#November will be wool all day season though | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

sreidisms · 2 months

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Sweater Weather

Spencer Reid x Mid/Plussize!Fem!Reader

Summary: you wish you could be able to wear Spencer's clothes, but you wear completely different sizes. However, one day he comes home with a surprise.

Genre: ever so slight angst if you even notice it, fluff

Word Count: 1K

Warnings: insecurity, self-comparison, kissing. Only she/her pronouns are used, so trans girls and anyone who uses these pronouns, this is for you.

A/N: I read @tenpintsof-sundrop 's post about how SO many Spencer writers love the "girlfriend wearing their boyfriend's clothes" trope, and honestly as they should, but as a mid-size girl, it's not that realistic. So I took it upon myself to write a short blurb where Spencer wears one of your sweaters. Enjoy 😙

Autumn was undoubtedly your favourite season: the crisp air biting at your skin, the crunch of browned leaves on the pavement, the feeling of a freshly-made mug of tea warming your hands, and of course, wearing sweaters. Sweater weather, is what you called it.

What made it better was the fact you enjoyed experiencing all of this with your lovely boyfriend, Spencer. You could only describe it as luck that you both shared a deep love for autumn, and Halloween naturally. You and Spencer enjoyed taking walks in the afternoon dusk of October, watching obscure foreign films that only he could translate while you were wrapped up in a blanket, and baking cinnamon goods when sleep was long forgotten on the nights he was off work.

Nothing could disrupt your joy during this time - well, except maybe one thing. Both avid sweater collectors, they were all you wore during the colder months. And as usual boyfriend-girlfriend relationships go, you often thought about borrowing a sweater or two from his wardrobe. He had a red striped one which you adored, a memory of his younger self when you had met each other at a flea market and both grabbed the same vintage book. His brown argyle one was definitely your favourite though. And you would ask him to wear it if it wasn’t for one thing.

You wore a larger size than Spencer. It was always blaringly obvious to you how different your bodily proportions were. Although the taller one, your boyfriend wore trousers that you could hardly fit a thigh through and his shirts would only reach past your neck, or at least you assumed - you had never attempted to try.

It shouldn’t have bothered you as much as it did. There were plenty of girls who were taller or chubbier than their romantic counterpart, but it still stung. There was nothing you wanted more during colder evenings than to steal one of his sweaters and bury yourself beneath the warm wool, enveloping yourself in his smell. So you opted for cuddling up as close to him as possible, letting him wrap his arms around you - it was as good as it could get.

However, one day during November, when you were alone at your shared apartment, a very wonderful thing occurred.

The kitchen had just been cleaned after another one of your baking fiascos. Amongst many things, you knocked the bag of flour while putting the tray of odd-looking cookies in the oven, and thus made a mess of the entire floor and counter. It took a while to clean up and it was not rewarding to open the oven door to deformed, sad-looking cookies. Whatever, you thought. It clearly wasn’t your day.

You found a place in your favourite armchair, your current read in your hands. It was the ideal way to pass the time since Spencer had texted you about his mountainous pile of reports he had to finish getting through. He could surely read faster than everyone else, but it didn’t mean they would be finished in a short period of time.

As you delved deeper and deeper into the story, you were startled when you heard the front door click open. You glanced at the clock up on the wall. Almost midnight, poor boy.

“Angel?”

“I’m in the living room!” you called out.

The shuffle of shoes and a gentle thump echoed through the corridor as Spencer took off his converse and dropped his messenger bag. The sound of soft footsteps neared you until the tall man rounded the corner and appeared in all his nerdy glory.

“Hey, finally home,” he sighed.

But you didn’t listen to what he was saying because you were too focused on something else: resting on his lanky frame was your sweater. One of your warmer ones. It was obviously a little too big on him, the material slipping off his right shoulder to reveal his white button-up underneath. The dark green sleeves were always a tad too long for your arms, and you’d assume they wouldn’t even reach Spencer’s wrists, but there they were covering his knuckles, only his fingertips poking out.

“Is everything alright? You seem distracted.” Spencer’s voice pierced your bubble of awe.

“Is that my sweater?”

He looked down and pulled on the hem of the sweater, a faint blush tainting his cheeks. “Uh yeah, it seems to be so. Does it bother you?”

Bother you was the last thing the image of your boyfriend in your clothing would do.

You cleared your throat as you tried to gather your thoughts into an intelligible sentence.

“N-Not at all! You just never asked me to wear anything of mine before … did you not have any sweaters left?”

“Oh no, I did! I um- well yesterday you wore it and left it on my desk chair, and it looked so warm and it … smelt of you.” His voice went up an octave at this last part. “And I thought I could wear it. Is that okay? Did I do something wrong?”

Wrong wasn’t the word you would use. Cute, adorable, heart-warming were adjectives that fit to describe the situation.

“Far from that, Spence. You look … you look adorable,” you said warmly.

He smiled in embarrassment and lifted his hand to push his glasses up the bridge of his nose. He truly was the spitting image of domesticity in this moment.

“C’mere.” You urged him to walk towards you, tucking your legs underneath your body. He shuffled closer while he picked at the stray ends of wool fraying at the sleeves.

Once he was close enough, you held his face in your hands and left a tender kiss on his plump, pink lips. He whined quietly at the sudden action, but let you do as you pleased - he couldn’t really say no, he was putty in your grasp.

After stopping the sweet kiss, your eyes traced over his outfit again - God, he was such a darling.

“Please wear my clothes more often, you look cute in them,” you said while looking into his hazel eyes.

“Don’t have to tell me twice,” he grinned.

Need him to wear my sweaters, I swear 🤧

#writingreidisms #criminal minds #spencer reid #dr spencer reid #matthew gray gubler #mgg #criminal minds fanfic #spencer reid fanfic #mgg fanfiction #criminal minds fluff #spencer reid fluff #mgg fluff #spencer reid x reader #mgg x reader #midsize reader #plussize reader

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kelleah-meah · 7 months

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General Plans for Fall 2023

Like last year, I've made plans for the fall season. Even though I've been trying to slow down and engage in slow living more, it does look like this autumn is going to be anything but boring.

So this list is great for providing a guide for what I would like to do, but it's not intended to be a comparison of what I should be expected to do. Rest and balance are always the goal now as my holistic health takes a greater priority in my life.

Just as a reminder, even though I have the rest of September, October, November and the first few weeks of December to do these, some of the stereotypical autumn activities that you might see on social media aren't on it.

For example, apple picking is no where on this list because I'm not a fan of doing labor for free and calling it "fun." I just want to eat the apples. I don't want to pick the apples. But otherwise, I think you might like most of the suggestions below.

September

Celebrate the Autumnal Equinox 🍁 ✅

Slow cook a meal in a crockpot 🍲

Bake an apple-themed dessert (e.g., apple crisp, apple pie, apple brown betty) 🍏 ✅

Go for a bike ride in the park 🚲 ☑️

Mabon-themed tarot reading 🃏 ✅

Give myself a facial with an autumn-themed face mask 🧖🏽‍♀️

Work on my jigsaw puzzle 🧩

Put on some music and paint what I hear and feel 🎨

Donate clothes to a local charity, homeless shelter or refugee center 👚

Go for a walk in the park and enjoy the changing of the leaves 🍂 ☑️

Visit a coffee shop and hang out there while reading or writing 🥐

Spend a rainy day inside reading a book 📕

October

Read the poem "October" by Robert Frost 📖

Do Inktober challenge (draw, paint, or sketch every day & share it) 🖌️

Hang Halloween wreath 🥀 ✅

Put together 5 Dark Academia outfits and share them on social media 🧥

Enjoy Halloween candy without guilt 🍬 ✅

Go for a bike ride in the park 🚲

Binge-watch Penny Dreadful, Grimm, What We Do In The Shadows, or The Sandman 📺

Make my own pizza night 🍕

Make Rice Krispie treats (Don't know why, but these always feel very autumn-y to me. I think it's the marshmallows.) 🤤

Go for a walk in the park and enjoy the changing of the leaves 🍂

Attend a harvest or fall festival 🌻

Cook homemade soup 🥣

Paint my fingernails a dark color (e.g., black, blue, purple) 💅🏼

Take a road trip to Salem, MA 🚗

Visit occult / metaphysical shop ☠️

Enjoy some hot apple cider & hot apple cider donuts 🍎

Go on a guided ghost walk 👻

Try hot chocolate at 2 restaurants or cafes where I've never had it before ☕

Cook a pot of chili 🌶️

Bake bread 🍞

Wear something orange 🧡

Go stargazing 🌌

Make s’mores 😋

Watch autumn or horror-themed movies throughout the month 🎃

Dance to Allhallowtide playlist 💃

Do a Samhain-themed tarot reading 🃏

Celebrate departed loved ones, friends and family during Allhallowtide (Halloween, All Saints' Day, and the Day of the Dead or All Souls' Day)⚱️

November

Donate to a local food bank 🥫

Visit a university campus and take photos at the height of the leaves changing 📸

Spend a rainy day inside reading a book 📕

Cook homemade soup 🥣

Visit an art museum (Chagall, Paris exhibit at the Hall des Lumieres) 🖼️

Shop for Christmas gifts 🛍️

Put on my most comfy pajamas and spend the evening watching retro/classic/scary films 🎥

Cook a hearty stew and experiment with the ingredients 🍲

Bake bread 🍞

Take a long scenic drive in the countryside on a crisp, sunny day 🚙

Put on some music and paint what I hear and feel 🎨

Make s’mores 😋

Go see a play 🎭

Visit a coffee shop and hang out there while reading or writing 🥐

Volunteer for a cause or community event ⛑️

Bake an apple-themed dessert (e.g., apple crisp, apple pie, apple brown betty) 🍏

Go on a group hike 🥾

Celebrate Thanksgiving with my family 🦃

Eat popcorn while enjoying a movie (at home or at the cinema) 🍿

December

Treat myself to some new thick wool socks 🧦

Cook a pot of chili 🌶️

Bake bread 🍞

If I feel sick or under the weather, enjoy a hot toddy 🥃

Spend a rainy day inside reading a book 📕

Make Rice Krispie treats 🤤

Put on some music and paint what I hear and feel 🎨

Eat popcorn while enjoying a movie (at home or at the cinema) 🍿

#autumn #fall #fall 2023 #autumn 2023 #i love fall #i love autumn #automne #plans for the season

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ohcanadashop · 1 year

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What To Wear In Canada All Year Round? || OhCanadaShop

When relocating to Canada, there are several factors to consider. The kinds of clothing you'll need for Canada's several seasons are one that is frequently forgotten. The fact that Canada's climate is distinctive and unlike that of any other nation is frequently glossed over by new immigrants. You can be wearing shorts in December or snow in the spring. The weather in Canada may be incredibly variable. If you don't plan ahead, you can find yourself packing luggage full of clothes that are inappropriate for the current weather. Even though Canada's winters are notoriously chilly, if you dress appropriately, winter can be a season full of delightful outdoor activities.

Clothing Styles Required for Canada's Four Seasons

Canada genuinely has four distinct seasons. So you'll need to wear appropriate clothing for each season. Depending on where you live in the country, the weather can change significantly. Additionally, it is subject to tremendous fluctuation day to day. The summertime humidity and temperature can reach up to 40 degrees Celsius, and the wintertime wind chill can bring about lows of -40 degrees Celsius.

A List of Clothes to Wear All Year Round for Comfort

You might already own some of these clothes, depending on where you are from. Wherever you live, basic clothes are available everywhere. But pay close attention to the attire for winter. If you don't have them, you should get them as soon as you can. Because you'll need appropriate, cozy, and warm gear wherever you live in Canada. You'll need more than your typical city-appropriate clothing if you plan to spend any time in the snow engaging in activities like skiing, snowmobiling, skating, or even just creating a snowman.

Shop OhCanadashop's selection of Canadian kids t-shirts for sale from creative artists. Various styles, colors, and sizes Order your preferred Canada design right away! The entire list of clothing below is easily accessible for purchase in retail establishments across the nation. These things are also available online or used at nearby thrift shops. You will need the following outfits for each season:

Clothes for the Canadian Spring (March to May)

The patio season officially began today. The arrival of spring indicates that winter has ended and that warmer weather is approaching. The season might be unpredictably variable. You might still feel the chill and find it to be cool for the time of year. Or it might be unusually warm. To be ready for this season's unpredictability, it's a good idea to keep some summer and fall supplies on hand:

Rain boots, Raincoat, A light jacket, Umbrella, Running shoes and sandals, T-shirts, Long sleeve shirts, Jeans, long pants, shorts

Clothing styles for the summer (June to August)

Summers in Canada may get quite warm and muggy. Like other places in the world, it may get quite warm. Expect some sunny days mixed in with some rainy ones. There will be numerous opportunities to visit nearby beaches, parks, and lakes. It's the time of year when Canadians take vacations, visit their cottages, and make the most of the great outdoors. Following are some examples of appropriate clothing:

Bathing suit, Sunglasses, Baseball hat, Flip flops, sandals, walking shoes, Shorts, dresses, T-shirts and tank tops, Light hooded sweater, Sports attire

Fall clothing categories (September to November)

When fall arrives, you'll notice that the temperature is beginning to cool down and that the leaves on the trees are beginning to change color. It's the season for pumpkin spice lattes. It's time to celebrate Thanksgiving and get out the sweaters. What to wear this fall is listed below:

A light jacket, Sweaters and hoodies, Jeans, leggings, long dresses, Long sleeve shirts and button-up shirts, Light gloves, Scarf, Wool hat

Winter Clothing You'll Need (December to February)

You've probably heard about the harsh winters in Canada. They make us famous. Fortunately, the majority of people are unaware that winter is just one season out of the entire year. But it is accurate to say that bitterly cold temperatures, snow and ice, and bone-chilling winds do exist. If you plan to go skiing, tobogganing, or taking a quick walk outside, you should dress in layers. You'll need the following types of clothing for a Canadian winter, as examples:

Winter coat (with hood), Snow pants, Boots, Gloves, toque, scarf, earmuffs,, Thermal pants, Long pants, Heavy sweaters, Hoodies, sweatpants, Thick socks

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Postal Code: L3X1X4

Email: [email protected]

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thegirlonpeetamellark · 2 years

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Everthorne Farms - Part 2 by Court81981

So I appreciate the response this little pumpkin patch/Scare Farm drabble got at Halloween, and while I didn't plan anything beyond that, listening to Taylor Swift's Christmas Tree Farm invited this little Part 2 to unfold in my head. It's edited hastily but I hope you enjoy. Thank you for all the continued support. There are more updates coming in the New Year, and yes, I hope 2022 is the year that sees CMP complete. And El, thanks for putting up with me! Love you. to pieces. Merry Christmas and Happy New Year to all! XOXO Court

“Can you believe it’s snowing?” Prim dances past me and peers out the tiny window of the shed. “It’s never snowed on opening morning!”

“It’s just a few flurries, Little Duck. Nothing to get too excited about,” I reply as I check the hot chocolate and cider urns and make sure the extra package of cups is nearby. “This is all just about ready. You’ll be okay in here?”

Prim rolls her eyes at me. “None of the early arrivals ever even come inside. I think I’ll be fine.” I cross the shed and come to stand next to my sister, glancing out the window. I can see headlights near the start of the driveway, even thought we don’t officially open for another hour. I look across the lot to where Gale and some of our seasonal workers—mostly guys who go Panem High with Prim and me—are hauling the dollies and saws out of the garage.

The four weeks between Halloween and Thanksgiving are quiet at Everthorne Farms; the whole winter is, for the most part. But for a few weekends in late November and early December, we operate our Christmas tree farm, and Saturdays and Sundays are busy from open to close. The very first day people can come to tag and/or cut is the busiest, and that would be this morning.

The shed handle turns and Prim and I both jump back, a blast of icy air hitting us as our uncle Haymitch steps inside. A couple of snowflakes cling to the ends of his graying dirty blond hair.

“You girls ready to work?” He gives us his trademark smile, which is really more of a half scowl half smirk, and doesn’t wait for an answer before he thrusts a stack of tree tags at me. “Might as well start. There’s a decent line out there already. We’ll give it another 20 minutes, but once it reaches the main road I’m gonna let people in. Okay?”

“Okay,” I agree. I bump Prim’s hip and we exchange a smile. I grab my wool beanie and jam it down over my ears before taking the tree tags from Haymitch.

As I step outside the little shed, I pause to revel in the moment. The faint dusting of snow definitely adds to the mood. Prim is right; I can’t remember a time when we had any kind of snowfall on our first day. It’s not something we’d usually root for. A lot of snow would make most of the tasks related to cutting down trees more challenging, not to mention what it does to the roads our visitors need to travel on. But this gentle tumble of flakes won’t hurt anyone, and it’s so, so pretty.

“What does that guy think he’s doing?”

I nearly jump at the sound of Gale’s voice and I shake myself out of my reverie to turn to him. I hadn’t even heard him come up beside me. Our years of hunting have made us both fairly stealthy.

“What guy?” I ask. Gale jerks his chin in the direction of the road, where I see a vehicle coming up the other side of the driveway, completely ignoring the line. We have signs at the bottom of the driveway, since we use the right side to manage traffic flow as customers leave with their trees. Obviously, that’s not a concern at this hour, but it’s pretty audacious of someone to think they can bypass the line.

But as the vehicle nears, I realize I recognize it and my pulse quickens. I chide myself for the reaction, but my heart also seems to think it needs to join in, and it decides to rouse butterflies in my stomach.

Since Homecoming Night, when Peeta Mellark surprised me at the scare farm and asked me to dance with him under the stars, we’ve been spending a lot more time together, though hardly any of it has been outside of school. Just as my busy schedule calmed a bit, his exploded, between the start of the wrestling season and his hours at Mellarks’ Bakery. (It turns out I’m not the only one who has to toil at a family business, and Peeta explained to me that other than wedding season, the holidays are just plain crazy at the bakery.) Our relationship, if that is what you can call it, consists mostly of him waiting for me at my locker in the mornings and eating lunch together. We’ve had one date, to the movies. I’d be lying to myself if I said I wasn’t anxiously waiting for a second date. Or a kiss. So far, Peeta has been a perfect gentleman around me. It was only last week that he started knitting our fingers together when he walks me to my first period class.

“I think that’s Peeta’s Jeep,” I say. Gale’s face contorts in less-than-concealed disdain.

“So. What the fuck does he think he’s doing?” Gale repeats. I ignore him and start towards the Jeep. It comes to a stop and I can now clearly see that it is indeed Peeta behind the wheel. He hops out of the vehicle but leaves it idling.

“What are you doing here?” I ask and hope he doesn’t think it sounds accusatory. To be safe, I smile at him. (If things between us had progressed more maybe I could have greeted him with a kiss. Or maybe not, with half my family watching.)

He grins at me, though it’s laced with shyness, and then immediately moves for the rear driver’s door of his Jeep. A moment later, he approaches me, his arms laden with an enormous tray of cookies.

“I know it’s your opening day, so I thought maybe you’d like these. You told me about the hot chocolate and cider you put out for customers, but you didn’t mention any food.” He nods towards his Jeep. “There’re three more of these and a few trays of muffins.”

“You made these? For us? Peeta!” I exclaim, marveling at the rows of snowmen and snowflake cookies. “These look too pretty to eat.”

“It wasn’t any trouble,” he says. “We already make hundreds of these for the bakery, so what was a couple dozen more.”

I shake my head, incredulous at his gesture. “Your parents were okay with you giving your inventory away?”

His grin morphs, turning a bit sheepish. “My dad said what my mom doesn’t know won’t kill our bottom line.” I grit my teeth and hope Peeta’s right. His mother is not someone I’d want to see angry. I’ve never gotten more than an icy glare from her when I’ve delivered fruit or pumpkins to Mellarks.

“You wanna show me where to put this one and then I’ll bring in all the others?” he asks.

“Oh! Yeah. I can grab one too.” I start towards his Jeep.

“It’s okay. I’ll get them. I know you’re busy. That’s quite a line already.”

“Opening Day is always like this. Everyone wants to be first into the fields, as if the absolute perfect tree won’t be there any later.” I wave an arm towards the acres and acres of trees. “Because as you can see, the selection sucks,” I joke.

“Yeah, it’s probably safe to say you won’t run out,” he replies.

“Well, we could,” I counter. “We only sell from a few designated areas each year, and yeah, we do have a set number that can go. It’s generous, but we have had years where we’ve sold out.”

I lead Peeta up to the little shed that serves as our headquarters for the tree farm, where most people pay for their trees (though many of our repeat customers just hand their cash right to Haymitch) and we offer the aforementioned hot cocoa and cider. There are also some ornaments and wreaths for sale. I glance over towards my uncle and instead find Gale’s arctic stare aimed at Peeta. I challenge him with my own frosty glower and he turns to mumble something to his brother Rory.

“Haymitch!” I call. “Peeta’s brought us cookies and muffins to put out with the cocoa and cider. There are more trays in his car if anyone wants to help.”

Haymitch nods and orders a few of our newer seasonal helpers—two guys who I think are sophomores but whose names I have yet to learn and Gale’s youngest brother Vick—to get the remaining trays from Peeta’s Jeep. I hold the shed door for Peeta and we trundle inside.

“Ohmygosh! What is this?” Prim jumps off the stool behind the register and comes over to peer at the tray.

“Hi, Primrose,” Peeta greets her. Prim’s face splits into a huge grin.

“You can call me Prim. Everyone does. Are those for us?” Prim gapes at the gorgeous cookies.

Peeta nods. “For your customers, actually, but you can definitely sneak one or two for yourself.” He winks at her, and I can see my little sister practically melting at his feet.

I motion to the table where the cocoa and cider are. “Let’s put them down over there.”

Once Peeta turns and walks across the shed, Prim arches her blonde brows at me and wiggles them suggestively. I shoot her a look of playful admonishment and move to help Peeta get the cookies set out. Vick and the other guys cart in the remaining trays and Prim and I help Peeta arrange the muffins alongside the cookies. We leave most of the trays covered, since Prim says she can manage replenishing the treats as they dwindle.

“This was so nice of you, Peeta!” she gushes. Her gaze flits from muffin to muffin until it lands on one. “Are these all different?”

Peeta glances over at me, and he rubs at the back of his neck. “Ah, yeah. Well, sort of. There’s some cranberry, spiced rum, and gingerbread. Those are our holiday flavors, so I figured they were best to bring.”

“You really went through a lot of extra work for us,” I say. Peeta’s cheeks, already pink from the cold, flush darker.

“It’s no trouble at all. Not for you, Katniss.”

And now my cheeks are probably fast on their way to matching his. I respond with a smile as I try to get the butterflies flapping around in my stomach under control.

Prim plucks a muffin from the tray and peels back the wrapper. Her eyes close as she raises the muffin to her mouth inhales deeply before biting into it.

“So good,” she moans after she swallows her first bite. She opens her eyes and thrusts the muffin at me. “Try it, Katniss. It’s soooooo good.”

I can’t very say no, not given how kind Peeta’s gesture is, so I accept the proffered muffin and take a small bite, aware of Peeta’s expectant gaze on me. His eyes drop to my mouth as I chew and fight to contain my own moan. Good is an understatement. It’s delicious. Moist, and sweet but not overly so. Just the right traces of nutmeg and cinnamon and cloves to complement the ginger flavor.

“Peeta, this is amazing,” I praise, and the smile he rewards me with is so effusive that those damn butterflies start swarming again.

“Katniss!” Gale barks from the doorway. “Haymitch said he gave you the tree tags.”

“Ah, yeah, I’ve got them,” I reply, patting my coat pocket.

“Then start using them. The line’s reached the main road and we need to start surveying who’s tagging and who’s cutting.” He slams the shed door behind him. I aim daggers at where Gale just stood, annoyed by his bossier-than-usual-and-overtly-icy tone.

“I should let you get to work,” Peeta says quietly.

“Yeah,” I say. As we head towards the door, Prim calls out, “Watch out for the mistletoe!”

Peeta’s gaze wanders up to the rafters, where a cluster of mistletoe is suspended just above the shed door. He looks back to me, a nervous and slightly embarrassed smile lifting his lips. “After you,” he says, as he opens the door, careful to stand back out of the path of the mistletoe. My mouth twitches and I can only nod at him. Not that I want my first kiss to be out of some stupid holiday legend/obligation, or with my sister as witness, but there is a thread of disappointment that unspools in my gut and strangles those damn butterflies into submission.

“Wow, the line is long,” Peeta remarks as we trudge across the lot. “I don’t know if I can wait in that.”

“What do you mean?”

He looks over to his Jeep. “I mean…I brought my car and not the delivery van because…I, uh, convinced my parents to get a live tree this year and I didn’t know how easily it would tie to the roof of the van. But I guess I didn’t consider the line would be that long, and I am supposed to be at the bakery til noon. Working,” he adds. “I’m technically on the clock now.”

“You want a tree?” I ask, incredulous.

“Yeah. Is that ok?”

“Of course it’s ok! And forget about that,” I add, gesturing to the line. “You get executive privilege. You only brought us cookies and muffins and…” I trail off, unsure if I should actually utter what is edging closer and closer to the tip of my tongue.

“And what?” he prompts. A few snowflakes settle on those mile-long eyelashes of his, and he blinks them away.

“And so you get to be first,” I finish, unable to bring myself to say “and because you’re my boyfriend.” I flash him a smile and order him to stay put while I sprint across the lot to hand the tree tags to Darius.

“You know what to do, right?” I ask. Before Darius can respond, Gale glowers at me.

“What’s stopping you from doing it?” he says, his stony glare fixed on Peeta.

“I’m taking Peeta out to get his tree. It’s the least we can do so he can get back to work.”

Gale mutters an obscenity under his breath, but I ignore him and confirm Darius is okay with going from car to car to ask if they’re tagging or cutting. He assures me it’s fine and with a wicked grin tells me to go back to my boyfriend. Hearing that word spoken aloud invites a smile to my lips and a whirl low in my belly.

So why couldn’t I say it to Peeta?

Pushing away the thought, I grab a saw from the big shed and a dolly and drag it towards Peeta.

“Ready?” I ask him. He looks at the large saw and then his eyes meet mine.

“You’re going to cut it down for me?”

I narrow my eyes at him and lift my chin. “Are you questioning my ability to do my job?”

He shakes his head vigorously, snowflakes flying off his Panem High Wrestling beanie. “No, no! You’re just…you’re…”

“I’m what?” I arch a brow at him.

“Never mind. Forget I said anything.”

“I can’t get the trees onto the cars without help, but I can hold my own when it comes to sawing and loading. This helps.” I kick at the dolly. Peeta holds his hands up in supplication.

“Again, forget I said anything. I’d never doubt you, Katniss,” he says, emphasizing the latter part of his words as he stares deep into my eyes. I relax a little, exhaling. Peeta doesn’t have a mean bone in his body; I definitely overreacted. Typical me.

“C’mon. Lead the way.” He grins at me, and all the rest of the tension leaves my body. He’s so, so hot. Unfairly attractive, really.

I return his smile. “Okay.”

We start walking towards the front east field, our boots crunching on the frozen ground, the dolly bumping along behind me. Peeta slows his gait and glances behind us, then he looks off to his left.

“What?” I ask.

He motions towards one of the back fields. “Are you allowed to take from there?”

“Yeah. That one.” I point to the one farthest west on the property. “We didn’t cut from that section last year. But the trees are pretty big.”

“Our living room has a vaulted ceiling. I think I want a big tree. After all, this is the first live tree I’ve ever had.” His blue eyes shine with genuine excitement, and I can’t help but smile at his enthusiasm.

“Then we’ll go back there.” I change course and we cross the main field. Peeta chatters as we walk, talking about how busy he expects the bakery to be this weekend and how he’s not sure he’ll get his paper for AP English done by midnight tomorrow night, and why our AP Bio teacher thinks it’s okay to give a major test on a Monday. I stay quiet, letting him dominate the conversation. Peeta’s a natural conversationalist; I am not, but I join in his lament about the biology test.

“Maybe we, ah, could study together,” I suggest.

“Really?! I mean, yes, yeah, definitely!” He grins at me, and despite the frigid temperature, I feel warm everywhere.

We reach the edge of the section where the largest trees are. Since this is his first live tree, I figure I should help him out a little, so I caution him to check for branches that are already brown or are sparse of needles, because those will not last as long as fully green trees once they’ve been chopped down and stuck into a tree holder. His eyes sweep over the rows and rows of trees and his grin turns almost giddy.

“These all look good to me. I don’t even know where to start.”

“Well, you can take as much time as you want to look,” I say, even though I know he said he needs to get back to the bakery, “and when you find something you like, just let me know.” He knits his brows and blows out a breath. The white puff hangs in the air for a moment before dissipating. Then he cranes his neck, looking back towards the lot, which isn’t fully visible from where we are. He glances back to me, smiles, and starts meandering between and around the trees. I keep a few paces behind him, content to let him study each tree he approaches. The snow continues to fall, though even more lightly than earlier; just a smattering of flakes here and there.

Peeta is pretty far into the field when I hear him say, “This is perfect.”

I glance at the tree he’s standing beside and gape at him. “Are you serious? That tree is like twelve feet tall and—” I lose my words when Peeta steps towards me and gently takes the handle of the dolly from me. He lowers it to the ground.

“Put down the saw,” he says gruffly. The tone of his voice has me immediately complying. My stomach does a swan dive as his gloved hands cup my jaw. “It’s perfect for me to do this,” he whispers. His cold nose brushes my cheek as he descends on my mouth and his lips nestle against mine. Almost immediately, he draws back and gazes at me expectantly. His right palm gently caresses my cheek. When I smile at him, my lips tingle.

“I’ve been waiting to do that for…” One corner of his mouth quirks up. “Well, you probably don’t want to know how long I’ve thought about kissing you.”

“Well.” I draw a shaky breath to get my emotions under control. “If you had kissed me that night at the scare farm you could have been doing it a lot more.”

He stares at me, his blue eyes probing. “I guess I’ve been overthinking it. I just wanted it to be perfect, since…yeah, I’ve been thinking about it for years.”

“So that’s what you meant by perfect?” I exclaim and motion to the enormous tree behind us. “You don’t want this tree? Do you even want a tree?”

He laughs. “Yes. I mean, yes I want a tree, but yeah, no, not that one. My mother would kill me. But this tree is the right size to make sure we had privacy. If I wanted an audience for our first kiss I would have kissed you under that mistletoe.

“And with the snow falling and everything,” he continues. “Well…I hope it was perfect for you.” He gives me a smile I feel right beneath my navel.

“As far as first kisses go, it was perfect, yes,” I reply.

“First kiss…with me…or…” he winces and trails off, then rubs at his jaw with his free hand. “Sorry. That’s none of my business.”

“I don’t care,” I say. “First kiss ever.” His blue eyes widen in shock, but I swear I see a tinge of pride flicker in them too.

“Really?” he asks, incredulous. “I’m…I’m your first kiss? I just assumed…” And again, he trails off.

“Assumed what?” I prompt.

He grimaces slightly. “You. Gale Hawthorne.”

“What!” I exclaim. “No. What. No. Gale and I are friends. Nothing more. I’ve never once thought about kissing Gale.”

Peeta presses his lips together, and he looks like he wants to say something, but he falls silent for a moment. “I’m really glad I could be your first kiss, then,” he says quietly.

“Me too.” I smile.

He leans down and his breath fans across my lips, a shock of warmth against the cold. “Can I be your second kiss too?”

In response, I loop my arms around his neck. “Yeah. And my third and my fourth…” I say, before I crush my mouth to his.

#everlark #thg #court81981 #everlark fanfiction

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pyjamac · 3 years

Text

aiweirdness’s halloween botober prompts expanded upon by archivistbot. enjoy!

1. Howling canine ghosts scale the cathedral town pillars,

And the bones of the past their rusty shears.

Above a rattling rain the sky is black,

And the lights of the city flicker and die.

2. Leaves shaped like pumpkins litter the sidewalks, the season painting them in a sickly halo of vibrant red and orange. A woman walks past, holding a baby. The baby is covered in hands, faces, and arms, each with a different size, the arms twisted at a strange angle to the curve of the head.

3. Spiderwebs grow luscious on wet pumpkin grins. Have you ever seen how mesmerizing it is to watch the mummified body of the fruit transform into a spindly, wrinkled, new form? Amazing!

4. 'Thank you' trees lean out of residences, and the roofscapes are often barely visible from the high summer heat, it’s easy to miss the outlines of the structures here. The roads become dirt, the hedges are overgrown with shrubbery and the buildings sit there, too, tangled together. The contrast is made more stark by the uneven palletisation of these structures.

5. Black insects settle leaves and twigs over the damp patches of damp earth, and the lightless, empty sky of the city is punctuated by the dull glow of new suns.

6. Mouth mouth mouth mouth mouth mouth, the dead sea air pressing in on all sides, while the sun is in the sky, the sun is up in the sky, and the world is round the world, and the sea is forever, forever, forever, forever, forever, forever, forever, forever, forever, forever, forever, forever, forever, forever, forever, forever, forever, forever, forever, forever, forever, forever, forever, forever, forever, forever, forever, forever, forever, forever, forever, forever, forever, forever, forever, forever, forever, forever, forever, forever, forever, forever, forever, forever, forever, forever, forever, forever, forever, forever, forever, forever, forever, forever, forever, forever, forever, forever, forever, forever, forever, forever, forever, forever, forever, forever, forever, forever, forever, forever, forever, forever, forever, forever, forever, forever, forever, forever, forever, forever, forever, forever, forever, forever, forever, forever, forever, forever, forever, forever, forever, forever, forever, forever, forever, forever, forever, forever, forever, forever, forever, forever, forever, forever, forever, forever, forever, forever, forever, forever, forever, forever, forever, forever, forever, forever, forever, forever, forever, forever, forever, forever, forever, forever, forever, forever, forever, forever, forever, forever, forever

7. Snaking cobwebs mass on stalks of dead grass and wriggling through his open mouth, Philip Jennings looked up. He saw what was inside. Was it the end of him? Was it the end of everything? The level of abstraction that the nothing that floats above the level of reality?

8. Red eyeballs hit backlit branches, and a warm blue light spilled through from the open window. I could hear Dennis whispering to himself, softly to himself, that he’d done something right.

9. Wet forest steps on soft squirrel skins. There are no lights here, but the moon is bright, and casts everything in a sickly yellow. The only sound was the click of a boltgun against the barrel, and the sound of the bolt firing as the gun whistled its deadly message.

10. Murmurous forest insects smell caramel apples, creeping and twitching through the damp earth where the treat was dropped. They move slowly, unsteadily, and there is a sharp, snapping screech as they swoop down. They kill slowly, but they kill.

11. Haunting trees grow cuter on lighter dirt, and the sky turns a sickly pink. I can hear my father in the distance now, and see the patches of scorched wood where he’s buried. I can hear his voice, though it isn’t entirely clear what it is commanding me to do.

12. Planet-sized moon speaks 'hello' to us in a language we barely understand, but it seems to have good reason for its appearance.

It is a world I lived in for nearly two decades now, and it is a world I will continue to see in all my fondest, most abiding memories. A world so cold upon the shore, so empty, and yet so beautiful. A world so full of death, and yet so alive. A moon so bright and beautiful upon the sky.

13. The night sky kisses blood oranges lined with white and blue and red. I can see a small group of figures moving in the sky, slowly but surely gaining scale. Their movement is slow and, if not for the jagged edges of their weapons they might pass for human. Their eyes are a blur, and their smile is nothing but teeth.

14. Headless animals shiver in their sleep, and the world writhes on the edge of a precipice. You walk along, your boots crunch soft straw in the pen, and your shoes are stained with blood.

15. Mustaches creep creepily around his apartment, his neighbors started to notice that it left his face every night.

16. Slouching gargoyles lay spooky stones by the door, and the kitchen was decked out in a varied selection of fire.

17. Something is sitting in the center of the spectre tapestries. It is the thing that waits for those who would lose their way, and it is the one that plays its tune.

It is the one that begins in the quiet of the forest and reaches out into the very marrow of the world. It is the one that is not a thing, but is all that is, and which holds the answer to the question, How is it that I can love you? And if I cannot, what am I to do?

I see you in my dreams, and you would not hear me. But I know you, so I ask you. Are you there?

I ask you, are you there?

18. The unseen graveyard stretches for miles, far beyond the shore. And in the quiet that follows, the funeral dirge of that land sings.

19. Deep-skulled jack-o’-lanterns smell the warmth of my nose as I inhale it, the deep, musky smell of blood and wool and skin.

20. This town is filled with orange dust, cluttering the street and obscuring the sun.

And in the middle of the town, where the roads once met, there’s only one street: the one that goes right up to the house where the Reverend lives.

It is that street that leads out of the town, and down the steep incline where the ground oozes whenever the Reverend walks. It is that street that I now see, and that is where I will follow.

I will follow it as it leads out of the town and over the edge of the cliff. I will see the house, and the footprints that lead further into it, and the blood that flows from the wounds that followed him.

21. Mist-sheep chew on tombstones, and I think I’ve got a soft spot for you.

22. A scarecrow cuts a pumpkin with a sharp scythe from a wooden block. She rides on top of it and looks over it. She sees something staring at her from the pumpkin.

23. The graveworm snatches out the eyes of strangers who come by and threatens them in language that no one understands. The hunger is in its mouth, and it smiles as it waits for those who will soon be in its teeth.

24. Mist lamps glow with circling green and orange and green and orange and green and orange and green and orange and green and orange and green and orange and green and orange… it’s like… it’s like there’s, it’s a, it’s a fog machine, or something?

25.Monsters crawl through alien fursona on the streets of Tokyo, and people come running begging for help. There are no monsters in this story, but people do make monsters out of each other.

26. Spooky house skulls peeking out of the dreamlike brambles, and I swear I saw the outline of a long, thin hand. It slowly stalked its prey, darting between them like a hungry vulture.

27. Gangly moonlit grave rabbits lurk outside the windows of the church, and I can hear the regular chirping of the birds outside.

28. Murder rats roam the streets below the buried Earth Church.

The sky is blue and seeps with an invisible sickness; the chill of the November air is still in your bones, and you are wrapped in a thin blanket of damp. The churchyard smells of rot.

29. A shrub plays the banjo from the shadows, and the tune is as old as the hills, and it is the mood that suits me, as it is the harmony that makes me happy, and it is the song that I am. It is the only song that I will ever truly know.

30. Pumpkins melt quietly, quietly into the winter night, and the world seems to forget the rain.

31. The white skull leans out of the tower of the Palace of the End. The vacant blue skies of the prison are mirrored in the windows of the other side. It is an empty place, the last occupant has left it locked that fateful day.

#shah mac #as per request

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maggiec70 · 3 years

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Prince Bagration Makes a Cameo Appearance

Another excerpt from the longest-running histfic draft. This is for Tairin. I hope I did her prince justice, small though it may be.

Jean’s staff found a two-story house large enough for them all in a northern Viennese suburb. General Compans ordered the portly, red-faced owner and his large family to leave, slipping him a fistful of gold coins before he could protest. Mariana couldn’t tell how many coins constituted a fistful, but they produced an incredulous expression on the man’s face and then a deep bow that revealed his blindingly bald, pink pate. There must be a secret source of gold coins that only Compans and Thomières knew about, perhaps hidden away in a sturdy oak box labeled Bribes. She had seen these coins appear whenever Jean wanted to sleep somewhere other than a barn or outside on the ground for several days. She also knew only a very few marshals and generals bothered to compensate the people whose lives they disrupted or even thought to do so.

“Don’t wreck the place,” Compans ordered them after the Viennese family had bustled out the door, their personal belongings tied up in large, unwieldy bundles.

“Why would we?” she asked Joseph as two adjutants added more wood to a fire in the large stone hearth. She wondered how much food she might find in the kitchen cupboards and the spacious pantry leading from the kitchen. Indeed, the life expectancy of the well-fed hens she’d seen in the dooryard was measured in minutes.

“It was a pro forma reminder,” Joseph replied. “We’ve never been a horde of Vandals or Huns, and the marshal knows it.” He grinned at her and stretched so much that he almost slid out of his chair. “I can’t say the same about Prince Murat’s cavalry or anyone in Marshal Augereau’s VII Corps. Now there’s a collection of seasoned plunderers—as bad as one of the plagues of Egypt, but not, I think, as dedicated to looting as Marshal Masséna.”

Later that evening, with a cold November wind safely outside and warmth and food inside, she sipped her second cup of rich coffee laced with cream from the black and white cow standing up to her knees in hay in the barn. “After ages in Purgatory, I’ve been given my reward.”

“Savor your taste of Paradise, Gabriel, while you can. We’re leaving in a couple of days,” Jacques said, unhooking his cloak and shaking sleet from it.

“Why? The Austrians surrendered at Ulm almost four weeks ago, and we’re north of Vienna with no Austrians anywhere that I can see. There isn’t anyone to fight.”

Jacques poured coffee from a porcelain pot and backed up to the fire. “Don’t you read the dispatches, Gabriel?”

“Not often—they’re boring.”

“Well, you should. We hadn’t seen the Austrian army because it left Vienna right before we arrived. Now they’ve gone further north, with General Kutuzov’s Russians.”

“Who’s Kutuzov?” she asked, trying not to yawn in his face. She really should pay more attention to the dispatches and reports. If Jean ever asked her about the campaign's minutia, she had better know enough to answer. She’d seen what happened when an officer couldn’t tell Jean what he wanted to know and didn’t want to subject herself to the humiliation of a profanity-laced public rebuke.

“Some clever Russian general, older than God. He’s heading for Moravia, though, not Mother Russia.”

Mariana remembered Jacques’s words three days later. Ejected from the warm stone house before dawn, she bundled up in her heavy cloak and gloves and rode out of Vienna with the rest of V Corps. Now, close to midnight, she didn’t think Moravia was anywhere close or warmer than Russia. It was full dark when they rode into a tiny hamlet so small they would have missed it if the scouts and leading edges of Oudinot’s grenadiers hadn’t literally stumbled over it. Snow topped with a thin layer of rime covered the cottage roofs, garden walls, the rough pathway serving as a street, and stubble in the surrounding fields. The inhabitants had shuttered every window, but thin cracks of pale yellow light escaped from some of them.

“They’re more afraid of the Russians than they are of us,” Jean said in response to her question. Each word came out on a small puff of white, as her own had done. Soon it might be too cold to talk. “If you looked in those barns, you’d find nothing but old straw. There’s nothing of value in the cottages, either. If the villagers had enough warning, they would have hidden everything, and if not, the Russians have it all now.”

Mariana had never seen a hamlet this small before or so eerily deserted. The barrenness she saw in the faint snow light and that Jean had described made her shiver. This time the cold struck deep in her bones.

“We’ll be sleeping outside, gentlemen, on the other side of Hollabrünn and eating whatever we have with us. It will be a short night anyway—the enemy’s less than six miles ahead.” Jean spurred his horse forward over the little village track, and the rest followed, riding close enough to brush each other’s stirrups. Mariana wrapped the reins around one wrist and massaged her hands and fingers inside her gloves, afraid to take them off. The idea of trying to sleep on the frozen, iron-hard ground was dreadful. If the Russians were so close, and if Jean meant to attack them in the morning, she might as well sit up all night. If she didn’t freeze before dawn, then a brisk encounter with the enemy, even hand to hand, would warm her up nicely. “Aunt Lucrezia, you would be appalled,” she whispered through stiff lips cracked and bleeding from the cold.

Despite her plan to sit up all night, Mariana had just fallen asleep, curled into a tight ball, knees drawn up nearly beneath her chin, when Joseph shook her into befuddled wakefulness. “Get up, Gabriel,” he said, peeling her cloak away. We’re leaving now.”

She staggered to her feet, grabbed her cloak back from Joseph, and buttoned it up tight. “No breakfast?”

“No time for any. There’s a small Russian rear-guard ahead. We have to eliminate it before it reaches Kutuzov.”

Mariana didn’t mind not eating as much as she minded not having something hot to drink. However, the worst prospect was having to do the necessary at the edge of the forest to her left. She still thought it was manifestly unfair that lately, she nearly froze whenever she pissed, while her comrades did not. An inequality, however, that she was powerless to alter one whit.

Having concluded her business in the forest, she hurried to untie Odysseus from the picket line, tighten his girth, and climb into the saddle. She trotted off to join the aides, who waited in a nearly silent group, close together, their horses impatiently stamping the hard ground. Without a word, they swung around and fell in behind Jean and General Compans. She wanted to know how far away the Russian rear-guard was and how many Russians comprised a rear-guard, but she couldn’t make her lips move.

General Thomières saved her the trouble. “Excellency, how many troops does Bagration have ahead of us?”

While she wondered who Bagration was, Jean slowed his horse to respond to his senior aide. “Fewer than I have, even though I’m short two divisions and even shorter of supplies. Neither the weather nor the ground is good for much but a short skirmish.”

The air was so silent and frigid that Mariana heard the intonation beneath his words that often meant more than the words themselves. He sounded confident rather than cocky or foolhardy. A short skirmish, he’d said, and that was fine with her.

The encounter between Bagration’s rear-guard and V Corps’ grenadiers, reinforced at the last possible moment by a squadron of Murat’s heavy cavalry, was not a skirmish. Mariana thought it was more like a brawl in some wayside tavern, loud, fast, and disorganized. It ended before she’d had a chance to do anything and because Bagration told Prince Murat that he had just learned about a truce. The prince believed him, dismounted, told Jean to order his troops to cease fire, and went inside a slightly shell-shocked villa that had been some Moravian aristocrat’s summer home.

“A truce? What the fuck is he talking about? I had the damn Russians on their arses, and he rides in and orders me to stop!” Jean was livid, his expression as hard as granite. Mariana worried what he might do when he jumped from his horse, leaving the reins to trail in the snow, and stomped after Murat. Acting on instinct, aides, chief of staff, and a few senior adjutants closed around him like a protective wall and entered the villa together.

Intended for soft summer breezes, the villa struggled to combat the mid-November cold. Fires burned in hearths at either end of the reception chamber’s black and white tiled floor. Clear glass bottles filled with colorless liquid stood among scores of crystal glasses on heavily carved tables in the center of the room. Someone had shoved chairs and settees against the walls. Officers in uniforms Mariana had never seen before crowded around the tables, opening bottles, pouring liquid into glasses, and handing them around. She watched Prince Murat take a sip, then drain it and hold it out for someone to fill. She watched Jean barrel forward, his expression still thunderous, until a tall officer with the face of a young eagle and enough medals on his chest to blind half a dozen men stepped forward and intercepted him. Together they moved away from Murat and his entourage and stood by one of the double windows, heads bent close together, talking. Another officer approached them, two glasses on a silver tray, and quickly left when they took the glasses and continued their conversation. When Major Guéhéneuc tried to insinuate himself into the conversation, Jean turned on him like an enraged wasp. The major scuttled away, staring at the floor, his face scarlet. Mariana rocked back on her boot heels, a smirk spreading across her face.

As voices rose around her, followed by the rank odor of damp wool and unwashed males, Mariana felt the beginnings of a headache. To take her mind off it, she asked Thomières, “What are they talking about? And who is that Russian?”

He laughed, a soft sound but not derisive. She was glad since she rarely spoke to him at length. “I haven’t the slightest idea what they’re talking about, but that’s Prince Pyotr Ivanovich Bagration the marshal’s talking to.” He laughed again, this time even softer as if he worried someone might overhear. “Talking now, fighting later. Fine looking general, though, don’t you think?”

“Indeed he is,” Mariana said. With his chiseled features and thick, dark hair, the tall, slender Russian looked a little like Jean. Big rooster and bantam rooster, she thought, and almost hooted with laughter. When she could trust herself to speak, she asked, “What’s in the bottles?”

“Vodka. Have you never tasted it?”

“I’ve never even heard of it.”

“Then allow me, lieutenant,” Thomières said and escorted her to the nearest table. Rummaging among the glasses, he found two relatively clean ones and filled them from one of the bottles. “Salut,” he said, threw back his head, and drank it down.

She sniffed at the clear liquid. It had no odor. Since Thomières was still standing, how dangerous could it be? She drank hers in a single gulp, and the alcohol burned all the way to her stomach, where it exploded. Tears flooded her eyes, she sneezed and then coughed. One cough led to several until Thomières pounded her on the back and filled her glass.

“Quick—drink this.”

She did and stopped coughing. This time the vodka felt smooth as silk, and she grinned at the senior aide. “You should have warned me.”

“And miss your reaction?” He filled her glass for the third time, but before she could drink it, four Russian officers joined them at the table, clutching their glasses filled to the brim and sloshing onto their dingy white gloves. Their faces were clean-shaven except for amazingly full side-whiskers, their cheeks brick red in the candlelight. Raising their glasses, they shouted in unison, “Za vashe zdorovye!” When they had downed every last drop, they tossed their glasses toward the fireplace. The sound of shattering crystal brought to a halt every conversation in the spacious room, and then other Russians began throwing their empty glasses to the floor.

“Why not?” Thomières said and threw his glass toward the hearth.

“Indeed!” Mariana replied and threw hers, too.

Whatever Jean and Bagration may have been discussing, or whatever Prince Murat may have believed about the alleged truce, or whatever the French and Russian officers thought about the prospect of imminent hostilities between them, everything disappeared beneath the sharp-edged sound of crystal shattering and the roars of toasts in French and Russian. Mariana linked arms with Thomières to keep from reeling and tried to get her tongue around the consonant-laden Russian words. Somehow, they sounded more satisfactory than light, polite French phrases and better suited to the vodka, of which she had become quite fond in no time at all.

Jean summoned aides and staff officers with a sharp whistle that penetrated the merriment and stalked out of the villa and into the icy, starlit night. The sudden cold jolted Mariana from her torpor, and the sharp air stung her eyes and nose. Her comrades showed similar symptoms of waking from a muddled sleep, and she wondered what might have happened had they stayed and emptied all those bottles.

#prince bagration #vodkatime #Jean Lannes

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aadmelioraa · 3 years

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Take Two

A Happiest Season Abby x Riley fic (2.4k, T)

It had been one year since Abby had left. One year since they’d called it quits. One year since their engagement was over.

And now it was Christmas time again, only this time Abby was more alone than ever.

She’d been on a few dates since they’d broken up, but no one had stuck around. Probably more her fault than theirs. It had been good to get back out there, but it still hurt to remember how things with Harper had ended.

It was a pretty big shock at the time, but looking back it had been a long time coming. Abby and Harper were on different paths and it just wouldn't have worked, no matter how much they loved each other.

“It’s not you,” Harper had insisted. “It’s me, and I’m so sorry.”

That was one of the last things Harper said to her.

They’d been talking wedding plans that morning and by evening Abby was packing her bags.

Harper had been so desperate to make her happy since they got engaged, but her constantly bending over backward wasn’t what Abby needed, and it was stressing Harper out. Neither of them was their best self together, not anymore. Rather than bringing them closer, in the end, that Christmas with the Caldwells had exposed too many rifts in the relationship to salvage.

Tagging @mego42 @endlesslychildish @arcane--soul @skittles321

Read the rest below the cut or on ao3

“I want you to be happy without trying so hard to satisfy the idea of me in your head. You’re such an amazing person—“ Abby had started sobbing here, “—but I can't give you what you need either.”

She’d moved out that night. Harper hadn’t accepted the breakup at first despite sort of initiating it. The conversation had lasted for hours, but eventually, she acknowledged the inevitable and left Abby alone for a few hours to pack. John, thankfully just a text away, had helped her drive everything over to his place.

It had been the second-worst night of Abby’s life.

She’d moved to Philadelphia two months later. She’d grown up there, technically, but without her parents, it didn’t really feel like coming home. New neighborhood, new apartment, new job. If that wasn’t proof she could get over it, what was? But when the holiday season came around again a lot of memories, once happy, now painful, resurfaced.

Waking up alone on Christmas Eve that year, in a word, sucked.

Abby was awake at 6:30 am for some reason. She checked her phone. She’d missed two non-emergency texts from John last night after she’d taken melatonin and passed out. He was definitely still sleeping; she’d text him back later.

She made a pot of coffee and stood in the kitchen in her pajamas wondering what she was going to do to keep herself occupied all day. John, who was living with his boyfriend in New York now, had invited her to stay the night and spend Christmas with them, but Abby wasn't sure if she was feeling up to it. She kinda wanted to sit the holiday out completely this year. She opened her phone and jumped aimlessly between the same three apps, then finally forced herself to take a shower.

At noon she decided to get dressed and go for a walk. That ought to keep her distracted enough. She put on jeans, thick socks, and her warmest sweater under her coat and started wandering.

There was nothing quite like Philly at Christmas. Still brash, loud, and occasionally vulgar but now decked to the nines with tinsel. She was glad to have new haunts to discover along with revisiting old haunts.

The snow from the previous day had turned to slush by the time the sun was at its peak, but that didn’t stop the kids in her neighborhood from spilling out into the streets to play football and tag under the grey sky. She waved at her upstairs neighbors and made a mental note to try and get to know them a little better in the new year.

It was a nice enough day. Maybe she’d head to Fairmount Park. Wherever she ended up there were sure to be plenty of frantic people coming to and fro, finishing last-minute Christmas shopping.

A wave of mixed emotions washed over her as she passed by a jeweler. Harper had given back the ring, of course. It was with John for safekeeping. Abby couldn’t return it, but it felt really weird to have it at her new place. Fresh start and all. Maybe someday she’d be ready to sell it. For now, she didn’t want to think about it.

She continued on at a brisk pace, stopping at a street cart for a lunch of falafel which she ate standing over a trash can, then continuing on.

It was after four o’clock by the time she realized how far she’d walked. Her hands had grown pretty chapped, she should probably go inside for a minute. There was a bar up ahead that looked open, and she could definitely use a drink.

It was fairly empty when she entered which made her instantly relax. She sidled up the bar and took a seat, rubbing her hands to warm them.

“Hey.” There was one bartender working, a curly-haired woman wearing a bandana headband, fitted flannel, and impeccable winged eyeliner like some kind of femme Luke Danes. “What can I get for you?”

“Vodka tonic?”

“Not feeling the Christmas spirit today, huh?” the bartender asked, grabbing the well vodka and rimming a glass with a wedge of lemon.

“Not really.”

“Yeah me neither. Anyway, name’s Gem,” the woman said, setting the cocktail down with a gentle tap. “Yell if you need anything.”

She smiled and walked to the far corner of the bar, a towel draped over her shoulder. A tall redhead and a petite girl with shoulder lengths locs raised their glasses at her.

Even if Abby wasn’t feeling it today, she’d picked a good spot.

She’d just started to feel the effects of the booze when she heard a familiar voice.

“Hey, I thought that was you.”

Startled, Abby nearly dropped her drink.

Riley, Harper’s Riley, slid onto the stool next to her.

“Hey!” Abby said, “What are you doing here?”

“Nice to see you too,” Riley laughed.

“Yeah, I mean—great, great to see you.” Abby couldn’t help from grinning. She probably looked like an idiot but she didn’t care.

“You look good,” Riley said, subtly sweeping her eyes up and down in an appreciative manner.

“Thanks, thanks.” Abby was glad she’d foregone the beanie with the hole in it. “You look good too.”

She really did. Her hair was a little shorter now, though it still framed her face perfectly. Otherwise, she looked exactly the same as when they’d met two years ago. She was wearing a black mock neck sweater and a pair of perfectly tailored wool pants. Her boots had a slight heel, not too high to be practical in an East Coast winter. The hem of her sweater pulled up a little as Riley leaned over the bar, exposing just a sliver of skin. Abby tried not to stare too obviously while she ordered a drink.

“I moved to Philly last month, to answer your question,” Riley said. “Got a fellowship at Kensington, I start in a week.”

“Oh, cool. Congrats, that’s awesome.”

“Yeah, thanks,” Riley took a sip, glancing over at Abby in a way that made her face grow slightly warm. “What have you been up to?”

“Finished the doctorate and got a job as a curator at the PMA. It’s going well. I mean, relatively.”

“Well, look at you!” Riley raised her glass. “Doctor.”

“Doctor,” Abby echoed, laughing, as she knocked her glass against Riley’s.

“Glad to hear that.” Riley took another sip of her drink and paused, mouth pulling to one side awkwardly for just a second.

Abby knew the question that was coming.

“So,” Riley was looking straight ahead into the mirror behind the bar, “how’s Harper?”

Abby grimaced.

Riley’s eyes widened. “Oh, shit…”

“It’s ok! It’s ok,” Abby could feel herself overcorrecting. “It’s been about a year. But yeah, we’re not together anymore.”

“I’m really really sorry, Abby.”

“It’s fine, really,” Abby shrugged. “I mean, if anyone knows how I feel, it’s you.”

Riley exhaled and leaned over the bar, her elbow just barely touching Abby’s. “Yeah, that’s definitely true.”

“So what are you doing in a random bar on Christmas Eve anyway?” Abby asked, ready to change the subject.

“I live up the street, actually. I’m heading to Pittsburgh to see family tomorrow, but that’s going to feel like work, so today I just wanted to relax.”

“Totally,” Abby said, watching as a party of college aged kids spilled in from the street and headed to the high top tables towards the back of the bar. “I’m just taking it easy today, too.”

“Big plans tomorrow?”

“Might see John. I think you met him…when we met.”

“Yeah, I remember John. How’s he doing?”

“He’s really good. Thinks I need to get out more, but otherwise he’s very happy.”

Riley laughed. “I’ve been out exactly three times—wait, no, this makes it four—since I moved here in November so clearly I have no idea what that’s about.”

“You liking Philly so far?”

“Yeah, I do. I mean, don’t get me wrong it’s weird as fuck, but it’s got some really great people. The doctors I work with are whatever, but this kind of place has a good vibe.”

She smiled at Gem, who was rolling her eyes as she made Long Island Iced Teas for the group at the high tops.

“You two know each other?” Abby asked, internally cringing at how un-cool about it she sounded.

“I’ve been here three of the four times I’ve been out, so you could say that,” Riley said. “Nice people usually.”

Gem dropped off the tray of Long Islands and brought Abby and Riley another round.

“They tried to order mojitos,” she sighed, rolling her eyes.

“Fucking kids,” Abby said. Riley laughed. That felt good.

Another large group came in, middle-aged couples this time. It had grown dark outside, it must be after five by now.

They sat in silence for a few minutes, listening to the conversations happening around them. Old friends were reuniting to the right and left of them, the chatter that filled the air was starting to make Abby feel a little claustrophobic. She shifted towards the edge of her seat, tapping one foot nervously against the floor.

“Hey, do you want to get out of here?” Riley asked, raising her hand to catch Gem’s attention. “It’s getting a little crowded.”

“Yeah, that sounds nice,” Abby said, relieved. “I’m just gonna run to the restroom.”

She threw a slightly crumpled pile of bills—mostly fives—on the bar and made her way to the back.

By some good luck, the bathroom was free with no line. The space was cramped and not overly clean, and the small black and white tiles that covered the lower half of the walls created a frantic pattern that did nothing to help Abby’s nerves. She exhaled a deep breath, fixed on her own gaze staring back at her from the mirror.

You’re fine. You’re just hanging out with a girl. A friend, even. Stop being so fucking nervous.

She rolled her eyes, annoyed at her own pep talk, then made her way back to the bar.

Riley was waiting with her hat on, hands thrust deep into the pockets of her dark green coat. Her face broke into a smile when she saw Abby returning.

“Anywhere in particular you want to go?” Abby asked.

“Not really,” Riley said casually. “Lead the way.”

“You got it,” Abby said, and Riley followed her outside.

The air was brisk, and snow had just started to fall as they left. There were Christmas lights everywhere, garlands wrapped around lampposts, a tree decked to the nines in nearly every window.

“Philly really gets in the holiday season, huh?” Riley asked dryly, then pointed up at a stuffed orange mascot that hung from a wreath on someone’s porch. “What the hell is that thing?”

“You really are new here,” Abby laughed. “I don’t know if you’re ready for me to explain Gritty tonight but I promise he's worth the wait.”

They continued up Broad Street, gradually making their way away from the noisy crowds. It had started to snow, which helped muffle the sounds of passerby and create a more mellow but still festive atmosphere.

“So, I’m glad I ran into you,” Abby confessed, breaking the silence that was lingering between them.

Riley’s shoulder bumped against hers as she sidestepped a puddle. “I am too. I have to ask though, is it because we’re both members of the Harper broken hearts club, or something else?”

“No, I’ve been trying not to think too much about that,” Abby said.

“Sorry to bring it up again.”

“I mean, it’s kind of unavoidable. That’s not what I meant, sorry. I’m glad because I really liked you when we met, and I kind of regret not realizing that at the time.”

Riley glanced over at her, genuine surprise etched on her face. “I liked you too, Abby. A lot.”

Abby smiled into her scarf and shook her fingers through her hair the way she always did when she was nervous. “Really?”

“Yeah, past tense though,” Riley added.

“Asshole,” Abby laughed, and Riley’s mouth twitched in reply.

They had paused on a street corner. The snow was falling around them in big flakes, Riley’s hair glittering in spots where it had landed and begun to melt.

Riley cocked her head, lips slightly parted, and stepped a little closer. Her brown eyes sparkled in the light of a Christmas tree peeking out of a nearby window.

“You good?” she asked.

Abby hesitated, chewing her lower lip.

“I can head home, if you’re not feel—“

Abby didn’t let Riley finish. Surging forward on her toes, she kissed her.

Rile tasted like the old fashioned she’d been drinking, smoky and slightly sweet. She kissed Abby back, running a hand through the hair behind her ear, and Abby could feel her smiling as their noses bumped together. When she pulled back Abby caught her breath and realized she was grinning too.

“I’ve wanted you to do that for a really long time,” Riley breathed.

Abby laced her fingers through hers and they kept walking. She wasn't feeling alone amidst all the holiday revelry any longer.

“Do you want to grab dinner sometime, maybe?” Abby asked tentatively.

Riley squeezed her hand. “How about now?”

Abby grinned. “Now is great.”

#abby x riley #happiest season #happiest season fic #kat writes

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slimesidian · 3 years

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I noticed on Slime's Wormman art that their Zed had robot parts, plus it was mentioned that Zed occasionally joined in on Hermit Debug week as of recent, so when/how did Zed get these robot parts? Or just give Zed headcanons in general! :P

I was actually really really hoping somebody would notice that I gave Zed little robotic face plates so first, thank you for noticing my lidl details :D. Secondly I’m gonna just ramble bout my Zedaph headcanons because oh boy oh boy do I have….a lot. This will tie into my Team ZITS backstory headcanons by the way, as this is Zed’s part of the story. I’ll cover Tango’s if I ever get asked about it don’t worry.

-Mod Slime

Origin

Zed, like Mumbo, is a robot. Now, the thing about this is Zed doesn’t actually know this. He and Mumbo are similar in a lot of their design, actually, as they were made by the same person, Zed being made after Mumbo. The biggest difference is Mumbo was scrapped early, so he was fully aware he was a robot, but Zed was fully finished and thus had this knowledge hidden from him. Zed isn’t a Redstone robot in the same way that Mumbo is.

When he first woke up, he was alone in a survival world, or, he thought he was alone. The only friend he had for a while was a little brown sheep that he met in his first few minutes of proper existence. He didn’t even really know who or what he was at this time, and was actually just walking around shirtless for a while.

He was eventually found and given shelter by another Player, which, he didn’t think there were other Players in this world. Turns out, said Player is Skizz. He lets Zed stay with him and asks about his life, and Zed admits that he knows… nothing about his life. He has no memory of anything before this world, and Skizz assumes maybe it was a glitch or something when Zed spawned in. Whatever the case, at least he has a roof over his head now.

At some point, the two gently shear the sheep Zed had found, and used the wool to create Zed’s sweater, the buttons ended up being a bunch of mix matched colors and shapes, but Zed likes it.

Eventually, the two go to the End and find Impulse. Zed can quickly detect that Impulse is speaking Galactic and begins translating so Skizz can understand what he’s saying.

(From this point, everything lines up with the Impulse headcanons I gave a while ago.)

Moonlight SMP

While in Moonlight SMP, Zed created a superhero alter ego, aka Wormman. He would supposedly retire this persona for a few years. This comes back later which is why I mention it now.

Hermitcraft Backstory

When Zed showed up on Hermitcraft, he traveled by portal. There was an accidental glitch and… well Wormman manifested.

Zed pretty much just kinda chills until he inevitably does meet Wormman, and is very confused by the fact that his alter ego is his own person. He rolls with it though, and just kind of accepts that yeah Wormman exists

Also Zed can split timelines. Nobody ever really discusses this fact, but he did do this once in S5.

Nothing truly eventful happens to Zed in season 5, at least, in terms of backstory, but Wormman on the other hand, is left in the S5 world after the world ends. This is awful because the S5 world is basically cursed and got completely overtaken by the jungle, which means Wormman… yeah you can figure out what happened.

He gets out though! He kinda… lost his soul, and got possessed by death due to this. Thus Zedeath was born. When he showed up on Hermitcraft 6, Zed did not realize that Zedeath is the same person as Wormman

Again there isn’t really anything backstory wise that’s too important until S7 because that’s when Zed accidentally learns that he is a robot.

He glitched one day in the first half of the season(probably around November), didn’t entirely know why. He calls Tango over to help, since Tango can access the code, and Tango can’t entirely figure out what’s wrong. He calls Impulse over, and Impulse recognizes that Zed’s code is extremely similar to Mumbo’s, almost identical.

This leads the two of them to realizing Zed is a robot. Now how do they prove that this is true? Well, they remember that Mumbo’s synthetic skin came off when he tried out the uh… I don’t remember the name of it but the spookificating thing that was in the Shopping District.

So Zed pretty much goes into that, and when he comes out it is revealed that he is in fact a robot, and he looks almost identical to Mumbo in basic design(like the chest cavity, the location of the metallic plates, etc…). Zed basically has a breakdown about this because he doesn’t know if his feelings are real or not.

He ends up asking Mumbo how he copes with the fact that he’s a robot, and they kinda have a sweet little heart to heart about it, and Zed comes out of it being mostly comfortable with the fact he’s a robot. He gets new synthetic skin, but he leaves certain areas uncovered so he can see the metallic bits. He wants to love that part of himself.

This is around the time that Zed starts taking part of the debug weeks.

And this is basically all for the in universe “lore” stuff. Other important thing is that Wormman/Zedeath has been using Zed’s Void hole to reach Ex in the Void.

General/Other

Zed has pointy ears, he doesn’t know why he was designed with them, but he honestly doesn’t mind. For the longest time it made him think maybe he was some kind of hybrid.

Zed’s eyes glow purple, and so does his robot chest cavity. He doesn’t really know what causes it to glow purple

Zed, being a robot, has a very close relationship with any contraption or mechanism he builds, especially after he learns he’s a robot.

He doesn’t actually need sleep, which is why the other Hermits won’t really try to force him to sleep the same way they will with Impulse and Tango.

Being a robot means that Zed can’t handle the Void without dying particularly faster than other Hermits(again save for Mumbo because robots :D).

Zed is chubby. Fight me.

His hair is really soft

Wormman/Zedeath Headcanons

Wormman is a clone of Zedaph’s memories, not Zedaph himself. As in, Wormman is not a robot, where as Zed is. Wormman is memories from when Zed thought he was an organic being rather than mechanical. Wormman has every memory that was created while Zed wore the costume. This actually means Wormman has two birthdays, but he considers his true birthday to be the day he became his own person, rather than, when Zed first wore the costume.

Zedeath and Wormman are the same person. Wormman is technically soulless after being abandoned in season 5 and things….happening to him. He could never really die, though, and the closest he came to death accidentally turned him into Zedeath, which is why his first (and only) s6 appearance was as Zedeath instead of Wormman.

Wormman currently resides under the server with Evil Xisuma/Abyss. Wormman had talked to him at some point in S6 while he was still Zedeath, and even then Abyss probably realized who he was. Since then, Wormman built a platform under Zed's base, and there he and Abyss live. It's not much, just the two of them. Although BadTimes vomits occasionally.

Zedeath no longer really comes around. Maybe it's because whatever caused him to exist moved on to Ren during Demise, maybe he came back and Wormman just doesn’t know.

Zedeath isn’t even that scary, he’s just a mischievous soul(or lack there of)

#mcyt #mod slime #hermitcraft #hermitblr #mod slime talks #hermitcraft adjacent #hc headcanons #zedaphplays #impulsesv #skizzleman #mumbo jumbo #headcanon list #zedaph beadcanons #robot zedaph #zedeath #wormman #evil xisuma

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wheelsgoroundincircles · 3 years

Text

1953 FERRARI 250 EUROPA COUPE BY VIGNALE

$3,300,000 USD | Sold

New York, New York

10 December 2015 Displayed at the 1954 World Motor Sports Show in New York An important one-off Vignale design on an early road-car chassis 2012 Villa d’Este and 2015 Cavallino Classic award winner Ferrari Classiche certified

200 bhp, 2,963 cc SOHC 60-degree V-12 engine with triple Weber 36 DCZ/3 carburetors, four-speed manual transmission, independent front suspension with double wishbones and double leaf springs, live rear axle with semi-elliptical springs and Houdaille shocks, and four-wheel hydraulic drum brakes. Wheelbase: 102 in.

FERRARI AND VIGNALE

In the marque’s early days, Enzo Ferrari was obsessed with finding the right “look” for his road cars in an effort to define his company from a visual standpoint. He courted a number of different coachbuilders who provided not only Ferrari with a number of different styles to choose from but also the customer. At the tail end of the era of the coachbuilt automobile, Ferraris could be swathed with bodies by a variety of European, primarily Italian, coachbuilders, allowing clients to commission their car to their own unique taste.

Opening their doors just one year after the conclusion of the Second World War, Carrozzeria Vignale of Turin was founded by its namesake, Alfredo Vignale, and his brothers, Guglielmo and Giuseppe. Crafting bodies for other manufacturers such as Cisitalia, Fiat, and Lancia, Vignale quickly earned a reputation for quality craftsmanship and innovative designs. Their reputation was further reinforced when Vignale teamed up with Giovanni Michelotti, one of the most celebrated designers of the time. Together, they would create a number of bold and impactful designs for Ferrari, all of which were handcrafted. Each body would be unique, with its own signature flair and bravado.

Outwardly, Vignale-bodied Ferraris are easily identifiable by their juxtaposition of sharp angles and rounded edges, with numerous louvers, air inlets, and other styling cues, including frequent use of two-tone paintwork. Some of these features were fitted simply for ornamentation, while others served a functional purpose. Regardless, Vignale’s designs differed greatly from those of their rival coachbuilders Pinin Farina, Ghia, and Touring, giving them a distinguished style all their own.

From the first Ferrari to wear Vignale coachwork in 1950 to the end of their relationship in 1954, the company had bodied over 150 different automobiles bearing the Cavallino Rampante. Today, these vehicles have become some of the most sought after and desirable Ferraris ever built due to their unique character and charisma. Vignale and Michelotti dared to be different and etched their names into automotive history with their bold designs.

CHASSIS NUMBER 0313 EU

Ferrari built just 22 of the 250 Europa before the introduction of the second-series 250 Europa GT in January 1955. Of these 22 examples, 18 were bodied by Pinin Farina with just four by Vignale, making them the most desirable of the series. The example presented here, chassis number 0313 EU, is the second such Vignale-bodied example built. Furthermore, after this car, only five additional road-going Ferraris would be fitted with Vignale coachwork, making it one of the last of its kind.

Chassis 0313 EU is an exemplary example of Vignale coachwork, exhibiting many of the characteristics for which both Vignale and Michelotti were known. The car’s headlights are inset into the front bumpers, which creates pronounced “eyebrows” above the headlights, and the front turn indicators are deeply recessed into the front wings. A chrome trim strip wraps around the bodywork from the front wheel arches toward the stern and around the trunk, emphasizing the length of the car. Furthermore, the vents just ahead of the doors and on the sail panels are accented with chrome.

Shipped to Luigi Chinetti Motors in New York City in December 1953, this car would be on the world stage a month later when it was displayed by Chinetti at the World Motor Sports Show at Madison Square Garden in January of 1954. By this time, the Ferrari was repainted red, allegedly at Chinetti's request, prior to the show. Following the show, the Ferrari was purchased by Mike Garber of Framingham, Massachusetts, for a price of $17,500. He kept the car for four years before selling it through Gaston Andrey to George H. Parker of Rome, New York, for $4,900 plus an Aston Martin in trade.

Thus, the car became Parker’s four-season daily driver and proved to be quite reliable over the following two years, leaving him stranded only once when a stretched timing chain needed to be replaced. In fact, Parker was married in March 1959, and he and his new bride immediately hit the road in his Vignale coupe, driving across the country to California for Mr. Parker’s new job. The first part of the trip went smoothly, but unfortunately by the end of the trip, the Ferrari was losing oil pressure and required a new gasket by the time they arrived in Los Angeles, where Mr. Parker replaced it himself.

The Ferrari was retained by the Parkers until they sold it in 1960 to Leonard Renick, a Cadillac dealer in Fullerton, California. He was obviously a man with a penchant for GM products because the original Lampredi engine was replaced with a supercharged Chevrolet V-8, a common engine swap at the time as correct Ferrari parts proved difficult to source. Furthermore, the car’s distinctive bumpers were removed along with its rear chrome trim, and its nose was repaired after a minor incident.

As of 1968, chassis 0313 EU was owned by Philip Stanton of Los Angeles, who sold the car to Ferrari of Los Gatos in 1976. It was purchased there later that year by Constantine Baksheef and Alec Sokoloff of Palo Alto. Sometime thereafter, the 250 Europa was taken off the road, but it would remain in California. It was discovered in 2003 by Tom Shaughnessy and sold six years later by him to Heinrich Kämpfer of Seengen, Switzerland, who immediately shipped the car to his homeland to be fully restored.

RETURN TO THE LIMELIGHT

No stranger to early Ferraris and with a well-regarded reputation for accurate, correct, and well-executed work, Kämpfer restored the car himself in Switzerland. Parts that had gone missing over the years, including various trim pieces, the bumpers, and the grille, were reproduced to exacting specifications. Kämpfer even sourced an ICI nitro-cellulose lacquer paint to refinish the car in Bruno Siena. Furthermore, Max Gimmel AG in Arbon, Switzerland, the very same company that produced the original leather for the car in 1953, was commissioned to reproduce the interior. Even the Wilton wool carpeting was shaved down from 9 millimeters to 5.5 millimeters in thickness to be as accurate as possible. During this time, the engine, number 0331 EU, was found to be largely complete, though the block was found to be beyond repair. As such, a new block was cast by Ferrari Classiche, and that engine was fitted to a gearbox of the correct type.

By the end of the restoration in October 2011, it was estimated that Kämpfer spent 3,000 hours of work on the car with an additional 800 hours completed by outside specialists. Reflecting the restoration’s overall attention to detail, the Ferrari is accompanied by an incredible file, detailing not only the history and restoration of the car but also containing samples of the paint, leather, and carpet, as well as original screws, nuts, bolts, and clamps found on the car when it was disassembled prior to the restoration. The car’s first public outing was at the Concorso d’Eleganza Villa d’Este in 2012, where it was awarded the Trofeo Foglizzi for best interior design. The restoration of the car was further lauded in issue 194 of Cavallino magazine, where Alan Boe authored an 11-page color feature about this car, its history, and the restoration.

Subsequently, the Vignale coupe was purchased by Tom Peck of Orange County, California, in 2013. During his tenure, the car was shown at the 60 Years of Ferrari celebration on Rodeo Drive in Beverly Hills in October 2014 and further profiled in the November 2014 issue of Automobile magazine. Following it showing at the 2015 Cavallino Classic, where it was awarded Platinum and the Ferrari Classiche Cup for most outstanding factory-certified Ferrari, chassis number 0313 EU was purchased by its current custodian. Today, it remains just as beautiful as it was the day it left Vignale’s facilities and is a highly compelling example from Ferrari’s coachbuilt era.

While the designs of Pinin Farina ended up winning over Enzo’s heart, forever associating that coachbuilder with Ferrari going forward, it is the designs of Vignale that peak the curiosity of collectors, enthusiasts, and historians the most. The partnership between Ferrari and Vignale was seemingly short yet was highly influential and important to the marque’s history and design language, making those cars incredibly desirable today. Returning to the Empire State for the first time in nearly 60 years, chassis 0313 EU presents as well today as when it was first on display at Madison Square Garden in 1954.

#FERRARI 250 EUROPA #ferrari 250 gto #ferrari #vignale #V-12 engine

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erhiem · 3 years

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From left: Photo by Gi Naps/Getty Images; Photo by Rose Hartman/Archive Photos/Getty Images; Photo by Victor Virgil/Gamma-Rafo via Getty Images

Today, the House of Jean Paul Gaultier is relaunching its ready-to-wear line after a hiatus of six years. It comes 16 months after fashion’s “Maestro of Mehmed”, as journalist Georgina Howell dubbed her in the early ’90s, took her final bow as the brand’s designer, implying that this iteration of its namesake. will not be designed. Instead, the reins are taken over by a dedicated team from their atelier, with help crafted from the rotating doors of some of the most independent designers working today – Palomo Spain, Ottolinger, Nix Lecourt Mansion, Alan Crosetti and Marvin M’Tumo .

Since starting his own label in 1976, Jean Paul has been instrumental in turning underwear into acceptable outerwear, making sailor fashion sexy and, more generally, paving the way for designers to experiment with diverse and unexpected castings on the runway. have been responsible for. He also dedicated an entire collection – AW97 – to the fight against racism. The collection, titled ‘Fight Racism’, featured graphic prints of young anti-fascists with slogans printed on their chests.

In fact, with such a rich history behind it, and vintage JPGs becoming increasingly collectible since the recent renaissance—partly stemming from the Kardashians’ love of all things net—more thanks to the label’s revival. Couldn’t be the right time- the line to wear from now. Although it is a well-known fact that Jean Paul himself decided to step back from the category in 2014 after a somewhat tumultuous feud with Florence Tetier (graphic designer and co-founder). November MagazineNow serving as the brand’s creative and brand director, Ghar is poised to enter the field again. in an interview with WWDJPG’s general manager, Antón Gégy, described the relaunch as an opportunity to “celebrate Jean Paul Gaultier, its values, its archives and its history”. And what better way to raise the glass to the core of fashion? Horrible Instead look at seven of the most show-stopping moments from its most iconic era, the ’90s. Long live Gaultier!

Photo by Gie Knaeps/Getty Images

Madonna’s Conical Corset from the Blonde Ambition Tour, 1990

Back in 1989, when Jean-Paul Gaultier was told by an assistant that Madonna had told the audience, she was convinced that he was playing a trick with her. They knew how obsessed he was with her, just could not do be true But she soon found herself on the phone to the original queen of pop, making a match in ’90s fashion heaven. Naturally, Madonna already knew what she wanted: to create something for her that surrounded Jean Paul’s signature masculine-feminine crossover. Inspired by his love of the late ‘queen of Paris punk’ Edwij Belmore, Jean Paul conceived a pinstripe suit – the top of ’80s manhood – and a corset with the now famous conical bra, which he designed six years ago on AW84 had started for. /85.

Photo by Victor Virgil/Gamma-Rafo via Getty Images

Eva Herzigova’s cut-out dress, 1992

Thought harnesses were a new thing on the runway? Wrong! After all, you’re not known as a fashionista Horrible Without a sprinkling of kinks here and there, as this look proves well. Presented on JPG’s AW92 runway, this dress, so slick in its fit that clothes can even put on Eva’s body, exemplifies the powerful-yet-playful take on sexuality that serves as a throughline throughout the French designer’s body of work. runs as. Styled with bicep-clad opera gloves and proudly crafting the Czech-Italian supermodel’s bust, there’s a distinctive dome-y tone at play here, though no compromise on the beauty of the silhouette or the quality of the make. It speaks to an ideological throughline that runs through Jean Paul’s work – that no matter who a woman is or wants to be, she always has the right to be chic!

Photo by Pierre Guillaud/AFP via Getty Images

Houndstooth bodysuit inspired by Leigh Bowery, 1991

In an interview with iD in 2018, Jean Paul declared his love for the “London Way”, which means “just creating your own style, your own creativity and being free to do what you want to do”. When he took the idea back to Paris, it wasn’t very popular, but that didn’t stop him from creating his own trademark approach to design. He spent his youth in the 80s at famous London nightclubs such as Blitz and Heaven, where he met performance artist Leigh Bowery. In a nod to Bowery’s influence on fashion, Jean Paul sent down his interpretation of the Leigh Bowery Houndstooth bodysuit—which would later inspire Alexander McQueen for AW09 and Gareth Pugh for SS07.

Photo by Pierre Guillaud/AFP via Getty Images

‘Chic Rabbi’ Collection, 1993

For AW93/94, Jean Paul presented the ‘Chic Rabbi’ collection, inspired by the traditional dress of Hasidic Jews. Models in streamels and black suits danced to the sounds of a violinist who played live on the catwalk. The usual circle of supermodels was there, but Jean Paul also decided to cast someone who visually embodied the cultural context: a man with a big beard. During the ’80s and ’90s, designers were known for their casting choices, pioneering their diversity. “I’m fascinated by strong personalities, people who capture my imagination because they walk well down the street,” Gaultier explained in a 2014 interview. “Showing just one type of girl is a flaw,” he adds, “something I’ve always fought with. One kind of beauty – no. If I show a bigger girl, I’ll always show a younger girl.” will show.” It is now legend that Gaultier once posted an advertisement in a French daily newspaper release Looking for “atypical” models, saying that “facial distortions should not be avoided in application”.

Photo by Arnal/Garcia/Gama-Rafo via Getty Images

Mesh Tattoo Top, 1993

Back in 1993, the trend Declared this prestigious collection as “a startling vision of cross-cultural harmony”. While we’d be inclined to cringe at the somewhat reasonable look now that Jean Paul drove down the runway for the SS94 (which can actually be read as another nod to Leigh Bowery) it certainly Historical perspective. It also marked the debut of Jean Paul’s iconic mesh tops, which were inspired by a tattoo convention he once found himself spinning around – today, they are some of his most sought-after designs. The collection also includes heavy notes of punk, grunge, and 18th century men’s frock coats made in Jodhpur and denim in the typical JPG style. How did he ever find the place for all this?!

Photo by Pierre Vuthe/Sigma/Sigma via Getty Images

Björk!, 1994

Jean Paul’s celebrity friends don’t start and end with Madonna. A year after Björk’s properly titled debut solo album, First entry, Taking the music and fashion worlds by storm, she appeared on the designer’s AW94/95 show, about a magical train that stopped in a small village somewhere high in some mountains. And what, duh?! As you’d expect from JPG, the show was a mish-mash this time in terms of different styles of traditional arctic costume. The models trotted down the snow-covered runway (which almost tripped Kate Moss), decked out in a hell of a lot of fur, silk, wool, and leather.

Photo by Pierre Verdi / AFP via Getty Images

Op-Art Inspired Catsuit, 1995

Two women riding a motorcycle hit them. One of them descends and climbs onto a loft at a DJ booth. Jean Paul’s AW95 ‘Mad Max’ Show Has Started. As he was in the middle of designing the costumes for Luc Besson’s famous film fifth element In which Bruce Willis and Milla Jovovich fight a mysterious cosmic force, they had science-fiction in mind, which means it was technology and cyber-heavy. The bodysuit inspired by Viktor Vasarelli’s op-art paintings became the show’s most memorable aspect—now made super collectible by Kim K and Cardi B and partly responsible for the JPG-madness we’re seeing on Depop these days. Also on the show was Carmen Dell’Orefice, who walked with a live falcon on her arm and sported ornate football armor that lit up like a circuit board. Really prestigious.

Photo by Victor Virgil/Gamma-Rafo via Getty Images

trompe l’oeil torso top, 1995

The next season, Jean Paul took his quest for sci-fi polka dots further, this time translating it into menswear. This time, however, he brought his knack for trompe l’oeil print placement to the table—skills he had previously flexed in the aforementioned Les Tautouzes, and even as early as 1992, when he sculpted the enviable Presented Printed Mesh Top with Toros. The look sported here by Tanel Bedrossiantz is perhaps a little more figurative in its approach, though no less direct is its infrared-style suggestion of what might lie beneath the longtime house muse’s button-down shirt.

Photo by Danielle Simon/Gamma-Rafo via Getty Images

JPG Set Sale, 1998

In a promo video for JPG’s new ready-to-wear line, Bella Hadid is wearing a big red ship on her head. In case you didn’t already know, it debuted at the Haute Couture SS98 show, where it takes us back to the Age of Enlightenment. It was a time of scientific progress, the advent of modern capitalism and of course colonialism. The ‘explorers’ were sailing around the world from Europe, ‘discovering’ new lands for them – a ship serving as a nod to the continent’s shameful past. Some say, however, that it was during the Enlightenment that the fashion we know today – as a form of self-expression that can be accessed by the public – first began to emerge, making the historical period a fashion show. became an ideal subject. .

Photo by Rose Hartman / Archive Photos / Getty Images

Man Himself!, 1992

Sure enough, to write a list of Jean Paul Gaultier’s most iconic looks from his most iconic decade, and not for the man himself. Indeed, as Florence Tetier spoke to her before the label’s launch, “Everybody knows who she is!” whether it’s his striped Whether paired with a pleated black skirt or, as seen here, a denim vest and a punkish tartan kilt, JPG’s personal style has made her one of the most instantly recognizable designers of our time. Plus, there’s a direct connection between what she wore and what we then saw on the runway. While we may have never seen a proper, French Navy-standard Sailor From the designer, “he’s done a lot of stripes and nautical-inspired pieces,” notes Florence. “It’s really nice to see the link between the way he dresses and the way he designs.” we love you, Jean Paul! Follow iD on Instagram and TikTok for more fashion.

The post Jean Paul Gaultier’s most iconic 90s moments appeared first on Spicy Celebrity News.

#IFTTT #WordPress

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chicanoartmovement · 3 years

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CHICANO ART MOVEMENT visits: OCMA Expand Season 4 (Pandemic 2020)

CAM:

Since March 2020, California passed COVID mandates, protocols, and regulations to provide health safety to its residents which at times closed art institutions for long periods and then later, gave permission to those institutions to reopen with strict guidelines for establishments and guests, alike. Taking advantage of the modified rules and following our own safety procedures, a trip was taken in November 2020 to Orange County Museum of Art (OCMA) Expansion Santa Ana site.

The timing of this opportunity was ideal since I felt safe to venture out of my home for an art activity at OCMA as part of my self-care routine since seeing works in person was my preferred method compared to the virtual & digital programming provided during the mandated stay-at-home orders. Plus visiting the location would allow the experience to be filled with nostalgia of the cultural visits before the time of the pandemic.

In the case of OCMA, their social media campaigns communicated about their exhibitions at the Expansion Site while the permanent location is being constructed a few blocks east. From the OCMA Expand Season 4 roster, we were interested in being active art patrons and providing support during, what would be, our final museum visit under pandemic conditions in the year of 2020.

During the time of our visit, OCMA’s website stated their response to COVID-19 included mask requirements, reduced capacity measures, and a limited number of staff to manage the establishment. For CAM, our prevention measures were updated to include research about said institution and the local health patterns with the goal of minimizing the time spent on the premises.

(OCMA advisory & rules at entrance.)

On a Sunday afternoon in November, the OCMA doors opened to a staff member in a mask behind the front desk plexiglass partition, welcoming visitors on this day. The compliance by staff and the clearly visible list of rules provided me with the reassurance to continue forward. And after waving hello, I was pulled to the lobby for a moment of window shopping by the brightly colored merchandise by the Grant Love Project pop-up shop.

To the right, OCMA proudly displayed in large set typography the list of participating artists and beckoned patrons to walk to the works by Mayrose Cobarrubias Mendoza. This Filipino-American artist used different examples of ceramics, sculptures, and scales to bring Navigating Techniques to represent the relationships between colonization, power, and education. In the piece titled “Territorial Pissing” created in 2019, the museum information card states: “Mendoza reproduces in 1/7 scale the chairs in the Roosevelt Room at the White House and places them around a stack of books acting as the conference table. Though she miniaturizes the seats of authority into toy-like objects, even at this scale the chairs exudes power. The title Territorial Pissings is borrowed from a Nirvana song in which the repetitious refrain ‘gotta find a way, a better way’ reflects the Mendoza’s feeling of frustrated determination to retell Filipino history.”

In the time that I dedicated to analyze the miniature work of chairs conferenced around the book embossed with History: Limited Edition, it connected me the traditional thought of people in power are those who write history to control the present as well as the countless examples of artistic resistance by communities of color, like Cobarrubias Mendoza, who testify about the harsh realities of erasure, discrimination, racism, and the people’s determination towards equality & equity.

As I walked through this first floor that housed Cobarrubias Mendoza’s Navigating Techniques, I focused on two works, “Raft” & “Study II,” that complimented each other and could easily be located in a school classroom helping students find methods to express their creativity. “Raft” built in 2018 out of paper, gouache, cardboard, and spray paint was an enlarged paper boat made with lined sheets with “Study II” on the back wall was an exquisite example of Cobarrubias Mendoza’s chalk usage that was fill with intricacies giving an impasto appearance of ocean waves captivated and transported me to the beautiful Southern California Pacific coastline, riding the tides on “Raft” crafted by the artist.

(“Study II” 2018; chalk, acrylic, wood - Maryrose Cobarrubias Mendoza.)

Leaving the first floor to the upper level, I paused for a moment on the second floor landing to adjust my facemask and glasses to wipe down the condensation to prevent further spectacle fog up before entering the next space. I ventured directly across and stepped into the artwork of Noé Martínez. Guest curator Ruth Estevez wrote that Martínez’s The Homeland of Images exhibition is an examination of “the power relationships that began with human trafficking during the era of the Spanish Viceory in Mexico in the sixteenth century” which includes depictions of “the physical and psychololigical traumas of enslavement and brings to light the unexpected encounters enslaved people from the Carribbean had with Spanish and indigenous Mexican culture.”

Some pieces within this collection were large sheets of paper with Noé Martínez’s rendering of the horrific realities of colonialism and conquest that occurred in Mexico’s Huastec region as well as recognizing the dehumanization of Indigenous and Afro-descendant communities. While analyzing the piece entitled “El Intruso” (the Intruder) and how the sculpture was of branding iron reproductions to expose the audience of brutality used on enslaved people and the generational impacts it created.

(Detailed view of “El intruso” by Noé Martínez.)

During my last look of all the work by Noé Martínez, particularly with his text in Huasteca Nahuatl, I could not escape from connecting his work to the current social political climate and the need of creating critical consciousness amongst all for the betterment of humankind.

The next point of interaction at OCMA was the exhibition to the right by Carolyn Castaño titled “Cali es Cali” that was very appealing due to its concepts of family, memory, and culture with small touches of mid-century modernism. Of Colombian heritage, Castaño’s pieces welcomed the audience to see her familia’s journey of immigrating to Los Angeles, California and feel the cultural traditions. Her textile piece “Ruana” made of wool in 2020 encapsulated the orgullo & history of Colombia through heritage and fashion reflected in this mixed marigold hue poncho. Overall, Castaño’s assemblage of paintings, ephemera, contemporary art, and heirlooms provided many points for the audience to connect to the various components of the family structure.

(“Ruana” by Carolyn Castaño for “Cali es Cali” exhibition.)

Across from Castaño’s exhibition and to close the visit, I looked through the glass windows on the second floor to see up on an exterior wall of OCMA was the pink and blue neon light art installation by Alexandra Grant. With her handcrafted piece titled “I was born to love,” Grant encouraged one to consider oneself equal to others which invoked me to think about self love and respect to fellow humans, sentiments that are extremely valuable.

(View of Alexandra Grant & her “I was born to love” pieces.)

After taking a mental inventory of what I saw, it was time to depart OCMA and it was good timing since more people were being allowed into the establishment in small batches. Before leaving the doors of OCMA, I recalled positive memories from today’s visual stimulation in a physical area before re-entering the real world and continuing to practice social distancing while waiting for things to get better.

Unfortunately a few days after our visit, cases in California rose dramatically, triggering OCMA and other establishments to temporarily close “to support the effort[s] to contain the spread of COVID-19” and at the present, this museum remains inaccessible to the public.

#maryrose cobarrubias mendoza #noe martinez #carolyn castano #alexandra grant #ocma #mexican artist #colombian #filipina #american artist #contemporary art #santa ana #pandemic #2020 #assemblage #self care time

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feytouched · 3 years

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tagged by darling @wrenling, and i am tagging you (yes, you, reading this right now) to do it, too.

if i were a month, i’d be: october, in a latitude where octobers are sufficiently cold and rust-coloured.

if I were a flower, i’d be: a tulip (do not confuse with my favourite flowers, which are freesias, though i still love tulips dearly).

if I were an album, i’d be: the official marie antoinette movie soundtrack.

if I were a mineral, I’d be: obsidian: forged in fire, good for divination, fragile, many-shaped.

if I were a sound, i’d be: the whisper of pencils or pen-nibs on paper.

if I were a colour, i’d be: blood red, shining with the black depth of wine.

if I were a drink, i’d be: absinthe drunk the french way: water fountain, tall glass, sugar spoon on fire, and all.

if I were a fruit, i’d be: dark, sour cherries, the sort that english doesn’t have a word for but that portuguese folk call ginjas and lithuanians call vyšnios.

if I were a quote, i’d be: “I am the seasons, I think sometimes, January, May, November; the mud, the mist, the dawn.” (virginia woolf).

if I were a television series, i’d be: peaky blinders, as it is the only one i watch these days and it features an era of fashion and aesthetics that i love.

if I were a movie, i’d be: little women (2020).

if I were a fashion brand, i’d be: dior in the 1940s.

if I were a mythological creature, i’d be: a mirkwood elf, from tolkien’s mythos.

if I were a taste, i’d be: the taste of mon chéri bonbons.

if I were a scent, i’d be: violets, soft, dark woods, and rain.

if I were a fabric, i’d be: wool plaid in dark pine greens and browns.

if I were a body part, i’d be: the mouth: speaking, kissing, biting off more than i can chew.

if I were a song, i’d be: tchaikovsy’s piano concerto 1.

If I were a goddess my 4 attributes would be: language, perfumery, the protection of lovers who are apart, and keeping the memory of the past.

#come on lads we're self mythologizing tonight!#i tag you! specifically! tag me as your tagger!#lore #ką sako lapė

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mfdnvd · 3 years

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Astute readers

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sarairolo · 3 years

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Germany Culture

Germany's central and southern regions have forested hills and mountains cut through by the Danube, Main, and Rhine river valleys. In the north, the landscape flattens out to a wide plain that stretches to the North Sea. Between these extremes, Germany is a country of incredible variety.

Germany's location at the heart of Europe has shaped its history both for good and bad. It borders nine neighbors,Denmark, Poland, Czech Republic,Austria,Switzerland,France, Luxembourg,Belgium and the Netherlands,more than any other European country.

Germany's largest wooded area, and its most famous, is in the southwest near the Swiss border. This is the Black Forest, a mountainous region full of pines and fir trees. This forest contains the source of the Danube, one of Europe's longest rivers.

As many countries, Germany have a traditional clothing. The female outfit is the dirndl, it consists of a bodice combined with an apron in a different color, such as green, red, etc. Sometimes it is sleeveless and is worn with a cotton and lace blouse and other times it has sleeves and a high neck. The hats are usually quite elaborate. Traditional men's clothing is made of leather, linen, and wool. It's called 'Lederhosen', it goes with knee-length pants or shorts made of leather are worn, they wear it with rustic shoes and woolen socks. Jackets and hats vary by region and occasion.

Their traditional food:

1.-Maultaschen:

Maultaschen from Swabia are a lot like ravioli but bigger. They are typically palm-sized, square pockets of dough with fillings that run the gamut from savory to sweet and meaty to vegetarian.

A traditional combination is minced meat, bread crumbs, onions and spinach -- all seasoned with salt, pepper and parsley. They're often simmered and served with broth instead of sauce for a tender, creamier treat, but are sometimes pan-fried and buttered for extra richness.

Today you can find maultaschen all over Germany (even frozen in supermarkets) but they're most common in the south.

Here the delicious dumplings have become so important that in 2009, the European Union recognized Maultaschen as a regional specialty and marked the dish as significant to the cultural heritage of the state of Baden-Württemberg.

2.- Labskaus

Labskaus is not the most visually appealing dish, but a delectable mess that represents the seafaring traditions of northern Germany like no other. In the 18th and 19th centuries, ship provisions were mostly preserved fare, and the pink slip of labskaus was a delicious way of preparing them.

Salted beef, onions, potatoes and pickled beetroot are all mashed up like porridge and served with pickled gherkins and rollmops (see below). It has long been a favorite of Baltic and North Sea sailors.

Today the dish is served all over northern Germany, but especially in Bremen, Kiel and Hamburg. And while on modern ships fridges have been installed, it remains popular as a hangover cure.

3.- Sausages:

There is no Germany without sausages.

There are countless cured, smoked and other varieties available across wurst-loving Germany, so, for this list we will focus on some of the best German street food: bratwurst, or fried sausages.

There are more than 40 varieties of German bratwurst. Fried on a barbecue or in the pan, and then served in a white bread roll with mustard on the go, or with potato salad or sauerkraut as the perfect accompaniment for German beer.

Working Culture:

The workers have the right to work 35 hours per week. For them, work is work. The time is taken very seriously, and employees make an effort to avoid wasting it. Punctuality is a virtue in German culture. For example, if a business meeting is scheduled at 10:00, everyone should arrive at 9:55 at least. Germans really enjoy their reputation as ‘morning people’. Teamwork is an important thing inside the office. Germans do like to collaborate when given the opportunity. When it's the time for making a decision, they talk it out and come to a collective idea.

Holidays:

Carnival | February, 16: is a period of Carnival celebrations that go on until Ash Wednesday. Notable Carnival parades in Germany take place in Cologne, Dusseldorf and Aachen.

Labor Day | May 1st: is marked with a blend of pagan rituals and also the celebrations of worker's rights. There are lots of celebrations and parties on the night of the 30th April into the 1st of May.

Oktoberfest: Even though it starts in September, the most German of holidays is called Oktoberfest. This holiday started in 1810 with the wedding of Crown Prince Ludwig and Princess Therese von Sachsen-Hildburghausen. They held a big party near Munich, and it was so popular that it became an annual event, with beer, food, and entertainment.

Martinmas | November, 11: The Feast of Saint Martin, the Germanic Martinstag celebration, is sort of like a combination of Halloween and Thanksgiving. The legend of Saint Martin tells the story of the dividing of the cloak, when Martin, then a soldier in the Roman army, tore his cloak in two to share it with a freezing beggar at Amiens.

In the past, Martinstag was celebrated as the end of the harvest season, and in modern times has become the unofficial start of the Christmas shopping season in German-speaking countries in Europe.

#Project #Germany

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