#☆ colette jacobson (about)
Photo
☿ colette jacobson ☿
"life is not about how you survive the storm...
it’s about how you dance in the rain "
the basics //
full name : colette ozma jacobson.
birthdate & zodiac : june 19th 1994, gemini.
gender & pronouns : cis female & she/her.
sexuality : bisexual
occupation : supply runner - former assistant cheercoach, babysitter & dog walker.
hometown : braedan, nebraska.
arrived in fairvale: march 2020
family : father - unknown, ann jacobson ( mother - deceased, rachel weiz npc), yale jacobson ( older sister - mila kunis fc ).
deeper dive //
alignment : chaotic neutral.
myers briggs : enfp-t - the campaigner.
hobbies : music, reading, dancing, trash talk, jogging, photography, pushing peoples buttons till she gets a reaction.
favorites :
food - chocolate.
drink - iced coffee, anything vodka based she can get her hands on & freshly squeezed orange juice.
movie - leprechaun, the entire series although leprechaun 4:in space is a particular favorite.
song - everybody wants to rule the world by tears for fears & little lies by fleetwood mac, she also has a secret love of eminem stemming from the sheer amount of times she watched eight mile with her older sister.
color - purple.
habits :
social smoker / social drinker / would really love to be high right now
nervous ticks include avoiding eye contact, pursing her lips, hiding her face behind her hair if it’s down, tapping her fingers.
loves :
shitty puns, conversations, her sister, her sword, her friends, sparkles, any and all holidays especially halloween and hanukkah, dressing up, glitter, puppies, kids, old records, horror films (the more b grade the better) and classic cinema.
fears :
loneliness, becoming her mother.
talents :
making inappropriate jokes at inappropriate times, cheer, dance, avoiding anything that makes her uncomfortable, talking about everything but also talking about nothing at all, matricide, decorating, causing small kitchen fires, shoplifting, she can roll a perfect joint, getting herself into awkward situations, getting herself out of awkward situations.
appearance //
height : 5′7″
tattoos : none. she can never decide on exactly what she’d want to get.
scars : none on the outside.
piercings : ears (wears a small set of silver & diamond stars), belly button.
eye color: hazel.
hair : long, wavy dark brown hair worn down unless out on a run when she places it up in a messy bun or tucks it under a cap.
style: little black dresses, ripped jeans, band t-shirts, oversized hoodies, yoga pants and crop tops, cut off shorts, sparkles, crazy socks, flannel shirts, flirty skirts and singlets in the summer, major shoe fetish, star of david necklace she never takes off.
bio //
born the second child of a mother that probably should have stopped after the first, colette was used to being an afterthought. ann jacobson swung between bouts of stifling over-compensation and forgetting her youngest child even existed and it was only through yale, her older sister and her maternal grandparents that colette really got a taste of how a family was supposed to work.
but then her grandparents died before colette was really old enough to form any lasting memories and her sister took off for seemingly greener pastures and colette was left essentially alone. of course she had people, an entire town really that ate out of the palm of her hand (colette had always been good at showing people exactly what they wanted to see in her) and one or two others, people that meant something to her, people she would do anything for and would do anything for her in return and honestly in her opinion, that’s all she really needed.
her teen years were spent in a kind of haze, smoking it up behind the bleachers with her best friend jess before cheering on the football team with her squad on the field, weekends drinking and popping pills and falling in love just for the night with guys who laughed about her with their friends come monday morning and she learned to cover up the pain, to mask it behind a sunny smile and to never let her weakness show.
and it got easier, the whispers, the ache of loneliness, the feeling she had inside -that anger that gnawed away, it all got easier to deal with the older she got until she no longer found herself wishing for a mother who loved her and she no longer cared that her sister floated in and out of her life like a ghost, her own problems weighing her down more heavily than colette’s ever could.
by the time high school graduation came around and with grades that could have had her following in her sisters footsteps and out of ann’s life for good (colette never really did have to try all that hard, education came easy to her just like her mother and her sister before her - those jacobson girls with their silver tongues, hearts that led them in all the wrong directions and ivy league brains) colette had all but decided against leaving, forgoing college in favor of taking a job that saw her taking up the mantle of assistant cheer coach to her prior squad.
only tragedy struck braedan in the form of the murder of her best friends sister, and closer to home still the death of her mother, late one night driving home drunk (ruled accidental even though there were suspicions - every one knew ann jacobson, everyone knew she had made the journey countless times before in worse conditions than the one she was in).
the absence of her mother, and the smell of a prize winning expose in the air brought yale back into braedan and although colette had missed her sister, had longed to have her return for longer than a night or two at a time, her arrival sparked an upheaval in the life colette had carved out for herself. eventually, at the urging of three of the people who's opinion meant the most to her, colette made the decision to leave, her best friend by her side and adventure on her mind - an opportunity to find out who she really was, to grow and leave the past behind.
it was somewhere around vegas after a year of driving around aimlessly never settling down, never following a plan that jess and her parted ways - the other girl, running from the recent tragedies she’d endured and looking to forget drawn to the anonymity the nevada town offered - and while colette was sad to see her go, while she had hated watching her fade in the rear view mirror, part of her had been relieved.
she’d always meant to return to braedan eventually, her desire to see the world in constant battle with her yearning for safety, for home, only life or rather the end of life as she knew it had other plans.
romero couldn’t have written it any better - flesh-eaters, zombies, those who lust for brains but don’t seem to have any - they were supposed to be make believe, the type of thing she’d watch with wide terrified eyes late at night when she couldn’t sleep - she wasn’t supposed to be living in a horror story.
she searched for yale, and when that seemed to be hopeless, she wandered...not far, she stayed within nebraska and would have wound up zombie chow if fate hadn’t of stepped up in the form of a crossbow wielding hottie and eventually the promise of some sort of half life within the town fairvale.
she tells herself he’ll leave - everybody does and she tells herself it won’t hurt when he does, but for now she’s taking things one day at a time, hoping that mateo just might be the one person who might surprise her.
#fairvalecontent#make a devil out of me [about colette]#and i recognize the face behind the mask [visage]
2 notes
·
View notes
Text
closed starter for @cxllettejacxbsxn
in the three days it took her sister to return after the rescue team left, yale never slept. instead, she camped out at the old paper’s office, organizing and cleaning until the entire place gleamed like it was brand new, probably cleaner than it had been in decades. it was officially ready to be up and running, really - yale had read all the manuals about how to operate the old printing press, had filed old editions of the paper to see what they had worked on, had found a chalk board where she could write out the list of the first few articles she wanted.
small, happy pieces. the town needed some fucking good news. a one page paper, for now - three or four stories tops, front and back. nothing major, but an accomplishment, nonetheless.
with colette back, yale was trying to find a boundary between too much and not enough. she let colette disappear - though her sister definitely thought she was sneaking out unknown - and tried not to have a panic attack about it. easier said than done, but yale had always been good about lurking in shadows and tracking people when she needed. so even if colette didn’t see her, yale was never far away.
she needed to dive back into her own project, though, to give colette some space so they didn’t snap and kill one another. love was a convoluted commodity between the jacobson’s, and yale didn’t want to make things worse than they had been before now that colette was safe, back, okay enough.
she left a simple note - at the paper - and stuck the post it on colette’s head when she disappeared that morning, determined to give her sister space while still letting her know where she was. she had notes spread around her when the door opened - the sun streaming through, a pot of coffee filling the room with the familiar aroma of her former offices. “hey kiddo,” she greeted without looking up - who else would look for her there, enter the place no one even looked up at? “i think i’ve got a good article idea for you. if you wanna help out and get back to normal.”
3 notes
·
View notes
Text
— there's a bull and a matador dueling in the sky
starring: søren jacobson ( @sandstonefm ), michel de la rue
setting: park bench, nighttime
the first fifty years of michel’s existence as an immortal arguably stood as the darkest time of his life. even a full century after, the topic of his human life still stung him. because he knew just how much he had to leave behind. he accomplished everything one would want out of life — the act of falling in love, finding a soulmate, having kids with said soulmate, having a job that you love — then witnessed what it was like to lose it all in an instant. the guilt from his own accidental involvement in his death and the effects it would have on his family ate him alive for decades. and he still feels that familiar ache if he thinks about it for too long. which is perhaps the irony of the conversation he found himself with søren. because for once, all of the centuries worth of pain he carried with him every day, he felt like there was finally this opportunity to let it go. release all of it and heal properly.
michel sighs and runs an apprehensive hand through his hair before glancing back up, not exactly turning to the other. because if he could hide his emotions for a little bit longer, he absolutely would. “her name was colette. we er... one day, just... decided to elope. only felt right. my parents liked her because she was french, too. weren’t too many french immigrants in brooklyn yet either... but er, didn’t really appreciate us getting married without inviting them.” he felt his heart warming up at the memories, bringing warmth to his chilled skin. and perhaps a smirk and light blush creeps its way to his features, as it always did when he mentioned colette. “miss her every day though. still...” he adds on through a mutter, digging his shoe further into the dirt below the bench. “mm, and yours? what was your partner like?” he asks, finally meeting their gaze after a while.
6 notes
·
View notes
Text
WHO: Mateo Álvarez and Colette Jacobson
WHAT: Mateo has a stalker; he also saves a girl’s life—those two things are related.
She’s been following him for days now, a dark shadow hovering in his periphery vision. The first few times he’d caught a flash of dark hair from the corner of his eye, he’d brushed it off as a coincidence—the apocalypse had made a ghost town out of Omaha, and it wasn’t unusual to cross paths with the same few runners from the various camps. But true coincidences are few and far between at the end of the world, and it’s become abundantly clear that he’s somehow managed to pick up a stalker.
By day three, he’s surmised that whoever’s following him is most like an out-of-towner, always losing his trail whenever he slips into winding back alleys. By day four, he’s made a game out of it, leading his shadow through the city like he’s some sort of post-apocalyptic tour guide. But then day five rolls around, and it doesn’t take long to figure out that he’s alone once again. It should be a relief—he has no idea what they might have wanted from him, but nobody who follows someone for days on end has good intentions—but their absence only leaves him feeling... not exactly concerned, but an echo of it, perhaps.
It’s just odd, that’s all.
Or at least, that’s what he tells himself as he wanders through the streets, pretending that he’s not hoping to catch a glimpse of dark hair every time he turns around a corner. He might be more amused by the irony of the situation if not for the fact that the day is ending, the red and gold of the dying sunlight steadily being swallowed by darkness. Just as he’s about to throw in the towel and bunker down for the night, the sound of a gunshot cuts through the silence, and then a few more in rapid succession. There are only two kinds of people who use guns: those who are stupid, or those who are desperate.
Maybe he is Anthony’s son after all, what with the way he takes off running towards the source of the noise without thinking, but he doesn’t linger on the thought. There’s a girl in the middle of the chaos, her pistol unwavering from the horde of zombies trying to swarm her. He takes a split-second to admire the way each shot lands perfectly, heads exploding before they come within ten feet of her, before he lifts his crossbow, arrows whistling as they find their targets.
Between the two of them, it doesn’t take long for the horde to be taken care of, but they’re not in the clear yet. Dusk is bleeding into night, they’re still out in the open, and more zombies are sure to show up, drawn to their position by the noise of the altercation. “C’mon,” he bites out, urgency sharpening his words as he runs up to the carnage to retrieve his arrows. “We need to get out of here before more arrive.”
They’re not too far from the police station, and it goes against all of his survival instincts to bring a complete stranger into his sanctuary-of-sorts, but it would have been counter-productive to leave her to fend for herself right after he’d saved her, and he has no desire to be outside when night falls either. The place doesn’t look like much from outside—he’d broken enough windows and trashed the reception area to make the station look like it had already been looted—but beyond a thick layer of dust, the inside is relatively untouched.
He walks over to Anthony’s desk, shrugging his jacket off and tossing it over the chair without once taking his gaze off the girl. “There’s still ammo left in the armory,” he informs her, staring pointedly at the pistol still clutched loosely in her hand. He waits until her attention shifts to her own hand before reaching behind himself and gently turning the photo frame on the desk face down. “We’ll be safe here for the night.”
#↪ ❛ 𝐌𝐔𝐒𝐄 / mateo álvarez.#↪ ❛ 𝐓𝐇𝐑𝐄𝐀𝐃𝐒 / mateo álvarez.#↪ ❛ 𝐎𝐏𝐏𝐎𝐒𝐈𝐓𝐄 / colette jacobson.#↪ ❛ 𝐕𝐄𝐑𝐒𝐄 / we must be killers.#sanamuse
4 notes
·
View notes
Text
make believe.
who // yale jacobson, mentions of colette jacobson, dexter levski, and mild mention of grant harding and noel ashford.
when // friday, november 9th
a/n // a lot of fucking exposition aka a way to hurt becca as rudely as she hurts me
Lying had always come easily for Yale.
It was a habit picked up from her mother; she had sit in the living room of her grandparents home and listened to a tale Ann had woven, a con into the original Jacobson’s into giving Ann a place to live without having to work. “Being a mother is so hard,” she had cried, as if she spent time with Yale and didn’t pawn her off on various friends while she was having fun. “I just want Yale to have a safe space.”
Her grandparents had been lucrative enough at the time to purchase a small house, three bedrooms and a small backyard for Yale to play in. Nothing compared to the elaborate set up Ann had grown up in, but modest. Enough. The first home Yale had known for more than a few days, the first place Yale would wind up remembering in the end.
“He told me he loved me,” Ann had cried five years later when she was knocked up again, begging for a ‘loan’ from her parents. Yale had watched from the doorway, eight years old and already too aware of what her mother truly was. A con artist, using what emotional tug she had on her parents to get from them what she needed. The rest of their savings, the two of them hugging Yale tightly as if their love would be enough to save her.
( Nothing was enough to save her. And when they passed, one right after another, before Colette even hit preschool, Yale was the only one who mourned. )
As a kid, she had made up elaborate stories. Told Fiona and Dexter and Colt that she was secretly a twin, a princess, her mother was a spy sent to watch over Nebraska to keep it safe from a government conspiracy. Dexter was the only one who ever humored her, asked questions and helped the stories come to life. Sometimes, the two of them laying in the old tree house in his backyard, it was almost like he could live in the stories with her.
Like he could give her the happily ever after she already knew didn’t exist.
But high school had been cruel to them - the daughter of a whore and the nerdy guy who spent his time trailing after her. And when she lost her virginity to Colt, in the back of a truck, she could feel a rift between her and Dexter that had never been there before. A new part of herself that she didn’t share with him, that she couldn’t share with him. Because in the end, she was a liar, a manipulator, a con artist. And Dexter was too wholesome, too good to be tainted by someone like her.
Not that he ever left her side. When she wasn’t with Colt, she was with Dexter, the two of them as inseparable as ever. When he had his bad days, she’d lay in his bed with him, constructing stories about their future. Wild rumors that she made up from the dark recesses of her mind - how the diner was actually a front for a section of the mafia trying to see if rural Nebraska was worth it, how she was about to come into an inheritance from her grandparents and they could run away to wherever they wanted. And when he needed silence, she could do that too, feeling his heartbeat under her palm and feel his breath hitting her skin as they lay interwoven with one another.
More intimate than what she did in her bedroom with Colt, bared skin and sweat and moans.
When she wound up pregnant, about to repeat history in the same vein as Ann, it was Dexter who wouldn’t let her. Despite her worries about her sister - “Who’s going to watch over her?” - despite that she was scared, unsure, it was Dexter who pulled her through. Who made her pack her bags, helped her ransack her mothers ‘rainy day fund’ in order to get supplies, who put her in his car and drove. And when they stopped at a doctors office in Iowa for a couple days, erasing the mistake she’d made with Colt, it was Dexter who held her hair back while she got sick, Dexter who helped her through the worst.
She had never wanted to admit to it. If Natasha hadn’t of died, so soon after her mother, so soon after she walked out on her husband, maybe she never would have. But a small part of her, the one who kept the truth hidden so far away had broken out. And once it was there, it was hard to put back.
It was supposed to be Dexter. In the end, it was him, it had always been him, and she’d just done everything she could to ignore it.
And now it was too late.
Because he loved Colette. And Colette loved him. The two of them would deny it - liars themselves, though never as adept at it as Yale had become, never as subtle and nuanced - but she could see it in their faces, when they talked about one another. And it was all Yale’s fault in the first place. She had been watching it happen for years. A simple request - “make sure she’s okay” had turned into Dexter becoming a savior for the younger sister too. Picking up the pieces of heartbreaks, holding her together when Ann neglected her, telling her who her older sister was.
Yale had ignored it, ignored the implications of the talks she still had with Dexter. “She’s funny like you,” he’d said once, voice laced with amusement and the cigarette she’d been smoking was the excuse she had for the strange burn in her heart. “Not intentionally, but quirky. Makes everyone around her want to listen.”
“I let her stay over,” he’d said another day, sober for once and sounding heartbroken. “Yale, she needs more than this.” Yale had started a college fund, had already begun creating plans to save her sister - she’d met Grant two days later, an up and coming doctor and her greatest con of all began, hoping he could help bring both Jacobson girls out into the world.
But just like Dexter never had any intentions of leaving, neither did Colette. She wouldn’t leave Dexter behind, not like Yale had. And maybe that was why Yale felt so powerless to stop things - she could walk away again, leave them all behind, say goodbye ( or not ) and start anew. Maybe that was why she thought Colette deserved Dexter more.
“You’re quiet.”
Noel was looking at her - at her, not through her like he did sometimes, like he was thinking about the love he left behind. It should have been enough - she wanted it to be enough, desperately, wanted him to be able to fill the aching hole inside of her, but it wasn’t. It might not ever be.
“Just thinking.”
“You can talk to me,” he reminded her, and the craziest part was, she thought she could. Could tell him whole truths instead of partial ones, and for a second she could picture it: the two of them sharing cigarettes, drinking tumblers of scotch and soda, a sheet wrapped around her while she confessed all her sins. He’d come closer than most had to getting to the core of her, to knowing who she really was.
But it wouldn’t happen. Not with who she was. So she settled on another truth, one she hadn’t been thinking about but would placate him all the same.
“I told everyone I went to see Grant this week when I went to Iowa,” she offered, and Noel stayed silent, his eyes sharp in that way that made her stomach knot with nerves, “but I didn’t. I ran away. I thought about not coming back.”
“But you did.”
“I did.” For Colette, mostly, but there was also the part of her that came back for Noel, and the worst part of all, the piece of her that came back for Dexter. The reason she fled in the first place, and the one who drew her back.
She heard a sharp intake of breath, turning her head to look at him. He looked like he was at war with himself as much as she was, but somehow she was still surprised - “I’m glad you did.”
It wasn’t who she wanted to hear it from, not by a long shot. But she felt her lips quirk into a smile nonetheless, leaning forward to press them quickly against his cheek.
“Be careful, Copper,” she teased lightly, glad for a distraction, glad he was giving her this lifesaver to pull herself out of her own mind. “I promised not to break your heart.”
2 notes
·
View notes
Photo
_______________________________meet THE DRUG DEALER.
name // colt fischer
age // ( 30-32 )
born in nebraska, settled in braedon at age 5
relationship status // ( up to player )
sexuality // ( up to player )
__________________________________& my dear mother left me when i was quite young
_________________________________when i was quite young
_____________________________she said ‘lord have mercy on my wicked son’
___________________________take a hint from me mama, please don’t you cry no more
- now playing : on the road again // canned heat
there’s no real history when it comes to colt fischer’s early years. he can’t tell you where he was born - or even what his real birthday actually is. all he can remember from life before braedon is shitty motels, his mother snorting something off a mirror, and his brother pulling him out of rooms while she screamed about how they ruined her life.
landing in braedon was a possibility for them to start over, sans parents. while they hid out in the local motel for months, his brother - older by a mere five years and not nearly old enough to take care of a kid while he still was one - tried his hardest to keep them in school, to keep them stable. the citizens of braedon were kind enough; they never forced them out of the motel, always gave them free food from the diner when they were hungry, and the local church often left ‘donations’ of new clothes while colt was growing.
it should have been enough to keep them in the straight and narrow, but as they grew older, they could understand their mother a little bit more. while she never came looking for them after they ran away - relieved, probably - they wound up in her footsteps anyways, selling drugs under the bleachers just to scrape by.
his brother seemed to have had enough by the time he hit 21, though, leaving colt behind just like he had their mother 10 years prior. but colt was comfortable, and growing weed and selling it kept him a modest lifestyle in a shitty efficiency apartment and food from the local grocery store.
colt learned early on that appearances are nothing but lies; braedon attempts to pretend it’s a wholesome town, full of love and happiness, but he’s been supplying to some of the towns highest names for enough years that he’s not fooled.
by day, he helps out at the mitchell farm, pulling manual labor to keep enough cash flow coming that he can rest easy when he wants, but those who want something to dull the anxiety in their lives still know he’s the one to go to - and he’ll be damned if he ever lets a customer down.
_____________________________________connections
colette jacobson // he knows that the way he looks at colette could be seen as weird to some - especially to those who knew about his thing with her sister back in the day. but it’s not a romantic interest at all; in fact, he’s pretty sure colette is more like him than he’d like to admit. and while it’d be impossible to know for sure, considering that neither of them know who their parents really are, sometimes he thinks there might be something between them that’s a little close to familial.
gabriel flynn // one of colt’s best clients, gabriel is always hanging out on colt’s couch when he’s not busy pretending to be the best football coach nebraska has ever seen. colt gets it - pretenses suck - but he doesn’t see why he bothers to pretend. but the dude pays well, and he’s not a complete ass to hang out with, so he lets him come around anyways.
blog // ( suggested fcs // tyler blackburn, max thieriot, alfie enoch )
2 notes
·
View notes
Photo
New Post has been published on https://toldnews.com/lifestyle/corinne-cobson-designer-with-a-rock-n-roll-edge-dies-at-62/
Corinne Cobson, Designer With a Rock ’n’ Roll Edge, Dies at 62
Corinne Cobson, the French fashion designer whose self-assured clothing for women gained acclaim in the 1980s and ’90s, died on April 16 at a clinic in Saint-Cloud, a suburb of Paris. She was 62.
Her husband, Tanguy Loyzance, a photographer, said the cause was lung cancer.
Ms. Cobson’s designs were distinguished by their rock ’n’ roll-inspired edge but were nonetheless worn with ease. They frequently incorporated men’s-wear silhouettes and unexpected pairings of materials, like black leather, juxtaposed with fluid silk or buoyant feathers.
She also played with proportions at her runway fashion shows, for instance layering a chunky, oversized coat over trim trousers. Her clothes regularly revealed bare skin — an exposed midriff here, thighs below an extra-high hemline there — and suggested an empowered wearer in control of the alluring reveal.
As Woody Hochswender of The New York Times wrote in a 1991 review of one of her Paris fashion shows, her clothing “exploited the current fascination here with men’s style for women, a kind of tough-girl chic.”
In spite of their spunk, Ms. Cobson’s clothes were not intimidating and were comfortable to wear.
“First essential thing: A woman needs to feel attractive, good in her skin and her clothing,” Ms. Cobson told the French online magazine Journal de Femmes in 2006. “She must not need to think about what she will have to wear with her outfit. For me, a garment needs to be very simple and sophisticated at the same time, well cut, in beautiful materials.”
The clothing also seemed to exude French style. When the Parisian department store Galeries Lafayette opened its short-lived American outpost in New York City in 1991, it carried Ms. Cobson’s clothes as well as labels like Thierry Mugler and Guy Laroche. Fans of Ms. Cobson’s brand included the French actresses Juliette Binoche and Vanessa Paradis.
Ms. Cobson’s influence can be seen in the work of designers like Isabel Marant and Nicolas Ghesquière, who early in his career was an intern for Ms. Cobson before working for her full time. At one point he lived in Ms. Cobson’s extra apartment, in the same building where Ms. Cobson and her husband lived at the time, near the Tuileries Garden.
Ms. Cobson was born Corinne Jacobson on Sept. 12, 1956, in Paris. Her parents, Elie and Jacqueline (Schneider) Jacobson, were the founders of Dorothée Bis, a successful brand of women’s wear that operated its own boutiques. The eldest of three sisters, Corinne joined the business as a teenager, but not for a precocious love of fashion.
“She didn’t want to go to school anymore,” Mr. Loyzance said in a phone interview. “So her dad said, ‘O.K., you don’t want to go to school? Tomorrow you’ll go to the shop.’ She went to the shop when she was 16 and she started to work.”
She showed talent and after a few years began designing for Dorothée Bis. Some of her pieces were memorably worn by the actress Pascale Ogier in Éric Rohmer’s film “Full Moon in Paris” (1984), including a slinky black sheath dress hardened with bold zipper detailing on thick shoulder straps.
Her own collection was introduced in 1987. The name Cobson was her own invention: a combination of letters from her first and last names.
“She wanted to be recognized as herself, not because she was the daughter of someone,” Mr. Loyzance said in a phone interview. “She was really proud of her mother, but she wanted to be recognized as Corinne Cobson.”
She took great delight, he recalled, when, several years after her brand was well established, the magazine editor Polly Mellen casually asked about her parents over lunch one day and was surprised to learn about her lineage.
Nonetheless, family was a priority. In the mid-1990s, Ms. Cobson moved her atelier from the bustling Rue de la Roquette to a large space at 213 Rue Saint-Honoré, which was close enough to her daughters’ school that she could meet them for lunch every day. After a few years, she passed the property over to a friend, Colette Roussaux, who opened the influential fashion boutique Colette there.
Ms. Cobson stepped away from her clothing line about a decade ago after she had a stroke. Her furniture brand, Corinne Cobson Home, is still in operation. Over the years, through licensing agreements, she designed a wide range of items, including cosmetics, sunglasses and lingerie. She also designed men’s wear for Cacharel for several years in the 1990s.
In addition to her husband Ms. Cobson is survived by their two daughters, Angèle and Rubis Loyzance, as well as her mother and two sisters, Carole and Laurane Jacobson.
#korean lifestyle news#lifestyle news 2018 tagalog#lifestyle news marathi#lifestyle news nbt#lifestylegoals#lifestyleinfluencer
1 note
·
View note
Text
Corinne Cobson, Designer With a Rock ’n’ Roll Edge, Dies at 62
Corinne Cobson, a French fashion designer whose self-assured clothing for women gained acclaim in the 1980s and ’90s, died on April 16 at a clinic in Saint-Cloud, a suburb of Paris. She was 62.
Her husband, Tanguy Loyzance, a photographer, said the cause was lung cancer.
Ms. Cobson’s designs were distinguished by their rock ’n’ roll-inspired edge but were nonetheless worn with ease. They frequently incorporated men’s-wear silhouettes and unexpected pairings of materials, like black leather, juxtaposed with fluid silk or buoyant feathers.
She also played with proportions at her runway fashion shows, for instance layering a chunky, oversized coat over trim trousers. Her clothes typically revealed bare skin — an exposed midriff here, thighs below an extra-high hemline there — suggesting an empowered wearer in control of the alluring reveal.
As Woody Hochswender of The New York Times wrote in a 1991 review of one of her Paris fashion shows, her clothing “exploited the current fascination here with men’s style for women, a kind of tough-girl chic.”
In spite of their spunk, Ms. Cobson’s clothes were not intimidating and were comfortable to wear.
“First essential thing: A woman needs to feel attractive, good in her skin and her clothing,” Ms. Cobson told the French online magazine Journal de Femmes in 2006. “She must not need to think about what she will have to wear with her outfit. For me, a garment needs to be very simple and sophisticated at the same time, well cut, in beautiful materials.”
The clothing also seemed to exude French style. When the Parisian department store Galeries Lafayette opened its short-lived American outpost in New York City in 1991, it carried Ms. Cobson’s clothes as well as labels like Thierry Mugler and Guy Laroche. Fans of Ms. Cobson’s brand included the French actresses Juliette Binoche and Vanessa Paradis.
Ms. Cobson’s influence can be seen in the work of designers like Isabel Marant and Nicolas Ghesquière, who early in his career was an intern for Ms. Cobson before working for her full time. At one point he lived in Ms. Cobson’s extra apartment, in the same building where Ms. Cobson and her husband lived at the time, near the Tuileries Garden.
She was born Corinne Jacobson on Sept. 12, 1956, in Paris. Her parents, Elie and Jacqueline (Schneider) Jacobson, were the founders of Dorothée Bis, a successful brand of women’s wear that operated its own boutiques. The eldest of three sisters, Corinne joined the business as a teenager, but not for a precocious love of fashion.
“She didn’t want to go to school anymore,” Mr. Loyzance said in a phone interview. “So her dad said, ‘O.K., you don’t want to go to school? Tomorrow you’ll go to the shop.’ She went to the shop when she was 16 and she started to work.”
She showed talent, and after a few years began designing for Dorothée Bis. Some of her pieces were memorably worn by the actress Pascale Ogier in Éric Rohmer’s film “Full Moon in Paris” (1984), including a slinky black sheath dress hardened with bold zipper detailing on thick shoulder straps.
Her own collection was introduced in 1987. The name Cobson was her own invention: a combination of letters from her first and last names.
“She wanted to be recognized as herself, not because she was the daughter of someone,” Mr. Loyzance said. “She was really proud of her mother, but she wanted to be recognized as Corinne Cobson.”
She took great delight, he recalled, when, several years after her brand was well established, the magazine editor Polly Mellen casually asked about her parents over lunch one day and was surprised to learn about her lineage.
Nonetheless, family was a priority. In the mid-1990s, Ms. Cobson moved her atelier from the bustling Rue de la Roquette to a large space at 213 Rue Saint-Honoré, which was close enough to her daughters’ school that she could meet them for lunch every day. After a few years, she passed the property over to a friend, Colette Roussaux, who opened the influential fashion boutique Colette there.
Ms. Cobson stepped away from her clothing line about a decade ago, after she had a stroke. Her furniture brand, Corinne Cobson Home, is still in operation. Over the years, through licensing agreements, she designed a wide range of items, including cosmetics, sunglasses and lingerie. She also designed men’s wear for Cacharel for several years in the 1990s.
In addition to her husband, Ms. Cobson is survived by their two daughters, Angèle and Rubis Loyzance, as well as her mother and two sisters, Carole and Laurane Jacobson.
Sahred From Source link Fashion and Style
from WordPress http://bit.ly/2Vc0wjZ
via IFTTT
0 notes
Note
💢 : your muse picks mine up & carries them over their shoulder .
[ symbol meme ] / flashback, pre-kidnapping.
there had been very few things to laugh about in recent months - in fact, yale couldn't remember the last time she'd let herself get absolutely sauced. sure, there was a certain level of alcohol in her blood almost daily - a concerning amount for a general person - but she'd always had a higher tolerance. she considered it the one gift her mother had given her - a preference for whiskey and dangerous men who pissed her off as much as they intrigued her.
those who worked at the bar knew her well enough to leave her there when their shifts were done - the rest of the town was asleep, probably, but she and vic were still working their way through the shitty homebrew that was hitting her harder than she expected. too much yeast, or not enough, or something about the fermenting process - she didn't pretend to understand how to make alcohol, just knew it kept her nerves at bay. the worry about her sister when she was out in the open world, her general malaise at the state of the world, the constant discontent that settled in her bones.
"i dunno about you," she groaned, laying back against the vinyl of the booth they were in, her vision blurred and her head woozy, "but i may just accept my role as town drunk and crash here tonight." the thought of walking back - even the few streets over to her place, her bed warm and inviting and beckoning her - was torture. "every small town needs a drunk, right?"
"not you," victor replied, his voice somehow steadier than hers, warm like honey in her mind as she smiled up at the ceiling, "not tonight."
it was really infuriating that he was more sober than she was - maybe he'd stopped drinking before she had, which was also rude, or maybe it was just because he was twice her size that he could handle it better. or maybe hers had been stronger - did they still make roofies these days? she couldn't imagine anyone willing to risk it, considering how she'd kick their ass when she was sober again, but she supposed crazier things had happened.
"c'mon," he said, grabbing her hands and pulling her up, her feet taking a moment to find solid ground as she swayed against him. she hummed in something like agreement, though she wasn't sure which one of him was real as she tried to steady herself, his image doubled in front of her as he held her hands to keep her upright. "can't have people talking about you just yet."
"they already talk about me," she retorted, her tongue sharp even if her mind wasn't, but she let him guide her out the door anyways, heading in the direction of the small brown house she was sharing with her own sister and the other two. "they always talked about me back home," she rambled, her inhibitions always lowered after too many drinks - he probably knew her whole story by now, she'd never know, could never remember what they spoke about when she got this far gone.
"i was the one who fucked up ann jacobson's life," she muttered, leaning her forehead against his arm, closing her eyes even as her feet shuffled forward, her boots heavy against her feet as she moved. "the one who fucked everyone up and left 'em all behind and then did it again." everyone talked shit in braedon, mocked her, called her the prodigal daughter of the town slut, tested her and her anger at every turn. she'd given them a run for their money - tried to find out who murdered colette's best friend, helped frame it on the man who was probably her real daddy though she'd never know for sure before disappearing again. "they're all so fucking stupid, did you know that? just like here. do you know the things i know?"
how many of them had killed, not just in defense but in anger, in defiance. how many of them had left behind a life they didn't want to acknowledge anymore, how yale kept their secrets from them because the council didn't need to know.
she held everyone's life in her hands and no one even bothered to respect her. no wonder she was so angry.
his hand was warm on her back and she realized with a start she'd been talking aloud the entire time, the filter between her thoughts and her mouth gone completely, and she stared up at him wide eyed - "i wasn't supposed to say any of that."
"let's just get you home," he replied instead, and that was when the tears started - a surprising torrent of them because he didn't get it, she'd never had a home, never would have one. she was a transient person and one day colette would want her gone and then what would she have? she wasn't supposed to be someone who stayed in someone's life long term, she was supposed to appear and disappear like a flash in a pan and one day, even vic would hate her too.
she'd stopped in the middle of the street, and while vic had seemed amused at first from her ramblings, she could see the twist of his lips, a frown on them as he considered what to do with her. leave me she thought, and that time she knew she didn't say it aloud because it was her worst fear - that somehow even he would find her despicable, would hate her and everything she'd done and allowed and walk off and never look back.
instead, he simply said "alright," surprising her with a quick grab at her knees, lifting her up with surprising ease and tossing her over his shoulder like she was a sack of potatoes - she didn't even have the energy to be surprised, or angry, simply deflated there as he carried her. not towards her own house, but his, his hands firm against her thighs as he held her in place to make sure she didn't fall. she could feel his back against her cheek, her body empty of any fight until he got back to his home, placing her gently down on the couch.
"stay," he demanded, and she didn't fight him when he brought her a glass of water and what had to be expired aspirin, holding it out for her. she took it anyways, draining the entire glass and handing it off for a refill, which he obliged her with immediately before settling down on the floor next to the couch.
"thank you," she said quietly, her fingers threading through his hair - shaggy, too long, she should offer to cut it when she was sober again, but her eyelids were already dropping shut and he merely hummed in response, easing into her touch in a moment of his own weakness.
she knew, even as she could hear his breathing even out into a sleep and her own found a pattern to match, that they'd never speak of this. that she'd get up in the morning and slip back into her own home and they'd get drunk again and he'd just cut her off before she got this far. but she could only hope he knew how much she appreciated him - his friendship, his presence, his quiet ability to take care of her in a way she'd missed for so long.
she was going to mess it up, one day. she only hoped it would be a long, long time from then.
3 notes
·
View notes
Photo
meet yale jacobson // welcome to fairvale.
the basics //
full name : yale ann jacobson
birthdate & zodiac : april 25, 1988 & taurus
gender & pronouns : female & she/her
sexuality : heterosexual ( painfully so )
occupation : recorder
hometown : braedon, nebraska
family : ann jacobson ( mother - deceased ), colette jacobson ( sister - in fairvale )
deeper dive //
alignment : chaotic evil
myers briggs : entp - debater
hobbies :
writing - from the days of her childhood, yale always wrote down everything that happened around her. she journaled constantly, and ended up going to school for journalism, turning her hobby into a career.
driving - living in chicago, she found it impractical to have a car - she loves her motorcycle and still maintains it to this day, despite not having an excuse to use it as often as possible.
sex, drugs & rock & roll - much like her mother, yale loves loud music, getting stoned or drunk and making inappropriate decisions about who to screw.
knitting - the one thing her grandmother passed onto her was her love of knitting - since everything has started, yale often knits blankets and scarves to keep herself occupied and hands them in to the town for those who need them.
favorites :
food - white cake with chocolate frosting
drink - jack & coke
movie - halloween ( original )
song - ‘riders on the storm’ the doors
color - black
habits :
chain smoker / borderline alcoholic / regular drug use
nervous ticks include staring someone down in a refusal to acknowledge her own fear
loves :
old school rock and roll, leather jackets, her motorcycle, her sister, scrap paper with notes, drugs, alcohol, sex, cigarettes, high heels, the color purple, beef jerky
fears :
colette’s death
talents :
writing, reading people, photographic memory, stealing
appearance //
height : 5′4″
tattoos : none
scars : long scar on her right arm that she refuses to tell anyone about.
piercings : ears, where she wears stars of david.
hair : dark dark brown. long and wavy, usually thrown into ponytails.
fashion :
clothes - a leather jacket formerly owned by her mother. dark & black jeans. white teeshirts. little black dresses. old band teeshirts. short mini skirts. lots of wear and tear.
shoes - heels, as often as possible. boots when she has to be more practical. occasionally sneakers.
bio //
here.
3 notes
·
View notes
Photo
colette jacobson //quick navigation
bio & quick facts ★ about colette
soundtrack ★ aesthetics ★ content
visage ★ musings ★ pinterest
0 notes
Photo
_______________________________meet THE BOY NEXT DOOR.
name // drew ashby
age // ( 21-23 )
born and raised in braedon, nebraska
relationship status // ( up to player )
sexuality // ( up to player )
________________________________________well i keep on thinkin’ ‘bout you
_________________________________sister golden hair surprise
_____________________________& i just can’t live without you
__________________________________can’t you see it in my eyes
- now playing : sister golden hair // america
drew ashby has spent his whole life being the golden boy next door. the football superstar, the friendly kid with an easy smile, the one who always let the girls get free soda at the local gas station when he was working a shift. not much has changed for him in the past few years, except for the annoyingly obvious:
he stayed behind.
no one really understands it; they all figured he’d get a football scholarship and be out of nebraska before too long. and while the public story remains that he wanted to help out his mom, a single mother who raised him on her own, the truth was - no one had wanted him. he was a big fish in a very small pond, and even the lakes were too large for him to survive in.
he’s spent his entire life in love with his two best friends, jessica halpert and colette jacobson, and when one left, he held onto the other with everything he had. while nothing has ever happened - between any of them - he idolizes them immensely, and would lay down his life for them.
while he’s never shown anyone, he has a secret knack for art - he’s drawn an entire comic book series for the three of them, something he keeps hidden in the bottom drawer of his dresser like porn. sometimes he wonders if he could get it sent off to be published, but no one would really want it - who cares about a lonely guy in the middle of nebraska when that fits half the population?
for now, he’s content to manage the gas station and flirt with those who come in to gossip for awhile, or take the occasional shift at the bar to help out. leaving is still an idea, but truthfully, he’s happy in braedon. and as long as he has at least one of his friends there, he’s pretty sure that won’t ever change.
_____________________________________connections
dexter levski // when dexter took over the bar, he offered a part time ‘as needed’ position to drew whenever he needed some extra money. the truth is, drew gets that sometimes dexter can’t really leave his house for days on end and he needed someone he could rely on. and if drew’s anything, it’s reliable to a fault, and he never hesitates to step in. he won’t overstep his bounds, even if he has some ideas on how to help improve business, because his friendship with dexter is too important to bother rocking the boat with.
winter esposito // the cop often frequents the gas station, either filling up her tank or grabbing candy to get her through the monotony that must face the braedon police department. usually when she’s around, drew will rope her into a conversation for awhile - she may seem cold to some, but to him, she’s intriguing. besides, he may be creating a character for his comic book based on her, and the more they get to know each other, the easier it is to do.
blog // ( suggested fc //keith powers, joe keery, noah centineo )
1 note
·
View note
Photo
MEET YALE JACOBSON ; HEADCANONS
r a g e
while a physically affectionate person to those she can get something out of, yale jacobson is not one to resort to violence when angry. instead, she uses her best weapons to hurt those around her: her body, and her words.
very little can elicit an immediate emotional response from her, but her unconditional love for her sister is the quickest way to set her off. anyone who ever attempts to claim that yale doesn’t do anything she can for colette jacobson is met with sharp words and yale’s innate ability to hit where it hurts the worst. with her job as an investigative reporter - and her tendency to gossip and find out dirt about the world around her - she can usually exploit a persons best kept secrets in order to remind them of who’s really in charge: yale.
she enjoys turning other peoples anger into a game, especially if she can benefit from it. sex is her ultimate weapon, and in the past, she’s used it to get what she wanted from the world around her. more often than not, she meets peoples rage against her with amusement and toys with them, unless they manage to get a hit in too close to her closely protected emotions. then there’s no holds bar - she’ll devastate them before they can see how they’ve done the same to her.
anger and rage are often confused in her mind with embarrassment and hurt; because she doesn’t feel the latter that often, she’ll misconstrue them for anger, and most of the time she’ll methodically plan to manipulate the person who did her wrong. for the very few who she cares about deeply - colette, dexter, fiona and colt - she’ll instead avoid the situation and the person entirely, one of the few times her flight reflex kicks in before the fight does.
the easiest way to calm her down is with physical touch - though she denies it, she needs to feel another hand on her skin to feel comfortable. sex is her escape from most emotions, and ultimately, anger and rage are no different.
1 note
·
View note
Photo
_______________________________meet THE MOTEL MANGER.
name // fiona lindman
age // 30
born and raised in braedon, nebraska
relationship status // ( up to player )
sexuality // ( up to player )
________________________________________take him by the hand
_________________________________make him understand
_____________________________the world on you depends
__________________________________our life will never end
- now playing : riders on the storm // the doors
fiona lindman has always been the ‘mom’ friend, even as a kid. she grew up with an absentee mother, forcing her to help raise her younger twin brothers while their father worked at the local farm to put food on the table for them every night. it wasn’t the worst thing in the world, but it forced fiona into a role of responsibility at an early age, and she never really shed that skin.
she always wanted to take care of her friends, and while it was sometimes difficult - teenagers stuck in isolating neighborhoods can get crazy ideas - she was there for the fallout regardless. and when she fell in love their senior year of high school, she was sure she had found the right path for her - a husband to take care of, someone who could give her children to watch over so she could have a family to protect and love.
but things didn’t quite work out that way. after her boyfriend left her, fiona found herself back at square one, and while she still lived at home to help with the twins, they were now high schoolers themselves, and they didn’t exactly appreciate how fiona was somehow the sole breadwinner in the family while their father drank himself into a stupor most afternoons. she worked doubles as a maid in the local motel, cleaning up after passerbys before going home and cleaning up after her siblings.
eventually, she’d had enough - she packed her bags and moved into a small house of her very own across town, climbing the company ladder and managing the motel she started as a maid in. now, she spends most of her time at the reception desk, keeping secrets for those who live in town and need a place to meet up in private and forcing her happy hostess face on for anyone who needs a place to crash on their journey across the state.
it’s not the best life, but it’s what she’s working with for now - and while she still yearns for a family of her very own, she knows that sometimes, family is just those who come in and out of her motel.
_____________________________________connections
matthew whittman // normally, fiona would never think twice about the young teacher - a few years her junior, she knows how attractive he is, but he’s a child in her book, the same age as her brothers. but she’s seen him in all his post-coital bliss with nicole, and she can’t help but think he’s throwing his hat into a ring that doesn’t really want him. she hasn’t made a move, of course, because she’s pretty sure he doesn’t really know who she is, but sometimes when she sees him at the bar in town she wants to ask him home for the night.
colette jacobson // fiona may be the only one aside from the jacobson sisters who knows what really goes down in that house, and may be the only one who remembers the panic in yale’s voice from the summer before she left them all for chicago. but she made a promise to her best friend before she went, and fiona never balks at a promise. colette, for her part, seems to love listening to stories of her life with yale, and while she’s definitely got the wild child gene in her, fiona helps keep colette out of too many dangerous situations, and often offers a place to stay if colette ever feels like she needs it.
blog // ( suggested fcs // jenna coleman, d’acry carden, summer bishil )
0 notes
Photo
_______________________________meet THE SISTER.
name // jessica halpert
age // (21-22)
born and raised in braedon, nebraska
relationship status // ( up to player )
sexuality // ( up to player )
________________________________________did she make you cry
_________________________________make you break down
_____________________________shatter your illusions of love
- now playing : gold dust woman // fleetwood mac
being the daughter of the local police chief means that everyone constantly has eyes on you. jessica halpert relished in the spotlight as a child, but when her younger sister came into the scene, suddenly all eyes shifted from jessica to natasha.
for the longest time, jessica didn’t even mind. it gave her the opportunity to act out - along with her best friends, she could sneak to the mitchell farm barn, drink under the ‘welcome to braedon’ sign, sleep around right under her parents nose. but her father was a cop - and a decent one, at that - and when she acted out too much, he always brought her back in line.
she fled to iowa the second she could, getting a cheer scholarship to iowa state university in ames, planning to spend the rest of her life outside of nebraska. jessica made a whole new life for herself, but could still feel the ties she had in braedon trying to suck her back in, time and time again.
hearing about her sister was the excuse she finally had to come back home, abandoning the useless job search she’d been enduring since her college graduation. but the guilt keeps her awake more nights than not, the whispers around town enough to make her want to spit out harsh words, but her mothers fraught face keeps her in line. she couldn’t save natasha, but she can save her mother - the only one in her family she ever truly felt connected with.
whether she leaves or stays, jessica hasn’t been able to decide. she’s been staying with her parents, but the silence in the house seems almost deafening, and while jessica wants to help the investigation as best she can, she’s still afraid of the worst answer.
after all, 9/10 victims knew their murderer. and what if he’s living in the same house?
_____________________________________connections
colette jacobson // while her older sister babysat them, colette always seemed to trail along with yale. from a young age, colette and jessica seemed attached at the hip - raising hell and wrecking havoc anywhere they turned. as they got older, it turned into cigarettes and whiskey and boys, matching grins and soft voices that drove others wild. in high school, everyone wanted to be them - and jessica wouldn’t have it any other way. even when she moved away to iowa, jessica kept in constant contact with colette, trying to lure her away from braedon and into a new life that they could start, together.
aiden mitchell // while she’d never admit it to anyone, jessica always had a secret crush on the local photographer. when she lived in braedon full time, she allowed him to take pictures of her - pictures they’d both be in trouble for if anyone ever found them. for jessica, aiden is trouble - a toxic relationship she finds herself in time and time again.
blog // ( suggested fc // abigail breslin, sophie turner, virginia gardner )
0 notes
Photo
this is a sample application filled out by the admin for an example of what we’re looking for!
welcome to braedon, yale jacobson!
out of character.
name // ashley
age // 29
timezone // cst
triggers needed // family death cw**
banned faceclaims // none !**
in character.
character desired // yale jacobson
faceclaim options // mila kunis, brenda song, megan fox
age & birthdate // 32, april 25 1986
job // freelance journalist
relationship to natasha // no relationship, just returned to town.
rumor has it.***
yale had been engaged in chicago, and part of why she left the city was to run from the commitment. ( TRUE )
in high school, yale disabled the smoke alarms in the girls bathroom so she could get stoned during class. ( TRUE )
during their junior year, a brief fire broke out in one of the stairwells, and yale and her friends were the reason. ( FALSE )
yale has spent her entire life with a crush on her best friend, and is only waiting for fiona to realize they were meant to be together. ( FALSE )
yale isn’t actually a journalist, but a hooker who sells drugs in chicago. she came home because she wasn’t wanted by her pimp anymore, and she ran out of cash. ( FALSE. )
***these obviously aren’t going to be yale’s secrets/rumors, and will not be posted when others apply. this is strictly for demonstrative purposes.
writing sample.
The house seemed to smell exactly the same.
It didn’t matter that Yale had scrubbed it top to bottom her first day back, or that Colette’s room was less Barbie Doll Pink now and perfume wafted out whenever she opened her door. It was cigarettes and lemon scented bleach, it was her mothers favorite knock off perfume from Walmart and the vague scent of pot and sex that never seemed to evaporate completely.
She wondered how much of it she’d contributed to. A lot, probably, and the open pack of Marlboro’s sitting on the formica table definitely wasn’t about to help. Colette was probably just as guilty; she was a Jacobson, after all, and Jacobson girls were slutty and easy. Always had been, probably always would be.
( At least, that’s what everyone said behind their backs, as if she couldn’t hear the whispers when she picked up a thing of bread and cheese so they could at least eat a fucking sandwich. )
It made her nostalgic for all the wrong reasons, and a part of her expected her mother to come shuffling out in her slippers, robe half tied and more skin exposed than any daughter wanted to see. But that wouldn’t happen, no. Because she’d gotten stupid and reckless and careless, and the only thing Yale could think to be grateful for was that at least Colette hadn’t been with her.
Colette had been a kid when Yale left, barely old enough to function as a real person yet, but she thought about her. Wondered if she should take her with her once she graduated, wondered if her mother was actually trying this time around. It seemed like she had, for awhile at least. And then she hadn’t.
Yale let out a sigh, grabbing the cigarettes and heading towards her sisters door. A bright red ‘Do Not Enter’ sign was on it - Yale had had a similar one, back in the day, but her door was blank now. Yale ignored it anyways, knocking quickly before popping her head in. “I was thinking about heading out to grab some beer,” she offered, Colette sitting upside down with a trashy magazine in her hand. “Do you want anything while I’m gone?”
anything else.
yalejacobson.
+ yale is an avid conspiracy theorist, and loves to watch paranormal videos on youtube. the x files is her favorite show. she has her own blog online where she talks about all these things and investigates theories and hauntings in her own time when she can.
**will not be posted upon acceptance
0 notes
Last Seen Blogs
kaminiyara-rasika
Untitled
zeelandpresley
Walk The World With the Demonds Inside Of Us - Z
kidemcnas
kidemcnas
midi8
midi8
sinaisharm
Sinai Sharm