#vintage suit filter

[jypsyvloggin]

How to do the Beardless filter on TikTok?

How to do the Beardless filter on TikTok @joeykidney beardless filter is terrifying ♬ original sound – Joey Kidney Tiktok Challenges are a good opportunity to get new followers. By joining a trend, you can benefit from the general interest. I have introduces you to a few of the past Tiktok challenges and gives you tips on how to participate. Now it’s time for the Beardless Filter Trend. Where…

[wintersky1994]

We only have 52 Days left until she emerges from her cryosleep. The deadline is fast approaching! ❄🧊⛄🎄⭐🎅🏻🤶🏻✨🔴🟢🔴🟢

[bootlegstarman]

Build Jakapan for xblush magazine ❤️‍🩹🌼

[postmakerkiwi]

[leth-writes]

yandere Chrollo x reader

My requests are open!

Warnings: graphic discussions of violence and gore. 18+. Also, it does end in a weird place, if anyone wants me to continue, please ask!

summary: You can see ghosts. Chrollo is surrounded by them.

You weren’t quite sure when your powers first developed; but for as long as you could remember, they were there. You never could muster up the courage to tell anyone else. At first, you were sure you’d gone crazy, but as time progressed and the powers grew stronger, you knew it was the truth. That was worse, to you. If anyone, especially your parents, found out you could see the deceased, your freedom would disappear and you’d be forced into the television circuit. It wasn’t easy to hide them, to pretend not to see the screaming, sobbing apparitions that filtered through the haze of your periphery.

With experience, you’d come to sort your ghastly visitors into one of two camps; the angry, and the scared. The angry raged endlessly about their pain, shouting curses no one could hear in voices long-cracked from effort. Even you couldn’t make out what they were saying. They were the ones that often remained in their final forms, distorting their flesh until it made a new mask that melted their old identities away. Currently, one in a bowler hat and vintage suit with long, stringy, scraggly gray hair was stomping around in their slick dress-shoes, face bloated and skin sloughing off from their prolonged exposure to water. Everytime their mouth opened, their thick, purpled tongue lolled out, pushing through the distorted features that made up what used to be a face. Their eyes were glazed, making it hard to tell what they were looking at. You could see, where their shirt rid up during their particularly violent rampage, the blue-toned skin sagging and discolored. When they moved, they left wet footprints behind, which soon dissipated. He took a pause in his tirade to attempt to kick over a nearby trashcan, then tried harder as his soaked shoe passed through without so much as a wobble. Angry apparitions were usually able to interact only with you, which is what made them dangerous; particularly violence specimens were known to attempt to push you downstairs or pull at your hair, which is why you made every effort to ignore them as much as possible. If they realized they could touch you, you’d be the victim of their unending fire.

Even despite the harsh violence of the angry apparitions, you preferred them to the alternative; the scared ones. They still maintained their more humanoid appearance, unlike the angrier variant, and yet, they were all the more haunting. Scared ones tended to be the young, the old, and the tragic, sobbing and rocking and hugging themselves out of fear. They silently begged and pleaded for help, and yet there was nothing you could do for them. It was best to turn away, without giving them false hope.

You’d spent your whole life avoiding the ghosts, and yet you were never successful. Even worse was when you passed someone who had a specter clinging to them; mothers clinging to children who’d never known them, victims attempting to push their murderers, babies crying for their parents to no avail. It was hard, being unable to tell them just what happened to their loved one, being unable to lie about their baby finding peace. You couldn’t even try to help the victims, because no police officer would take “they told me” as evidence in a murder trial.

So, you moved on. You learned to turn away, to act as though you saw nothing. It was easier that way, though you knew others wouldn’t view it that way. So, you quieted down about your ability, moved away from anyone who knew you when you were younger, and picked up a job at a cleaning company that allowed you to avoid any interaction in your daily life. Your work at the cleaning company took you all over YorkNew, allowing you to prevent putting down roots during your longer jobs. It was just easier not to get attached, because you knew you’d eventually slip up when a more personal face joined your eternal entourage. Clara, the receptionist, was nice enough, and you didn’t mind getting preferential treatment in job assignments. 

“Hello, Happy Home Cleaners, how can I help you?” Clara flicked her long honey blond hair over her shoulder, clicking her long pink nails against the aging keyboard. You leant against the chipped blue counter, watching absently as she typed in the information for a new client. Seeing the name pop up, you perked up. Seems like it was an all-hands-on-deck job for the opera house, which was having a giant auction. You knew it would be entertaining, and the tips from rich clients were always better. Clara set the phone down with a ‘clack’, finishing the assignment’s log before looking up and catching you watching. Clara was a middle-aged woman, short and chubby, with pale and pink-flushed skin and hazel eyes. She was sweet and kind, like an older sister or a motherly figure you’d never had, and you weren’t too upset about the lunches she’d taken to picking you when she realized you’d usually forget to eat.

“What’re you thinking?” She asked, leaning on her hand.

“I know the opera house’ll be a big job, but I’m excited for all those tips, and maybe I’ll get to see the items and watch the auction… I always liked watching rich people blow all their money on useless crap.” You drawled. She laughed, looking startled by your candor. “I knew you’d say that, and before you ask, I’ve already added you as priority for the assignment. You’ll get your chance to heckle to uber-wealthy, just wait.” she smiled, then turned away as the phone rang again.

Later on that week, you were on your way to the job at the opera house. You couldn’t wait to get inside, but as you peered out the dusty window of the van, you were in awe at the sheer size of the building. It had large, glimmering windows lining the entire building. Spotlights on the ground floor roved over the exterior of the building, briefly illuminating the windows and sending reflections glimmering all over. There were police all over, which seemed off to you, but you guessed the uber-wealthy were paranoid as is, so you put the concern aside. As you stepped out, you looked around, wide-eyed and gawping. The entryway was grand, with red carpet lining the walkway, armored guards in sleek black suits bracketing the entrance, a large red overhand, and gold railing enclosing the area. The entrance had glass doors lined with swirling silver motifs, sliding open as you walked through with a gust of air conditioning. 

The inside of the building was even more grand, with plush gold carpeting and ceilings so high you couldn’t see the roof. The light was strong and yellowed, casting a warm light over the various staff scurrying around. A tall, slim man in a black suit with a large, hooked nose and pale, grayish skin pulled taut over sharp cheekbones, his narrowed black eyes flashing before widening into a false calm, stepped forward. He towered over you and your colleagues, hands clasped behind his back as he looked down his long nose at you. “You’re the staff?” he questioned. As your supervisor stepped forward to address him, he turned and began speed-walking away. Your supervisor turned, baffled, to look at you before gesturing wildly to keep up with the thin man, who was turning a corner.

The man led your small group through a door and into the bowels of the building. The ceilings were noticeably lower and gold carpets morphed into grey and cracked concrete, lining the walls with various old pipes and service doors. The lights were harsher, putting the slim man into an even paler state as he speed walked down the long hall, footsteps clacking and echoing against the concrete and pipes. Finally, after what felt like hours, he opened another metal door into the staff’s area. It was a more moderate area, brown wooden plank floors with dark walls, red velvet carpets marking the area where the stage began. “This area is where the items will be stored and brought out for auction. It needs to be cleaned, as well as the stage and the seating areas. I expect it to be properly done, or you will not be paid. If you are spotted, act professionally. Any chatting will result in you being immediately fired. You are not here to chat, you are here to work so that people worth more than you can enjoy the spoils of their hard work. It’s enough that you are even allowed to be spotted; normally, that would be grounds for immediate termination and blacklisting. Be grateful I’m being lenient.” and with that, the man whipped around and marched off, leaving your supervisor in the dust. Your supervisor, Jason, faced you, baffled, before he regained his composure. “Alright guys, split up and get to work, I guess…” he mumbled, scratching his head. Wanting to avoid another interaction with the tall man, you moved out from behind the curtains and began working on the thick boards of the stage.

By the end of your shift, you were exhausted, arms feeling like noodles, but satisfied. You’d made great work on the stage, and you’d probably be able to begin working on the main room the next day. Determined, you exited the building, surrounded by coworkers. As you walked out, you spotted movement out of the corner of your eye. A short, chubby man with a bald head and bulging red eyes was talking quietly to the guards, but what caught your eyes were the plethora of ghosts surrounding him. The majority were angry; you focused on a thin man, face unrecognizable with blood and bits of flesh and bone splattered everywhere, exposing the violently red inside of his face where the skin had been peeled away, was gesturing violently, getting in the face of the short man. The apparition didn’t have eyes, but you could imagine they would be boring into the face of the shorter man. Evidently, that short man had wronged him in some way, and if he was the type of man to do something like that, you wanted nothing to do with him. Now frightened, washing away your previous confidence, you scurried along to the van, climbing in without a backwards glance.whoever that was, you hoped you would be able to avoid him.

The next day, the opera house was busier, swarming with staff scrambling to make final preparations. You returned to your work from the day before, prepping the main area with your coworker to prep it for the auction that would be taking place in only a couple of hours. You were excited; it was the only thing you had to look forward to all week, unable to normally see any fun entertainment due to your unusual schedule. You all worked quickly and efficiently, quietly finishing up any last-minute patch jobs before leaving the room to do some busywork backstage. You spotted the thin, tall man with the narrowed eyes, and he quickly waved it over. “You, you’re efficient and quiet. Go downstairs and welcome the guests. Our greeter called in sick. If you mess up and offend anyone, you’ll be more than fired. Go.” he barely glanced at you as he spoke, pushing you forward. “But I'm a cleaner! I can’t-” “don’t care. Go, or you don’t get paid.” you grumbled, finally stopping grabbing your feet and moving forward of your own volition. 

You entered the grand entryway again, observing the swarms of people filtering in. The thin man directed you to the base of the escalators. “Just tell people where they need to go. I don’t care what else you do, just don’t mess it up or it’s your head on the line.” he snapped, before power walking away toward another group of servers. You floundered for a second, staring vacantly into the massive crowd. It was only then you noticed the suffocating haze of the undead, crowded and overlapping as they struggled to stay near the person they were grappling toward and attempting to attack. The entire crowd was full of murderers, and that was only possible if the crowd was full of mobsters. Suddenly, you realized why the police were so present, why the thin man was so short; it was a mobster’s auction, and you were right in the middle of it. You stood ramrod straight, shaking hands gesturing for the approaching men and their corresponding apparitions to make their way up the escalator toward the main hall.

You stood there for the better part of an hour before the crowd thinned enough to make your way back to the main hall. By the time the large doors came into view, the guards were standing outside, arms crossed. “No entry,” the one on the left said shortly, gesturing for you to stay back. “But I'm staff! I’m supposed to be inside with the rest of my team!” you cried, exasperated. “Too bad. It’s too late for entry. You can go hang out in the lobby and wait for the rest of your team if it’s so important to you. Now get going, before I escort you out.” turning around with a huff, you barely avoided stomping away to the main lobby.

You’d been loitering in the lobby for close to an hour when you first heard the screams. Your head whipped up in time to catch the armed guards rushing through and thundering up the escalator. Worried, you chased after them, taking the stairs two at a time in an effort to keep up. “What’s happening?” you cried, frantically trying to see into the main auction hall. “They’re… gone?” a guard said, puzzled. “What do you mean, gone?!” his supervisor said, lowering his visor. “How does a room of people just disappear?” you hopped up, attempting to catch a glimpse of the inside, before whipping around and vomiting. What had once been a beautiful, if empty, room, had now been entirely swarmed by apparitions, wandering about confused. They were riddled with bullets, some so much that you couldn’t tell what part was which, crawling along and moaning silently in agony. Ghastly blood was streaked everywhere and limbs were strewn about, torn off front the force of the bullets. None of that was too bad, you’d even seen worse earlier that night, but what truly made you sick was the sight of Jason, frantically attempting to reattach his severed leg. His other limbs were completely misshapen and bent out of place, bone shifting under thin, blood soaked skin and poking out underneath shredded bits of pink muscle. The bone was shock-white, shattered and bent, and coated in viscera and sinew, and his arm was bent completely backward, causing him to drag along, attempting to reach out to you- and it was too much. You couldn’t handle it. Uncaring of the guards questioning your sudden shock, you raced out of the hall, dashing down the escalators and tearing toward the van. You hopped in, banging your palms against the steering wheel and breaking down crying. You’d never hated your curse more than when it let you catch one last glimpse of someone you’d lost.

You called the main office. No one picked up. Seemed they’d already been informed. Deciding to head home, you dropped the van off. Entering your dingy apartment, you dropped your coat off on the floor and slid off your shoes. You stumbled toward your room, flinging the door open and quickly changing into your comfiest sweater and a pair of ratty shorts. You plugged your phone in, wandering out toward your kitchen and grabbed a bowl. Pouring your favorite off brand cereal into the bowl and grabbing a spoon, you plopped down on your old grey couch, flicking on the news. 

“In other news, a massive police response has been mounted after hundreds of people went missing at the YorkNew opera house, and with no new leads any witnesses are asked to come forward and contact YorkNew police with any leads or information.” A tall, thin news anchor began, her short clipped brown hair perfectly coiffed and styled away from her face. Studio lights glared down, illuminating her orangey makeup as she gestured to her co-anchor. Her co-anchor picked up, gesturing to a photo of the opera house.

“While there is footage of the crowd entering the room, security feeds cut soon after. The artifacts present for today’s auction have also been reported stolen, leading police to believe it was a botched robbery. There are no suspects at this time, though rumors abound that the mysterious Phantom Troupe may have been involved.” He finished, looking at his co-anchor.

“The Phantom Troupe, well-known urban legend, are a group of mysterious thieves known to leave no witnesses in their wake. Theorists believe that the troupe, known for their spider tattoos, may simply erase any footage of themselves. Others argue they may have a supernatural ability allowing them to prevent being seen. And yet, this case is similar to other rumored Phantom Troupe cases, each with similar characteristics; a famous artifact missing and entire rooms of witnesses vanished. Police have not released any information about this potential tie.”

The Phantom Troupe? You’d never heard of them. You almost scoffed at the idea, before quickly reminding yourself that you too had a seemingly unexplainable ability. Was it so hard to believe that some with similar abilities decided to use them for more nefarious purposes? COmpletely unsettled, you changed the channel to a mindless comedy, letting yourself relax as you snacked.

You were called back in the next day. You found yourself surrounded by fresh employees, the only remaining cleaner left from the vanishing, as it had been labeled. The new employees, older women with a penchant for gossip, had immediately swarmed, asking countless questions about your role and what you’d seen. You’d shut it down quick, snapping that you didn’t want to hear about your dead colleagues, and they’d gone sheet-white and wandered away. You found yourself up in the bar, drinking copious amounts of vodka to get the thought of the bodies out of your head. Predictably, you’d not lasted a minute in the main auction hall before you had to run out. The new supervisor suggested you take the edge off, so you were ordering another drink. Out of the corner of your eye, you spotted a young girl with bright blue spiked ponytails, bouncing along in her bright white silky dress and sandals. You turned around, unwilling to be reminded of the young colleagues you’d lost. 

You hopped down from your stool, sighing and setting a generous tip down for the bartender. You made your way to the elevator, avoiding glancing back at the loud laughter of the blue-haired girl. You wondered how she could be so happy in a building where hundreds had died violently, but you guessed she didn’t know the full truth. Well, you didn’t need to be worried about her. She’d be fine, especially if she could afford to be at the auction.

Your shift dragged along, ignoring the gossiping ladies took more effort than you expected, but you didn’t have much mental bandwidth to worry. You finally finished cleaning the stage area, but the auction was set to start and the formerly-stolen, now found, artifacts were being brought in, contained in bulky wooden crates. Yet, shouting suddenly broke out, and you raced out into the hall outside of the auction room. The young blue-haired girl was slumped over, but what caught your attention was…

You’d never seen so much damage. Countless apparitions flooded the hall, all angry, all screaming and writhing in pain. Your eyes zeroed in on a young boy in traditional white robes, eye sockets leaking bright red tears against his ghastly white face; his eyes were gone, scratch marks dug into the soft skin surrounding his sockets, and the gaping holes locked onto his mother, whose eyes, unlike her son’s, were leaking out of her sockets. They looked almost like scrambled eggs, popped and flat, and her face had turned purple from her anger as she screamed. Another man, one in a ratty, hole-filled suit, had a bright purple face and his tongue hanging out, his neck bent at an unnatural angle and the bone popping through the skin as though his head had been forced downward. Crowds of people, dozens with their eyes missing or popped, and hundreds with bent necks or half their face caved in or missing limbs, all surrounding one man. The man, it took you a second to identify him through the crowd, was holding onto the blue-haired girl and shouting at a guard, who looked shocked. It was too much for you. A feeling like an icy bucket of water being dumped on you hit, then a hot flash, and your hearing went as your ears rang. Then, you were on the ground, blinking your eyes open and rubbing your head. The blue-haired girl was gone, and the man, you could see his choppy black hair, complemented by his stark white skin and a plush white cloth covering his forehead, was staring at you. He didn’t seem scared, or confused, just… amused. Another bolt of fear ran through your body. 

A guard was fast approaching. Your head snapped up, breaking the eye contact with the man and his field of bodies. “I-I’m okay. I’m fine. I just- I just need to go, I’m gonna go.” You forced out, jumping to your feet and backing away. “Are you-” the guard began. “No, I’m okay. It’s fine.” You whirled around and speed walked away. “Ma’am.” A smooth voice broke through your panic, and you felt a hand grasp your upper arm. You tried to shake it off, but the grip was concrete. You snapped back around, glaring at the man. His face was partially obscured by an apparition phasing through, burned skin peeling and exposing dark, cracked muscle. You gasped lowly, and the man’s eyebrows ticked up. “Are you alright? You look like you’re going to be sick… Do you need to take a seat?” He began to pull, gently guiding you toward a room. “No. No, I don’t need to… please let go!” Your voice cracked as it raised half an octave. Once again, the man’s eyebrows ticked up, and he let go of your arm.

[picturesofthegoneworlds]

For one word prompts, I'm finally seeing some green in my garden again, so: Sage?

Oh, of course you know how to appeal to me. I hope this brings the vibes <3 ~

There was a variety of sage (still is, most likely) - sanctified – a herb that they would dry hanged from the rafters and tie into bundles like broomstick bristles, its own fibrous stem knotted in noose around the neck and ankles of the bale, burnt at the stakes and raised pitchforks to sweep away the wicked.

The smoke was what woke her, herbaceous floral distress signal, thrown through the open (paneless) window, accompanied by salt and circle.

They hoped to lure her out the front ‘door’ - she concluded with groggy post-dream clarity - strategized to trap her between saline force field and stone and mortar.

She stumbled over herself, gathered her few possessions. In time shorter the flames carpeted the threshing covering the floor, climbed into her bed to alight the straw stuffing the mattress, exorcised from there to cross exposed rafters to the mossy thatching comprising the roof-

She left through the vacant fireplace.

From a distance fled she observed the thick grapevine coiling of smoke as it billowed out above the forest canopy from a chimney that had crumbled decades ago.

Fire-licked masonry, tattered and scorched fabrics. Perhaps their malice left the cabin more befitting, well-suited, paralleled - outfitted in ash grey skin and soot ichor stains. The hunting party retreated but she could not return. She wondered who would take up residence in the hollow shell - as such a body must be an invite, must be a vessel (at least that was a lesson she was soon to learn) - but who would cohabitate with the spiders, birds, and other small mammals?

The thick smoke filtered through the pines

All of her grievances aside (packed away once again with her bedroll and cauldron), it smelt rather wonderful-

~

There was another sage (surely must be, still) - common - cultivated in window boxes and allotments, the leaves torn to marinade meats, to infuse healing balms, unbiased towards the dead or the living, transmuting itself for both in order to permeate soft tissue.

Laudna would grab handfuls of the silver-furred leaves; amass them in pocket-lint-lined-bundles of potpourri. Crushed the sage between her fingers, rubbed it on her pulse points, tied it with red twine dried in parcels of cheesecloth that she decorated around her person. Loose in her coin pouch, trinkets, her spell component satchel too, sewn into Pâté’s stuffing, flattened behind her belts and tucked into the front of her bodice and trampled in the soles of her shoes-

Never sure if it was necessity or in her head, not like when she wore flushing and sweating flesh, saturated, awkward teenager dealing with the stubborn stench of puberty or drenched in the fragrance of a farm-girl-butcher’s-daughter composting straw manure and coagulated pigs’ blood –

-not the perfume of The Ladies, certainly, refined with their age, aged mahogany liquor barrel vintage sophisticated palate, finery of silks satin lace velvet layers stored in lacquered marquetry hardwood armoires and mausoleum-sized wardrobes, aired in gilded vase and bouquet’ed marble surroundings, chandeliers ornately framed paintings in alabaster hallways-

She would feel rather self-conscious of it; of her differences - but continued her play with the worms in the forest regardless.

Then, for a short time, she slept with them.

Or rather, she woke to fall onto a heap moving with them, dancing drunken room-spin carpet shag pile of maggots and flies and mosquitoes and pillows of other larvae unidentified, turning familiar faces into fertiliser.

She was not sure if it was the memory, or the actual (un)working order of things

Permanently rotting 

Hard to smell past the end of a decomposing nose

Perhaps it wasn’t so hard to tell for others?

Every time she passed the plant she filled her pockets and hands - ironically unaware of how time had stilled, that she was embalming herself - hoping it would fight the trauma-ever-present smell, that she could throw off the(ir) scent.

~

There is a sage that blooms violet throughout the summer - wild - like early humid evenings with head thrown back in laughter and perspiration jeweling tanned neck, clouds underlit and voluminous as purple-sunset tousled hair.

Imogen points it out with inquisition; at the gatherings of spears of blossoms lanced into soil growing not far from the bank of a river in the sun-bleached and crunching-under-foot tall grasses of an open field.

Seeds from dried out flower heads are carried along the docile breeze, ashes falling in hazing-heat ground fog, smithing dandelion diamond rings to decorate the fingers of the willows that lazily wave, bid farewell to the jewellery that doesn’t fit, allowing it to marry elsewhere between clumps over the grass and charms accumulated at the banks of the gently moving river.

“D’ya know what this is? Smells good.”

She kneels down with her palm held open to the purple blooming sage, presentory, skin offering the tan lines above her knees exposed from the displacement of the tops of her tall leather boots, a dandelion seed catching in the mass of her mane like a feather, her hand not designated to indicating specimen shading above one of her eyes squinted shut and the corner of her mouth raised baring teeth as she looks to Laudna with the midday sun over her shoulder.  

It’s a bit overwhelming, the life and the bliss it elicits.

Laudna walks the few paces over to her, gives a quick inspection with the cast of her shadow.

Smiles in familiarity, nods to the plant in greeting

“Would you like to try it?”

Imogen starts the fire, uses the abundance of dried grasses as kindling. It smells just like the burning cottage had, does so every time. Laudna prunes the wild sage, gathering toothed leaves and small violet petals into her wicker basket, rolls the fragranced stems between the pads of her fingers and inhales, implores the herbal scent to momentarily mask the memory of deterioration as it once had. Imogen sets up the frame for hanging the cauldron, drives the iron spikes into the dry ground, fills it from the river, has to submerge her hand into the gathered water, fingers tweezers removing errant dandelion parachutes that she wipes onto her gauzy dress skirt, skin glistening with the cascading droplets that intuitively follow the scarring of her lightning marks and drip onto the floor, where a lizard with skin like stones flees under the weave of the trodden grass once her footfall returns, retreats for safer ground. Laudna questions whether it will turn to watch the fire or let instinct tell it to keep running-

“You’re quiet…”

Imogen states, offers a softened and upturned corner of her mouth.

Another feather of an airborne seed lands in her hair. A warning arrow shot through the window and puncturing her pillow, innards flying-

“I seem to be having a reflective day, sorry.”

 “Anythin’ you wanna share?”

Imogen wears her empathetic apology in her brow, strained, and Laudna isn’t sure of how legible abstract memories are to her, if the furrow is from an attempt at unknotting the tangles, mostly it feels a weight too unquantifiable to know what to share with intention.

“Not now. I think this is good, something new.”

Present is good, a gift, shared (willingly, in part).

“I don’t dislike it…”

Imogen declares, staring into her cup as she swirls its contents under inquisitive-eyed assessment.

“It sounds like you are warming up for a caveat there.”

She pauses, holds the pottery between her hands on her lap.

“I’m not, s’just new. Tea back home was mostly black and made with lemons and alotta honey or sugar; was cold if the occasion were special-” she tucks her hair behind her ear as her eyes read the pattern of the blanket they had laid over the floor. Laudna wonders if there were birthday parties on picnic blankets out in the paddocks, waited by her father, Imogen and her childhood friends drinking sweet tea and running around in daisy crowns “-I guess we had other teas, but they were more for if y’all were sick?”

She doesn’t like to think of that.

The birds and the crickets carry on their background accompaniment, Imogen's hand returning to the other cradling the cup. Laudna feels as though she can see the slow turn of the skin on her exposed thighs from bronzed tan to sun-kissed red, convinced she is observing the freckles multiplying.

“This one is supposed to be good for anxiety.”

Imogen scoffs, it causes a nearby bird in the brush to scatter

“Yeah? Well I’ll report back on that - maybe we should take more with us just in case.”

Laudna laughs agreeably, enthusiastic. She knows how to make plenty of room for sage.

To follow the tea she also makes them a salad with the plant’s greens; a field-foraged thing prepared with borage and dandelion leaves, fleshed out with wild strawberries, a little olive oil and a little cider vinegar, served in a wooden bowl. 

finishes the assemblage with an intentionally random flecking of the wild sage's violet petals, as though the bowl is a miniature diorama of the meadow in which they sit, olive oil babbling brook and cast iron fork fallen-tree bridge ready to present on a plinth, garden plans proposed by the landscaper in the study to a snooty gent stroking his chin and um-ing and ah-ing -

the hidden door that was disguised behind ornate wooden panelling, adjoining the ransacked and emptied floor to ceiling shelves of the study via dark stone corridors to the equipped and practical, cell-like laboratory- 

She thinks that was the layout, at least - worries who she will rouse if she thinks too hard on it. There is comfort in the answer being left immaterial.

“All’a those times I was sittin’ in fields of flowers, I never really thought I could be eatin’ them.”

It is so nice to have someone she adores break up her ruminations.

“You had a lot of quality produce, there wasn’t really the need.”

"I guess not. Honestly, I think I prefer the salad to the tea." 

Imogen licks her teeth, reveals a violet petal plastered over incisor that she shortly removes with a blade-of dry-grass toothpick, re-places the petal on the flat of her tongue, rolling it around her mouth and swallowing it. 

Laudna stares.

"You like the flowers?" she finds herself leaning towards Imogen. Wants to tell her that for years this one was her perfume - pomanders adorned and concealed in tattered layers.

“They’re purple, ‘course I do.” she giggles, resting sat cross-legged with her weight behind her on her palms. Her head rolls towards Laudna, leaves their foreheads almost resting against one another, Laudna able to count each individual eyelash.

Purple, like the deep undertones of her hair. That much Laudna was very aware of.

“I should have guessed that that would be what caught your attention.” She brings her hand up and wraps her bony index finger in a ringlet of Imogen's hair.

“More like your magic, I was thinkin’…” She drawls, tenor lowered and breathy. 

“And the taste?”

Imogen visibly swallows, cheeks flushing a further tint than what the sun has already given - it makes Laudna feel overly aware of the networking of her own heart and veins.

Imogen clears her throat

"’s’good - kinda familiar."

Laudna feels overwhelmed by the compelling need to kiss her - so she does. Her hand with finger still tied in ringlets of hair sprawling over Imogen's chest as she responds with a squeaked moan that reverberates underneath it. Her lungs halt in their expansion as her mouth is sealed with her own, the increasing pulse at the base of her neck decipherable carved runes under the tip of her fingers, her heart thudding against her palm.

Familiar. Laudna can muse on that in the future, certainly.

She sits back from Imogen - already breathless and chest heaving, lips kiss-swollen - and appreciates the sight she helped curate; the picture of her looking a little dazed on their tartan blanket with the surrounding flora densely reaching above her shoulders, crowned in multi-coloured paint strokes.

“Familiar? And here I thought that was your first time eating a flower.”

Causes her to blush furiously

“Don’t you use ma’words against me.” She pushes Laudna playfully at her shoulder, pretends to look away in dissatisfaction, bottom lip pouting.

“I apologise, that is your advantage to keep. My words are but humble ammunition for your armoury.” Laudna exaggeratedly plays acting pious at Imogen’s half-turned back, Imogen turning back to her with one eyebrow raised and a laugh she is clearly trying to keep within her stomach murmuring at the corners of her lips.

"That so? Well alright, how would y’all describe it?" 

She puffs out air towards her head, hairs previously put behind her ear falling back out of (or into, depending on which of them you ask) place, sits forward again, arms folded. Adorable. Laudna is aware of how susceptible Imogen is to her teasing, always so charming and charismatic, and so often a bumbling mess - and it is intoxicating - to exercise any sort of outcome on such a gifted sorceresses’ disposition, is doing her best to learn what the differences and distinctions are between that and her own longer ongoing situation…

Focus.

Despite the more imposing associations, she can still remember

Can still remember her father butchering the pig, her mother in the kitchen slicing its fatty flesh into patchwork diamonds, stuffing the incised indents with sage and garlic and other seasonings, the slab of flesh tied with butcher’s twine around a whole peeled onion and roasted, skin crackling, the three of them sat around the oak table, talking about the small things, Laudna's mother showing off the basket Laudna had weaved that day, presented like a cornucopia on the kitchen table top, holding that weeks offering of vegetables.

She would describe it as herbaceous, sweet, and floral. Peppery, perhaps like a minty aniseed. Earthy. Mulchy. Rich as the soil it grew from. Could also admit to it being 'like the first home I'd made burning down, like the incense I'd crush between my palms and rub behind my ears so as to not offend any people who would be so kind as to get close enough to notice the death’

what she does say is

"nostalgic." 

not a lie - though she hopes in futures she won’t be drowned marinating in it, the complex layering of all of the ingredients and flavours, hopes one can remain dominant, bountiful and nourishing.

Imogen there, seen over the end of a nose that did not rot and fall off. She’s sure that it can change.

[gothhabiba]

hello! i am a longtime huge admirer of your clothing/fashion sense, as well as a longtime backreader of your #victorian and #goth tags. i am really interested in what you've written about Victorian dress, and i am looking to get more into 19th and 20th century clothing for gender + diy craft reasons. i'm so sorry if you've answered similar questions before, but do you have any tips for where a newbie should start researching? either way, thank you thank you, your blog opens my mind wide and brings me much joy and reflection!

General research:

Spend some time searching the 'net, museum websites, and archive sites for fashion plates (such as archive.org—link leads to a date-restricted query for "fashion"—or the Smithsonian—link leads to fashion plates in their image collection). Take note of what you like, as well as which styles correspond to which decade. Karolina Żebrowska has a good rundown of English fashion over the decades.

The undergarments are what does the most work creating the necessary silhouette to make Victorian & Edwardian womenswear fit properly. If you've figured out a decade you want your outfit to draw on, doing a quick search for "[decade] undergarments" should bring up plenty of blog posts, which may or may not cite primary sources (such is the fickle nature of the historical blogosphere). Bustle pads and sleeve supports can be purchased or made; they're both pretty simple, and tutorials abound.

Purchasing clothing:

Reproduction made-to-measure clothing can be readily found on etsy, but can be in the several-hundred USD range. I've had some luck finding vintage reproduction clothing (like, a skirt someone made by hand in the 1980s to a 1900s walking skirt pattern), which tends to be much cheaper.

Men, women, and children wore stays and corsets. As far as I know, Orchard Corset has the cheapest OTR corsets that are good quality and safe to wear. If you get a corset in the style of a specific decade handmade or made to measure, make sure that the seller tells you what the boning material is, what construction the boning is (spiral steel is sturdiest and most flexible), how many bones there are, what the corset material is, &c.—otherwise it's an indication of an unserious maker. Follow general advice for wearing corsets at a waist reduction (lace up slowly, break it in, &c.).

Antique Menswear on youtube gives a lot of good, practical advice for wearing late 19th-century and early 20th-century men's clothing (including where to buy reproductions and how to treat them, how to modify modern shirts to 19th-century standards with basically no sewing skills, &c.).

Actual antique clothing can be found and purchased online or at estate sales—usually in very small sizes, but I've seen Edwardian skirts and petticoats in an XL (also a small size, but...). You can also just simply browse this kind of thing for inspiration and save photos of anything you think you'd like to recreate.

Even clothing that was not "meant" to be worn by re-enactors can be clearly historically influenced (e.g. the huge boom in Victorian- and Edwardian- style blouses in the 1980s), so keep an open mind when shopping for vintage clothing! A lot of 1970s dresses that look "hippy" on their own can look very Victorian with the right undergarments and an updo. A lot of 1980s men's trousers also approach the right silhouette for the 1910s-inspired three-piece suit I'm trying to put together. Witness also the recent trend for big puffed sleeves!

Making or modifying clothing:

Victorian and Edwardian manuals for garment drafting and sewing can be found online—go to archive.org and search for "sewing," "drafting," or "dressmaking," then use the filters on the left to chuse which year(s) you want to see results from. Most of these have patterns that are sort of vibes-based: The work-woman's guide is one manual that claims to have patterns laid out strictly according to a grid.

I don't sew garments, but if Victorian pattern-writing for sewing is anything like it is for knitting, that may not be super useful. People do sell updates and graded 'translations' of antique patterns (which tend to be written in only one size) on etsy and ebay—just make sure from the description that it's 'deciphered' and translated rather than a scan of the original pattern!

One of the easiest things that you can do to add some Victorian or Goth flair to an otherwise plain-looking garment is to add trim. You can knit, crochet, or tat your own trim from Victorian lace-making patterns; purchase antique trim from resale sites; or buy braided or lace trim very cheaply at any craft store. Trim doesn't just have to go around the hems and cuffs of a garment: lace "insertions" between two pieces of fabric, as well as raised geometric patterns over the surface of a garment, are common in 19th-century clothing.

[ID: first image shows a black overdress showing lace insertions between strips of fabric of equal width, creating a striped effect. second image is the back of a black blouse with trim in a geometric design centred around right angles and parallel lines. end ID]

Jewellery (women's and men's):

Actual antique jewellery (including men's jewellery and fastenings) is not as expensive as you might think. Even if you're not willing to spend a lot of time learning what to look for and scouring estate sales for people who don't know or care what they have, late Victorian mass-manufactured costume jewellery often goes for sub-$50 or even $30 prices at auction on ebay (USD, in the US—in my experience it is even more plentiful and cheaper in the UK).

Specifically, I've lucked out with lots ("lot" as in, a bunch of small things being sold together) of "vintage men's accessories" going for $20 or so that contained Victorian cufflinks (in low-karat gold, mother-of-pearl, and jet), collar studs (in low-karat gold and base metals), and shirt studs (in low-karat gold, with garnets and seed pearls, &c.). Searching for lots of accessories is generally a good idea since by and large people do not know what these things are... but if you're willing to spend a little more for something that has been identified and is more likely to still be with its set, use the specific search term for that item (e.g. "antique collar studs").

Answers to Questions About Old Jewelry (though aimed at estate sellers and, if memory serves, full of regrettable pæans to Queen Victoria) is a good reference text to dating antique jewellery. I also recommend Miller's Illustrated Guide to Jewelry Appraising. Both of these texts are available on libgen.

Feel free to ask me follow-up questions if you want more detail on any of these points. As you can see I am perfectly happy to blather away on this topic

[ktficworld]

May The Best Man Win

Pairing: Steve Rogers x f! Reader

Bruce Wayne x f! Reader

Summary: They say that the queen is the most powerful piece in chess, but what if there are two kings, fighting for the queen?

A/n: On the prosperous occasion of my birthday, here is my self-indulgent treat to you... Idk who's gonna read this but if you do and reblog it, just know I love you❤

Also a huge thanks to @urlocalavenderhazestan for helping me when I was stuck.

Warning: little make out in the beginning, grey! Bruce and Steve, confident! Battinson(it's a warning trust me!), open ending (choose your bae 😘)

And yes! It's an au so no superheroes here.

Music:

You let out a huff of frustration as you tried, for the umpteenth time to try to zip up your dress but failed again, as it was stuck.

You needed to go to the gala for fuck sake and he was waiting for you, ever the patient man and would never mind being late but you didn't like even being fashionably late. You were wearing a black silk dress, with heart neckline, it was off the shoulder, enhancing your features.

You let out a groan of exasperation and was about to break the fucking zip, but then a big hand engulfed yours. You head whipped forward to the mirror and your lips parted in admiration as you gazed at him, the black suit clinging to his body, highlighting his swoon worthy muscles, his blue eyes sparkling with mischief.

Under his domineering presence, the stubborn zipper had no choice but to comply as he slowly, painstakingly zipped up your dress, not breaking eye contact for once.

After he finished the job, his long fingers grazed your collarbone and then he attached his lips on your neck. You screwed your eyes shut as his soft but cold lips pressed against your warm skin.

However, he did not stop there. His lips slowly travelled up to your cheeks and then stopped at your lips as he sucked you into a searing kiss.

You moaned in the kiss and your hand snaked around his neck and dived into his smooth and thick locks. He was dominant as he entered in your mouth and kissed you with an intensity that made your body tingle and your mind become hazy.

But since reality is a bitch and you were already going to be late. You begrudgingly parted from his lips, making him growl in warning, he tried to kiss you again but you promptly covered his mouth with your hand.

"We'll be late, Steve. " You whispered as you gazed into his cerulean eyes.

He sighed deeply and wrapped his arms around your waist and said in his deep voice. "When you look this ravishing, how can you expect me to focus on anything else? " He lightly bit your earlobes and you shot him a glare.

You turned around in his embrace and said. "I'll change into sweats then. "

He made a face, making you burst into a fit of giggles. "We need to go now Steve, you can have me later. "

He huffed in defeat and finally agreed. "Okay let's go. "

❤️‍🔥

The venue, it was eloquent and enormous, vintage chandeliers hanging from the ceilings, the architecture was inspired by roman empire. Soft music filtering in your ears and making you sigh in delight.

You rested your head into Steve's muscular chest, one draped over his shoulder and his around your waist as you both swayed to the music. Steve was not much of a dancer but you were always content in his arms.

Leaning down he whispered in you ear. "Am I improving? "

You chuckled quietly and replied. "No, not really."

"Hey, you are supposed to console me, not give me the truth. " Steve said in a hushed tone. His voice was offended but you knew he was kidding.

You looked with soft eyes and shook your head. "I like how safe I feel in your arms, even if you can't dance. " You whispered and threw a jab in the end.

"Thanks sweetheart. " He said half jokingly, half sincerely. He pecked your forehead sweetly and spun you around, your back hitting his chest.

You let out a gasp of surprise but then slowly melted into him as he peppered kisses on your neck and face. Your body heated up as your mind wandered South, imagining the night ahead.

However, your mind came to a screeching halt and you pinched your brows  together in unsettledness. Someone was staring at you. It was nothing new, the side-eye glare of envy from women and the desire dancing in the eyes of men. You were accustomed to it all. After all, dating someone like Steve comes with side-effects, and that was okay.

But, this. This was like someone was scrutinizing your every move, not due to envy but something else. Like they were trying to get to your soul. The gaze was so intense, you felt like you would burn under it. Your heart thumped in your chest, and you didn’t know if it was because of fear or interest. Because it felt both dangerous and inviting, like a devil corrupting an innocent soul. Bad but tempting.

You shifted in Steve's hold, the heated gaze burning a hole in your being. Turning your head slightly, you looked around the hall, searching for the stare. Some eyes were exploring you, but you drowned them out. Because they were nothing compared to that one scorching stare. However, you came out empty handed as you could not locate a suspect.

“Honey?” Steve’s deep voice broke through your trance and you snapped your head to look at him.

You mustered up a smile, even though you were still a little bothered. “Huh? Yes?" You asked Steve, trying your best not to sound distracted.

"I'm starving, let's go eat, no? " Steve asked softly and who were you to refuse him. Plus, you would finally be able to escape that stare.

“Yeah, you are right, let’s go now.” You said, he smiled and then let you away all that while you were still feeling the stare.

❤️‍🔥

The room was dark, only Illuminating the stage above as the Chinese dancers elegantly twirled on the stage, their traditional dresses flowing like water, dressed in soft hues of various colors they swayed to the rhythm of the folk instruments. The humming of flute was pleasant and the violin was like a cold breeze on a blazing summer day.

You waited patiently for Steve’s arrival. After eating you both bumped into Thor and as always, he had to chat with Thor for obvious reasons, but you feet throbbed from the torture bespoked by your heels and so Steve let you leave for the auditorium.

And so here you were sitting in the front row with two vacant seats on your left and right respectively, enjoying the performance of the dancers. Tony was really good at throwing parties. But you would have enjoyed it even more with your head leaning on Steve’s shoulders, enveloped in his embrace.

You sighed wishfully. Sometimes you wished he wasn’t so busy. You were lost in your musing when all of a sudden the seat at your left dipped. You smiled to yourself and whirled to your left with extreme giddiness.

“You are finally he...” You trailed off when your eyes eventually landed on the person. It wasn’t Steve.

The eyes were a familiar blue matching with his blue suit, but the hair was black and long not blonde and thick, a few strands falling over his forehead. The face was sharper and more elongated rather than square.

Instead of the calm and domineering aura emitted by Steve, an alluring and mysterious ambience draped over you as man the bedside you smirked down at you with enticement glinting in his eyes.

"Nice to meet you Mr. Wayne. " You murmured after composing yourself. You gave him a sweet smile. Steve had told you before that they were business partners, so you did not want to offend him.

The smirk on Bruce's face only broaden as he shank further in his seat. "Waiting for someone, Mrs. Rogers? " His low and throaty voice sent shivers down your spine and swallowed, hard.

Clearing your throat you said. "Umm, for Steve, he's busy with Thor Odinson, " Then you paused as your mind processed the name by which he addressed you. "And no, I'm not Mrs. Rogers"

His glance become a stare and you instantly recognized it. It was him. You did not have the chance to mull over it further as Bruce asked. "So he hasn't married you yet? "

You sake your head in denial.

"And you're waiting for him? "

You nodded your head in confirmation at that.

Bruce tutted and shook his head in disbelief. "What a shame! " He lamented. He then turned towards you so that you could see his entire face.

He leaned closer to you, his musky cologne highjacking your senses and making you dizzy, all the while never breaking eye-contact he spoke. "He should have never left you alone, " He inched forward and you backwards. "Here on your own, "

You gasped lightly when your head hit the back of your chair, his face mere an inch away from your face. You should stop him. Push him away but you were paralyzed by his hypnotic eyes as he whispered. "For someone else to take you home. "

"Whose taking who home? " The deep voice of Steve made you flinch in your seat as your head snapped to look at him. Thankfully, you turned away before you jerked as the side of your head bumped into Bruce's face. If you would have been facing him then... You don't wanna think about that.

Your heart was racing as you looked at Steve's narrowed eyes, furrowed brows and his jaw clenched in a painful hold. His eyes were glaring fire at Bruce but he remained calm as he slowly leaned back.

"Steve you are finally here, I have been waiting for you for so long! " You called out to him and whatever trance he was in, your words pulled him out of it as his features softened and he sat beside you.

"I'm sorry darling, Thor just wouldn't shut up about his new project. " Steve said and sighed exasperatedly. He then grabbed the back of your neck and kissed you with hunger.

After you pulled away, heaving. You immediately wrapped a hand around his muscular arm and shook your head. "It's alright. " You said and Steve smiled at you with affection before he enveloped his hand around your waist.

“Oh! Hello Steve.” Bruce’s smooth voice cut through your moment. You glanced towards Steve whose face darkened but a balanced smile stayed on his lips.

“Hello Bruce! How are you doing?” Steve asked and even though it was said through a smile, you could hear the accusation in his voice.

But Bruce was unbothered as the devilish smirk never left his lips. “Keeping your girlfriend company, since you were so busy mingling around.” He replied coolly. 

Now that both Steve and Bruce were present, the difference and similarities were so evident. Both had blue eyes, but Steve’s were a deeper shade of blue, while they were both big, Steve was broader and Bruce was taller. Both had sharp features but they were also really different.

Steve looked strong, but he had a boyish charm, with that lopsided grin and those doe eyes, he looked like an angel. But Bruce, there was nothing boyish about Bruce, he was regal, with a jaw that could cut diamonds and eyes like eagle, sharp and intense.

Steve’s hand went rigid underneath your grip and you turned to look at him. His jaw was clenched again and his orbs were ablaze. You were scared after looking at him so you tightened your hold around his arm. Steve glanced at you and took a few calming breaths.

“You know it’s important Wayne.” Steve said through gritted teethes.

Bruce hummed. “You are right, but I would caution you against leaving her alone like that.” Bruce drawled out and you screwed your eyes shut as the tension became unbearable.

Steve humored with. “And may I ask why?” He said with a sneer.

Bruce shifted and then his knee was brushing your thigh. You exhaled a shaky breath and ignored the two sets of eyes boring into your spirit. Instead you glued your eyes onto the stage.

“What if someone stole her away?” Bruce mused.

Steve scoffed loudly and said in mockery. “What? Is she a porcelain doll?” 

“Well no,” Bruce disagreed. “But isn’t she precious?” Bruce’s breath ghosted over your neck, making goosebumps appear on your skin. “And people like precious things.” The last sentence was almost a whisper, as if it was directed to you, not Steve and maybe, it was.

Steve’s grip tightened around your waist and before he could reply to Bruce, the hall erupted into an applause. You gaped but begin clapping nonetheless. It was over already? 

People were filing out of the auditorium so you looked at Steve and with a nod you both stood up to go back home.

You almost collided with Bruce’s chest as he stood as well but Steve caught you in time. Bruce looked over at Steve, his smirk was now replaced with a smile as he asked. “Been long since we hung out Rogers. Do you mind if I join?” 

You did not see Steve as you were too fidgety, wanting to get out of there as soon as possible. But you did however heard his response. “Sure, let me drop off my girlfriend to her home first.”

❤️‍🔥

Bruce swirled the Amber-colored liquid as it danced in the crystal glass. The room was dark like ink as they sat around a large slick table. It was silent except the shuffling of cards reverberating throughout the space. He tasted the bitterness of the alcohol as it burned down his throat. The surroundings smelled like cleaning supplies mixed with their cologne and something very mild, very feminine.

Guess she also did live here, huh? The slapping of cards made him put down his glass with a thud and glance towards Steve.

"I won. " Steve declared with a smug smile as he folded his arms over the table.

Bruce raised an eyebrow, glancing between his and Steve's cards, Bruce concluded that Steve did in fact win. "Looks like you got lucky. " He said nonchalantly and picked up the queen card.

Steve let out a snort and shook his head. " Lucky my ass, you know what? This is too boring without any consequence, let's make it real. " Steve suggested.

Bruce stopped rolling the card between his fingers and looked at Steve with a questioning expression. "How? " He lowly voiced his opinion.

Steve shrugged his shoulders and said. "If I win you give me half of Wayne enterprise. "

Bruce gawked at Steve when those words left his mouth. His relationship with Steve was more like frenemies then enemies or friends, so he wasn't surprised when Steve pulled this stunt. He was surprised however, that he did not ask for his entire company.

He huffed out a chuckle. "Are you not confident in your business, Rogers? " Bruce mocked as he observed Steve.

Uncharacteristically Steve did not lash out or do that intimidating stare, he just smirked and said. "Tsk, tsk Wayne, what's the fun in that? That's too difficult and you know that. " He grinned sardonically.

Bruce smirked and leaned his hands on the table. "Don't you think you are taking yourself too seriously? I'm called a genius for a reason. "

Now Steve laughed, he full-on cackled while clutching his chest and almost falling down of his chair. "Says the man who lost three times consequently! " Steve said after his laughter died down.

Bruce's smirk widened and he leisurely leaned back in his chair. "Poker is a game of luck as much as it's of skill. But anyways, since you have asked for your price, it's my turn now. "

"Go ahead. " Steve encouraged with a nod of his head.

Bruce drummed his fingers on the table as he feigned contemplation. The rhythm echoing in the silent place, after awhile he stopped and glanced at Steve, with a smooth and steady voice he began. "If you win, you get half of my company, but if I win, " He paused and stared into Steve's eyes, his voice decreasing into a whisper. "I get your girl. "

Before Bruce could even blink, he was pinned against the nearest wall with hard a push. Steve held his collars in choking grip, his brows were drawn together and his eyes were ablaze. He looked ready to kill him.

"I knew you were on to something since I met you at the auditorium! But this is beyond daring." Steve spat, pressing Bruce harder into the wall.

Bruce winced a little at the impact but in one swift motion, he yanked Steve's hands from his neck and clutched them tight in his hold. "Now, now, now. Don't be a hypocrite Rogers. " Bruce called Steve out as he tutted in mockery.

Steve tried to free his hands but Bruce shoved him back, effectively making Steve hit the table with a bang. He lazily fixed his collars. "I also sensed you were up to something Rogers. But I let you voice it, didn't I? Now, it's my turn. " Bruce said with nonchalance as he shrugged his shoulder.

"You know Rogers, I have heard many rumors in my life and most of them were false, but the rumors about your girlfriend? "

He stopped speaking and took a step closer to Steve, he clenched his and his hands twitched but he did not lunge at Bruce this time. "Oh! They are all true, so true, " He drawled and stared at Steve, his signature smirk tugging on his lips. "She is a sight for sore eyes. " He whispered wistfully in the end.

"She is her own person not my property! I can't bet her like that! " Steve hissed in anger.

"I know she's a person and at the end of the day it's her decision, " Bruce said slowly and sat down on an adjacent chair. "But if she doesn't agree to it, you could always give me SSJ industries. " He finished and waited for his trick to work.

And it did. Steve fell silent behind him, it was like he was alone in this room. Then he came in his peripheral, walked up to the chair his shoes thumping on the marble floor and sat opposite to Bruce and glared at him with determination.

Bruce smiled in satisfaction and offered his hand to Steve. "May the best man win. " He announced.

Steve stared at his hand and then shook it. "May the best man win. " He whispered darkly and the game began.

❤️‍🔥

Sooo... Who won? 😏

[dyxtd21]

Green Zebra Jasper aesthetic moodboard!!

Green Zebra Jasper:

Green Zebra Jasper, a gemstone with a distinctive appearance of green with white zebra-like stripes, exudes a vintage charm reminiscent of the 1940s. He dons a tweed suit with elongated jacket/coat ends and plain Oxfords, complemented by slicked-back hair.

Adorned with accessories such as an old 1940s radio microphone fashioned into a cane and a bow tie, Green Zebra Jasper also boasts long, curved gazelle horns in hues matching his overall appearance.

Notably, his voice carries the characteristic static filter of a 1940s radio, adding to his unique persona. Moreover, his radio-like nature renders him invisible to modern technology, making him elusive on security cameras and electronic devices.

Standing at a height of 6'3'' (190cm), his cushion-cut gemstone rests prominently on his navel/bellybutton area, symbolizing his distinctive identity for all to see.

Powers:

1. Bubble creation and storement.

2. Radio manipulation.

3. Creation of radio wavelengths.

4. Radar sense.

5. Radio mimicry.

6. Teleportation through radios.

7. Photographic memory.

Headcanon voice: Benedict Cumberbatch

[keepmeinmind-01]

the aesthetics of fantastic beasts have me gnawing at the bars of my enclosure, like the art deco architecture, the warm gaslamp lighting (before the vintage filter went too mad), the wood panelling and brown/green tiles, the long coats, the buildings and spaces!! the underground bars and the jazz! London (yeah it would have been smoggy and stinky but still! the Thames!). where's my expensive three-piece wool suit and tie!! and this is more achievable than the spaceship/scifi aesthetic that last consumed me. i only wish we'd got to see more cultures but they're just so visually pretty gnsarsghhhh

[blaaaaask]

Green Galaxy on Redbubble

To infinity...

Green Galaxy (Normal): https://www.redbubble.com/shop/ap/165421865

Green Galaxy (Vintage): https://www.redbubble.com/shop/ap/165422216

Another galaxy design! Once again, made on canvas with acrylic paints. I scanned it and digitally enhanced it--and added the vintage filter on the second design.

Which do you like more, the green one or the purple?

Right now Redbubble is having a big sitewide sale! Up to 50% off on some products, too! Get in on this while it's running, I personally have never seen them go higher than that.

Not interested in this design? Check out my shop and see if any of my other things suit your fancy!

[jypsyvloggin]

How to do the Vintage Poster filter on TikTok?

How to do the Vintage Poster filter on TikTok @joeykidney beardless filter is terrifying ♬ original sound – Joey Kidney Tiktok Challenges are a good opportunity to get new followers. By joining a trend, you can benefit from the general interest. I have introduces you to a few of the past Tiktok challenges and gives you tips on how to participate. Now it’s time for the Beardless Filter Trend.…

[sipologie]

Moka Pot Coffee Vs. French Press Coffee: Which One is Better for You?

If you're a coffee enthusiast, you know that the brewing method you use can make all the difference in the taste and quality of your coffee. Two popular brewing methods are the Moka pot and the French press. While both methods produce delicious coffee, they have their unique characteristics that make them suited to different preferences.

In this blog, we'll explore the differences between Moka pot coffee and French press coffee, and help you decide which one is right for you.

Moka Pot Coffee

The Moka pot, also known as a stovetop espresso maker, is a traditional and popular brewing method in and around Europe. It's a small and portable pot that brews coffee by passing boiling water through ground coffee beans. The resulting brew is a strong and concentrated espresso, perfect for those who love their coffee with a kick.

One of the significant advantages of using a Moka pot is that it produces a strong and full-bodied coffee with a rich aroma. It's also an affordable option compared to investing in an expensive espresso machine. However, the brewing process requires a bit of skill to get the right consistency and flavour. It also has a limited capacity, usually only 2 – 3 cups, which may not be suitable for larger groups or families at one go. Additionally, the brew can be too strong for some people's taste.

Find  Moka Pots here: https://sipologie.in/products/sipologie-roma-3-cup-moka-coffee-brewer-red

French Press Coffee

The French press, also known as a press pot, plunger pot, or cafetiere, is a classic and popular brewing method that produces a full-bodied and flavourful coffee. It consists of a glass carafe/ cylindrical pot, a plunger with a filter, and a lid. The coffee is brewed by steeping coarsely ground coffee beans in hot water for a few minutes and then pressing the plunger down to separate the coffee from the grounds.

One of the significant advantages of using a French press is that it produces a rich and full-bodied coffee without the strength of an espresso. It's also an easy-to-use brewing method that requires no paper filters and has a large capacity suitable for brewing coffee for a group. It's also an affordable option compared to drip coffee makers. It's also not as portable as the Moka pot, making it less convenient for outdoor activities or travel.

Find our French Press here: https://sipologie.in/products/sipologie-vintage-copper-french-press-coffee-maker-600ml

Which One is Better for you?

When it comes down to it, the choice between Moka pot coffee and French press coffee depends on personal preference. If you prefer a strong espresso, the Moka pot is the way to go. It's also a more portable option than the French press, making it great for camping or traveling. However, it can be challenging to master the brewing process, and it has a limited brewing capacity.

On the other hand, if you prefer a rich and full-bodied coffee without the strength of an espresso, the French press is the better option. It's easy to use and has a larger capacity, making it ideal for brewing coffee for a crowd. It's also an affordable option compared to drip coffee makers. However, it can sometimes produce coffee with sediment or sludge, and it's not as portable as the Moka pot.

Conclusion

In conclusion, both the Moka pot and French press are excellent options for coffee lovers who want a rich and flavourful cup of coffee. It ultimately comes down to what you like and what works best for you. Whichever brewing method you choose, make sure to use high-quality coffee beans and experiment with different ratios and brew times to find your perfect cup.

[shafyulislam]

Mastering the Art of Image Editing: Unveiling the Secrets to Stunning Visuals

In the dynamic and visually-driven digital landscape, image editing has become an indispensable tool for individuals and businesses alike. From social media influencers curating eye-catching feeds to businesses enhancing product images for e-commerce, the demand for high-quality, visually appealing content is at an all-time high. In this comprehensive guide, we delve into the world of image editing, exploring its significance, popular techniques, and the tools that empower creators to transform ordinary visuals into extraordinary masterpieces.

The Significance of Image Editing:

Images are powerful communicators, capable of conveying emotions, telling stories, and leaving a lasting impression. Image editing serves as the catalyst that elevates visuals to new heights, making them more engaging and effective. Whether you're a professional photographer, a social media enthusiast, or a business owner, the ability to enhance and optimize your images is a game-changer in today's competitive digital landscape.

Key Techniques in Image Editing:

Color Correction and Grading:

One of the fundamental aspects of image editing is adjusting and enhancing colors. Color correction ensures accurate reproduction of hues, while color grading allows for creative manipulation, setting the tone and mood of the image. Professionals use tools like Adobe Lightroom or Photoshop to fine-tune colors and achieve a visually cohesive look.

Retouching and Enhancement:

Perfecting portraits or product images involves retouching and enhancing details. Removing blemishes, smoothing skin tones, and refining textures are common techniques employed to achieve a polished and professional look. Advanced tools such as frequency separation help achieve nuanced results without sacrificing realism.

Cropping and Composition:

The right composition can transform an ordinary image into a captivating one. Image editing tools provide the flexibility to crop, resize, and reframe images to improve their overall composition. Attention to composition is crucial for creating visually pleasing and balanced visuals.

HDR Imaging:

High Dynamic Range (HDR) imaging is a technique that combines multiple exposures of a scene to capture a broader range of light and detail. This is particularly useful in landscape photography, architectural shots, and any scenario with varying light conditions. HDR enhances the overall tonal range and details in an image.

Adding Filters and Effects:

Filters and effects are powerful tools for infusing creativity into images. From vintage looks to modern aesthetics, a plethora of filters and effects are available to cater to diverse preferences. These can be applied to evoke specific emotions or align with a brand's visual identity.

Tools of the Trade:

Adobe Creative Cloud:

Adobe's suite of creative tools, including Photoshop and Lightroom, remains the industry standard for professional image editing. With a wide range of features and capabilities, these tools offer unparalleled flexibility and control.

GIMP (GNU Image Manipulation Program):

GIMP is a free, open-source alternative to proprietary image editing software. Despite being free, GIMP provides a comprehensive set of tools for tasks ranging from photo retouching to graphic design.

Canva:

Canva is a user-friendly online platform that caters to both beginners and professionals. It offers a range of templates and tools for easy image editing, making it accessible to those without extensive design experience.

Snapseed:

For mobile users, Snapseed is a powerful and intuitive photo editing app. Developed by Google, Snapseed provides a wide array of editing tools and filters, making it a favorite among smartphone photographers.

Conclusion:

In the digital age, where visuals reign supreme, mastering the art of image editing is a valuable skill. Whether you're a seasoned photographer or a social media enthusiast, understanding the significance of image editing and familiarizing yourself with the essential techniques and tools will undoubtedly elevate the quality of your visuals. So, embark on this creative journey, experiment with different editing styles, and witness the transformative power of image editing in making your visuals truly stand out in the digital realm.

[whatdogischarlie]

Vintage Charlie

Complete with sepia color filter!

They really did do that to his hair, didn't they?

[IMG ID: Two photographs. The first depicts Charlie Cox as Jonathan Hellyer Jones in "The Theory of Everything" He is wearing a gray suit jacket over a knitted vest, white dress shirt and tie. His hair is grown out a little bit and he has wavy bangs hanging over one side of his forehead, sweeping back to his ear. He is standing near a stone structure that is too blurry to make out, and there appears to be some vegetation in the background as well. The photo has a faint sepia tone that gives it a vintage effect. The second photo is a Welsh Springer Spaniel puppy, colored in chestnut brown and white. It has a red collar and leash that goes off-screen. It is seated in a field of grass that has a slightly yellowish tinge. The curve of its mouth is similar to the half smile Charlie has in the first photo and its triangle shaped ears droop on either side of its head. /END ID]

[collagemakerphotoeditor]

Create Stunning Photo Collages Effortlessly with Collage Maker & Photo Editor

In today’s visual-driven world, creating eye-catching images for social media, personal memories, or professional projects has never been more essential. However, not everyone has the time or expertise to craft beautiful collages that capture the essence of their photos. That’s where the Collage Maker & Photo Editor app steps in — making it easy for anyone to design gorgeous photo collages with minimal effort.

Whether you’re looking to build a birthday collage for a loved one, design an Instagram story that stands out, or simply showcase a collection of cherished memories, Collage Maker & Photo Editor provides the tools you need. In this blog, we’ll explore how to effortlessly create amazing photo collages with this app, highlighting some of its standout features and offering tips to get the most out of your photo editing experience.

1. Getting Started: Download and Explore the Interface

To start, download Collage Maker & Photo Editor from the Google Play Store. Once downloaded, you’ll find an intuitive and user-friendly interface that makes navigation a breeze. On opening the app, you’ll see options for creating a new collage, editing single photos, and exploring creative layouts. Simply select the images you want to work with, and you’re ready to begin your creative journey.

2. Explore Beautiful Templates and Layouts

One of the highlights of Collage Maker & Photo Editor is its extensive selection of templates and layouts. From clean and minimalist designs to vibrant, artistic layouts, there’s a style to suit every taste. Whether you want a grid-based collage, a trendy scrapbook look, or a classic photo frame, the app provides pre-made options that can be customized with ease.

Pro Tip: Choose templates based on your story! A grid layout works well for travel photos, while a scrapbook layout might be perfect for event highlights.

3. Personalize with Filters, Text, and Stickers

Once you’ve chosen your layout, it’s time to bring your images to life! Collage Maker & Photo Editor includes a range of customizable filters to add unique colors and moods to your photos. Whether you prefer a vintage feel or a bright and bold aesthetic, you can find filters that suit your style. You can even adjust brightness, contrast, and saturation to get the perfect look.

To add more personality, try out the app’s collection of stickers and text options. Add captions to each photo, include fun stickers, or place quotes that resonate with the memory. The text feature offers various fonts, sizes, and colors so that you can create a truly unique design.

4. Customize Your Borders and Backgrounds

With Collage Maker & Photo Editor, you can go beyond simple photo editing and add an extra touch with customized borders and backgrounds. Choose from a range of colors, patterns, and textures to give each collage a polished look. If you’re creating a holiday collage, opt for seasonal backgrounds, or choose a classic white for a sleek, modern feel.

Pro Tip: Coordinating the background color with the dominant colors in your photos can create a cohesive, visually appealing collage.

5. Save and Share with Ease

Once you’re satisfied with your collage, the app makes saving and sharing a breeze. You can save your creation in high resolution directly to your device, ensuring that your memories are preserved in high quality. Sharing is just as easy — post directly to social media platforms like Instagram, Facebook, and Twitter, or send your collage to friends and family.

6. Why Choose Collage Maker & Photo Editor?

With so many editing apps available, what sets Collage Maker & Photo Editor apart? Here are just a few reasons why users love this app:

Easy-to-Use Interface: No design experience needed. The app is intuitive and beginner-friendly.

Variety of Templates: From grids to custom templates, there are options for every occasion.

High-Quality Filters and Editing Tools: Adjust images with professional-quality filters and tools.

Customizable Borders and Backgrounds: Stand out with unique backgrounds and personalized borders.

One-Tap Sharing: Seamlessly share your creations across multiple platforms with just a tap.

Final Thoughts

Creating stunning photo collages doesn’t need to be time-consuming or complicated. With Collage Maker & Photo Editor, you can design beautiful, meaningful collages effortlessly, capturing memories in a way that’s both professional and personal.

So, whether you’re a social media enthusiast, a proud parent documenting family memories, or just someone who loves to create, download Collage Maker & Photo Editor today and start crafting your own stunning photo collages!