken Tavros, Jake. They’ve finally shown their true colors. I knew it was only a matter of time before they attacked our family directly!

.....Ah.  Well, that explains it.  She’d never cry like that about HIM returning AFTER STEPPING OUT ON HER.

It’s then that Jake realizes that Jane isn’t mad because she’d never realized he was gone.

Poor pages, huh?  All their most dramatic gestures always undercut.

...It seems like we might see Candy kind of resolved in less of a fucked-up worldstate after all, at this rate?

She seems to have forgotten that she’d been cross with him the last time they met, because now that Gamzee is gone, there’s no one left to talk to.

It’s true. Gamzee’s absence always improves things.

> (==>)

All of it is made worse by the occasional wry glint in her eye, or moment of self-deprecation in the slant of her mouth. It reminds him of the Jane he used to know. Or the Jane he thought he used to know.

Ambition is a hell of a thing.  Seems like she’s drunk of it almost as deeply as Prince Dirk.  I’d imagine this could be a pretty consistent thing with really active Life players when they get actual power, huh?  The way it just gathers to Life players in all its forms -- power over others, status, wealth -- it’s easy to start to leverage it in ways that constitute abuse of power over others from a Riddle perspective.

At first Dirk stands at Jake’s elbow, a one-ghost support staff, before he appears to lose interest in Jane’s rant and wanders off across the office, reading the spines of books and spending way too long staring at a startlingly phallic piece of installation art,

--PLEASE let us see it.

, the provenance of which Jake doesn’t know, but could hazard a guess it wore a codpiece.

Nope, never mind. Interest lost.

> (==>)

Then he settles on Jane’s desk, propping his ghost butt there and sort of just...well. Here’s a picture of what he does.

Um.

Where is this going?

> (==>)

Oh, so the BEST option, then.  :D

Okay. That’s a bit of an exaggeration.

Boooooo.

> (==>)

--Alright, forgiven.

he’s thoroughly exhausted from attempting to pay attention to his supervillain wife while trying not to look at the crotch of a ghost man from his brain.

...Okay, hold up.  BGDirk, are you trying to steer him into doing this for self-indulgent, non-comedic purposes? Or is this a bit of Prince Dirk in there?  (I mean... I can’t definitively say Jake wouldn’t have wanted this.)

And I’m still wondering how all of this is going to be relevant.  IF it’s going to be relevant.  Despite promises to the contrary that are seemingly being ignored.

> (==>)

DIRK: All according to keikaku.

Fuck you.

JAKE: i really didnt think id fall off the wagon so quickly. I dont think being here is good for my emotions to be honest. DIRK: Yeah, probably not. But that’s okay. They don’t matter. JAKE: Oh.

Yeah, Dirk, you suck at this more than you know.  This ain’t going to go as well as you “hope” I don’t think.

DIRK: Don’t know anything about stiff lips, dude. But that’s not what I mean. It’s not because you’re a man. You’re a god. JAKE: Oh right. That. DIRK: The world comes first, even at the expense of all your relationships and personal happiness. That’s what being a hero means. JAKE: I guess...i never really thought about it like that.

You’re also not guaranteed to be fucking right, you know.

There are definitely dichotomies where what was best for the world wasn’t best for the person, so far, and vice versa in Homestuck.  But Dirk’s taking his anime-flavored principles as gospel as usual, and ignoring, oh I dunno, the impact of the heart in all of this.  Some people, ESPECIALLY JAKE and other Pages so far, CAN’T operate at their best until they’re at least reasonably healthy and sure of themselves, and investments to that effect are essential to letting them slowly realize their full potential.  Brain Ghost Dirk is likely making the same goddamn mistake he made with his overbearing Dirkbot back on Jake’s island.

> (==>)

DIRK: Think what you want about Jane, but at least she realizes that none of you can ever be normal, and she never bothered to try. Can it really be a god-complex if you’re actually a god? DIRK: People like us don’t get happy endings.

...Yup.  This is the fucked-over part of Dirk’s worldview coming in full play, here.  And he believes in it so strongly that he couldn’t even fucking leave NON-CANON alone anymore.  Fuck.

JAKE: Thats bleak dirk i dont think i could possibly believe that!

Mmmhmm.

DIRK: Yeah. That’s probably more a Dirk thought than a Jake one. I told you, it’s hard to tell sometimes. JAKE: Is...is that really how dirk felt the whole gosh darned time?

Mmmhmm.

> (==>)

Last page of the upd8.  Well... all I can say is, it’s a good thing he’s a fucking ghost here.  And half Jake, at that.  At least that can limit the damage.  Hopefully giving Jake just enough of a kick in the doing-something direction without being so overbearing that he makes things worse, making for a balance of...

...Wait.

Wait, is that why we’re here?

Maybe that finally makes some sense of all this.  Of this cut, of this small violation of that last sentence in Meat, of--  ah, yeah, I might be on to something here!  Only maybe, but still--!

We’re quite possibly bearing witness to a realm of influence where, through measures outside of his control, Dirk has a balanced impact.  Where this same ideology of his, tempered by Jake’s hopeful mindset and Dirk’s inability to take direct action, might just manage to make things better and actually make everyone happier by the end, while solving Earth C’s fucked-up Candyland state at the same time.  It’s possibly to show the readers (through the lens of a Hope player specializing in positive possibility) that Dirk, had he been restrained, COULD have had a positive impact, even at the same time that we’re shown Prince Dirk at his soul’s most overblown and heinous.

And, if we want to be optimistic..... perhaps this’ll show Dirk, too?

Canon and Non-Canon may not “meet” again.  But that doesn’t stop Dirk, via this fragment of his multiverse-spanning soul, from seeing Non-Canon.  From seeing how well things COULD have worked out, had he held back.  And if we keep cutting like this -- back and forth between the “real” story and these events in Candyverse -- perhaps the moment at which Brain Ghost Dirk realizes what he’s accomplished, realizes how much better things are because he could hold back, will coincide at the end with Prince Dirk finally, belatedly, realizing just how fucked his plan was, and understanding at the very, very end why he has to fucking die?

THAT would be interesting.

I guess we’ll see?  Talk to y’all next upd8.

[unsoundedcomic]

what were some goals and ideas you had in mind when designing aldish/crescian clothing?

Fairly vague ideas, really. Character design has never been my strongest skill. I get bored with it. I like functional, serviceable characters who don’t look too “designed,” if that makes sense. Gimme a strong silhouette and a good colour scheme.

Alds and Crescians are after different things when they dress themselves. First Materials are plentiful in Cresce which means pymarics are relatively inexpensive and accessible. So you have the Queen’s flowy smoke-dress and Vera (remember the love hotel lady?) and her glowing octopus hat. You wouldn’t see stuff like this in Alderode.

Crescians, male and female, value the gentility of prettiness. I think the Peaceguard uniforms are quite pretty - the shiny gold plate and brightly coloured sash and undershirts. Homophobia is not a cultural issue in Cresce, perhaps since the feminine is well-respected. Men like Karl (Lady Toma’s playboy) aren’t seen as foppish but as highly sexy and desirable.

I once was in a Michael’s (a craft store) around Christmas time, and I walked down a positively sparkling aisle of tinsel and foil garland and blown glass ornaments. THAT is Cresce. I wish I could replicate the look better on the page - and I’m going to try when we get to the holiday celebration in Port Morstorben - but Ornate Is The Rule. I just gotta usually streamline it for my sanity and the comic’s update schedule.

Alderode is quite a bit plainer. Very few people use pymarics for their clothing, as they’re considered too important to waste on aesthetics. Instead the emphasis is on fine materials and jewllery.

Alderode also has a pretty neurotic patriarchy going on. Women and men are expected to dress modestly and to cover up all their bits. Even male wrights are expected to never leave their house without gloves on, and going out of doors with your arms bare, even in the heat of summer, would be scandalous. Notice that even our Quigleys both wear long sleeves, but that Mathis has naked hands because fuck alderode. Bastion wears fingerless gloves. He’s complex.

For our Ssaelit Alds I like to give them at least a hint of green somewhere, while the Gefendur are more likely in red. They both overall go for more primary colours and solids than Crescians. Plainer cuts, heavier fabrics. Ah, and ladies do tend to be in skirts and dresses as a rule in Alderode. Cresce is not strict in that way. A summer beach full of naked people wouldn’t be a weird thing to come across there.

[ganymedesclock]

oh, about the ocs thing - niche is indeed super important! and that's something that goes into character design as well! i'll use an example i see a lot, because it's easy to comment on: in su, everything about pink diamond (princess ballerina design) tells you about her role (niche) and personality, and how she wants to be seen (feeling of importance - her hair, puffy sleeves, skirt, and shorts all have one thing in common: making her look bigger than she is)... but with a lot of redesigns,

she's basically streamlined to the point where a lot of that message is totally lost. now, a lot of these redesigns are very pretty, but... frankly, with a lot of them, i don’t get a sense of who she’s supposed to be. not in terms of niche, personality, or how she wants to be seen by others due to her own issues. they're just... pretty. of course, i don’t necessarily think character design should say eeeverything, and all of this can be overdone - like when it goes into stereotypes,

or makes ‘evil’ characters look Obviously Evil and Ugly, but... you gotta put *some* thought into *why* they would wear this. what story role are you working with? what’s the initial gimmick you’re building from? if someone sees your character for the first time, they have to think more than just whether the design is pretty. do they like outfits that hide them? show themselves off? make themselves look bigger? how do they feel about their place in the world? proud? modest? secretive? and so on.

A really good addition! And honestly that wasn’t something I was thinking about, but a really good touch- design is also really important with characters!

As you say, it’s possible to push it and it’s important to think consciously of why we have the associations we do, but you can send a lot of messages about a character just by looking at their design.

Keith, for example- the jacket centered around his upper body, especially that tall collar- it gives him a slightly walled off image. His neck and his face are protected but also keeping him away, and the way the jacket crops and fits to his arms doesn’t make him look bigger as much as bristled up defensively.

This is a big contrast to Lance who also has a very distinctive jacket with some of the same lines- but Lance’s jacket is longer, fits more smoothly to his body, and instead of the collar he has that loose hood. From silhouette alone, Lance gives a much more approachable impression to him, and this even extends to their hair- Lance has little flicks that don’t stick out much while Keith’s hair also protects his neck but also flares outwards like a spike.

Keith’s clothing creates physical barriers on his design, and it can say a lot about his comfort levels how he raises or lowers those barriers- something comparable in SU, I’d say, are Garnet’s ubiquitous mirror shades that the more the show goes on and the more she opens up, the more she’ll be seen without them or dip them down to show that she’s winking. 

Conversely you have someone like Lance who really doesn’t have a lot of barriers with people, so his clothing is much smoother, doesn’t really offer “walls” and fits closer to his silhouette without adding bulk to it anywhere but the hood.

Character design is incredibly informative and shapes and silhouettes are one of the many, many cornerstones to that. It’s also worth noting, since we started on the topic of fancharacters, that different shows tend to have different language coded into them!

For example, in Voltron, there is a tendency to associate “good guys” with cool colors and light colors, especially blue and white, and “bad guys” with warm colors and dark ones, with the empire’s signature being that magenta-on-black. Lotor, who’s a lot more reasonable and friendly than Zarkon, is saturated in a deep blue that’s a middle ground / compromise between the heroes’ pure cyan and the empire’s bright purple, illustrating his somewhat ambiguous antiheroic role. The striking white of his hair and the orange he accents a lot of his designs with just further mix things up.

This sends a significant message about Lotor- and about the Generals that share his color scheme- that they’re hard to get a read on. They mix the signals for friend and foe in a show that’s otherwise very clean-cut about it-

The only other misleading parties before now are the heroic Blade of Marmora whose actual aligned colors are safe, “friendly” cool blues, but wear the empire’s “threatening” reds and pinks as a disguise.

But Lotor and his retinue are just plain tricky people to nail down. They’re not lying about how they are, but how they are is ambiguous and mutable.

But that divide doesn’t really hold together as much in SU, where, I would argue the contrast tends to be more that Homeworld has very vibrant, saturated, and “artificial”-seeming colors to contrast the more blended and soft colors associated with Earth. Individual colors and symbols are used to conflate ownership and obedience- something bright pink with a bunch of curving organic shapes is almost definitely Rose’s (Or Pink Diamond’s- and I think that’s a lot of the momentum behind conflating them, is so far their “motifs of ownership” seem to overlap pretty hard)

Trying to suggest an ambiguous, Lotor-like character in SU’s parlance would probably involve mixing those very sharp defined Homeworld colors with softer earthy tones. 

So that’s something else to keep in mind with fancharacters- not only are designs important but look carefully at the visual language of the story you’re working with! What do certain colors and shapes mean? At bare minimum, don’t contradict the color language and imply something you don’t mean to.

[dailynewswebsite]

The clothes make the candidate: The sartorial politics of this year’s key Senate races

Conservative go well with? Examine. Rep tie? Examine. Mitch McConnell seems each inch a senator. Scott Applewhite/Getty

When Richard Nixon praised his spouse’s “respectable Republican material coat” in his 1952 Checkers speech, her garments weren’t the purpose.

Quite, Nixon drew a direct line from a coat to the values he proclaimed – frugality, integrity, public service – to counter accusations of monetary impropriety.

Nixon understood that garments are the story we inform about ourselves. Psychologist Dan McAdams’ work on narrative identification highlights the significance of the tales we inform about ourselves to our capacity to make sense of our place on the planet.

For a lot of – significantly public figures – clothes is a extra intentional, outward manifestation of their story, or narrative identification: It reveals who they need to be, the model of themselves they need the world to see.

For politicians, clothes is a option to challenge authenticity, or consistency with a super sort. Perceptions of authenticity give voters confidence in candidates’ integrity, persuading them that candidates will fulfill marketing campaign guarantees as soon as elected.

It’s worthwhile contemplating the message candidates ship via their costume. Towards what ideally suited will voters measure them? The style selections displayed in three of this 12 months’s high-profile U.S. Senate races present some illustrative contrasts.

The household of Richard and Pat Nixon, after he received the GOP nomination for president in 1960. Bettmann/Getty Photos

Decisions totally different for incumbents, challengers

As an organizational theorist who researches authenticity and social analysis, I discover that we decide others – imperfectly – based mostly on how carefully we really feel their picture matches their message.

Most political challengers discover it simple to challenge authenticity via costume. They will tailor their wardrobe to focus on themes from their campaigns and private histories. This guides voters’ understanding of who the candidate is and what they stand for.

The wrinkle: Sending a message with clothes is inherently trickier for incumbents as a result of their workplace constrains the picture they will challenge. A gubernatorial candidate can put on denims and boots to the state honest, however as soon as put in within the Capitol, they’ll extra typically be seen in a go well with. A fast Google Picture seek for a present candidate and the incumbent they’re difficult reveals a near-universal fact: As soon as elected, the candidate’s most seen public picture is that of the workplace they maintain.

This implies that whereas a candidate will be genuine to their distinctive marketing campaign message, the incumbent is extra more likely to be genuine to their workplace, as an alternative.

Democratic Senate candidate Mark Kelly is usually seen in bomber jackets. ActBlue

Clothes as a marketing campaign message

In Arizona, Democratic Senate candidate Mark Kelly – astronaut, husband of former Consultant Gabby Giffords – goes tieless in sports activities jackets or a bomber jacket.

His informal look telegraphs that he’s not a Washington insider. By referencing his navy and NASA background, he tasks the experience wanted to take an knowledgeable stance on nationwide safety and the authority to take a robust place on local weather change, a serious space of analysis at NASA.

Kelly is difficult incumbent Republican Sen. Martha McSally, a former Air Power pilot and Afghanistan veteran. She favors streamlined fits and sheaths, typically in daring reds, her hair a lot sleeker than in earlier campaigns. As a result of McSally’s costume reveals no trace of her background, she could also be sending the message that her navy expertise doesn’t outline her.

GOP Sen. Martha McSally in one in all her streamlined fits. Ross D. Franklin/AP

In Maine, Democratic Speaker of the Maine Home of Representatives Sara Gideon is usually seen at work in double-stranded pearls with a costume or a contemporary, tailor-made jacket. Her marketing campaign supplies present her together with her younger household in informal jackets – as soon as in a Patagonia model, a gaffe within the house state of L.L. Bean. She later eliminated the Patagonia brand from the photograph. Gideon’s relatable, chic-mom vibe suggests to voters that well being care and schooling could also be matters of precise dialog at her kitchen desk slightly than summary coverage points.

Maine Democrat Sara Gideon, who’s difficult GOP Sen. Susan Collins, in a photograph from her marketing campaign web site. Gideon marketing campaign website

Gideon faces incumbent Sen. Susan Collins, a Republican, who hails from Caribou, Maine, a metropolis of seven,600, the place her household based a lumber enterprise in 1844. Collins wears fits in deep, saturated colours, often with a pop of pink, and costly coats of the type not typically seen in rural areas. Her model is that of a Washington insider, belying nothing of her background or Down East values.

Sen. Susan Collins, Republican of Maine, in one in all her strongly coloured fits. Win McNamee/Getty

Lastly, distinction Senate Majority Chief Mitch McConnell, a Republican, with Democratic challenger Amy McGrath, battling for this Kentucky Senate seat. McConnell, on Capitol Hill since 1984, prefers darkish, well-cut fits and basic, jewel-toned ties, typically with a varsity stripe.

Senate Majority Chief Mitch McConnell, trying like a senator in a well-tailored go well with. Alex Wong/Getty Photos

McConnell’s costly garments make it clear how far he has come from his childhood in Alabama and Georgia, when his household “virtually went broke” coping with the results of his bout with polio.

McGrath is a former Marine fighter pilot and Afghanistan veteran. She favors open-collared shirts and flight jackets and is usually seen together with her three younger youngsters. Marketing campaign pictures typically function her in navy gear, giving voters the impression that she has credibility to talk on international coverage and veterans’ points.

Amy McGrath, who’s difficult Sen. Mitch McConnell of Kentucky, is a veteran who typically wears open-collared shirts and flight jackets. McGrath marketing campaign web site

The straitjacket of incumbency

Every challenger is ready to current a picture in line with each their marketing campaign platforms and their private histories. Their clothes presents a totally elaborated identification assertion – with out saying a phrase.

In distinction, the incumbents’ virtually uniform-like clothes offers voters little perception into both their personas or coverage positions. Their tailor-made silhouettes point out their membership within the political class, making individuation troublesome.

Observe that every incumbent’s marketing campaign web site additionally focuses far more on their incumbency than discrete coverage points.

Incumbency creates an authenticity bind: Incumbents can’t challenge each their workplaces and themselves concurrently.

That is maybe most constraining within the U.S. Senate, the place the principles of decorum are significantly sturdy. Most senators, with the notable exception of Kyrsten Sinema, stick with darkish, severe fits and ties. Members of the Home are allowed extra idiosyncrasies – assume Jim Jordan’s rejection of jackets or Matt Gaetz’s colourful wing suggestions.

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However senators have a tendency towards what sociologists name homophily, or flocking with related others. The consequence: They costume extra alike over time.

Incumbents’ sartorial constraints could enchantment to voters preferring a candidate with a demonstrable observe file, nevertheless it offers valuable little perception into the incumbent’s private historical past or governing priorities. The perfect sort to which these incumbents are genuine, subsequently, is that of senator.

Garments could not decide this 12 months’s winners, however the authenticity considerations that made Pat Nixon’s coat a strong picture nonetheless play a vital position in politicians’ lives. To a big extent, the clothes makes the candidate – if not the incumbent.

Jo-Ellen Pozner doesn’t work for, seek the advice of, personal shares in or obtain funding from any firm or organisation that might profit from this text, and has disclosed no related affiliations past their tutorial appointment.

from Growth News https://growthnews.in/the-clothes-make-the-candidate-the-sartorial-politics-of-this-years-key-senate-races/ via https://growthnews.in

[a-curious-wednesday]

Untitled Thing

Prologue

“Guardian…” a small voice begins from somewhere nearby.  Darkness gives way to everything.  I gasp, hard, clawing at nothing as I try to force air into me.  Everything hurts inexplicably.  I jump and my eyes adjust to sunlight and decay.  Immediately I reach for a weapon and find none.  I do not question what a weapon is or what one looks like.  It is as if instinct met buried knowledge.  My hands ball into metallic fists.  Metallic.  Metallic?  Curious, I tell myself.  Why are my hands metal, when they should be flesh…

A breeze washes over me, through me.  I am confused.  My mind lost in a dense fog.  I look around me and see only rust, decay and death.  Ancient vehicles lie in heaps along what I know to be roads.  They are smashed into each other.  Others hang from the sides of a dilapidated bridge, one of many I quickly notice.  There is an eerie silence here.  It unnerves me.  I turn my gaze elsewhere.  Where am I?  Who am I?  How did I come here?  These are the very questions gnawing at my soul.

“Guardian?”  The voice calls, uneasily.

I swivel my head to and fro, trying to discern the body of the small, feminine voice belongs to.  Eventually, a small, metallic ball floats up before me.  Its singular eye, blinking curiously, as if it is wary of me.  I take a step back, startled and trip over a half-buried, rusted bumper.

“G-Gh-Ghost?!”  I hear myself sputter.  But, how do I know what this tiny spiked and flanged ball of metal is?  How does it float so effortlessly?  I watch in quiet confusion and horror as its body begins to spin unnaturally as it floats before my eyes.  The front half, its face, I assume, spins clockwise and its backside spins counter.

“It’s OK Guardian!  Everything will make sense in time.”  The little ball begins.

All around me I hear the groan of ancient metal scraping in the wind.  It unnerves me.  The wind.  I should be able to feel it, shouldn’t I?  I do not.  Why can I not feel it?  My gaze is pulled beyond the little floating ball, beyond this ‘Ghost.’  Shadows and silhouettes of movement beckon my attention.  My mind begins to race.  My body moves of its own accord.  I drop low and slink towards the nearest wreck.  My metallic hand, orange and accented with black paint.  Is that paint?  I quickly notice with no small horror that this paint is chipped, weathered and sun-bleached in places.  It looks as if this hand laid still for a very long time.  My brows furrow as I glare at this hand.

I hear a shrill cry, followed by sharp chirping.  I become aware of the world again.

I shake my head clear of this confusion.  I cannot focus on this right now.  Something inside me beckons my attention towards the location of the movement.  My hand rises to grasp the door of this ancient, rusted vehicle.  The pressure of my hand-- the weight of it and its strength cause the door to groan against it.  The door moans loudly and I look up in surprise as it begins to pull away from the frame!  Immediately, I drop my hand back toward my side.  Fright begins to wash over me, joining with confusion.  I tell myself, ‘this door is very old.’  ‘It would fall apart without my intervention!’

None of this makes sense.

Again, I raise my hand towards the lip of the windowsill.  Only this time, I gingerly place my palm upon the lip, the groan the metal makes is soft, faint.  Better, I think.  I am momentarily distracted by a small swirl of dust at my feet.  It spirals upwards, as if beckoned by some unseen force.  Particles of dirt spilling off its edges are flung far and away.  The moment passes, the dirt settles and I notice for the first time that I am wearing boots.  These boots are some sort of mix of metal, ceramic and malleable rubber.  Although, I am unsure how I instantly know that.  They are a dull and faded black, accented with brown and white.

These are not my boots.  I remember my boots being fabric.  Animal hide.  Leather?  If they are not mine, then whose are they?

The little metallic ball floats up alongside me, eerily soundless.  It flits about my head, curiously, before coming to rest.  Its spikes and flanges spin and twist in opposite directions, unnaturally.

“Guardian, it is not safe here.  We should go.” The Ghost tells me.  Again, I hear that femininity in its voice.  I decide this ‘Ghost’ must be a woman, somehow.  I don’t waste time trying to comprehend how that can be.  Her tiny body moving as if in accord with her speech.  I watch her curiously.  She blinks, waiting for my response.

“...Go where?” I mutter under my breath.  “Where are we even?  And where is ‘where’?”  

For the first time I speak aloud.  My voice is deep, baritonous and oddly flat.  There’s a certain sense of command to it.  I watch, curiously, as the little ball of metal spins towards the source of the movement, ignoring my questions.  My eyes trail after her and I notice more movement.  Strange silhouettes darting through wreckages.  These shadows move unnaturally fast.  I realize they are getting closer.  My jaw clenches.

The ghost, then, turns away from the commotion.  I sense fear, but I cannot understand why.  She becomes almost frantic, flitting about me.  Finally, she falls still.  My eyes are drawn towards where she looks.  I see a giant, rusting wall some distance before us.  In wonder I gaze upward, craning my neck as I visually climb the wall.  From this vantage, the wall seems to reach upwards, towards the heavens.  I think I see clouds near it.  How is that possible?  My gaze falls towards the ground.  I spy a threshold, in the base of the massive wall. A gaping wound, made small by the sheer scale of the wall.  Debris litters the hole in the wall.  Debris and rotting vehicles.  Their doors groan and sway in the wind as it buffets the wall.

“Through there,” she stated plainly, finally answering one of my questions.  My eyes squinted everso briefly.

A guttural cry, followed by high-pitched chirping called my attention westward.  A sudden gust of wind buffets against my back, knocking me into the car’s door.  The door groaned one final time before falling away, into a heap at my feet.  I fall backwards and land hard on my ass.  It takes me but a moment to pull myself up.  I am crouching again, the tips of my boots kick the door accidentally.  Suddenly annoyed, I pick up the door, expecting it to feel heavy.  It does not.  I expected to feel the rust flake off against my fingers.  It does not.  Effortlessly I toss the door aside and watch, marveled, as it soars through the air only to crash upon the faraway hood of a wrecked truck.

The sudden bang of the crashed door, gathers the attention of those to whom the crying and chirping belong to.  Two figures, at my three o’clock suddenly appear atop the hoods of nearby vehicles.  They’re wiry.  They seem to be dressed in patchwork clothing and armor.  I’ve never seen anything like them before.

<Yes, you have.>  An unfamiliar voice says inside me.

I shake my head in an attempt to clear it.  I focus on the figures in patchwork armor.  They, astonishingly, have four arms and are hunched forward, as if poised to pounce.  I get the sense that they are scanning for me.  Trying to find the source of the noise that had disturbed them.  Maybe chucking that door wasn’t the brightest decision I’ve ever made.  I watch closely: curious, wary.  One of the four-armed things motions to the other and it hops off its hood to coolly slink towards the first.  They speak to each other in a mixture of guttural grunts and chirps.  Some of it seems to sound like a foreign language I only half remember.

They seem to be bickering amongst each other.  The one on the car, points with one of its arms in my direction.  I immediately tense up.  The other shakes it’s head.  I have the sudden urge to move, but I am unable to.  My curiosity had me fascinated by these creatures.  They carry themselves like they own the world.  As if there is none that could hope to challenge them.  Their arrogance infuriates me, though, and I cannot explain why.

I continue to watch, unable to move.  The one that pointed, drops its arms to its side and withdraws four menacing blades, with one fluid motion.  As soon as the blades leave their scabbards, they ignite in sparks of electricity.  ELECTRICTY?!  What the fuck?  I grimace as a frown forms upon my face.  I’ve never seen weapons such as those before.

<Yes, you have.>  That same voice says to me again.

I watch as the one who drew its swords points them dangerously at the second four-armed alien.  I watch as the other alien takes a cautious step backwards.  Before screaming in that half-remembered language.  Their bickering intensifies and reveals other aliens that had been hiding nearby.  A troupe of six smaller, weaker-looking aliens appear from the shadows of vehicles surrounding them.  Unlike the taller, more muscular and four-armed ones, these only appear to have two arms.  They wear more clothing than armor and their heads are not hidden beneath sweeping, streamlined helmets.  They wear what appears to be goggles.  Seeing the shape of their face, from this distance, and the fur covering it, I am immediately reminded of a jackal.

More accurately they look like a cross between a rat and dog, if its spawn had four eyes.  I shuddered, imagining how ugly they must look close up.  It seemed clear to me that they were alien to Earth, which seemed strange.

My jaw sets as dread seeps into me, grabbing my guts and twisting.  My eyes narrow as I wait for events to unfold.  The two four-armed creatures are now screaming at each other, uncaring about anything else.  The one with the swords drops from the hood and sets his blades before him, as if ready to attack.  The other sees this and takes it as a challenge.  It backs away before unsheathing two swords of its own and two odd-looking pistols.  It sets itself up for an attack, but waits.  Warily.  The first, says something in that strange language.   Perhaps an insult?

Without warning it lunges at the other, it's blades wildly cut through the air.  Electricity dances down their length, dangerously.  I watch as the second steps forward and brings its own, wicked blades to bear in defense.  They dance around as they effortlessly lock and parry the other’s attack.  The next moment, both pistols are blasting strange bolts of blue-white energy.  Those bolts seem to spark and sizzle as they knife wildly through the air.  The one with the swords slips and slides out of the way of the bolts, but I watch as the bolts seem to track the first, bobbing and weaving through the air.  The small barrage, for the most part misses entirely, but several of the blue-white bolts hit their mark.  Only, the first alien does not crumple into a heap like I thought it would.

Instead, the bolts of energy are harmlessly absorbed by some invisible shield surrounding the first alien.  That is not good, I tell myself.  The Ghost by my side has suddenly grown impatient.  Its flitting intensified.

“Guardian,” she hisses, “we must go.”

I take my eyes away from the aliens for a moment to look upon this Ghost.  Is it impatience I see or fear?  I can no longer tell.  I stare at her impassively a moment longer.

“Wait…” I order.

...

[fashiontrendin-blog]

1920s fashion history: the women who changed our style forever

http://fashion-trendin.com/1920s-fashion-history-the-women-who-changed-our-style-forever/

1920s fashion history: the women who changed our style forever

We chart the greatest influencers on the twenties’ style scene.

Before the likes of Katharine Hepburn and Bette Davis brought us the iconic 1930s fashion styles, there were the super chic styles of the roaring twenties. From the ultra-glam flapper girls to the first waves of cool androgyny, 1920s fashion was all about liberation, trying new things and having a whole lot of fun in the process.

After World War One, women’s style loosened up (literally) as the corsets came off, skirts got shorter , and thanks to a certain Coco Chanel, trousers for women were in for the very first time.

While comfort was king, there was still a decadence to Gatsby-era fashion – think Art Deco motifs, rich velvet or satin dressese embellished with pearls and gems. Showgirls like Josephine Baker, Clara Bow and Greta Garbo became the key trendsetters of the decade.

Gabrielle ‘Coco’ Chanel’s 1920s fashion

We are eternally grateful to Mademoiselle Coco Chanel for so many definitive 1920s fashion styles, and some of the greatest sartorial inventions; the little black dress, skirt suit, costume jewellery, espadrilles… But her greatest, most overarching influence? The liberation of women’s clothing and the concept of casual chic in the 1920s. Chanel led the trend for a flatter, corset-free bust, a streamlined silhouette with no hyper-waistline and she popularised trousers for women. Next time you let it all hang out after a huge dinner, you can thank this woman.

Clara Bow’s 1920s fashion

Here’s one of the original IT actresses, Clara Bow, modelling an ideal 1920s fashion look. The ultimate flapper girl, she looks ready to break into a Charleston any moment, doesn’t she? The slimming chevrons and dropped waist became style trademarks for all flapper girls by day, and were amped up in sequinned versions for the Gatsby glam parties at night.

Colleen Moore’s 1920s fashion

Silent film actress Colleen Moore basically invented the bob. Women around the world copied the black block cut that she and a few other early adopting actresses made popular, making her one of the greatest beauty influencers of all time – although 1960s fashion would see an even shorter popular style in the pixie crop. She’s pretty much the reason so many of us opt for bob hairstyles today. Colleen loved her bob so much, in fact, that she kept that haircut until the day she died in 1988. Talk about a signature style…

Louise Brooks 1920s fashion

Party girl Louise tried and tested all of the trends the decade had to offer, and we’ve got her down as an Alexa of the decade. She popularised the bob, got women to see how fab trousers can be and was one of the first actresses to speak openly about her experiments with her sexuality. Palazzo trousers are still a staple of holiday style.

Josephine Baker’s 1920s fashion

Josephine Baker is the woman who inspired Beyonce’s booty-shake. How cool is that? The original showgirl was famous for her ‘banana dance’, plus she was a spy and she owned a pet cheetah, which she used to walk in Paris. A queen of accessorising, the Jazz Age beauty sometimes wore little else on stage, and by day she worked an Art Deco print like no other.

Greta Garbo and Valentina Schlee 1920s fashion 

On the set of The Temptress, actress Greta Garbo was without doubt one of the decade’s most alluring film stars. While many actresses sexed it up to appeal to male audiences, Greta’s sense of style meant that women, too, were fascinated by her beauty. Her favourite designer was Valentina Schlee, and she went on to epitomise old Hollywood glamour.

Gloria Swanson’s 1920s fashion

Dripping with glamour in her spliced gold dress and bejewelled headband, Gloria Swanson was the picture of 1920s fashion. Never knowingly understated, her extravagant dress sense meant that she was one of the decade’s stand-out style star – a Lady Gaga for the Jazz Age, if you will.

Dorothy Sebastian and Joan Crawford’s 1920s fashion

As women’s style became more relaxed, there was more emphasis than ever before on sportswear and swimwear. We were still a long way off from the bikini here; a staple part of 1940s fashion, it wasn’t invented until 1946. But for the first time women could move freely and actually be active in their activewear, so all in all it was a pretty revolutionary decade.

Pola Negri’s 1920s fashion

The first European actress to be invited to Hollywood, silent film star Pola was responsible for introducing all sorts of our favourite fashion and beauty trends to popular culture. She loved headgear, put fur boots on the fashion map and even introduced the world to the concept of red painted toenails.

Dorothy Mackaill’s 1920s fashion

As trousers for women became the norm, the androgynous look was the coolest trend to be seen in. Brit actress Dorothy worked a full tuxedo on the set of The Crystal Cup, making a style statement that women everywhere wanted to buy into.

Mary Pickford’s 1920s fashion

The square cut was the neckline of the decade, flattening the bust line after years of ample cleavage in corsets. Co-founder of film studio United Arts, Mary Pickford was a 1920s heroine for women at work, and a power-dressing one at that.

Anita Page’s 1920s fashion

Queen of pearls Anita, pictured below right with actresses Joan Crawford and Dorothy Sebastian for the film Our Dancing Daughters, reportedly received 35,000 fan letters in a week during her heyday. Remember folks, these were the times when fan-girls didn’t have Twitter or emojis to express their love for a star, so these were physical, hand-written notes of adoration. Amazing, right?

Jean Arthur 1920s fashion

Jean was the 1920s’ too cool style icon and queen of screwball comedy. She was publicity shy – ‘I’d rather have slit my throat’ than do an interview – and worked an androgynous slick look. Think crisp white shirts and relaxed tailored trousers here.

Fay Wray 1920s fashion

Before she became an international superstar in 1933’s King Kong, Fay was a young flapper girl with a penchant for Art Deco jewellery like no other. Just look at that gorgeous choker and all of those stencil-like bracelets.

Zelda Fitzgerald 1920s fashion

Mr Gatsby himself, author F. Scott Fitzgerald declared his novelist wife Zelda to be ‘the first American Flapper.’ Her creativity, independence and attitude were exactly what being a flapper girl was all about. You didn’t think it was only about those glitzy dresses now, did you?

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