#Fashion : Gold House Gala | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

heavenlycloud · 1 year

Text

vintage chanel: jennie x fem! reader

warnings: suggestive, swearing

a/n: i was gonna post this the night of the event but school and time got away from me so here it is a few days late. there might be some typos.... sorry

the met gala wasn’t a new occurrence to you after your first invitation when you were freshly eighteen. back then, your attendance made headlines as you had become the youngest guest to attend that year. even more headlines followed when you were handpicked by karl lagerfeld as a muse for the house of chanel. over the years you became a known figure within the fashion industry while dominating the western music industry. the level of success you’d reached in a few short years was recognized by numerous awards, accolades, and several gold and platinum album titles to your name. even with the musical success, you never forgot that fashion was really your claim to fame many years ago. hence why you graciously accepted a met invitation every single year.

to many, the met gala is a star studded night where you get gussied up in clothes from top designers in high fashion, meet other A-list celebrities, and do whatever the hell you do inside because nobody seems to know. in reality, it was waking up at six in the morning then getting ready all day, walking a red carpet, answering the same 5 questions from reporters who hopefully remembered your name, then sat through what felt like the world’s longest and most awkward dinner. the only highlight of the event was finding out that one of your friends was only two tables away from you, rather than the usual five or six. overall, the real fun started at the afterparties which you always ended up being roped into attending then drunkenly leaving hand in hand with some supermodel you met that night.

you sat in a suite on the 15th floor of the iconic Mark Hotel as your stylists, makeup artists, and management and PR team bustled around to make sure you were ready for tonight. the theme was Karl Lagerfeld, the designer that picked you as his muse years ago. your outfit was a handpicked piece designed by the esteemed german courtier. originally worn by linda evanglista in the Chanel Ready to Wear Fall/Winter 1991-1992 in Paris Fashion week. the entire morning was doing small interviews for Vogue and other fashion media outlets that get most of their press from this event. there was a smile on your face as you told the camera before you, “i’m super excited for this evening because i don’t think many people know i’m attending the event. i’ve been trying my best to keep it on the down low, but i think people are going to figure it out before i get to the carpet.” there was a small laugh followed by your words that trailed off on the end, specifically because you knew of a certain someone that was hoping just this once you wouldn’t show.

“unnie, did you see the headlines?” the thai idol asked with urgency in her tone that made her member’s heart race. the older woman hesitated to answer, but she went silent as she read the headline that appeared over the banner at the top of her screen:

UPDATE: Y/N TO MAKE APPEARANCE AT THE 2023 MET GALA

jennie stared at her phone and lisa cautiously prompted, “are you okay?” jennie took a deep breath and exhaled slowly before saying, “why wouldn’t i be? it’s whatever. she gets invited every year, i don’t know why this would be any different.” she paused for a moment then abruptly commented, “i have to go. i’ll talk to you later.” the younger woman gave a weak smile, “okay bye, i’ll talk to you later.” in a sudden bout of frustration jennie tossed her phone across the room onto the bed then brought her hands to her forehead as she mumbled, “fuck…” there were light taps on her hands as her makeup artist silently chided her not to mess up her perfectly made up face. for the next hour she remained silent until she had to put on a smile for the cameras and fans that swarmed the porte-co·chère of the hotel down below.

the car ride to the carpet was dead silent as jennie tried to soothe her nerves before enduring the next eight to ten hours on her own. through the deeply tinted glass jennie could see her security team waiting for her to step out of the car. one of the staff members assigned to her for the evening warmly assured her, “take as long as you need, miss kim.” she gave a curt nod and a hushed thank you before holding the door handle for a moment. one of the security guards pulled open the door and held a hand out to assist her out of the large black SUV.

cameras flashed and fans shrieked and screamed as they desperately tried to earn jennie’s attention from their barricaded sections that flanked the entrance of the carpet. the idol waved and smiled for the cameras as she’d been taught to so many years ago, her smile turning genuine when she laid eyes on a familiar petite brunette. the young influencer passed jennie a mic and asked enthusiastically, “how are you?” with her eyes glued forward for a moment too long, jennie replied, “i’m everywhere. this is my first Met…” emma asked in slight surprise, “first Met?” the korean singer nodded and continued answering the quick questions on her current feelings. she laughed as the younger girl somewhat awkwardly yet genuinely shared the same thoughts of being nervous and anxious before such a large event. for just a moment jennie glanced to her right thinking she saw someone she knew. her blood ran cold when she realized she did know the person- you looking her way with the same narrowed gaze that dripped of venom and honey that had her spellbound from the first time.

a smirk tugged at the corner of your lips after seeing the affect you still had on her after she supposedly stopped caring about you. for the fun of it, you shot her a wink before turning around and kissing the cheek of the interviewer that was speaking with you. jennie flinched ever so lightly then laughed awkwardly in a futile attempt to play it off. she quickly thanked emma for the interview then rushed off to the usher that was to guide her along the carpet. the remainder of the carpet went by in the blink of an eye. largely in part to the fact that she disassociated for the entire thing, only regaining awareness of her surroundings as she was ushered inside.

jennie followed the usher to her table where her placecard was sitting daintily with her name handwritten in elegant calligraphy. she sat down gracefully beside another supermodel she’d yet to learn the name of then introduced herself politely. as more guests filed in, she couldn’t help but scan the room in search of you. the open seat beside her with a placecard that read a simple RESERVED made her stomach twist into knots. underneath the white tablecloth she bounced her leg anxiously, desperately hoping nobody around her noticed the soft clicking sound around the table. another usher made their way to her table and she took a breath of relief when she saw dua lipa approaching with a warm smile. however, the feeling was short lived when the albanian singer bent down and kissed her cheek with a slight pout. she explained quietly, “hi love, i wanted to come over and tell you myself that they’ve moved my seat this evening. but i’ll catch up with you later, alright?” jennie tried to answer as quickly and politely as possible to get in her question of who was taking dua’s place.

the question was answered before it could even leave jennie’s lips when she heard you speak from over her shoulder, “thank you so much for understanding, babes. have a great evening and we’ll chat later!” you sat down beside jennie and greeted the other guests at your table which you were seemingly familiar with to some extent. the idol shifted beside you and you gave her what appeared to others as the warmest and welcoming smile, “jennie it’s been a while hasn’t it?” the woman saw through you as if you were made of glass, yet she refused to cause a scene at the Met Gala of all events. so, she plastered on a smile and hugged you back, “it has, how have you been?” she humored you in conversation and did her best to wiggle her way out of exclusively talking to you by roping the other table guests into the conversation. however, no matter how much she tried, you always managed to turn the topic exclusive to the two of you. jennie wondered how nobody else around her could see the lack of genuinity in your eyes, that you were intentionally toying with her like some game. but then again, why would anyone suspect you, a known sweetheart, of such a thing.

you smiled to yourself as you did small things to get under jennie’s skin and give her the attention you craved. wether it be a hand trailing along her thigh or lightly hitting her foot with your own beneath the tablecloth. seeing her clenched teeth and smiles that faltered for just a split second were all the reward you needed to spur you on further. the moment that you all were dismissed to look around the museum exhibit, jennie was on her feet and eager to leave your side. you made no effort to follow her immediately, instead you found a handful of familiar faces and did your rounds to those you both did and didn’t care for…you did have a reputation to uphold anyway. an hour passed and you finally had eyes on jennie once more, she stood alone in front of a mannequin with yet another vintage Chanel piece. you watched her from afar, taking in the way she stared at the clothing with a genuine admiration and curiosity. the sight made your heart flutter as she reminded you of the first time you both met years ago.

the feeling of warmth that bloomed in your heart ran cold when you saw some random man approach her. from his outfit alone you knew that he was someone’s plus one or an influencer that purchased his own ticket for the event. the way he stared at jennie with almost a sense of hunger and desperation made your skin crawl. you slowly made your way across the floor, wondering if she would actually need someone to intervene. her smiles were polite but you could see the way her eyes flitted from his with nearly every word she spoke as if she was searching for an escape. the stiff mannerisms of hers came to a halt when the guy attempted to place a hand around her waist, making her flinch out of surprise. without hesitation you rushed to her side in less than three strides.

you slipped your arm behind her waist with ease, the familiar feeling bringing a genuine smile to your face. turning towards her you kissed her cheek, “hey beautiful i thought i lost you back there.” she looked up at you, a flash of fear still lingering in her gaze prompting you to pull her closer to your body. the guy in front of her tried to continue his conversation but you cut him off, “she’s with me. i expect that you’ll be returning to your table now, yes?” if looks could kill the young man would have been gone yesterday. he grew nervous with you, of all guests, standing over him, so much so that he couldn’t even utter an actual apology before literally running off.

jennie continued to stand in your hold with her hand toying at the heavy gold belts wrapped around your waist. you remained silent as you lightly took her shaking hand into your free one, “jen?” she continued to stare at the same spot on the ground as you prompted once more, “jennie?” the idol snapped out of her trance and pulled away from you, “thank you for that…” she watched as your features softened in a way that made her heart beg that she cave into you and give you the type of attention she used to. your tone changed with the next words you spoke, this time they were genuine, the same way you used to speak to her, “yeah…of course, Nini.” her heart raced at the last word, so familiar and nearly made her crack but she internally put her fist down. she wasn’t about to start this, not now and especially not here. she backed away from you as if you were a burning flame that was moments from losing control. the singer straightened her posture then said coldly, “don’t call me that.” she turned on her heel then hurried off to go talk to another A-list supermodel that probably didn’t remember what group she was actually from.

throughout the entire rest of the night jennie avoided you like the plague, no eye contact, no words exchanged, it was like you were invisible to her. the main event ended and the after parties were getting ready to begin. one of your managers found you and rushed you to meet your stylists where you were changed for the second look of the night. keeping with the theme, you wore a long sleeved white tweed top, black pants, and a large gold chanel belt. the look was worn by beverly peele in the chanel spring 1993 show. chunky gold bracelets adorned your wrist while the belt quite honestly felt like wearing a weighted hula hoop. nevertheless, you were guaranteed to be the talk of the night once again.

TipToe by Jason Derulo blasted over the speakers in one of the many rooms within the multi-million dollar mansion owned by some uppity tycoon on the Upper East Side. the lights were off with the exception of burnt orange neon lights that barely lit a damn thing in the room. despite the windows being open, the entire house felt hot as hell with all the sweaty bodies of drunk and high supermodels, singers, and A-list actors. you watched who danced alongside you, trying to avoid meeting strangers with wandering hands and lustful gazes. as you skimmed the crowd around you, a tall blonde dragged a small black haired woman to dance with her. once again your interest peaked at seeing jennie in the perfect place for you to make another move.

the bass of the music thrumed throughout your entire body as you danced your way over the now cluster of girls with jennie. you threw an arm around one of the women’s shoulders and shouted over the music, “Kenny!” the supermodel turned to face you and her face lit up as she pulled you into a hug, “Y/N!” jennie slowed her movements to the beat of the music as she watched you talking to the girl next to her. the nerves only lasted a minute because a second later she was pressing herself against Hailey Baldwin with her head resting on her shoulder and wrapping the blonde’s arm tighter around her torso. the unsuspecting model simply laughed and kissed jennie’s temple as she swayed to the beat jennie set. just as you began to look away, jennie opened one eye and smirked when she saw your dissatisfied expression and pretended you were invisible all over again.

you grew impatient and slowly slipped between Kendall and Hailey which they welcomed without question. jennie tried to keep Hailey against her but your arm slid between their bodies and Hailey switched positions with you to dance with Kendall. jennie began to make a move to leave but you pulled her back flush against your front. the gentle touch of your fingers ran down her arm making goosebumps form on her skin. you chuckled lowly and said into her ear, “come on now, dance with me.” the warmth of your body against hers was a feeling she thought she’d forgotten but now it was as if you’d never left. she turned to face you, gaining some control back before she attempted to make her leave, “i don’t want to dance with you.” her voice was saying one thing while her mind and body said another prompting you to ask, “are you sure because the way you’re holding my arm on your waist is telling me otherwise.”

jennie glared at you through those cat-like, chocolate brown eyes and thick black lashes with a gaze that made your heart race. she watched as your eyes crawled over her body with such a hunger that she would have gagged if it was anyone else. you pulled her closer to you, closing the gap between your bodies and for just a moment she almost gave into your touch. once again she backed up and swallowed thickly, “i’m doing just fine with my friends here.” you stared at her unfazed then glanced over to Kendall and Hailey who were lost in their own offbeat two step to Alone by Kim Petras. god, jennie wished she could kiss wipe that stupidly perfect, coy smirk off of your face. a few people around you both noticed that you were no longer dancing and instead standing in a confrontational position before jennie. she looked at the hand she was still holding to her body and sighed as she turned back around, dancing against your front, “i’m just not trying to cause a scene.” you laughed lowly into her ear, “whatever you say, angel.”

you held her slender waist to your body and the hand that rested by her leg into your own, lacing your fingers together with a smile. jennie slipped her hand out of yours and you tsked quietly, “and about your friends- you know goddamn well none of these girls give a fuck about you, they just care about the title you carry. they’re all up on you just to take a picture and use it to get an extra million likes and comments. you’re wasting your time staying around them because after tonight it’s gonna be like you two never met.” the idol hated to admit it but you were 100% right. when it came to western celebrities, they heard the name BLACKPINK in tandem with one of the members names, and they were immediately trying to befriend them for clout. it was evident in the way they called jisoo by the wrong name, never pronounced rosé with the proper accent, just plain forgot lisa’s name, and how at least 12 people tonight called jennie ‘jenna’ instead. despite that, she was completely used to it by now and expected ingenuity from the celebrities that she met overseas.

the singer shot you a side glare and you frowned to mock her, “don’t give me that face, just admit the fact that you know i’m right.” jennie rolled her eyes and asked in annoyance, “and what if you are? why should i care about any of that?” you answered simply, “because you and i both know you aren’t enjoying this right now.” jennie swallowed thickly as your breath ghosted the shell of her ear and she lied straight through her teeth, “i don’t know what you’re talking about, y/n. i’m having a good time.” this time your tone was slightly harsher but in a way that made her stomach erupt into butterflies, “jennie cut the shit, i know more than anyone what you look like when you’re enjoying yourself.” heat rushed to her cheeks at the implication of your words, memories filling her head only making her blush deeper.

you felt the way her body began melting into your touch and she slowly started giving into what she both desperately wanted and knew she shouldn’t do. she shook the thought from her head and turned back to face you, once again fighting internally with herself to walk away. the way your eyes transfixed on her was no help but then you uttered the words, “come on mama, let me show you a good time…for old time’s sake.” jennie clenched her jaw and you leaned your forehead against hers, without even realizing it her arms ended up over your shoulders. the feeling of your fingers trailing up her mini black dress made her stumble, making you wrap an arm around her waist once more. her voice was weak when she tried to reply with confidence, “i-i don’t think-” all you had to do was raise one eyebrow and give that same damned smile to get her to cave, “just for tonight.” immediately you smiled the million dollar smile the world fell in love with as you led jennie through the crowd to find a place in the 32 rooms of the oversized mansion. she held onto your hand until you rounded a corner and pushed it open before pressing it closed with her back against. she hated how easily she gave into your wishes but she couldn’t help it with the way you felt her up with ease, making her get lost in all that you were, making her feel like you did all those years ago.

324 notes · View notes

br-uwu-cewayne · 2 years

Text

(Thank you @allgremlinart for putting that suit on my dash and inspiring this thought)

Brucie Wayne [stepping out the house in that garish gold suit]: yes Alfred i know, but the point is to draw attention. Besides, it's going to be accepted perfectly fine by the others at the party. This is just what the wealthy have come to expect. Sure, it's eye-catching, but it's still appropriate fashion for the demographic. I really don't mean any offense, Al, but you wear the same suit every day! That I picked out! You just don't have a talent for Style(tm). Not at this level at least. Luxury fashion just... hits different. The truly wealthy thrive in and appreciate eye-catching garments. Look, I'll see you after the party once you're done running those projections, okay?

Alfred [who fucking groomed and dressed notoriously secretly style-blind Thomas Wayne for every fucking high society function including his own goddamn wedding because otherwise that lazy bitch wouldve shown up in a messy full bush 70's pornstache and one piece flared denim jumpsuit with garish bright orange ascot]: of course sir 😌 my apologies 😌 you know what you're doing 😌 i will see you after the event 😌 and do my utmost to ensure my own choice of garb does not disappoint 😌

[FIVE HOURS LATER]

Alfred [waiting out front of city hall to pick Bruce up from the gala]:

Seriously though, the man would be SOOOOO annoyed like bitch??? You think I dress like this because I'm unfashionable??? motherFUCKER, this is a uniform. I wasn't a butler until i had to pretend to be to keep custody of you. I was out on the town with Thomas and Martha Wayne. Nightly. You think i didn't know how to dress???

Like. Like THIS is Alfred on his days off:

If he could dress how he WANTED for a gala???!?

#alfred pennyworth #Not Just The Butler #brucie wayne #bruce wayne #batman

364 notes · View notes

gothgleek · 8 months

Text

Baratheon ladies wearing elaborate escoffions that resemble antlers is my new favorite thing in the @15-lizards fashion history analysis posts.

It’s said that Rhaelle brought the fashion to the Stormlands before realizing how impractical it is, however I can see Cassana wearing it when she comes to King’s Landing court where the weather is a bit more tolerable. Cersei would bring it back in fashion early in her marriage when she’s still pretty happy she’s Robert’s wife. It’s something super elaborate she can use to show off her new house that stays true to her Lannister roots of being ostentatious. She also probably saw Cassana wearing something similar when she was younger and Cersei is really clinging into ‘better days’ at this point. The red she wears matches Baratheon yellow rather than Lannister gold and she has a chain like design across her bust made of rubies and gold to show she’s not truly comfortable with her gilded cage marriage.

Margaery also follows this trend during her marriage to Renly. It’s more subdued than Cersei because she’s trying to market herself as the more relatable queen and because she lives in the Stormlands. Due to the weather she saves it for formal events like tourneys and galas and maybe for parades for the small folk. I can also see her bringing this back to invoke nostalgia in older small folk and minor houses. Wearing brown instead of black also makes her look softer as well. TBH she’s the one I struggled with most because the Stormland fashion doesn’t suit her character. I might have to redo her on a later date.

(Something about women marrying into the Baratheons and something about overcompensating in order to assimilate something something).

Finally we have Shireen. She is understated compared to the other women but still very gorgeous. I can’t imagine her in any flashy clothes, she is the type to value practicality but she would know how to dress beautifully for formal events. Her wealth is shown with furs and intricate embroidery and the jewels in her hair. Bits of her outfit are inspired by the women who came before her but still uniquely her own.

Anyway thanks for reading!

#cersei lannister #Cersei Baratheon #house baratheon #cassana estermont #cassana Baratheon #margaery tyrell #house tyrell #margaery baratheon #shireen baratheon #mine

35 notes · View notes

zacs-of-rwby · 10 months

Text

Perfect Fit

Scene Prompt - Oz and Qrow go on a shopping date - requested by the lovely @yoomschoocs

Halfway House AU - Qrow Branwen x Ozpin

“Qrow, I already told you, I don’t need to do this,” Oz complained for the umpteenth time that day.

Qrow strolled ahead and opened the door to the boutique. His voice rang out with the bell above the door. “I know, but don’t you want to? Come on, Oz. How long have you been going to these stupid events? Like ten years, now?”

Oz sighed as he walked through the door. “About thirteen, actually.”

“Exactly! And you’ve been wearing that same old suit for all thirteen fucking years. Can’t you try something new? For me?” Qrow put on his best puppy dog eyes.

“Alright, alright, there’s no need for that. We’re already here. Might as well look around.”

Qrow took the victory, grabbing Oz’s hand and sweeping him away to the back of the store where all of the formal wear was displayed. As Oz had no desire to be picking out a new outfit, he let Qrow play fashionista for the day, picking out this tie, grabbing that shirt. Oz would try on whatever made him happy, especially if he would be able to get out of this without purchasing anything. The last thing he needed to do was show up to the community fundraising gala in a thousand dollar suit.

“Here,” Qrow said, shoving a dark green blazer in his hands. “Try this on to start.”

Oz shook his head, but took the jacket without resistance. He put his cane down and tried it on.

Qrow pulled at the sleeves and adjusted the lapel. “Fits perfect. Now we just need…” his sentence trailed off as he walked away. Oz was almost positive that he didn’t even need to be here. Qrow could have done the same with a display mannequin. He returned with the matching pants, a gold tie, black dress shirt, and green paisley vest. “Try on the whole thing.”

Oz smiled, giving his partner an amused side eye. Although he thought hard about it, he decided to forego the snarky quip he was forming and listen to his partner’s wishes. After about a minute, he came back fully dressed up.

“So? How about it? Does it pass the test?”

Oz was trying to be cute, but Qrow looked extremely pensive. Looks like he failed the test after all.

“Not quite. Something seems off.”

“Can I help you find anything?” a voice snuck up on them.

Oz smiled, “No, that’s alright Ms. Adel, we were just looking.”

Qrow crossed his arms. “Actually, maybe you could help…”

Oz could only shake his head, as Qrow had clearly taken his role of ‘fashion director’ very seriously today.

Coco laughed, “Well, if you need suggestions, I have a few.”

Oh dear, Oz thought. Looks like we are going to be here a while.

Oz tried on about a dozen different suits before he landed on one he really liked. As he stepped into the dressing room one last time to take it off, he noticed Qrow and Coco conspiring off to his left. He didn’t think anything of it as he closed the door behind him. Before he could take off the vest, he heard a knock on the dressing room door.

“Oz, wait. We got one more for you.”

Oz sighed, his fatigue starting to set it. He was not ready for Qrow to flip a flowing, silk, emerald green dress over the top of the dressing room.

“Qrow… you must be absolutely joking.”

“Come on, just try it! You never know, you might like it.”

Oz scoffed, “I highly doubt that.”

“So prove me wrong then,” Qrow teased, wiggling it a little, as if begging Oz to take the bait.

“Fine. I will prove you wrong. But we are not buying it.”

“We’ll see,” Qrow sang.

Oz put the dress on out of spite, telling himself that it was not his style. It would never look good on him. Trying it on only meant he could prove Qrow wrong and be done with this ridiculous charade. The one thing he wasn’t ready for was the feeling he got when he saw himself in the mirror. It made him feel… confident.

Heat rose in his cheeks at the thought. Timidly, he pushed the door open and stepped out of the dressing room, cane in hand.

Qrow’s jaw dropped.

“Are you happy now?” Oz teased.

His partner was silent as he slowly walked up to him, his movements cautious like Oz might run away if he moved too suddenly.

Oz sighed, “I knew it, this is ridiculous, we don’t have to-”

“No! Oz, no, I- I just- holy shit.” Qrow’s smile grew so big, his excitement was palpable.

I haven’t seen him smile like that in a long time.

“Oz, you look incredible, you have to buy it, please? Please.”

Anticipation soaked through Qrow’s eyes as he scanned Oz up and down, desperation dripping from every word. How on Remnant was Oz supposed to say no?

Oz sighed, “Alright, fine. I surrender.” Oz gently lifted Qrow’s chin with his finger, forcing their eyes to meet as Oz whispered, “But only so I can see that look on your face again.”

#rwby #fan fic #rwby fan fic #alternate universe #cloqwork #ozqrow #qrow branwen #ozpin #oz's halfway house au #did i do this write?#ficlet

30 notes · View notes

flockofcrowsinatornadoofcreation · 1 year

Text

Zane headcanons!

• Zane secretly remembers his time as the Ice Emperor. He fights to keep up his cheery, innocent front, but he worries that he might slip. He fears that he could hurt someone if the Ice Emperor returned.

After thinking long and hard, Zane gave Pixal and Lloyd a copy of his shutdown code. He told them it was "just in case", with no further explanation given.

• When Zane gets too emotional, he can short-circuit. One time Jay scared him and he freaked out then dropped like a stone.

• Zane is secretly a fashion icon, but he still dresses like an old man half the time. He doesn't want to overshadow the iconic RGB Siblings.

Example of Icon Zane: "You don't need a rebreather." "Yes, I know, but I like how it completes my outfit😁"

"Zane, you're a nindroid. You have infrared sensors. You have night vision. Why are you wearing glasses?" "I enjoy the aesthetic."

• Pixane stuff!

They absolutely adore each other

When Zane got back from the Never Realm, it was hard for Pixal to let Zane out of her sight for a while

They love to go on dates, especially to cafés during rain/snow storms. They enjoy the aesthetic.

Since Zane gave Pixal half of his heart, they sort of feel what the other is feeling. This is usually limited to extremes, and doesn't usually cross realms. This link persists even after the two get new bodies after defeating the Overlord and getting scrapped.

• Zane and Pixal's completely different attitudes towards the fact that humans are squishier and more delicate than nindroids.

Zane is very much the health-and-wellness type, who is very conscienscious about cultivating an optimal environment for his human friends. Drafts out full meal plans, changes all the lightbulbs in the house because he read online that certain lighting arrangements can elicit certain moods in humans, and he's studied human medicine intensely enough that he could probably get a medical license if he wanted. Kai gets a sore throat, Zane immediately begins researching homemade cough syrup recipes. Cole's got knee pain, instant ice pack and bedrest. Jay is lactose-intolerant and Zane has a conniption if he so much as looks at dairy.

Pixal's reaction, meanwhile, is on the complete opposite end of the spectrum. Constantly overestimates what humans can survive. "I could punch Nya through five inches of steel right? She can take it, she's tough." And "Jay, let's test out my new laser cannon by seeing how far across it'll blast you across the secret base." And "I'm sure no one will take issue if I get rid of all our oven mitts, surely humans aren't so weak they can't handle a hot sheet of metal." It doesn’t help that she usually poses most of her questions about human fragility to Lloyd of all people, who is a half-dragoni demigod chosen one of prophecy, so he doesn’t know either. "Lloyd, it is my turn to cook and I was wondering if four whole ghost peppers is spicy enough for humans." "Hm....maybe add a fifth pepper." "My thoughts exactly." The catch is, since they're all essentially superhuman, they're also more durable than the average human so all of Pixal's dangerous overestimations usually turn out just fine. Except that incident with the peppers. She is still banned from the kitchen after that.

• Zane gets Pixal to make him multiple different bodies for fun occasions (and also its good to have backups) like the ninja go to a fancy gala or something and Zanes like "oh let me get my luxury skin" and he looks exactly the same as normal except now he's rose gold

#ninjago #flockofcrows #zane #pixane ninjago #pixal #flockofcrows ninjago headcanons #lets see how many of you yell about stealing headcanons word for word :')

29 notes · View notes

salted-caramel-tea · 1 year

Note

can we please have more met gala talk? I need to hear your opinion on some of these... looks

ok i’m gonna use this to try and sum ip my thoughts so pls bear with me

anyway i wasn’t rlly excited for the theme this year bc i don’t like karl lagerfeld and despite his contributions to modern fashion houses i don’t think he ultimately deserves to be celebrated given his consistent fatphobia, racism islamophobia and antisemitism . he was a cunt and an asshole and i hope he’s resurrected so he can die again

that being said i’m still gonna rate the looks anyway bc that was the theme of the exhibit this year whether anyone likes him or not

so obviously we get a lot of references to chancel via styles that have almost become motifs of his influence in various houses like his bridal collections , baby pink and black, flower appliqués, tweed etc

these one really stood out to me . bc this is what i would consider as a tribute to a designer . these garments took iconography and personalised them. it’s taking those influences and creating something that inserts karl lagerfeld into their world as opposed to inserting themselves into his world creating iconic unique garments that aren’t just pulled from haute couture lines or a big money talking point the garment is made for the wearer and the wearer sells it. it shows a direct intertwining of their style with karl lagerfeld fashion. jenna ortega especially drawing from such an iconic dress with the gold chains bordering the layers of her skirt i think it’s beautiful and creative

on the other end of the spectrum we’ve got vintage pulls

now i’m not against vintage pulls . bc i think some of the designs are gorgeous and i said before if anyone was going to pull from the archives i wanted it to be that exact dress dua lipa is wearing . however i to my the trouble with reliance on archived looks is that the dress was not intended for the wearer. they looked absolutely beautiful but there was no connection between the garment and the wearer, there’s no touch of them or integration between them and karl lagerfeld . wearing his designs is definitely talking points and gets people interested in looking into the archives of chanel in particular but there’s very little room for personality especially with the trending lack of accessory

the 3rd category is Doing Karl

picked these because they are on the two direct opposite sides of the spectrum for karl looks. obviously we expected men to come out in sunglasses gloves and high shirt collars but i’m more in love with the way people create from their inspirations . cardi is obviously inspired by the personal fashions of karl lagerfeld from her grey hair to her oversized collar and black and white theme but her dress pulls other crucial elements of his design career linking the art to the artist and doing so in a way that allows herself to come through the various layers of karl lagerfeld references . the dress pattern incorporating the rose appliqués and quilting in a way that almost resembles the tweed texture i think it’s a really smart garment and she looks beautiful

lastly .

the cat . i enjoy the campiness around peoples interpretation of the car although i believe some people executed it better than others i personally love doja’s entire look i think it’s glamourous but maintains that camp quietness that people tend to associate with her via the facial prosthetics and the feathering of the train of the dress replicating a fur like texture i think it’s so smart and glamorous and the reference is THERE and is understandable whilst maintaining the extravagance expected from met gala looks

all in all was i wowed to death by this year ? no . there’s been better themes. i feel like ppl got a bit lazy with influences by just dressing up as karl or pulling from archive or just not sticking to theme . i feel like with pulling from one certain designer the ability to implement the wearer and their designers own personality into the look is limited slightly but i’m impressed with the people who did create some of the most extravagant looks of the night so many people came out with beautifully executed and inspired looks and although i wish people were a little more creative (especially the men) there was some absolutely iconic looks last night . it was not ever going to be the met galas most iconic night with such restrictive influence to one designer but the created looks for last night were phenomenal and paid their appreciation towards the works of karl lagerfeld . he’s still a cunt tho .

#met gala

11 notes · View notes

anxiety-banana · 1 year

Text

So in case you didn't know, hello! Sometimes I do art sometimes I regret it but today is not that day! Here is the wave of excitement I went through while reading the fic The Valley of the Mythosaur by @hannah-schooler, @armchairaloof, and @melting-houses-of-gold

Anyways I made three (3) pieces as I read this fic and I want to share them with the world! They're not as good as they could be, seeing as I've only become involved in digital art in the last year or so, but I'm way too excited not to share. My style is going THROUGH IT my dudes

As always, PLEASE DON'T REPOST MY ART WITHOUT PERMISSION! I cannot stress this enough. It causes me stress. I am too stressed as it is I don't need the stress of trying to take down someone's Pinterest post lol

Number one! Posting chronologically by the fic (rather than how I made them lol) we have Ahsoka's gala look!! I'm so excited by this one and I'm actually submitting it for my AP art assignment on fashion design hehe

I basically went off the most common trends and such of the twenties, including but not limited to, Marcel waves, pearls, and that one style of dress we all know and can't decide if we hate or not, with as much of an "Ahsoka style" as I could. This one is my personal favorite, mostly for the dress design and pearls and such.

Next up! Meeting Rex on their way to Cairo! I just could not get vaguely dusty, wearing men's clothes Ahsoka out of my head. This was the first one I drew, and it started it all.

This one's lower quality because, well, it was only ever meant to be a sketch lol, but I wanted to include it anyway. We love dusty musty Ahsoka who has more sass than hair on her head.

And last but not least, Ahsoka in her (not yet soaking wet) nightgown! I am so obsessed with the ref image the authors used and I could not get it out of my head. Spent way too long on this one because I cannot for the life of me find the copy-paste tool on my art program. rip.

I had a few ideas for text to go with this one, but I decided on the quote, “I knew it was you by the fastidiousness of your knock," that I have not yet gotten over.

Thanks for sticking around, friends, and go check out that fic!! <3

#art #my art #digital art #star wars #clone wars #rexsoka #modern au #modern clone wars #modern rexsoka #ahsoka tano #rex fett #rexsoka art

18 notes · View notes

liroyalty · 6 months

Text

Since someone's got my head thinking about it, it's probably about time I revives some headcanon posts & lore about the Amaryllis Isles, as it is the country that has gotten the most attention & worldbuilding(outside of Camellia ofc). So this is all pretty much me digging up my headcanons from my old blog.

The Amaryllis Isles is considered to be 'The Elite of the Elite', as the luxuriousness & splendor of the archipelago & it's Golden Court are a step above other royalties & their courts. 'The Golden Court' in itself is a name that was given to the isle's court & it's royal family by other nations to reflex it's splendor, of which the Amaryllis Court decided to make official. The Golden Court is housed entirely in La Palais de la Gloire Dorée(The Palace of Golden Glory), this palace, along with it's garden, The Heavenly Yard, is known to be the second largest palace in the world.

The Isles enjoyed mild summers, but cold winters, being so far north in the Dark Azure Ocean. Thankfully, their winters are not so burial like that of Camellia, but cold enough to make additional layers a necessary thing. So popular winter fashion including that of the multi layers undershirts & skirts, or fur-lined coats for the very wealthy members of the Golden Court that could import such goods from colder kingdoms, like the Zedessa Empire & the Lareryth Empire. Summer fashions included single layered attires with wide brimmed hats to shield Amaryllians from the blinding light of the sun. Feathers & ribbons in the hair were also popular among men & women alike, & nearly all members of the court wore heels(only women wore high heels however). Ladies of the court were expected to also wear makeup everyday, usually lipstick, either a little eyeshadow or powder, & some type of perfume were the minimum for daily affairs, more was expected on special or formal occasions, & men were at least expected to wear perfume on the daily, with lipstick & powder on formal occasions(pale colored lipsticks or lipglosses are usually more popular among men's makeup).

As such a title would suggest, The Golden Court has no shortage of gold, & is it's most often used precious metal, jewelry, cups, furniture, you would find gold on just about anything, even the walls themselves. Amaryllians of the court were more then often, socialites that enjoys galas & banquets, or at the very least, were people who enjoyed good conversations & good food. None were more so that pinpoint of this ideas of party delighters then the royal family. The Golden Court is comprised of the nobility of the Amaryllis Isles, people who have married into such families, & of course, the Isle's Royal Family. It's name origined from, not just from the metal most often used by it's members, but also from it's members hair. Blonde hair is the most often found upon the heads of the court's members, with it's royal family's being a striking golden blonde. It's royal family also most often has large sapphire blue eyes. Because of this, blonde hair & blue eyes are prized physical traits within the court, with the royal family expected to have both. A popular secondary physical trait to have within the court is white or silver hair, as 'just behind gold, silver is the second most precious metal known to man'. Yellow or gold eyes are also seemed a popular secondary physical trait, as it matches the same ideals of blonde hair. Because of these prized traits, a large amount of members of the Golden Court have at least one of these traits, it has also become a prestige requirement that anyone who marries into the royal family, must have either blonde hair or blue eyes, if not both.

More often, it is the Queen of the Amaryllian Royal Family that does the forefront of entertaining & socializing with the court & the isle's guests, while the king handled the matters of the kingdom. This made the king's presence no less welcomed, of course, to have the king show at a ball as seen as a blessing, as his time was sparce with matters of the realm taking up most of his days.

Guests at the Golden Court are quite common. Popular entertainers, scholars of the brightest minds, artists of different trades, & royals & nobles from other lands. The range of guests that have been welcomed to the Golden Court's palace is wide indeed, but only the most noticeable guests have been invited again for additional stays, & allowed to dine with the royal family. Dining with the Ruling Family of the Golden Court, be it for brunch, lunch, dinner, afternoon tea, or just dessert, is one of the highest honors a guest can be given, as not even most of the Golden Court members have been allowed this.

Etiquette in the Golden Court was ridded, especially if you were born into it. There was a high expectation to be good at socializing & having excellent manners. Every member had to speak & write at least six languages(excluding Amaryllis's home tongue of French), know five styles of ballroom dances(with the waltz & tango being requirements), & partake of some type of artistical hobby. You were to know each member of the court's title & formal address, & to be able to preform to the low bow traditional of the court(to be able to lower yourself very low to the ground, without raising your rear, in the presence of one of higher rank, you would also lower your head to show respect).

And lastly, even if you are not a naive to Amaryllis, everyone knows of Amaryllian Delights. It is a brand name of sweets that has received the backing & even investments from the Royal Family. The brand has become a household name in The Golden Court, & across the isles altogether. It is believed, world-widely, to be the best brand of cakes & champagne created(think something similar too laduree). A true Amaryllian has a strong sweet tooth, they say, & only Amaryllian Delight can curb it. There most popular selling cakes are those usually the favorites of the royal family, macarons, eclairs & opera cake, with the classic champagne & pink champagne being their all time best selling champagne.

#musings [lore and ideas]#headcanons [a royal decree!]

3 notes · View notes

queen-rndmchick · 1 year

Text

Sandra Oh @ Gold House’s Gold Gala 💛

#sandra oh #gold house #gold gala #los angeles #celebrity #fashion #red carpet #grey’s anatomy #killing eve

31 notes · View notes

busdriver-55 · 2 years

Text

Fashion Industry AU

Satan Wears A Rolex by @aquawolfgirl: An aspiring writer who’s moved to New York City from Arizona, Rey Kenobi gets an in atGeneral Fashion Magazine thanks to her friend Finn, a photographer. Working under head copy editor Poe Dameron, she thinks she’s found her place in the journalist world. But when Kylo Ren, Editor-in-Chief, needs a new assistant, she finds herself thrust into the line of fire. She tells herself that, after this job, she can work anywhere she wants, including The Skywalker Report. But will she last that long?

the eye has to travel by @secretreylotrash: Kylo Ren is the head of the Costume Department for the Star Alliance Opera. Rey is his beleaguered assistant. It’s hell. She’s slowly crumbling under endless hours of work and impossible standards. Being a broke post-grad, their most recent argument is fought over the condition of Rey’s personal wardrobe and her inability to find anything appropriate for the Opening Night Gala this season. Kylo insists he’s handled the problem by making her dress himself, but has he? It just seems like he's making Rey stay late after work out of spite, for hours of fittings, alone with him.

Bespoke by fettuccine_alfreylo: When new stylist Rey Jackson receives a request to dress the hottest (and most unfashionable) new actor in Hollywood, she gets a lot more than she bargained for.Mentally AND physically. Because Ben Solo is freaking massive.

Click, Boom by @eskayrobot: It was too good to be true. Skywalker Modeling Agency had been given the exclusive modeling contract for the spring House of Organa collection and Rey was somehow lucky enough to be one of the models selected for the feature spread in Vogue magazine shot by renowned high fashion photographer Kylo Ren. She just didn't expect him to be this hard to work with.

White Silk by TourmalineGreen: Say Yes to the Dress Omegaverse AU.

Silver and Gold by Elywyngirlie: She thought she could show him a thing or two, Kylo Ren, general editor and general terror of Haute Couture. She didn't realize that he would show her his heart.

#reylo #fanfic recs #modern au #fanfic #fic recs #reylo fic #fashion au #chronic pain

24 notes · View notes

tomtenadia · 2 years

Text

Thicker than blood - 4

Welcome to another update. I love this chapter.

CW: language, mild NSFW, blood

MASTERLIST // CH.3

Saturday eventually arrived and Rowan was in his flat getting ready for the Galathynius’ gala. He hated that kind of party. Far too fancy for him. He was a man loving easy life. At those parties he always felt like out of his depth. And this one was going to be a very high class one. The Galathynius were the most ancient clan in Terrasen and a pure blooded family. His clan in Doranelle too was ancient and pureblooded. So he technically was one them, but he never cared much about that sort of stuff. Also, vampire could be touchy when it came to being a pureblood or not. The ancient families still followed the old tradition that a pureblooded vampire was not allowed to marry and mate with someone like them. Halfbloods, were not well accepted in some parts of vampire society.

He sighed and stashed that thought away and finished getting ready for the painful shindig.

Once ready, he finally forced himself to leave the house, get to his car and set off for the half an hour drive to the Galathynius mansion.

Their clan seat was tucked away in the countryside away from the city, surrounded by an extensive estate. Rumour had it that under that massive land lay a state of the art lab with all the possible advanced technologies and more. No one, other than the few trusted people allowed in, ever set foot in it.

He probably sounded petulant but he hated that Lorcan dragged him in. Fenrys would have been a better choice. The young vampire loved that kind of mingling and he was the most social of the group.

When he arrived at the imposing gates a guard stopped him and checked his name against a list and once they were okay he was allowed to drive through. In front of the house a valet met him and offered to park his car. Rowan almost protested but the young man did not back down.

He took a deep breath and started climbing the stairs. The hall was illuminated by the ancient chandeliers. The mansion was old and always been owned by the Galathynius. It was the seat of their clan.

He kept walking and reached the ballroom where a man with a tray full of flute glasses filled with blood met him. Rowan grabbed his and started wandering around. That was all he was meant to do. No one was interested in talking to a detective and he loved his anonymity.

Lorcan found him ten minutes later “Good, you made it,” he grabbed Rowan’s arms “come.”

He tried to protest but Lorcan seemed on a mission.

They walked deeper in the crowd until they reached a group of four people and he froze. What was she doing there? Why she had her hand on Rhoe Galathynius’ arm?

He stared at her. She had a long green dress that accentuated her curves beautifully. Her hair was fashioned in an intricate braid. And her eyes. Blue with a ring of gold, like the other woman at Rhoe’s side. No. It could not be.

He turned to her and she winked at him.

Celaena Sardothien, the junkie ME who had plagued his nights was Aelin Galathynius. The heir of the oldest clan in Orynth. Fuck. Fuck.

He was ripped from his thought when Lorcan’s voice brought him back to reality.

“This is agent Rowan Whitethorn.”

“Rowan, let me introduce you Evalin and Rhoe Galathynius,” Rowan shook their hands “this is Aedion Ashryver, he is the lead scientist,” and eventually Lorcan turned and Rowan’s gaze landed on the woman “This is Aelin Ashryver Galathynius.”

“Rowan,” her smile grew wide and dangerous “it’s an honour to meet you, agent.”

He heard Lorcan talk in the background but his mind was focused on the woman in front of him. Did her parents know? The daughter of the couple who helped develop synthetic blood was a junkie. So many thoughts filled his brain. There was no way he could arrest her now. It would cause a huge scandal. And why did she use an alias? Or worked as ME? Surely given her families riches she could play spoiled girl and live off her family reputation.

“Agent Salvaterre was telling us that you are working on some cases that involves humans being drained and dumped in an alley.” The voice of Rhoe Galathynius reached him and he finally removed his eyes from Aelin.

“Yes, we just started the investigation. We think the two incidents are connected but at the moment I don’t have much lead.”

“Do you think they are rogues?’ The question had come from Aedion who was listening intently. Damn he looked like Aelin’s brother.

“We had junkies attacks, but no deaths,” his stare landed on Aelin and she glared at him “This is much worse.”

“I though the junkies problem was under control,” the harsh words had come from Rhoe “or it will be soon. Aedion has come up with a cocktail to help these people beat the cravings. He added and Aedion took over “we had a few volunteers who helped us perfection the mix and we had excellent results,” he explained proudly “after only a week the needs have stopped and they are down to an injection a week for another month. Much better than the three months in a rehab centre.”

Rowan nodded. If there really was a less painful way to treat the craving he was willing to support it.

“They are adapting to synthetic blood nicely.”

Aedion passed him his business card “maybe next time you catch a junkie you can send him or her my way.”

Rowan’s hand almost shook. You have one in your family he wanted to say.

“I will keep this in mind.”

“Now if you’ll excuse me, I promised a dance to my fiancee,” he walked to Aelin and kissed her cheek “Love you.”

Aelin nodded as if in a daze and Aedion disappeared.

Rowan was about to add something but Aelin excused herself and ran away.

“You must excuse our daughter, she doesn’t like this type of parties. We rarely see her,” explained Evalin with a pang of pain in her voice “she has her life, her job at the morgue and we see her only when family events call.”

So the parents knew of her other job and that she had another life. Rowan was curious to understand more about that mysterious woman.

“Go Rowan. There’s plenty of nice women. Both of you. Go have fun.”

Rowan nodded and excused himself, leaving Lorcan alone with the Galathynius.

He searched for Aelin but she was gone. That seemed to be their thing. Him chasing after her.

He was walking absentmindedly around the grand salon when a hand grabbed him and pulled him inside a closet. The door clicked shut and the light went on. In front of him stood Aelin.

“Did you like the surprise?”

“You are their heir?”

“Just because my mother gave birth to me. I am nothing like my family. I do not believe in their crazy ideas.”

Rowan groaned “they are good ideas, to help society.”

Aelin rolled her eyes “and control people and force them to reject who they truly are.”

He pushed her against the wall “you don’t know what you are talking about.”

She moved closer to him “I live my life on my own terms… Rowan.”

The way his name sounded on her lips almost broke him.

“Do you like the dress, agent?”

Rowan’s mouth was on her neck. Gods, she was like a drug, her scent drove him insane.

He felt her hands land in his hair and Aelin’s leg hook at his hips bringing them indecently close.

“What if I told you that under this dress I am naked?” Her mouth landed on his lips and the kiss was hard and needy “hoist me up in those strong arms and fuck me senseless.”

Rowan ended up on his knees instead and looked up at her. His eyes were dark with lust and she loved to see him on his knees. Her heeled foot landed on his thigh and she pulled up her dress to her waist until she was exposed in front of him.

His calloused hands slowly trailed her long legs starting from her ankles all the way up to her thighs.

Her hands grabbed his long hair quite hard “I love to have this effect on men. I love them at my feet.”

Rowan looked at her and smirked and a moment later his finger was in her and felt Aelin buckle hard. His finger started moving and Aelin’s moan grew and he almost lost it when he saw her hand dip in the square neck of her dress and began teasing her nipples. “Does this turn you on, agent? Are you all hard for me?”

Rowan’s replied by adding a second finger while his thumb landed on her clit and started torturing her “I want my name on your lips,” his tongue licked a strip of her wet core.

“Rowan,” she said breathlessly, her head tilted back and her eyes closed.

“Good girl.”

Aelin bit her lower lips as she pinched hard a nipple and loved the reaction in him, his gaze turned ravenous and that’s when he added a third finger stretching her. No man had ever done that to her with just his hands. Most of the times she had to go back home and give herself that climax that never came. But the man at her feet was managing to have her almost beg for more. Hellas, she imagined him inside her. If his fingers could fill her in such a delicious way she did not wanted to imagine his cock.

“You are imagining me fuck you, aren’t you princess?” His lips landed on her clit and Aelin almost screamed “Not yet, I want you first at my mercy with just my fingers and mouth. I want you to beg.”

Aelin groaned hard and felt the orgasm building the pressure in her core rising quickly.

“Then make me come hard, agent and stop teasing.”

His hand trailed up to her exposed breast and pinched her nipple hard but Aelin grabbed his finger and leaning forward she took them in her mouth and licked them clean one by one “imagine this is your cock, and my warm mouth around it.”

Rowan groaned, his hand came back down and sneaked under the dress and grabbed her arse quite hard and in that instant his mouth was fully on her sex, feasting on her like a starved man. Desperate for her all of a sudden. Her arousal mixed with her scent of lemon and verbena was tickling his senses. Fingers back inside her he teased and feasted until she finally felt her orgasm build quickly, her walls starting to clench around “come hard for me, say my name like a prayer to the dark gods.”

And as she was finally close to her peak, while his fingers were still inside her, he moved his mouth to her inner thigh where blood called and he bit her hard, and drank, her orgasm exploded, rippling through him so hard that he almost came in his trousers too.

He drank until the frenzy passed and when he pulled back his eyes landed on hers and a truth appeared in front of him. Mate. The woman standing in front of him was his mate. She was staring at him with a scared gaze. She knew he had learnt the truth. She could read it in his eyes. He stood as if in a daze “no…” he whispered “no… this is a fucking joke.”

All he could do was to ran away.

Aelin stared at him and at the clear rejection. Of course he was mad. Fate had saddled him with his enemy. With a junkie. Someone whom he despised with all his being. She had tasted the truth the day she cut him and licked his blood. He had discovered it in the throes of passion, when the bond was at its peak.

Aelin let her body fell seated on the floor and stood like that for what seemed like ages.

Then eventually stood and decided she had to go out and delete that horrible night from her head.

She had to forget.

And she knew exactly how.

TAGS:

@rowaelinismyotp @swankii-art-teacher @courtofjurdan @whimsicallyreading @themoonthestarsthesuriel @aelin-bitch-queen @bruiseonthefaceofhumanity @acreativelydifferentlove @mis-lil-red @thegreyj @sailorsassley @leiawritesstories @clairec79 @morganofthewildfire @sv0430 @heartless--aromantic @autumnbabylon @rowanaelinn @backtobl4ck @susumaus98 @gracie-rosee @mybloodrunsblue @tanvee1231 @avenrebekah @whoever-you-choose-to-love @theywillnotsingforme @universallytreepost @black-daisy-water @goddess-aelin

#aelin galathynius #rowaelin #rowan whitethorn #aelin x rowan #rowaelin fanfic #rowaelin fanfiction #rowan x aelin #vampires #vampires au

52 notes · View notes

quinnlarrabee · 1 year

Text

Do you work?

“Do you work?”

I looked to my right at the person who asked me this question, which sounded like a typo. He was around 28, tall with a messy head of brown hair and blue eyes, and he was wearing a perfectly fitted dark blue suit with a faintly pink shirt barely buttoned to his navel, a thin decorative scarf, a gold pinky ring, and a watch that could fund the average midwestern couple’s retirement. He was looking askance at me – peering, really – and seemed bored.

Given the context, his question was reasonable.

For a stretch in the mid-aughts I accidentally ran around New York City almost exclusively with fashion editors, Upper East Side trust fund kids and European nobility. During this brief, surreal window into an alternate universe I received fuckoff-sized paper invitations to museum galas, found myself on the guest lists of the most exclusive clubs (Beatrice, Double 7, and Bungalow 8), and humored a lot of fraught conversations in Spring and Fall about where people were summering and wintering, which were new verbs in my plebeian vocabulary. I never had to break stride to walk through any door preceded by a line or velvet ropes, because I was walking in behind people who had names that were preceded by hereditary titles, immortalized in social registers, and printed on the mastheads of then important but now irrelevant publications. I don’t quite know how it happened, but suddenly no one in my entire social circle really did anything but attend.

These were people who don’t work (PWDW, pronounced pee-dub-dee-dub).

The bored toff and I were seated next to one another at a dinner in the subterranean wine cellar of a very buzzy, flash-in-the-pan restaurant on the Lower East Side, which at the time was chic and favored by the jetset because it was still an overlooked, underdeveloped home to other jetsetters pretending to be poor artists. Among the dozen or so people around the table were a few leggy, bright-young-thing Vogue editors who lived off of bottomless expense accounts, but most of the guests were Counts and Barons and Ladies from Europe and the UK. It was like the United Nations for landed gentry. They were of the variety of restless, angsty rich children who in their mid-twenties leave behind their medals and sashes and ride into New York City on the magnetic strips of their parents’ debit cards to befriend DJs, abuse drugs, and have a lot of sex until their family sends a prim attaché to quietly fetch them from rehab or, worse, extract them from an inappropriate relationship. Funded by heaps of ill-begotten aristocratic wealth and powered by nouveau socialite influence, the dinner was a perfectly balanced sycophantic ecosystem.

I felt sorely out of place. My inseam is barely 32 inches after yoga, my family doesn’t have a coat of arms or a castle, and back then, the only thing I attended with regularity was an office where I worked.

This brings me back to the essential question, which sounded like, d’jooWEHK?

In the only two and a half syllables that he uttered at me, I could hear in his accent where he sat in the House of Windsor’s extended family tree: a branch far enough from duty to be making small talk with me at 10pm on a Tuesday night in NYC, but close enough to be wary of who he was seated next to. I decided there was only one direction to take this conversation.

“God, no,” I said, looking slightly away from him, furrowing my brow just a bit and lacing my two-word response with a touch of disgust. I took care not to expend more energy answering the question than he had expended asking it. People whose generational wealth and privilege have spared them the drudgery of working for a living ironically speak as if they are perpetually exhausted—as if every word that emerges from their pouted mouths requires Herculean effort. (Watch Prince – sorry, King Charles speak. You’ll see what I mean.)

“I have no living family who have ever worked,” I pronounced flatly, meeting his gaze, entirely committed to wearing his birthright as a costume. He laughed, very pleased by this.

“I thought all the money in America was only a generation or two old,” he said, sneering a bit. “Barely even a patina on it.” I imagined how annoying he must have been at Eaton. I bet he’d been a flamboyant fencer and a closeted bisexual.

“The proper families in New York sorted themselves out in the late 1800s,” I said, “not long after we sent your lot bleeding back to King George.” He raised his eyebrows and laughed. How is it that even the most handsome Brits look like horses when they laugh? The young woman to his right leaned in and addressed us in a very thick Italian accent imbued with plummy British.

“What are you two laughing about?” She was arrestingly beautiful. She probably would have been a model if her family hadn’t forbidden her from working.

“This American is explaining how peerage works in his country,” he said, his sneer-laugh reduced to a fatigued chuckle and a lazy smirk. I couldn’t tell if I was now in on the joke or the joke itself.

“Do you work?” I asked her. She smiled very sweetly and slightly shook her pretty head.

“Not yet, maybe I will not work – at a job,” she said. “I like reading and studying. I like learning about Italian art and history.” EEE-storee.

“Contessa Constantina’s family owns most of southern Italy,” announced the disdainful Brit. “Her studying art and history is just sort of reading the diaries of her ancestors.” He laughed at his joke. Constantina playfully slapped his arm and bared her perfect teeth at him. I realized right then and there that if I didn’t stop RSVPing to cursive invitations and gliding around with bored aristocrats and laughing at jokes about being bored aristocrats, I’d lose my drive, my self-respect, and certainly my savings.

I never saw the Brit or his Italian heiress again. They probably now have two kids in boarding school, split their time between Soho, Southampton, Surry and Sardinia, and both keep thinly concealed boyfriends on the Upper East Side or in Portugal. I distanced myself from PWDW and found friends who wanted to do things and build things (DTBT). I did things and built things.

Today, I am again surrounded by people who do not work.

But it’s a different kind of idleness. It isn’t rarified or earned over generations. These PWDW are not confined to secret dining rooms and donor circles and the fashion shows of young people bankrolled by ancestral conquests depicted in oil paintings displayed on the walls of their families’ crumbling villas. They’re everywhere.

No one really works anymore.

We check our many inboxes. We toggle between our employers’ email account, Instagram DMs and iMessage. We affirm things, rearrange things, and every once in a while, emphatically disagree with things to show that we’re paying attention. Like toddlers pretending to eat peas to appease their parents, we just move things around on our plates and occasionally throw fits. White collar digital work apes social media: everything has been reduced to likes and the shrug emoji.

Many of the PWDW I know these days have had an exit, and they are no longer required to even performatively work. An exit is when you build something that someone else perceives to be valuable or threatening, and they give you an eye-watering sum of money to allow what you’ve built to be digested into a larger business, where it will eventually wither, or to be extinguished immediately out of competitive spite. Post-exit people are a funny lot. They work insanely hard for three to twelve years, usually in relative poverty, and then a single event rockets them into the socioeconomic stratosphere, where they meet other people who don’t work—often the gilded European and posh Brit types from whom I extracted myself back in 2006. Together, they attend thought leadership conferences where they exchange tips about places to summer and winter that working people have never heard of.

The only people I know who actually work are people who do things with their hands, and this does not include typing. I’m talking about the kind of work performed by surgeons and landscapers and carpenters. People whose vocations have proper names still work. Florist, butcher, fishmonger. If you are something, you work. If you work in something, you don’t actually work. If your money comes from something, you definitely don’t work.

So, I ask you -

Do you work?

#dark humor #satire #social commentary #essays #culture

3 notes · View notes