#whitesuits

[classyby]

[anthonyknaape]

[aagdolla]

Guest at the Area SS23 fashion show during NYFW 2022 September.

[rosy-fox-art]

A secret Santa for @dino--draws

[aaliyahunleashed]

On October 6, 1997, Aaliyah performed “The One I Gave My Heart To”, on The Keenen Ivory Wayans Show.

“I had the pleasure to meet the amazingly talented and beautiful Aaliyah when she was on my show. RIP Aaliyah.” - Keenan Ivory Wayans | @keenenivorywayans

The Keenen Ivory Wayans Show is a late night syndicated television talk show hosted by Keenen Ivory Wayans. The show premiered August 4, 1997, and was unfortunately cancelled in March 1998. In a 2013 interview by the Television Academy Foundation, Wayans expressed displeasure working on the show as he was not given complete creative freedom. His involvement on the show is often teased by his siblings.

It was filmed at Studio 9A, Hollywood Center Studios Hollywood, Los Angeles, California, USA.

I’m sure somewhere in the archives, Keenan has a photo of him and Aaliyah behind the scenes on this night..

[alwayslewis]

sir lewis hamilton 2019

[aretis]

[parainvestigate]

@whitesuited sent: “At this point, you’re abusing sarcasm.”

"Hm."

Striking a match he used a hand to guard it against the threat of being blown out by a light breeze. "Ain't know that was a thing you could do, learn somethin' new every day," he grumbled as he brought the flame to the tip of the cigarette held between his lips. Taking steady puffs until he was sure it was lit.

"Not a fan of sarcasm, got it."

[sierra6x]

3. whose writing has impacted your writing style the most? (you can choose anyone! famous writer or not.)

------from here.

as far as authors go, i'd say i was really inspired by catherynne m. valente when i first read deathless. there was a beautiful artistry in her words and she paints very vivid pictures. in high school i was so inspired by laurel k. hamilton that i started writing my own little story in a similar style to her novels (i had like 5 notebooks worth.) i was also really taken with tanya huff's blood ties series (which had a short-lived show i adored for a period of time.)

i don't really think any of them influence me now because my writing style has been so fluid over my years doing this, but once upon a time they did.

as far as writers on tumblr go, i'm constantly inspired by my best friend in some fashion. i make muses that are often love-letters to hers because i adore her mind and her creativity so much. and hmr (over at @legendwrote - hello my beloved) has been a huge inspiration to my writing. i still find myself using phrases we wrote back and forth in our time during the pandemic in the ff7 fandom and i really found myself just so taken and inspired by their writing style and the sort of ... effortless affection that was playfully tucked into her wording.

at some point my best friend (who has been dealing with myriad health issues and a shitty work schedule) will be coming onto here and writing a muse with six so i'm actually gross excited about that. and hmr has been happily in the c-drama sphere and while i don't know anything about that i support her wholly and still love to pop in and read some of the things posted there because again ... her writing is absolutely phenomenal and has made me strive to be a better writer myself.

[whitesuited]

she 🤍

[anthonyknaape]

[unvendaval]

[ HIPS ] : sender pulls receiver in closer by the hips . + “ let me take care of you . “

what is tenderness , anyway ? he got to meet a glimpse of it with helen . a survivor solely on memories , john was not planning to re - start a fire that would never burn all the same . wasn't sure of any plan , that's for certain . for now , complete the cycle : end the lives that were meant to end , & return to a life of yearning for what once was .

his body hurts , remains of violence & the fall from a new york rooftop making it rotten . but sharon's touch doesn't . it almost colors him guilty , undeserving of such tenderness . @whitesuited lets fingertips quietly run down scarred torso , before they pull him closer by the hips . a whisper , an offering . he doesn't know what to do with himself , not anymore . this wasn't part of the plan . but the push - and - pull between them has smoldered for long enough . john moves his hands to each side of thirteen's face , drawing her into a deep , longing kiss .

( ... ) now that i have found my peace , find yours .

words may ruin this peace , suddenly so fragile & sacred . it doesn't take long before john guides her to the bedroom . oh , the turn things would take .

[eldritchsacrifice]

      @whitesuited​ queried: “ i knew something had to change when nightmares no longer scared me.  they almost felt safer than what was there when i was awake.  ” ( and one for nick our beloved )

      ------THIS WAS NOT a fairy tale. he’d learned from a young age that there was no happily ever after waiting just beyond reach, if you could only make it through the challenge. the world was a cruel place, the people in it were slaves to that, and some of them were machinations of the horrific treatment. a hammer to beat some down. there was no rhyme or reason to how it was doled out - sometimes the nasty ones got what they deserved but just as many good ones got it, too. too often suffering was spread among those who didn’t deserve it ... that was just how the world worked.

      complaining about the way it was wouldn’t change anything. nick had picked himself up, dusted off, scraped away the gravel rubbed into raw wounds so many times that he’d lost track. life had dealt him a rough hand. nightmares were never anything measured up to reality. THAT WAS JUST THE TRUTH OF IT.

      and then the world ended, and somehow everything got simultaneously worse ... and better. somehow those nasty people were weeded out, tossed down the drain and disposal started to swirl into the cosmic abyss. good people, too ... but that always seemed to be the cost of change. collateral damage. initially he’d wondered why he was left among the living. perhaps it was to suffer more, or maybe it was to keep doing what he’d always done: survive. against the odds. he turned trash into a flush more often than not. he’d done it this long.

      eyes watched the shape of her lips as she spoke, the expression that crossed her features. body language told much more than a voice ever could, the light in the eyes and the way it glimmered as conversation wore on. he nodded, but not in understanding ---in empathy. nothing in his dreams would ever dare to brush the terror of reality. in sleep he thought of his mother, he dreamed of a woman in colorado who played guitar and talked of her youth. sometimes it was simpler than that ... easy work, like when he used to pump gas by hand in louisiana ---honest, under a hot sun. the horror was when he woke up and dealt with the nastiness of people. or when he watched everyone wither away and die. when he was handed responsibility he wasn’t meant for. when he helplessly witnessed those who were kind to him succumb and pass.

      a part of him was afraid that would happen to HER, too. perhaps he was cursed, or maybe this was some sort of purgatory where he lived in a specifically-tailored punishment until the end of time. but she remained, healthy and present, every time he opened his eyes. silent blessings. small mercies.

      he had nothing to offer her in the way of comfort, not the way someone more eloquent with words might be able to. instead he reached for her hand and wrapped his fingers around it. the squeeze was delicate, gentle ---too gentle for someone who’d gone through as much as he had, but sincere. he did his best to ensure the smile met his eyes, even if it was small. because she deserved nice things. because nobody should have to live nightmares like he had, least of all sharon.

[entrepy]

📷 for a post of your muse on my muse’s instagram, @whitesuited: which one of bucky's burner phones has insta the world needs to know( template. )

[aretis]

[parainvestigate]

@whitesuited hit the heart

"If you called before comin' the damned phone broke." Just about the third one is as many weeks. "Can't see what was so wrong with a normal rotary phone. Be gentle as a bird and those cell phones still shatter."