#unjust belt

[finglefungle]

the rust belt? what's next, the dust belt? the gust belt? the crust belt? the disgust belt? the must belt? the fust belt? the adjust belt? the discussed belt? the fussed belt? the trust belt? the just belt? the robust belt? the combust belt? the unjust belt? THE BELT??

#rust belt #dust belt #gust belt #crust belt #disgust belt #must belt #fust belt #adjust belt #discussed belt #fussed belt #trust belt #just belt #robust belt #combust belt #unjust belt #belt

[dynamitekansai]

📸 kQYa7orLnn3yKIH

#joshi puroresu #stardom #momo watanabe #oedo tai #fave #they let momo not reclaim her belt in her villain era and let her record be broken while looking like this?! #the world is sick and unjust #with stardoms boring unfun having ass

[secretmellowblog]

The thing is, Jean Valjean’s “nineteen year prison sentence for stealing a loaf of bread” from Les Mis isn’t actually unusual….not even today! I see people talking about it as if it’s strange or unimaginable when it happens every day.

In modern America — often as a result of pointlessly cruel (and racist) habitual offender and mandatory minimum laws— people are routinely sentenced to life in prison for minor crimes like shoplifting or possession of drugs.

The ACLU did a report in 2013 detailing the lives of various people who were sentenced to life in prison without parole for nonviolent property crimes like:

•attempting to cash a stolen check

•a junk-dealer’s possession of stolen junk

metal (10 valves and one elbow pipe)

•possession of stolen wrenches

•siphoning gasoline from a truck

•stealing tools from a tool shed and a welding machine from a yard

•shoplifting three belts from a department store

•shoplifting several digital cameras

•shoplifting two jerseys from an athletic store

• taking a television, circular saw, and a power converter from a vacant house

• breaking into a closed liquor store in the middle of the night

And of course, so so so many people sentenced to life without parole for the possession of a few grams of drugs.

And we could go on and on!

Gregory Taylor was a homeless man in Los Angeles who, in 1997, was sentenced to “25 years to life” for attempting to steal food from a food kitchen. He was released after 13 years. The lawyers helping to release him even cited Les Miserables in their appeal, comparing Taylor’s sentence to Jean Valjean’s.

And there’s another specific bit of social commentary Hugo was making about Valjean’s trial that’s still depressingly relevant. He writes that Valjean was sentenced for the theft of loaf of bread, but also that the court managed to make that sentence stick by bringing up some of his past misdemeanors. For example, Valjean owned a gun and was known to occasionally poach wildlife (presumably for his starving family to eat.) . So the court exaggerates how harmful the bread theft was—he had to smash a windowpane to get the bread, which is basically Violence— then insist the fact that he owns a gun and occasionally poaches is proof that he is habitually and innately violent. Then when Valjean obviously becomes distressed traumatized and furious as a result of his nakedly unjust sentence and begins making desperate (and very unsuccessful/impulsive/ poorly thought through) attempts to escape…. the government indifferently tacks more years onto his sentence, labels him a “dangerous” felon, and insists that its initial read of him as an innately violent person was correct.

And it’s sad how a lot of the real life stories linked earlier are similar to the commentary Hugo wrote in 1863? Someone will commit a nonviolent property crime, and then the court insists that a bunch of other miscellaneous things they’ve done in the past (whether it’s other minor thefts or being addicted to drugs or w/e) are Proof they’re inherently violent and incapable of being around other people.

A small very petty fandom side note: This is also why I dislike all those common jokes you see everywhere along the lines of “lol it’s so unrealistic for the police to want to arrest Valjean over a loaf of bread, there must have been some other reason the police were pursuing him. Because the state would never punish someone that harshly and irrationally for no reason. so maybe javert was just gay haha”. (Ex: this tiktok— please don’t harass the creator or poster though, I don’t think they were intending to mean anything like that and its just a silly common type of joke you see made about Les mis all the time so it’s not unique in any way.) because like.

As much as I don’t think Les Mis is a flawless book or that its political messaging is perfect….the only way that insanely long unjust sentences for minor crimes is “unrealistic” is if you’re operating on the assumption that prisons are here to Keep You Safe by always only punishing bad criminals who do serious crimes. And that’s just, not true at all. Like I get that these are just goofy silly shallow jokes, and I’m not angry or going to harass anyone who makes them. but it feels like there’s an assumption underlying all those goofy jokes that “this is just not how prison works!” “Prisons don’t routinely sentence people to absurd laughably unjust pointless sentences!” “Prisons give people fair sentences for logical reasons!” When like…no

Valjean being relentlessly hounded and tortured for a minor crime in a way that is utterly ridiculous and arbitrary in its cruelty is not actually a plot hole in Les mis. It’s a plot hole in …..society ajsjkdkdkf. And the only way to fix that is to fight for prison abolition or at least reform, and (in America) stand up against the vicious naked cruelty of habitual offender and mandatory minimum laws.

But yeah :(. I hate how Les Mis opens with a prologue saying the novel will be obsolete the moment the social issues it describes have been resolved— but two hundred years later, the book is still more relevant than ever because we’re dealing with so many of the exact same injustices.

#les mis #lm 1.2.6 #Jean Valjean #anyway sometimes lm 1.2.6 makes me sad and sometimes it makes me angry #today I feel both #: ‘((((((((((((((( #but yeah #also again I don’t hate people who make the goofy ‘lol valjeans prison sentence was so unrealistic javert must be gay’ jokes #i get that they’re jokes #and that they’re mostly made by people who like watched Les mis 2012 once #but also #but also but also #:’’’’( #I don’t know the tragedy of valjeans story and the continued relevance of that social commentary Gets to me #Les mis letters #Les mis daily

[hobies-gf]

missing him (hobie brown) - nsfw

you’ve been missing hobie. fighting against the unjust government and performing every few days doesn’t really give him much time to come home to you. usually you could wait, be the perfect little angel for him and sit pretty while he’s gone. but its just been so hard lately.

before you know it your humping at his pillow, whining cuz it smells just like him. you really tried to ignore the ache between your pretty legs but once you thought about Hobie it would always spiral to the last time you were underneath him.

so you grind against his pillow, eyes squeezed shut and lips parted as faint murmurs of Hobie’s name leave your mouth. you were too focused on the way you moved your hips to hear the heavy footsteps pounding out in the hallway. too focused on your approaching orgasm to hear the metal of a belt hit the ground. as you approach your high, thighs tensing and back arched, only then did you see Hobie in front of you.

he was smirking, of course. because his angel was really just the dirtiest little thing when he was away. he doesnt pay attention to the fact that you continued to gyrate your hips against the pillow despite his presence. instead he sits across from you and beckons you over with two of his fingers.

“c’mere pretty. I’ll treat you better than that damned pillow.”

#hobie brown #hobie smut #hobie brown smut #atsv smut #hobie x reader smut #hobie brown x reader smut

[yanderenightmare]

poly kiribaku with a small captive darling!! badcap/goodcop dynamic where kiri's the really cruel one, and baku cant help but enjoy watching him break little darling over his knee despite feeling a little guilty about not doing anything????

Bakugou Katsuki & Kirishima Eijirou

TW: NSFW, dubcon/noncon, yandere, good cop/bad cop manipulation, size-difference, poly, abuse i.e. slapping, hair-pulling, etc

The slap to her face sent her to the ground, and Katsuki cringed – face flinching as the redhead towered with unfair height over the small girl at his feet. His large hands, rough like stone, hoisted her up by the arm she raised to shield herself – only to shove her down on the bed – looming and pushing himself onto her where she fought so uselessly, so desperately to protect herself – despite knowing it only motivated the brawny male to get even rougher.

A fist latched tight around her throat kept her down with disorienting strength – spluttering on strangled air while her head thumped hot and blinding, only barely lucid enough to catch the sharp sounds of his belt unbuckling. 

The other cruel fist twisted her dress until tearing it off, leaving her even more vulnerable to his harsh handlings – ripping her panties down to her legs while she kicked in distress, caught beneath the unjust muscle mass with no ounce of hope to escape him.

Sobbing, she fervently tried stopping him – winding her thighs shut with a pair of small hands pushing at his chest to keep him distanced. But it was all just silly of her, as it took little more than an effortless push to have her completely flattened beneath him – knees spread wide open on each side of his hips.

Katsuki stood and watched – rigidly – listening to the pitiful sounds of her whimpering cries overrun by Kirishima’s much domineering groans. 

It happened fast, and soon it was already over with – and he’d done nothing but stand there all the while without a word – and still simply stood there speechless even now – as she knelt on the floor by the redhead's feet, cowering as he fisted her hair tightly in a mean grip – asking her in loud growls if she had anything to say for herself.

“I'm sorry- I'm sorry, Eijiro-” She spluttered out, eyes squeezed tight with hands thrown up in surrender – failing to shield herself from even the loud rashness of his voice where thick tears mercilessly streamed in streaks down her stinging raw cheeks.

“And your other master.” He added, yanking her head back with another hand gripping her jaw to face the silent blond.

“I'm sorry, Katsuki- I'm sorry- I'm sorry-”

It took him a second too long to shake free of the stiffness that had taken its toll on him – as though he had somehow forgotten he wasn’t just a spectator. Feeling ill at the sight of how meaty and big Kirishima’s hands were in comparison to her head, where the massive male held her tight like a football while she hiccupped and hitched on uneven breaths, all riddled with terror and hurt.

“There you go~ We learn, don't we, sweetie?” Kirishima continued his brutalities, fucking his coarse fingers into her mouth – making her choke and wretch – though still scared in place, obediently kneeling beneath the male with her hands held steady on the hard muscles of his thighs.

“Kiri, take it easy….” Bakugou finally managed to voice – taking a cautious step towards the two of them.

“What? Oh, look- now you’re making him worry.” Kirishima scolded, pulling her up by her hair, with her wincing at the sting before she was shoved onto her other large captor. 

“I’m sorry- please don't-” She begged, knees quaking as she sagged against him weakly – face twisted in plead with a pitiful furrow of mercy wrinkled between her brows and eyes impossibly large with tears and fear – hopelessly searching for any ounce of kindness he had to spare.

“Show him then.” Kirishima voiced brashly. “Show him how sorry you are.”

She shook and obeyed, taking the ever-so-silent blond by his big hands – hoping he wouldn’t use his strength on her like the other one – while guiding him back to the bed.

“I’m sorry, Katsuki- please don’t worry~” She tried soothing – gently pushing him back on the bed so she could crawl over him and offer some comfort like how Kirishima had taught her he liked.

“You hear that?” The redhead spoke. “Go on, Tsuki~ touch her.” He encouraged him while a rough hand came to make her flinch despite it only gently stroking her ass where she hovered over Bakugou’s clothed bump – painfully stretching out the fabric keeping it trapped.

He barely wanted to look down – afraid to admit to himself why he was so fucking hard – knowing it had everything to do with the fact that Kirishima’s so cruel and she’s so cute it’s cruel in and of itself – feeling so reluctant to acknowledge it as it would mean he could no longer deny the fact that he’s something really very sick for enjoying it.

“Please. It’s fine- touch me.” She sweet-talked, kissing with wet lips and tongue against his neck – making his heart pound harder with tremoring hands subconsciously lifting to card guilt-ridden yet greedy fingers into the plush softness of the thighs cradling him.

About to groan when pushing her hips down to grind on him – stopped short when the redhead raked his hand back in the girl’s hair and yanked her back – ripping her from lathering his neck with sweet spit and pleasurable little whimpers.

He watched her crane, arching back to look up into Kirishima’s face – a collection of ferally pointy teeth smiling down at her with a gleam nothing short of sadistic.

“What gives, buttercup? You’re never this sweet with me?” He accused, fist only tightening to make her wince.

She lifted her hand and stroked his cheek, encouraging him to lean in. “I’m sorry, Eijirou~ I’m still learning~” She tried, and successfully – he humored her – kissing her lips with tongue and teeth while tangling his hand softer into her hair, soothing fingertips brushing reassuringly against her scalp rather than twisting it from their roots.

His other hand rounded her and flicked her budding nipple, making her yelp into his receiving mouth – where he bore a toothy smirk – rumbling out a low chuckle in response while continuing to rub the nub between coarse fingers.

“Have you already forgotten about someone?” He asked after a while, hot against her lips – and Bakugou realized a second too late that it meant another punishment was due – watching her struggle with yet another cry as Kirishima ensnared her neck in a harsh chokehold.

Her smaller hand clawed on the paw without merit while he continued kissing her breathless mouth, desperately gulping for air he wouldn’t allow.

“Kiri-” Bakugou interjected once again, and the redhead let up, making her suck in harshly – slumping forward against the blond’s chest in a coughing spur until she ended up simply crying into his collar with fingers clutching tightly onto the cotton of his shirt.

He felt her shiver all the way down to her toes – his stomach brewing with stirs in return – bubbly and boiling as he watched the continued cruelty before him where the redhead played with her like something inanimate.

“Oh- you can handle it, right? Can’t you, sweetie?” He feigned tenderness, softly stroking the top of her head where she had it buried in Bakugou’s neck, gripping him for safety he was sorry to say he wouldn’t give her.

He thought he heard her whisper out the teeniest tiniest plea where she clutched him even tighter – molding her body flat against him – as close as she could while goosebumps shock-rose all across her exposed skin.

“I’m just teaching you to appreciate us, buttercup.” Kirishima defended, his stiff lips pressed against her shoulder, leaving a wet trail of sloppy kisses up her neck as he positioned himself behind her.

Rough hands lifted her by the fat of her ass – and soon she felt the stiff structure of his thick member brush against the raw puff of her sore cunt.

“If I don’t, who will?” He whispered, stroking her hair over to the other side to get a clean shot at her ear – whispering upon it. “It’s not like Mr. Perfect here is gonna get his hands dirty.”

#yandere bakugou katsuki #yandere bnha #yandere bakugou #yandere boku no hero academia #yandere bakugo #yandere bakugo katsuki #yandere bakugo x reader #yandere kirishima eijiro #yandere kirishima #yandere katsuki bakugou #yandere katsuki #yandere eijiro #yandere eijirou #yandere eijiro kirishima #yandere mha #yandere my hero academia #yandere kiribaku #kiribaku x reader #bakugou x reader #bakugou smut #bakugou thirst #katsuki thirst #katsuki smut #eijiro kirishima smut #kirishima smut #yandere x reader #yandere x you #yandere bakugou smut #boku no hero academia smut #bakugou imagine

[corneliaavenue-ao3]

When Harry Potter was born, he knew nothing of prophecies or horcruxes. The name Tom Riddle meant absolutely nothing to him. He knew of a woman with long, copper hair and green eyes and a tall man with messy, black hair. He knew of three pairs of hands that were the hands of his uncles. He knew what snuggles were and he knew what it felt like to have a body with only one soul. 

When Harry Potter celebrated his first Halloween, he knew nothing of trolls in the dungeons or Death Day Parties. He knew nothing of petrified cats and words written in blood by a girl who has no control over her own body. Goblets of Fire meant nothing to him at this time and what the consequences could be if his name were to ever come out of one. Instead, he only knew of the orange costume his mum put him in that made him look like a pumpkin, and the painted face of his dad that made him look like a skeleton.

When Harry Potter celebrated his first Christmas, he knew nothing of coal in stockings and shoelaces as presents. He didn’t know what it felt like to watch his cousin open up his 25th present while he cooked Holiday brunch in the kitchen. He didn’t know what a belt was or how it could be used as a punishment if the bacon came out a little too crispy for his uncle’s liking. He only knew of stockings filled with toys, and 25 kisses from each one of his parents. He only knew of his mum’s (off key) singing of muggle Christmas carols as she helped his dad cook Christmas brunch. 

When Harry Potter played with the big black dog, he knew nothing of the grim. He did not know the scared feeling of being chased by bulldogs owned by his uncle’s sister. He knew nothing of magical prisons and unjust criminal systems nor was he aware of The Ministry of Magic and the secrets that lie within its walls. He didn’t know how thin the dog could become after being starved for 12 years. He knew only of piggyback rides and wet, slobbery kisses. 

When Harry Potter celebrated his first birthday, he knew nothing of letters addressed to a boy who lived in a cupboard under the stairs. He was not friendly with spiders and their cobwebs littering his bedroom. He did not know about drawing birthday cakes in the dirt with eleven candles on them. He only knew of toddler sized broomsticks that he could chase the family cat around the living room with. He knew of a big cake baked by “Ma” that ended more on the floor and his face than it did his own mouth. 

When Harry Potter woke up on his second Halloween, he knew nothing of death. The name Tom Riddle still meant nothing to him, and he did not know that green flashing lights were a sign of evil. He did not know how devastating a betrayal from a best friend could be. Most importantly, he did not know the sound of his own mother’s screams. Instead he only knew the bright colors his dad would shine above his crib as his mum told him a bedtime story. He only knew “Pea” as a surrogate uncle, just like “Serus” and “Reem.” Most importantly, he only knew the sound of his mother’s laugh.

When Harry Potter was left on the doorstep of his aunt and uncle’s house, he knew nothing of abuse. He knew nothing of his cousin’s fists or the silly, little game called “Harry Hunting.” He knew nothing of negligent teachers who ignored the obvious signs of mistreatment. Instead he only knew the stars that twinkled like the bearded man’s eyes and the flying motorcycle in the night sky. He only knew the faint cheers from wizards and witches all across Great Britain celebrating the death of the man he now shared a soul with.

He knew nothing yet of what was to come.

#so on my hour drive home today i started to mentally write this & somehow when i sat in front of a keyboard it didn't all fly out of my head #harry potter #hp #please notice how i had to slightly mention ginny because i love her #also note how this isnt technically a fanfiction because i can't find a taylor lyric #would probably be from safe and sound though even though this boy is neither safe nor sound

[greatbritishsimchallenge]

"Father, may we talk?"

Cassian didn't respond but took a seat at his desk and looked up at Henry expectantly. Cassian could feel his son's discomfort and immediately tell what was coming.

"I believe Edith and I have found you a good match for marriage. Her name is Lady Catherine. She is incredibly wealthy - the sole heir to the Newcrest estate - she still has sufficient child-bearing years, and she is said to be very beautiful."

Cassian frowned, "If she's so perfect then why the fuck would she marry me?"

Henry cleared his throat, "Like you, she has a... complicated... past. Unlike you, her past was revealed and she has been summarily shunned from polite society."

"What did she do?" Cassian enquired, intrigued.

Henry immediately became flustered, "I'm not sure that matters. She has since undergone a great transformation - Edith and I know her from our circles at church. She is now a respectable, God-fearing woman..."

"And yet you say no one else will marry her because of her reputation. If I'm going to be the one to give her chance, I should at least know what I'm giving a chance to."

Henry sighed, "Did you ever hear the nickname.... the Princess of Newcrest?"

Cassian frowned as he thought back, "I think I remember hearing about her around the time I was married to Regina... didn't she have an affair with the King, Queen and their adult children simultaneously?"

Henry cleared his throat uncomfortably, "Umm... something like that. Anyway, it is quite unjust that most in society fail to recognise how she has changed and learned. She is most worthy of a second chance."

"And I'm willing to give it, am I?" asked Cassian grumpily.

"Yes - you are," Henry replied firmly. "For you have done far, far worse. Indeed, if I may say father, she believes she is being given the second chance when we both know that it is you who is the fortunate one here."

Cassian said nothing but tightened his lips.

"There are also some... caveats... to the marriage to which you must agree before she too will agree to marriage," continued Henry.

"Very well. What are they?"

"First, she feels that, as the sole heir of the Newcrest estate, she must remain in her titled homelands. Upon marriage, you would move to Newcrest."

"You want me to leave the place I've called home for most of my life?" asked Cassian, a low tone of anger clear in his voice.

"The second," continued Henry, raising his voice a little as if to speak up over his father. "Has regards to faithfulness, a very important quality to Lady Catherine. She would require that... you wear a chastity belt."

"You fucking what?"

"To which she would hold the sole key... to ensure your loyalty and faithfulness solely to her. In return, she too would wear a chastity belt to which you would hold the sole key."

Cassian said nothing, but Henry could feel his father's anger building.

"Third, she would like a legal agreement drawn up that would specify some key behaviours of the marriage, such as how much time you are required to spend together, and the frequency of relations required in order to produce an heir. I have read all the stipulations myself and had them checked by our lawyers, and it all seems very conventional. She simply wishes to ensure the marriage is destined for success."

"And will I get to read these stipulations?"

"Of course. You are required to sign your agreement."

Cassian stood up and went to pour himself a drink.

"Father, this marriage will do a great deal to restore our family's financial status; as the sole heir to the Newcrest estate, she is one of the wealthiest women in all England. Finding someone willing to even consider marrying you has not been easy and, while this may be a very different relationship to the type you are used to, I do also believe it will be good for you."

Cassian downed his drink and poured himself another.

"In all her requirements - is meeting me one of them?" he asked.

"Oh, erm..." Henry was surprised by Cassian's question and took a moment to reflect back over his meetings with Lady Catherine. "No, actually. That didn't come up. I suppose she must have been satisfied with the information we provided. But I can suggest it, if you'd like?"

"No. I think I'd rather meet this one at the aisle, when it is too late for me to walk away," Cassian poured himself another drink then added, "I have one request of my own, before I go ahead with all of this."

"Yes, father?"

"I want to see Isabeau. I want her brought here, to Brindleton."

"Father, Aunt Isabeau has her own very busy life in Champ les Sims and -"

Cassian turned to shoot his son a warning look.

"As you wish," Henry replied, immediately backing down. "I will write to Aunt Isabeau immediately."

Start (Iron Age) | Start (Roman Britain) | Start (Anglo Saxon) | Start (Medieval) | Start (Tudor)

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#sims 4 history challenge #great british sim challenge

[rohanneofcoldmoat]

Thinking about Brienne and idealism and despair, I feel like George has sown some seeds in the last couple glimpses we get of her that hint at a crisis of faith she'll have in twow. There's this deep-set sense of futility, of helplessness, in Brienne's last chapter, one that extends beyond the fact that she's a prisoner.

"He turned back at the river, m'lady. He's gone back to his forge, to Willow and the little ones, to keep them safe." No one can keep them safe. She began to cough again. "Ah, let her choke. Save us a rope." One of the shadow men shoved the girl aside. He was clad in rusted rings and a studded belt. At his hip hung longsword and dirk. A yellow greatcloak was plastered to his shoulders, sodden and filthy. From his shoulders rose a steel dog's head, its teeth bared in a snarl. "No," Brienne moaned. "No, you're dead, I killed you."

Those kids at the inn that Brienne was willing to die to protect, the kids that she was literally eaten to protect, well now, in her mind, no one can keep them safe. Of course, Brienne feeling like the odds are against her is not something that will make her fold on its own. "No chance and no choice" after all, but here, you can feel her wondering, is there ever really a chance? And as if to confirm this, the monster haunting the Riverlands, the same one that Brienne killed at to crossroads to protect the children, is seemingly back again and right in front of her.

And then, the last time we see actually see Brienne, her appearance startles Jaime.

Jaime scrambled to his feet. "My lady. I had not thought to see you again so soon." Gods be good, she looks ten years older than when I saw her last. And what's happened to her face? "That bandage … you've been wounded …"

Obviously, her injuries and the fever she suffered are likely contributing to the fact that she seems to have aged ten years, but if we take this more metaphorically, what else is associated with youth? Resilience, innocence, idealism. In Winds we may see a Brienne who has lost some of these things. Being confronted with the rotting husk of your liege lady who commands you to do something you deem unjust lest she kill you and and an innocent child will do that I guess. Jaime says "You've been wounded," when he sees her, and he's right, and not just physically. Brienne's in a lose-lose situation, where any decision she makes requires her to compromise her own morality, a part of the too many vows dilemma that led Jaime to lose his faith in the institution of knighthood that Brienne still holds sacred. I think there are some dark places she could go internally, and the fact that she's going to get slammed with the fact that Tarth has been invaded and has possibly fallen is certainly not going to help. How far things will go, and what morally grey actions Brienne may take I don't know. In my mind there's a certain something to Brienne killing Catelyn, with Oathkeeper no less, but considering all the foreshadowing that Arya will meet her mother again before her final death, I don't know that that will be the case. What this faltering idealism will look like in Brienne's story I'm not sure, I just know that I am ready for George to tear my heart out in twow (one of these days).

"There are a lot of dark chapters right now in the book that I'm writing. You know, it is called The Winds of Winter, and I've been telling you for 20 years that winter was coming. And winter's the time when things die, and you know, cold, and ice, and darkness fills the world, so this is not going to be the happy feel-good book that people may be hoping for, and some of the characters are in very dark places." - GRRM x

#brienne of tarth #valyrianscrolls #asoiaf #also don't think Brienne's arc will end on this kind of note just that we'll see her wrestling with this in twow #*

[mitochondriaandbunnies]

You Should Watch Miami Vice:

A treatise on the most poorly-remembered show of the 80′s

If you’re like most people, when you hear Miami Vice outside the context of a bar, you picture the following: shoulder pads, speed boats, bikinis, and pink and teal pastel. You probably think about the worst excesses of the 1980′s, of a kind of cultural sinkhole where there was nothing cooler than Ray-Bans and masculine posturing.

However, much like Captain Kirk is (mis)remembered as a sleazy womanizer, and the first Rambo movie is (mis)remembered as a paean to how AWESOME KNIVES ARE, Miami Vice has been frozen in pop-culture memory as something it really isn’t. A funhouse mirror reflection of what it was actually all about.  Because the thing is: Miami Vice is good. Like, really good. 

At its core, it’s a show that is:

Well-written, with a coherent emotional and thematic arc across its seasons, despite being made before the era of arc-based TV

Incredibly beautiful, with cinematography, directing, and musical/sound editing choices that literally changed the way television was produced

Deeply, sometimes painfully human, with main characters who are often wrong and/or make bad decisions with real consequences, and who often ‘lose’

And on top of that, it’s not really copaganda (no, really), and it’s pretty damn queer (yes, really.) It’s also an old-school episodic show, which means the characters have a ton of space to breathe and grow and be multi-faceted, and the production has room to experiment, both with technical stuff and the writing. There are episodes that are so deadly serious your mouth feels dry as the credits roll; there are weird, silly, fun episodes where utterly bonkers things happen; there are episodes that feel like David Lynch was moonlighting as director. It’s neo-noir, it’s magical realism, it’s a workplace comedy, it’s a treatise on how there’s no reforming unjust systems, it’s a love story about two men who refuse to grapple with the idea that they’re the most important thing in each other’s lives.

You should watch it. But let me keep trying to convince you, anyway.

Vice was the brainchild of Michael Mann and Anthony Yerkovitch, and in 1984, it looked and sounded like nothing else on TV. There’s an auteur touch to the majority of episodes-- not just a unified look, but a willingness to try things that worked in the movies on the small screen. When you watch a lot of shows from the early to mid 80′s, they look the same as shows from the 70′s-- en episode of Spenser for Hire could’ve been shot on the same day as an episode of Starsky and Hutch. People talk about the legacy of shows that led to our modern era of “prestige TV--” there’d have been no Sopranos without The Wire, etc-- but in a lot of ways, with its artistic, film-like framing, melancholic New Wave aesthetics, and abnormally high production values, Miami Vice is the grandpappy of all of them. 

The recurring cast is very small: for most of the show, it’s these seven characters. (No, I don’t know why this cast photo is posed like they’re at a wedding for someone they don’t seem to like very much. Literally all of the promo photos for this show look like terrible wedding or prom shoots.)

From the top left, we have Larry Zito (Hawaiian shirt) and Stan Switek (pink stripes); they’re initially the comic relief. They love Elvis and bicker like an old married couple, and as partners they get a lot of the surveillance jobs. They do not escape the show unscathed.

The two ladies are Gina Calabrese (blue belted dress) and Trudy Joplin (palm tree dress); I adore them and they are wonderful, and each of them gets a couple of solid episodes, but they aren’t always given the most spectacular scripts. Gina is both the sweetest, most naive member of the group and the one most likely to shoot first and ask questions later; Trudy is an expert researcher and cannot be arsed to do emotional labor for her dumb male colleagues.

The man in the black suit with the moustache is the squad’s lieutenant, Martin Castillo. Castillo doesn’t show up until episode six, and when he does the show’s whole tone kind of suddenly clicks into place. Castillo is weird. He speaks very little and blinks less; he makes eye contact with no one unless he is making so much eye contact it makes you want to bury yourself in the dirt. Also he’s maybe secretly a samurai?

Then we have the two assholes in front, our main characters: Sonny Crockett and Ricardo Tubbs. Sonny (white guy in spring green and lavendar, the kind of man who wears a sleeveless shirt under a blazer) is a career Miami cop with a history of unprocessed trauma, a conga line of dead friends and partners, a wife who is trying her best to divorce him, and a six year old son he has no idea how to parent but loves very deeply. Rico (Black guy in grey and white, the kind of man who wears a three piece suit in 98 degree weather with 100% humidity) is a New York transplant with a dead brother, an utterly bizarre sense of humor, the world’s worst taste in women, and a terminal need to fix every broken person he’s ever come across while also probably sleeping with them. Their relationship is the emotional core of the series. Neither of them is equipped to handle this.

Sonny is probably the worst-remembered part of the whole badly-remembered series. Pop culture positions him as a wise-cracking cowboy cop who drives too fast and lives even faster, when in reality mostly Sonny is just very depressed, very lonely, and almost certainly a self-hating closeted bisexual.

He is a sad, bitchy pretty boy who legitimately thinks the only thing he’s good for is waving a gun around, and he only drives his government-owned drug dealer Ferrari so fast because he’s trying to drive away from his feelings.

Vice is a five season show, and unfortunately, you’ll often see fans arguing about the seasons and whether or not you can or should skip any of them. Here’s the thing: it’s an episodic show from the 80′s. No matter how much Mann or any of the other showrunners tried to make it consistent across its runtime, that’s not really how TV works. 113 episodes does not a movie make. Because of this, each season does feel a bit different from prior seasons, and which season you prefer is going to depend a lot on your personal tastes. Nonetheless, I wouldn’t recommend skipping any of them-- when you do watch the show from the pilot to the finale, it really does feel like one coherent storyline.

Season 1: Many people’s favorite season. A good mixture of tragedy, comedy, mystery, etc. The first six episodes are still kind of “working things out” tonally, but the whole season is worth watching. My personal favorite S1 episode (Evan, the second to last of the season) isn’t available on all sources, but is an absolute must watch, especially in terms of providing context for understanding Sonny as a closeted queer man.

Season 2: My favorite season. The show has its footing and knows what it wants from its characters and its audience. I would argue that almost every episode of this season is a good one, and it’s thematically very consistent. (Also, I think, possibly the most “fun” season despite a lot of darkness?)

Season 3: Also a lot of people’s favorite season, although PERSONALLY I think of S3 as “the police brutality is good, actually” season. Dick Wolf (yes, that Dick Wolf) was the showrunner for this one, and he wanted it to be “grittier.” I think S3 is necessary for understanding Sonny and especially for understanding the relationship between Sonny and Rico, but it’s definitely the copaganda season.

Season 4: The season a lot of people feel you should skip, because it’s “too weird” or where the show jumped the shark. There are some... real strange episodes in this season, including one about aliens and another about cow semen. For real. I’ll be honest: I kind of love S4. It backpedals the grittiness and focuses more on the characters’ inner lives again, S4 also ends with a fantastic two part cliffhanger that is picked up at the beginning of S5.

Season 5: A truncated half-season with a couple of “lost” episodes that actually fit in before the finale. Season Five is sad. The fallout from the end of S4 is heavy, grim stuff, and S5 doesn’t shy away from showing how that has fucked everyone to hell and back. The finale of the show is thematically excellent and emotionally satisfying; while the show was cancelled, they wrapped it up successfully.

“Okay, fine,” you say, sipping the cafecito I handed you while I explained all of this, “so it’s not just about a cool guy in an Armani suit driving an Italian car really fast. But you mentioned it was gay? It still doesn’t sound very gay.”

Well. Let’s see.

There’s what should be a cringey “very special episode” about gay cops in 1984 that is instead one of the most heartfelt and upsetting episodes in the series. Never once does this episode no-homo the main characters, and in fact, men being able to touch each other is positioned as healing and necessary.

Sonny and Rico are the only people who think the other is funny. Their hands and eyes are on each other all the time. Rico used to watch Sonny’s college games on TV and remembers his number. They both repeatedly throw missions for each others’ sakes. They spend all of their time together. There’s an on-screen “I love you” (there’s a ‘man’ at the end but it rings like someone hedging his bets) and a few episodes later the character who received the I love you marries a random woman he literally met less than a week ago in what can only be described as the saddest and most desperate attempt to Not Be Gay Anymore ever caught on film. They cradle each others’ heads more than once. A song about “loving the boy with the pretty green eyes” plays in the background of a conversation they have about following each other to the end of the earth in the finale.

All.

these.

prom.

photo.

shoots.

  and whatever the fuck this is.

You finish your third cafecito, shaking slightly from the caffeine, trying to prevent me from handing you a fourth. “Fine,” you admit. “But I still need more convincing. I can’t just watch something that’s good and thematically whole and about two sad men in love. It needs to also have... have some kind of, I don’t know, je ne sais quoi about it. A little extra spice.” Your hand rattles the demitasse against the saucer as you speak.

I pull off my food service uniform to reveal that underneath, I’m dressed as a carnival barker.

WELL. LET ME TELL YOU, FRIEND, WE’VE GOT:

An absolutely golden 80′s soundtrack that is atmospheric, consistently used at pitch-perfect moments, and which has been preserved in its entirety without any licensing issues

A guest cast list that includes a ton of super fucking cool genre actors, musicians, poets, and other assorted famous people playing weird, fun roles (James Hong! Earth Kitt! Pam Grier! Frank Zappa! James Brown! ...G. Gordon Liddy!?) AND many of the future stars of the 90′s before they were famous (Bruce Willis! Julia Roberts! Liam Neeson! Helena Bonham Carter!)

Sonny has an actual pet alligator named Elvis. He lives on his boat and sometimes Sonny has to take him to the vet

Jai Alai

Rico is a vegetarian, which feels like a difficult thing to be in Miami in the 80′s

Izzy. Just. Izzy. The most perfect, most ridiculous, rat-bastard con man and wannabe poet, Izzy.

Episodes directed by both Starsky and Hutch

Sonny’s pathological need to put things in his mouth

Whatever is happening here:

I watch your face carefully for signs of acquiescence, but all the frothing at the mouth I’ve been doing has made it a bit hard to see through the foam. I assume you are convinced and hand you a seventh cafecito. You have not drank the fifth or the sixth. I will drink them when you leave, that’s fine.

MY JOB HERE IS DONE, I announce.

You ask me to elaborate on the whole “not copaganda” thing, trying to grab me by the candy-striped suspenders.

I can’t totally elaborate on that without spoiling a bunch of the show, but suffice to say: ultimately, Vice is about how you can’t change corrupt systems from the inside, that the police serve the rich and powerful, the function of vice cops is basically to create the illusion of order while letting the government quietly destabilize the countries the drugs are originally coming from, and that anyone who tries to be a “good cop” ends up eaten by the system, corrupt, or dead.

There’s some backpedaling on this in the middle of the series with the whole Dick Wolf thing (that man loves his fucking cops), and not every episode is totally consistent with its messaging, but season five definitely doubles down on “this is actually a bad system that really can’t be fixed.”

The show isn’t perfect (I mean. it’s still a cop show from the 80′s)-- it’s a product of its time, for better or for worse. But Miami Vice is really damn good. It’ll make your heart hurt in the best way possible. You will want, desperately, for Sonny to figure out that he’s worth something more than his career as a police officer. You’ll come out of it with a lot of feelings about Phil Collins. I think anyone who likes a good story about people has the potential to really fall in love with Vice-- I’ll admit I literally started watching it as a joke, and realized pretty quickly that everything I thought I knew about the show was wrong.

Satisfied with my answers, you try to leave.

I hit you with a plate of cocaine.

#miami vice #tv recommendations #fandom #80's #retro tv

[rionas-path]

Chapter 4

Burdens of a Host

XXIX. A teeming of flowers surrounding the small enclosure, All vibrant and lush, ranging from yellow to blue, to white; And circled with short walls of stone, lit up by lantern’s light. Ríona found some little joy in her solitude, as the azure Hue of flow warmed her vexed cheeks. Youthful still, but wise enough To know when to call a day. She found her life to be so rough, Despite all the attainable commodities from over The seas. She had stormed off and began to retain her composure.

XXX. Continuing her preoccupied gaze at a blue flower, Noting the chrysanth’s growing bud, and the faint, fragrant smell That emanated outwards, marked Young Cutter’s coming spell Of youth – of love and growth, as the winter’s drought it would shower With downpours of torrential rain, and perchance the gods would gift Her town with boons of abundance. The folk’s demeanour would shift T’wards radiance and dance, and festivities of the late hour. Soon even the songbirds will her cherished seclusion sour.

XXXI. Reflecting upon those events from a few moments ago, Ríona thought the goddess found the whole ordeal bizarre, But ask her, she would not. The two souls had been keeping far Away from one another ever since the two had a row. No doubt her father was still scornful, but it mattered not To her, for she saw it all differently, yet still, she fought Back any guilt that could creep into her, fester and grow. The question of history irked her mind, and answers were slow.

XXXII. Indeed, the solitude that circled her was flawed, she felt The presence of the Goddess always there, always close by Her own soul. This time she marked her luck, the spirit did not pry. To say she hated her would be unjust, such cards were dealt To her before she entered the game of life and besides, To say and imply Aurianne is not one who Ríona guides, Especially, with a motherly caress which calmed and melt Away all sorrows. Such were now the skills under her belt.

XXXIII. Gazing into her rational mind’s space, she found her sense. To mock the coming warmth of spring would be of little aid, And from whence this thought came bemused her. Was she being swayed By the goddess’ intrusion again? Shaking her head in suspense, Before inquiring inwardly: “Listen’st thee? Of course, thou art… Why would’st thou not be?” She muttered, hoping discourse would finally start. Yet still, no voice answered. The goddess toying at her expense, Beckoning her to speak her mind, and let this game commence.

XXXIV. She let out another breath, straightened up and said with a tone Displeased: “I have scoured each of the libraries of Kaés, I’ve pored o’er each and every book of the celestial press, I’ve studied under scholars who’ve picked it clean as a bone! Yet… not one know’st thy past. Thou art an enigma to me All whilst share we a body whole, all whilst share’st not thee Thy story, knowing mine full well. Astounding! Thy well-known Titles all hold true, at the least!” She ended with a groan.

XXXV. The silence now became shrouded in utter fragility And slowly in the corner of her eye, Ríona saw a mass Of phantasmal nature take form stepping onto the grass From behind one of the stony pillars, draped in antipathy: “Thou art vile and sharp with words, indeed, though rarely dost thee bite! Thy demeanour of recency’s breath…” the goddess blunt in her slight: “Impulsive, Quarrelsome! Disobedient… Futility Of all this; the worst of traits – Rebellious thy symphony!”

XXXVI. Contempt now simmered betwixt the pair as tensions grew and grew, And Aurianne’s demeanour, sharp as ever, knew precisely How to cut deepest; still tenderness’ touch could put it lightly. Thus, the blaring silence was brought to a close long overdue: “Mute for three phases of the moon yet seeks answers on a plate! Indeed, reminds me of another…” her tone did not berate. “Thou shouldn’t be so ‘lone in thy turbulence and turn to Such scholar work – though impressive. Alas, a fated avenue!”

XXXVII. In ire Ríona scoffed and crossed her arms, looked away So the goddess would not be in the periphery of her gaze, Then muttered in defeat: “You never answer a simple phrase T’wards me directly… You meander, you plot, you convey Through sheer allegory! Why can’st nothing be simple with thee?” Aurianne took a deep breath and drew nearer: “One day will see Thee witness beyond the dark when I shall all my secrets betray! For now, perhaps through a truthful tale, let me thy fears allay.”

#riona's path #fantasy #dark fantasy #poetry #epic poetry #poem #epic poem #literature #writing

[informalcrybaby]

Clever Girl (Part 4)  Harwin Strong x OC

Summary: Lyra must fight for her life to save her brother and a bond is solidified.

A/N; Hope you enjoy! I’ve never written a scene like this before, so let me know if I did ok!    

 Lyra didn’t see Harwin again until the second to last night of the tourney. While he preformed beautifully, laying down all that stood between him and his victory, Lyra watched from the crowd in awe. He was striking and she could feel herself becoming powerless to the spell he had cast upon her.

           After the games were finished for the day, her father took Raeken and Casper further into King’s Landing to purchase fresh meat for the family’s supper. Surprisingly, Bastion chose to stay and appeared delighted to go traipsing through the wood with Lyra to pick some herbs and gather more wood for the pit. He hummed softly to himself as they sought and gathered, every so often stopping to ask Lyra if a plant was poisonous of not. When they reached the edge of a glassy river, Bash scampered off in search of the best skipping rocks.

           Catching sight of some beautiful wild juniper, Lyra skipped a few feet happily and dropped to the soft earth to gather the splendor of the gods. After picking just enough to season the game her father would bring back, Lyra considered their journey fruitful and turned to call for Bash. He stood maybe fifteen feet behind her, a look of horror contorting his pale face. His eyes didn’t meet hers, they looked beyond her.

           Standing a mere twenty yards from her was the knight who had accused Bash of stealing and he looked positively murderous. She rose quickly, moving her body to cut her young brother off from his sightline. Edmund rose the sword hanging at his side and took a single step forward.

“Bash, I need you to run as fast as you can back to camp and find anyone who will help you, do you understand me?” She said, her eyes never leaving Edmunds.

“Lyra I can’t leave you!”

“You can and you will.” Lyra replied, trying to control the shake in her voice as she replied. She would rather die than let that vile man near her brother again and if the Gods were merciful, he would turn his anger on her when Bash ran away.

“Lyra no!” Bash cried and her heart squeezed. The boy loved her like a mother, having never known their own and she could feel his pain in her bones.

“NOW!” She demanded forcefully as Edmund stalked closer and thankfully, she heard her silly boy take off towards camp.

           As Bash fled, Edmunds eyes found her own and a sick smile curved the corner of his lip. He stalked forward a few more steps and stopped.

“No matter,” He chuckled darkly, laughing deeper as she pulled her dagger from her belt, “I just need one Castellan to pay for my unjust dishonor.”  

“Do your worst then.” Lyra replied, adjusting the hold on her dagger and planting her feet to ready for what she knew would be a berserker style attack.

           He made no more statements, just raised his sword, and charged her. She dodged his first wild swing by dropping to the ground and rolling away from him. He swung again as she rose, the tip of his sword slicing her shoulder. The pain came quickly and throbbed horribly down the length of her arm but she took only a second to acknowledge it before the ache was replaced with blind rage.

           Using her small stature to her advantage, she surged forward, just barely missing his strike and landing her own on the back of his calf. Her dagger dug deep, blood spraying her face as he roared in pain.

“YOU BITCH!” He cried out but gave her no space for escape, using his large frame to back her closer to the rivers edge. He struck out again and again, pouring his hatred into his attack. She dodged the best she could but as her feet hit the waters edge, she slipped and before recovery was possible, he was on her.

           Lyra had never put much thought into how she would die but being drowned by a morally weak man in a river was not going to be how she met her demise. She fought back fiercely against the hands around her throat, fists flailing and connecting with any piece of flesh they could find. He didn’t let up and her world began to fade.

Until she remembers that she hadn’t just worn her belt that day.

           With her last ounce of strength, she reached back, pulled at the elaborate pin in her hair and buried her dagger in Edmunds stomach. His hands released her, but his dead weight pitched forward, pushing her further underwater. Her lungs screamed for air and her mind went fuzzy as the adrenaline left her body. Good, she thought as she felt her body sink deeper, at least that monster was going down with her.

           Then suddenly, the weight was gone, and her lungs burned with fresh air. She gasped, gulping in as much air as she could, readying herself for what was surely his next move. She still had the dagger clutched in her hand, her knuckles white as the snow that blanketed Winterfell. But, the hands that held her were gentle and the voice that accompanied them broke her from her haze.

“Lyra, it’s me,” Harwin said, shaking her body gently, “Your fight is over clever girl, breathe for me, please.”

           She broke when she saw his face. Concern creased his brow and his nostrils flared as he tried to control his own breathing. He brought his hand to her cheek and even though it was stained with blood, she leaned heavily into his touch.

“I killed him.” She rasped, her throat aching with the effort of speech.

“You did and I am so fucking proud of you for it.” Harwin praised her, burying his other hand in the back of her hair.

           Gods, her body hurt more than she imagined it could but the feeling of Harwin’s hands on her were more healing than the milk of the poppy could ever be and she needed more.

“Harwin.” She breathed his name desperately, demanding that he understood her need with her eyes as they met his own.

“Lyra.” He whispered before bridging the small gap between their lips and melding his with her own.

           She felt his need mix with her as their lips danced softly over one another. She realized they were speaking their own language this way and it was the most romantic tongue in the seven kingdoms. His lips were just as soft as she imagined them to be. He gripped her tightly, driving all heat from her wounds as his tongue traced her bottom lip. She greedily met it, gripping his face tightly and diving as deeply into him as she could.

           They broke apart at the sound of horses in the distance, both panting but unwilling to release the other for a few moments. Harwin only pulled away as the riders voices grew clearer. Her father and brothers were coming for her and even though she was safe, tears spilled down her cheeks. For a moment, as she felt herself succumbing to the river, she thought she would never see them again and hearing their voices felt like even more of a victory than slaying Edmund.

           Her family came upon the river just as Harwin helped her rise and tore a strip from his tunic to help staunch the bleeding on her shoulder. He was tender in all his movements and Lyra felt her chest well with affection at his ministrations.

“You have proven most surprising, Break Bones.” Lyra lowered her voice, so only Harwin could hear.

“And you have proven to be the most enchanting woman I have ever met, Cut Throat .” Harwin replied, squeezing her hand affectionately and holding her gaze until her family swept her away.

#harwin strong #harwin x oc #harwin strong x reader #eventual smut #angst #Clever Girl Series

[give-me-a-movie-camera]

I was watching I Love Lucy on Pluto TV last night and it completely slipped my mind that yesterday marked Desi Arnaz’s 106th birthday.

His was a classic Riches-to-Rags, Rags-to-Riches Cinderella tale. Desiderio Alberto ‘Desi’ Arnaz y de Acha III was born 2 March 1917 in Santiago de Cuba, Oriente Province, Cuba, the only son of wealthy landowner Desiderio Alberto Arnaz y de Alberni II (a prominent Cuban politician, who, to date, was the youngest mayor of Santiago de Cuba from 1923 to 1932) and his wife, Dolores ‘Lolita’ de Acha y de Socías (one of the most beautiful women in the Caribbean, the daughter of a businessman, one of three founders of Bacardi Rum Limited, the world's largest privately-owned spirits company). Desi was of the small but vastly privileged, upper-class y de Acha, the descendent of Cuban nobility of whose colonial ancestors originated from Santander, Provincia de Cantabria, Cantabria, Spain. (His grandfather, Dr Desiderio Alberto Arnaz y Alberni I, was assigned to the first United States volunteer cavalry in Cuba, the ‘Rough Riders’ under the leadership of ‘Hero of Cuba’ Theodore Roosevelt during the Spanish-American War on 1 July 1898. To legend, they sieged San Juan Hill on horseback, and though the forged conquest did not belong primarily to Roosevelt, for the conflict was an integrated effort between the white volunteer regiment and the 1,250 black Buffalo Soldiers, the famed battle gained Cuba her independence from Spain—a victory for the people, the Cuban people).

At the height of the Cuban Revolution of 1933, Desi and his family were forced to flee their Motherland, leaving their riches behind. Following a brief election, the government collapsed with the removal of President Gerardo Machado y Morales from office in August of 1933. The opposing anarchists seized all political leaders and stripped them of their power. Among them, Desi’s father, imprisoned by the regime, before his brother-in-law, Alberto de Acha, intervened on his behalf, thus making his escape to Miami, where he was to remain in exile. Having lost their holdings to the rebels who confiscated their property (their palatial home, a cattle ranch, two dairy farms, and a vacation villa on a private island in Santiago Bay), his father sent for Desi and his mother, who took refuge in Key West, Monroe, Florida in 1934. When Desi washed upon the shores of the Americas, his father had established an import-export company, where the family of three took up frugal lodgings in the company warehouse and dined on cans of cold beans. Desi came to live in New York City and Los Angeles for about one year, where he tightened his belt for survival and scrambled for employment as a struggling musician. Following an engagement as a guitar player for a Latin-American band at the Roney Plaza Hotel in Miami Beach, and a cursory stint with the Xavier Cugat Orchestra in 1937, he made his Broadway debut in the Rodgers and Hart musical Too Many Girls, where he reprised the role for RKO's major motion picture of the same name in 1940. During the course of filming, he fell head-over-heels for the Apricot Queen, Lucille Désirée Ball. The couple eloped on 30 November 1940 in Greenwich, Fairfield, Connecticut. By 1949, at the age of thirty-two, Desi established himself a renowned nightclub entertainer as conga-playing band leader for the travelling self-titled Cuban orchestra.

Most Hollywood buffs would do well to remember the Power Couple formed by Desilu Productions—a celluloid empire built on the backs of Lucy and Desi’s American Dreams, despite the public scandals and tumultuous marital woes. But at the crowning glory of their golden existence, there are those who neglect Desi's legacy and his reluctant resignation to his fate as the Man Behind the Curtain, to remain in Lucy’s shadow so long as he lived. Lucy, of whose celebrity distinction was of higher standing than her husband’s. Desi, though undoubtedly talented, who was not exempt from the unjust ostracization and societal prejudice that plagued him as a Cuban Spaniard immigrant in racially-charged Hollywood. For those who clutched their pearls at the prospect of Middle American households who might've dismissed acceptance of the world’s first interracial couple on television, Lucy and Desi defied those expectations and dissolved racial barriers in an era dominated by cultural strife. Audiences of all races, colour, and creed came together to shower the Ricardos with adoration and praise, because they came to understand the Ricardos epitomized the human experience, no matter that they didn't reflect the typical post-war domestic demographic. Against all odds, the world fell in love with the All-American Ricardos… white, Hispanic, or otherwise. Lucy and Desi, to be envied by all... America's Sweethearts.

On his 106th birthday, we remember Desi for the pioneer he was, as the Mastermind behind the nation’s most Beloved Redhead.

Behind every great woman lies a greater man.

Perhaps Desi speaks for us all when he declared his everlasting love, in his own words... ‘I Love Lucy was never just a title.’

💓 Happy Heavenly Birthday, Desi.  💓

       𓆩♡𓆪 · ・ 𓆩♡𓆪 · ・ 𓆩♡𓆪 · ・𓆩♡𓆪 · ・ 𓆩♡𓆪 · ・

#my edit #classic television #old hollywood #1950s #I Love Lucy #p: desi arnaz #p: lucille ball #happy heavenly birthday

[marshmallowprotection]

Hey can i request a hurt comfort YoosungMC where yoosung comes back from work early cuz he was overwhelmed since he had to put down more animals than usual and also because of sensory issues- since he has vision problems (cuz he could only use one eye) working with animals with white fur on a white bed under a strong light is an overwhelming task for him but most of the time he tries his best but today it was quite a rough day. He usually feels a lot lot of pain when he had to put down any pet because yk it reminds him of how devastated rika was when sally died and brings him awful memories.

I had often thought about the difficulties he'd face in his job as a vet and its a well known fact that depression is high among those working in veterinary field because putting down animals tends to be a traumatic job+ alot of their patients often come in really terrible conditions. I think it would be even more devastating for yoosung considering the very reason he got into this job in the first place

TW: Animal Death

His fellow doctors warned him that it was never going to be easier to help someone say goodbye. It would always sting, but no matter the outcome, he had to be honest and say he did everything he could in the moment to save their lives.

Sometimes, it wasn't quite true, but it was hard to tell someone that small factors had prevented him from being able to do everything.

Like, arriving a moment too late due to traffic, or not noticing a sign of pain because the animals were very good at hiding it. Those were things outside of an owner's control... but to say those played a role in the death? It was unjust. It was unfair. It was wrong.

Yoosung never wanted anyone to blame themselves for something outside of their control.

Whenever he had to deal with a death on site, he thought of Sally and of how it was an unfortunate accident she lost her life in the end. The pain his cousin experienced was horrible... and it had been to late for anyone to save Sally's life by the time she was located. Her eyes were in bad shape and she had gotten older, less agile and adept at being able to help herself.

It wasn't her fault she was injured.

Rika blamed herself for it.

Sure, could Rika have done something to help Sally's eyes before it happened? Of course, she could have. But, blaming herself wasn't a good thing in the end. It worsened her ability to mourn the pet who'd helped her smile ever since she left her parents home. That pain had been what inspired him to want to do something for people in pain... and to this day, he kept that promise.

He wanted to make sure that if someone lost their pet, he did what he could, even if that wasn't true, per se. He did what he could with what he had. He tried everything within his power... and sometimes, that wasn't good enough. He couldn't save everything and that was a cruel reality, especially on days when he saw animal after animal lose their life despite everything he and his staff tried.

His chest ached as soon as he left the office, hours later then he normally did, feeling like a failure for not being able to help every animal that came into his office. He wanted to do better for those animals but there were far too many factors outside of his control and nothing could change that.

His fellow doctors warned him it wouldn't be easy, and he didn't want to believe it... but it was true. Nothing got easier when it came to the health and safety of animals. His heart was heavy and the emotions were heavier. It stung. It was hard enough to come to the realization that there was nothing he could do to help except try to make what he could more comfortable for them, and it was even harder to tell somebody there was nothing he could do and that it was too late to make it gentle.

He had to hide his emotions every time an animal lost their life, and it added another notch on his belt. There was an anchor inside of his chest that was pulling him down deeper and deeper by the minute, and by the time he realized it was too much pressure, he was already standing in the doorway of your apartment, tears threatening to spill out of his eyes. 

It wasn't that often he broke down in tears because he couldn't do everything he wanted to do for someone, but he wasn't infallible nor was he immune to tears. He just wanted to help... he wanted to do more! There were people out there who deserved as much help as people could give, and he knew he couldn't do it alone. There was only so much one vet tech could do to help animals! There were far too many factors out of his control.

That was the hardest part about it.

"...Yoosung?"

The sound of your voice brought him back from under the surface of the running water he felt trapped under. He looked at you, wordlessly, and you opened your arms for him without a moment of hesitation as soon as you saw the despair in his eyes. He melted into your embrace without qualm, sobbing into your chest like he wanted to do all day.

It was never easy, but at least, you were there for him. It was painful to see people struggle day in and day out, but when he managed to do something right for another person, it all felt worth it.

He knew it was worth it to go through the pain every time even if it left him feeling exhausted and worn out. He was—doing the right thing. There were some jobs that were crucial to the world and his job was one of them. Knowing that he made a difference in somebody's experience was the most important position he could ever be in. 

He knew that you would always be there for him and it made all the difference. Even if he couldn't find the strength to talk about what he felt and what went wrong, being able to know one simple fact made everything better. As long as he knew that he was coming home to you, it would never be painful. 

Life would sting but he would find a sense of peace thanks to your smile.

You helped him move over to the couch so he could properly rest after being on his feet for hours. He settled against your bosom as soon as he could, and you brushed the hair from his face. "Do you want to talk about it?" you asked.

His voice quivered. "I... I lost so many pets today, love. I lost count after the first three and I stayed even later tonight... because there were so many accidents throughout the day. I don't know what went wrong out there, either. We did everything we could, I did everything I could. But there were so many animals that were too far gone for me to do anything about. I hated to put those... animals down but there was no choice at all. There was no choice but to end their suffering."

"You did everything you could, Yoosung. I'm sure of that much," you murmured. Your gentle hands felt like heaven. "Even if you couldn't help everybody in the end, you made a difference for the ones who managed to get there in time to say goodbye. Not everybody has the opportunity to let somebody say goodbye properly. You try so hard everyday for all of those animals and I know those pet owners had to appreciate what you did for them.”

Every 'thank you' was filled with tears.

Had he done enough?

"I know what you're thinking right now. I know you think that you didn't do enough for everyone. But, my dearest, you did everything you could. Sure, we both know that there are times when you can't do everything you need to do for someone, but you do what you can do in the moment and that's the only thing that matters. I'm proud of you for doing a job that most people can't stomach at all. You do the best you can... and that's what matters."

Yoosung wasn't sure if he could believe those words.

Even if he thought he did everything he could, there was always the possibility that he didn't. Those were the feelings that bothered him the most whenever he thought about Sally. But, he knew that there was always more he could have done back then just as much as there was plenty he could do in his present life.

But, if he continued to beat himself up over these things, he would never be able to focus on his work. That's what his therapist told him and he had to have faith in that.

"You really think so?"

"I know so. When you start to doubt yourself again, think about how appreciative the people who get to say goodbye because of the hard work you do in the heat of the moment. Saying goodbye is important. It's just as important as fighting to save a life, Yoosung. You helped a lot of animals in pain... and that's a kindness many people can't give."

#tw animal death #tw death #tw mourning #ask #mystic messenger #anon #mysme #mod kait #mysticmessenger #mm #yoosung kim #kim yoosung #yoosung #yoosung mm #yoosung mystic messenger #yoosung mysme

[riddlemethisfuckyou]

Since your requests are open, I wanted to suggest an idea to write about.

The reader and Edward were having a relationship or they were dating, they had feelings for each other and they dated / been together for a few months.

The reader, however, suffers a nasty accident of some kind, she ends up in the hospital and when she wakes up she is the victim of amnesia and forgets who Edward is. You can choose what happens next and what the ending will be, even if I hope for a positive ending.

the accident

pairing: Edward nashton (the riddler) x gen!reader

word count: 2.4k

warnings: Car accident, injuries, amnesia, hospital setting, me not knowing medical terminology, hurt comfort. there's a happy ending don't worry jfghkslfsa

summary: when you get into a car accident, Edward races to your side only to find his worst fear imaginable.

note: ahhh tysm for the request, I love it so so much. I've never written anything like this before so I hope u like it :))!

A year. You and Edward had been dating for a year and it was the best of his entire life. For the first time in probably forever, he felt comfortable in another person's presence. It was the first time he had felt genuinely and truly loved. From the moment he first met in that small rundown diner, he immediately just wanted to be in your presence, to protect and care for you, to do anything to keep you safe.

So when your relationship began, needless to say his urge to protect you grew rapidly. He always went with you wherever you went, even if it was simply just walking across the street to the market, he wanted to be there to hold your hand and keep you safe. He had even asked you to move in with him after 6 months of dating, but you politely declined, stating that it was a little soon to live together but that he was always welcome to stay at your place any time. And It was Gotham after all, his feelings of worry weren't completely unjust, but still, sometimes you just wanted to go for a drive alone to clear your mind or have a cigarette.

And that's exactly what you were doing. It was a dark and damp night, the rain had just started sprinkling making the ground slick and shiny with the dirty puddles littering the city's streets. You walked down the stairs outside your apartment building, pulling your jacket a little bit closer as the chilly air hit your skin. You pulled your keys from your pocket, stepping into your car and starting it. You sat there for a moment letting the heat fill the small compact space, hold your hands close to the vent before turning the ignition and driving down the narrow street.

It was only a few minutes before you were stopped by a red light, pulling gently up and stepping on the brake, you took your hands off the steering wheel and leaned over towards the glove compartment, opening it to pull out the pack of cigarettes and lighter you kept in there. 

Before you could even pull up your head to look behind you, you heard a horrible scraping noise. Nothing like you had ever heard before.  It burnt the inside of your ears and shook you to your core. The next few moments didn't feel real to you, you were a bystander watching from inside yourself. The  whole car lurched forward, sending you past the red light and into the intersection.  You felt your head hit hard against the dashboard and the seat belt constricted uncomfortably tight. The pain must've been too much to fully register, because you felt at that moment that your body was like a piece of armor, getting torn apart trying desperately to protect the person inside. 

You sat slumped for a minute against the center counsel, your head resting on the passenger's seat, before you tried to pull yourself up, but you couldn't, you couldn't move, your whole body felt stiff and every single movement made pain radiate through your bones. You looked from where you were stuck, desperately, out the window, trying to get someone to see you and help. But you could barely move. The last thing you could see was a car, driving a good 75 mph, barreling towards the intersection. You braced yourself, knowing the person inside wouldn't have time to stop, before darkness flooded your vision.

It was around 3 am that Edward's phone rang on the bedside table. He jumped, slightly startled by the harsh ringtone waking him from a deep sleep before groaning and rubbing a hand over his face. His hand fumbled in the darkness, looking for the lamp on his bedside table. Brightness spilled into the room as he turned on the light and messily pulled on his glasses before quickly grabbing his phone before the ringing could stop.

“H-hello?” his voice cracked from having just woken up, it was deeper than usual and sounded tired. He cleared his throat slightly and waited for the person on the other side

“Hello, sir, is this edward?” the women on the other side spoke in a professional voice that immediately made him more awake.

“Uh… uhm… yes this is Edward speaking” he stuttered out, now slightly nervous. Getting a call in the middle of the night usually was not good.

“Sir, you were listed as the emergency medical contact for (Y/N) (L/N) correct?” she spoke again, keeping a calm collected tone. His heart raced a little, what was happening? Were you okay?

“Yes, yes I am, are they okay?” he spoke quickly, his voice rising in pitch slightly as he began to imagine all the horrible things the woman on the phone could say next.

“Mr. Nashton, (Y/N) was in a car accident, they're in surgery now but i suggest you get down to the hospital, we'll tell you more when we know.”

“Y-yes, o-of course.” his voice shook as he spoke, he could feel his blood run cold and his whole body begin to tremble. 

After a moment he asked the question he dreaded hearing the answer to… “a-are they going to be okay?” 

He asked so quietly that he wasn't even sure if the woman had heard him, but after a pause she spoke again “we’ll tell you more when we know, mr. nashton, be safe.” and with that the woman bid him her apologies for having woken him up with horrible news, and hung up.

Edward sat there with his phone in his hand frozen for a few minutes. Thoughts raced through his head at a mile a minute, he felt like he could barely control his mind. His thoughts ranged from “why were you driving alone so late at night, if you just would have called him he would have come with you” to “oh god, what if your hurt badly? What if it's a life long injurythat you have to live with for the rest of your life, and he wasn't there to protect you.”. He knew that something like this would happen. Every good thing he'd ever had was either dead or gone. He was an orphan, he didn't have any friends, you were all he had. He thought of all the horrible things the doctor could tell him when he would get to the hospital, he thought of everything he wanted to say to you.

He realized after a moment that he had just been sitting there, and sprang up out of his bed. He threw on some clothes from off the floor, not bothering to look in the mirror or comb his bed head, he simply sprinted out of his apartment and drove as fast as he could to the emergency room.

When he arrived at the hospital he walked as quickly as he could down the long confusing hallways trying desperately to find the front desk. After a few minutes of panicked searching he finally found it.

“H-hi, i-im here about (Y/N) (L/N) i just got a call m-maybe 20 minutes ago that they were in an accident, are they okay?”

“Ah yes, mr. nashton correct? They're still in surgery, sir. Have a seat and we’ll let you know when we know anything. While you wait you can fill this out.” she smiled kindly at him, it felt like an inappropriate contrast compared to the situation he was currently in.

“Thank you” he said, biting back everything he wanted to say. He wanted to scream at the top of his lungs for someone to tell him something, anything. He hated not knowing if you were okay and the whole waiting game was driving his nerves through the roof.

But still, he did wait. He waited and he waited. He watched the clock on the wall slowly tick by the hours as he sat alone in the waiting room, bracing himself for any worst case scenario.

13 hours. It was 13 whole hours before he heard anything and he waited there the whole time, only occasionally getting up to go ask the doctor if there was any news, or get coffee out of the old broken down machine down the hall. 

13 hours, and no news. 13 hours in surgery. 13 hours of driving himself crazy. 13 hours till he finally heard the doctor call his name.

“Mr. nashton?” the doctor called out

“Yes, that's me, is there news?” he said, quickly rushing up to the doctor, almost tripping over himself as he practically ran up to the man.

“Yes, they're out of surgery and for right now, they are stable. You can visit them if you like, they're in room 409, but you should know-” 

Edward did not wait to hear anything else, he heard that he could visit you and he didn't wait for him to finish, he pushed past the doctor and ran towards the 400’s hall. He almost ran right past your door, but he saw you briefly just out of the corner of his eye, lying still in your hospital bed. He stopped in his tracks. He stood there in the doorway for a moment, feeling his heart break. You had bandages all over, your arm was in a sling and there were dark, angry stitches across your forehead. He stepped slowly into the room, sitting down in the chair beside your bed before gently taking your hand that wasn't hurt into his, and stroking it gently with his thumb. A few moments later your eyes fluttered open.

They were bloodshot and tired, you looked at him for a second before pulling your hand away and looking at him with confusion.

“(Y/N), what happened last night” he said gently, looking deeply into your eyes.

You just looked away from him and hummed to yourself. You looked up at the fluorescent lights above you and smiled “hmm, i like that name” you said through a content sigh, still looking curiously at the lights above you.

He laughed a little, “well i would hope so.”

The two of you sat in silence for a few seconds before you looked at him again, his eyes had not left you. You smiled again and looked at him “hello”

He sat for a second confused “h-hi…are you okay (Y/N)?”

“Hmm i like that name”

“I know, you said that” he said, furrowing his brow together in confusion.

“What's your name?” you asked him sweetly.

His heart stopped.

“W-what?”

You just looked back up at the lights, smiling to yourself again.

“Mr. nashton…” the doctor said from the doorway behind him, “as I was trying to say, there are some things you should know.” 

Edward stood slowly out of the chair, walking over to the doorway where the doctor stood. His legs felt like they were full of cement as he moved and his blood felt like ice.

“Why don't they know my name?” he asked quietly, his voice breaking with tears. 

The doctor sighed, looking down at his clipboard. “Sir, (Y/N) suffered from massive trauma to the head. They Are suffering from amnesia.”

No worst case scenario he had conjured up in his head could have prepared him for this.

“C-can you fix it?”

“Sir-

“CAN YOU FIX IT” he asked loudly letting his emotions get the better of him for a minute before he took a deep breath, calming himself.

 “i-im sorry, but p-please you have to s-something” edward said, trying not to let the tears building up behind his eyes fall.

The doctor sighed again, but this time it was more sympathetic rather than annoyed. “We’re doing absolutely everything we can. Hopefully, within a few months their memory should return.”

Hope was enough for him. He didnt care how long it would take, he would stay by your side every step of the way and do everything he could.

That's exactly what he did. Over the course of the next few months he visited you every single day in the hospital, rain or shine, he was there. He stayed for hours at a time, showing you pictures of the two of you together, happy and smiling, or reading you your favorite books, playing you your favorite songs, anything that could help you to remember even the smallest things.

There were good and bad days. Days where you would remember his name and your meeting from the day before, but then there were days where it was like the day of the accident all over again. Those were definitely the hardest. On those days it would take everything he had not to break down on the drive home from the hospital. But he still held out hope, and as the lengths between your bad days became longer and longer, his hope grew more. You were making progress, you had been able to remember simple facts, like where you were, what day of the week it was, and the different staff members names, which was vast improvement prior to the weeks before.

He sat across from you at a small table against the wall of your hospital room, he had your favorite song playing quietly from his phone as he showed you different photos, some of just you, some with your friends, and some of you and him. You flipped through the printed pictures as he watched you, till you stopped on one. It was a polaroid he had taken of the two of you on your first date. He had found it a few days ago and almost started crying.

You looked at it for a while, setting it down on the table and bringing your face closer to it. Edward watched you curiously, not wanting to break your concentration. He heard you inhale sharply before you looked up at him with wide eyes.

“...eddie?” 

He looked at you stunned. You hadnt called him Eddie in months, you had only referred to him as edward.

“D-do you- do you r-remember-” he could barely get the words out, he stared at you with wide eyes.

You just nodded, your mouth slightly agape and eyes glossy with tears. He stood up and walked over to your side of the table. He grabbed your hands and gently pulled you up so that you were standing. Edward looked down at you for a moment, tears filling his eyes as well. He had waited so long. He wrapped you in a hug. He held the back of your head as he held you as tightly as he could without the risk of hurting you. His heart was finally whole again.

#edward nashton x reader #dano!riddler #edward nashton x you #edward nashton #danonation #paul dano #edward nygma #edward nygma x reader #edward nygma x you #riddler x reader #the riddler x y/n #the riddler x you #the riddler #the riddler x reader #dano riddler #the riddler 2022 #paul dano riddler #batman riddler #the batman 2022 #the batman

[lasplaga]

CHANGED

𓆙      —       𝐆𝐋𝐈𝐌𝐏𝐒𝐄𝐒 𝐎𝐅 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐏𝐀𝐒𝐓 --- Accepting!

𝐀 𝐬𝐜𝐞𝐧𝐞 𝐟𝐫𝐨𝐦 𝐦𝐲 𝐦𝐮𝐬𝐞'𝐬 𝐩𝐚𝐬𝐭 𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐫𝐞𝐩𝐫𝐞𝐬𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐝 𝐚 𝐭𝐮𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐩𝐨𝐢𝐧𝐭 𝐢𝐧 𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐢𝐫 𝐥𝐢𝐟𝐞.

𝐓𝐖; 𝐖𝐚𝐫 𝐃𝐞𝐩𝐢𝐜𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧 / 𝐑𝐞𝐥𝐢𝐠𝐢𝐨𝐮𝐬 𝐌𝐚𝐥𝐭𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐭𝐦𝐞𝐧𝐭

November 1992.

The autumn air was crisp & flora in bloom, despite the bitter cold that clung to his skin. The purity of The Salazar's water had been defiled with blood, bloated bodies congesting the rivers --- slain brethren & that of the enemy drifting out to sea. The unceremonious, irreverent burial of Diego had taken place a fortnight prior, the decapitated king attracting flies & all-consuming rot. What remained of The Count presently was flesh feeding the very worms he abhorred, blasphemous remains fertilizing the soil, & his only born heir sullying the open grave with boundless curses. The tear-stained rebukes of Ramon fell on deaf ears as The Lord was elsewhere, the years-long siege & massacre infesting the forefront of his mind.

The ring of cannon-fire & muskets lingered in the form of painful tinnitus. Explosions of battlements, the hoarse cries of friend or foe barraged his eardrums. Shrieks of a boy on the verge of death at the hands of his own father & the swift judgement that followed clouded his vision. Palms trembled, wet with perspiration as he vividly recalled the heretical aristocrat being bound & conquered upon the altar. The slaughter that followed not an honorable sacrifice to 𝕋𝕙𝕖 𝔸𝕝𝕞𝕚𝕘𝕙𝕥𝕪, but a personal act of vengeance as the sickle was slit agonizingly deliberate across his throat.

After the head of the tyrannical ruler was severed --- he anticipated for joy that did not come. Regardless of the young child that now embraced his belt of medals, coins & rosary, his shoulders were prostrated. Burdened. Eternally beset by weight that not only belonged to him, but that of the flock, the departed --- he languished his perpetual office of being tired & tireless. A conflicting, distressing existence that did not fret those who had offered their bodies & spirits for a benevolent God.

The war was over. But fits of terror disturbed his rest. The war was over. But danger was perceived, crawling just beyond his senses. The war was over. But the 8th Castellan's plights of his true father to welcome the present did not stir.

Why did it feel as if he were still fighting it? Was it the remaining fires & stench of charred remains polluting the fortress? Why did his heart hammer as if he were to endure exile & starvation for decades a second time?

Fingers trembled when absent-mindedly pressing his lips against a woman's portrait, worn in grief upon his devotional beads. Would his sole human deliverer release him from ruin despite her unjust execution years prior? Perhaps living onwards in her son, another victim of the centuries long conflict, would grant peace he so desperately desired?

Despite the gleaming smile that reassured the frantic child he now called his own, it did not change the barbed claws of persecution, expulsion & genocide that wrenched his heart. Though a new reign approached the dawn for Valdelobos, banners of The Enlightened taking root where calls for eradication once fluttered in the wind --- The Lord was frustratingly dispirited. For every heretic that was slain, for every prayer he recited for his oppressor, it would not return the fallen before their spiritual resurrection. Hester, Garret, Keenan, other Prophets equally as chosen, persisting only as disembodied thoughts within a sea of voices.

Enduring the incessant drone of war & overwhelming carnage for what felt like eons was a badge of victory he wore with pride. But, nonetheless, a bittersweet reminder that he was 𝕋𝕙𝕖 𝔼𝕟𝕕. The prompt cued an underlying, crippling sense of dread as he bounded to the backwater village of Pueblo, the diminutive boy left behind as he was unwelcome beyond the iron gates. Execution pyres in sight, ashes no doubt belonging to his own kin burned at the stake.

" --- 𝕮𝖆𝖙𝖆𝖑𝖎𝖓𝖆, 𝖘𝖆𝖛𝖊 𝖒𝖊. " A plea for the sole human which offered kindness after centuries of hellish purgatory.

#/ welcome to the extremely grimdark lore that is RE4! #/ Also yes I depict that Saddler has PTSD as hes a pretty extensive war veteran. Its extremely fitting #rescuefield #𝔦𝔫𝔱𝔢𝔯𝔞𝔠𝔱𝔦𝔬𝔫 #𝔦𝔫𝔮𝔲𝔦𝔯𝔶 #tw religion #tw war

[sarcophagid]

if you were forced to only wear outfits chosen by peh-yan, takemichi or shion for one week, which fashion criminal would you give this honour to?

disclaimer: i have bad fashion taste so this is honestly a win-win

i’d say they’re pretty even across the board but each has their unique pros and cons. now to analyze each contestant

fig 1. reference of the candidates in their presumed everyday wear

peh-yan: no point because i basically already dress like this every single day. but also i wanna argue that he just dresses like a normal guy. it’s just a plain jacket over a patterned shirt. the patterns not even ugly or anything. everybody dunks on that scene, he looks weird because you don’t like him. put this outfit on idk, mitsuya and everyone goes ‘omg he has the best fashion sense’. anyways going to the first point, this shirt?

fig 2. peh-yan’s shirt circa 2008

i’m own this exact shirt. we have the same closet no change would be noticed.

takemichi: the jacket text is a ballsy choice (no pun intended) but the objective is to dress me, which does not require dressing the dressee like the dresser. peh-yan believes in one-paisley-fits-all, and would therefore have no problem choosing 7 outfits, but takemichi would flounder. he’d ask all these questions too ‘omg whats the occasion’ ‘favorite color?’, then go round the back and do this regardless of what information he got

fig 3. takemichi’s failproof method

throw in a couple bad graphic slogans to maintain artistic signature and we’re set 

shion: would complain that “it’s a lost cause” but still go to the rack and hold up awful jackets going “this one for sure. macho.” actually it looks like he just dresses like those instagram alt boys which is awful and terrible and a waste of a perfectly bad dirtbag.

fig 4. cruel and unjust world

wheres your dirty white tank top and marinated jeans with a huge gaudy belt buckle. never mind fuck the objective shion i’m the stylist now we’ll make a sleazeball out of you yet

the final verdict: having thoroughly looked through each competitors portfolio, and even though it’d be like wearing a kick me sign in public every day, i think i’d go with takemichi.i’m curious how bizarre those slogans get

#asking the real questions #ask #tunglryk #misc and non art tag #tokyo revengers #sorry this took a billion years also TOT #also sorry 4 being a pehyan bad fashion truther