Comparing your work to other people's is a great way to kill your joy for a thing so let me be clear and say this is not that, I am just a human person with human emotions and sometimes that means needing to be the tiniest bit petty and then moving on. You know. For your health or something.
There is a very popular cosplayer who coincidentally keeps doing the same costumes as me, and I am just the tiniest bit annoyed about it, because as is the case with many (...most) very popular cosplayers, they have a very specific, airbrushed, conventionally attractive, perfect makeup, etc aesthetic to all their photos that is. Not what I personally value in cosplay, at least. Which is fine! Different people having different approaches to costumes is part of what makes cosplay such an interesting hobby!
But it does bother me a tiny bit that the work I put into my costumes is not necessarily the kind of work that gets attention, and it does make it a little glaringly obvious when it's The Same Characters.
(Also you all know the kinds of characters I cosplay. I gravitate towards them in part because they have weird energy, not super put together attractive energy. But that's only part of my point.)
Anyways. I do not follow them on Instagram because why would I do that, but nonetheless I saw that they're apparently also doing a Laois cosplay now, which I guarantee will get lots more attention than mine. And for the most part that's fine, I love cosplay and I love doing my weird little thing and I especially love that I do in fact know other people that value the same things as me & that we have fun together. I will have a great time in my fun little costume, dressing up with my friends in their fun little costumes and I am looking forward to it. And I do not actually need likes to validate that I am becoming a pretty damn good cosplayer (whose stuff is better quality than many popular cosplayers' because I care more about craftsmanship than I do getting attention). I am even thinking pretty seriously about having Laois be my first ever competition costume if the armor turns out alright, because I think I'm genuinely getting to that level.
But it would just be kind of neat if being a weird little guy with weird little ideas who is into the hobby because I like sourcing historical patterns and materials and thinking about the worldbuilding that goes into costumes and creating neat little "in-universe" ephemera to hand out to people and all the things I like didn't always mean getting overshadowed by Instagram Perfect Attractive People.
Alas. Okay glad that's out of my system I'm normal again. I'm going to make some more chain mail.
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Ok I fell asleep for like an hour and woke up with massive Midwest emo ghouls au brainworm. Need to expel before sleep. There probably so many typos.
Mist - owner of local record shop. Makes all of the ladies who walk in the door feel like queens and makes condescending music bros shrivel.
Aurora - works at small cafe across the street. Amazing work ethic, short temper. Trying to find her place in the world as well as within a band that contains several very large personalities.
Mist comes in every day, wallet chain and massive key ring jangling in harmony with the brass bell hanging over the door. Orders a pour over every time, not because it tastes better. They really can’t tell the difference.
But because it takes longer. So they can admire Aurora’s deft hands stacking paper cups, refilling the sugar dispenser, smacking the side of the bean grinder to dislodge whatever’s stuck in there.
Aurora gives her a large. But she only charges her for a small. Slips her a cookie or a muffin cause it’s a funny shape, no one will buy it, it’s a day old (even though it tastes pretty damn fresh to Mist.)
Eventually she stops making excuses when she slides the brown paper bag across the counter, cause she’s too busy burying her blush when Mist reaches for it and grazes the top of her hand with their calloused finger tops, conditioned by steel core and round wire.
Aurora finds herself wanting to take a walk outside on her break. No longer content to put her headphones on and take a nap on top of a few sacks of coffee beans. Because Zeph frowns on that just a little.
She finds herself strolling past the window of the record shop, watching Mist prop up new releases against the window. At first they wave, but then y hey beckon.
The crisp chill in the air is a plausible excuse as to why the apples of Auroras cheeks are still so persistently red.
Mist asks if Aurora has a record player. And she does of course. “Have you listened to this?” Mist asks, plucking a record from beneath the counter.
Aurora hesitated, and admits, “No, I haven’t.” Aurora admonishes the fact that she hasn’t been in this world for very long at all and she’s a little bit intimidated by the seemingly vast and endless array for artists and genres.
“Take it for a spin. Let me know what you think.” Mist pushes the record across the gouged counter where various employees in the past 3 decades have carved their initials and perhaps some unsavory phrases.
“Oh, well, I don’t - we’ll - this is embarrassing. But I’m on sort of a tight budget.” The admission forms a hairline crack in her heart, and she isn’t sure why. Maybe Aurora simply does not want to refuse anything Mist has to offer.
“Don’t worry about that, you can bring it back later.” Sensing the hesitation in Aurora as her hand hovers over the record, they push it into her hand with a wink.
It’s so warm in there, Aurora can’t blame the chill and so she buried her face in her scarf and says “thanks, I’ve gotta get back. But, thank you. I’m so - I’ll - excited to listen.” She cringes inwardly and her feet stumble although not as much as her words as she heads for the exit.
She finished the rest of her shift, looking at her backpack with x-ray vision, as if she can see the record inside with Mist’s fingerprints all over it along with whatever she felt when she listened to it.
She kneels on the floor as in front of her stereo as soon as she gets home. Shoes and coat, scarf, lunch bag, all abandoned behind her like a trail of breadcrumbs.
GLORIA, G-L-O-R-I-A.
Jesus died for somebody's sins but not mine
Meltin' in a pot of thieves
Wild card up my sleeve
Thick heart of stone
My sins my own
They belong to me, me
People say "beware!"
But I don't care
The words are just
Rules and regulations to me, me
She’s vaguely aware of the dull throb in her knees and despite how loud she has the music cranked she’s kneeling on the floor practically pressing her ear to the speaker.
Her voice is loud and infectious, the words are irreverent and rebellious. She’s already hooked. And she flips the vinyl over 4 times before the gnawing in her stomach forces her to trudge to the kitchen and make a peanut butter and jelly sandwich.
Normally a creature of habit, and a neat one at that, the plate doesn’t make it to the sink and the knife sticks to the counter, laden with jam, and there are crumbs on the floor. She doesn’t care.
She tries to go bed early because she has the opening shift. But that contralto voice is ringing in her mind and her feet are dancing under the covers.
She crawls to work and his through the motions, but she finds she’s less tired than expected. Still high on the energy of what she considers truly powerful. It’s like a talisman, no one can fuck with her today. She can’t help but occasionally run her fingers over the record, safely stowed under the counter to return to its owner.
When Mist arrives, they grins like a shark once they hears what’s playing over the shop’s speakers.
Counting the time, then you came to my room
And you whispered to me and we took the big plunge
And oh you were so good, oh, you were so fine
And I gotta tell the world that I make her mine, make her mine
Make her mine, make her mine, make her mine, make her mine
G-l-o-are-i-a, Gloria, G-l-o-are-i-a, Gloria, G-l-o-are-i-a, Gloria
G-l-o-are-i-a, Gloria
Aurora can’t even be bothered to feel shame as she shouts the newly memorized lyrics at the top of her lungs while preparing Mist’s pour over.
“So I guess you liked it?”
“You could say that.” Aurora is surprised that she can manage to say something remotely intelligible. She pulls the record out from under the register to slide back over the counter.
“No, keep it for now. But come by later. I think I have something else you’d like.”
Aurora is inclined to believe them. She takes the record back and in exchange slides over a brown craft paper bag. It feels heavier than usual.
When Mist dumps their belongings on the counter and flicks on the lights, they open it and sees it contains two cookies. And they are not deformed in the slightest.
Aurora comes in on her lunch, on a breeze that smells like roasted coffee and sandalwood. And she returns, with another record under her arm.
Zeph cannot find it within himself to chide her for being late. Nor will he for the days and weeks to come. When her 30 minute lunch break turns into 40 minutes. 45 minutes. 55 minutes.
Because an education in feminist proto-punk cannot be rushed. Nor can her deep dive into the riot grrl movement. Nor can love, Zeph knows that better than anyone.
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blurb/thoughts masterlist !!
★ = personal favorites || ♥︎ = reader favorites
f1 masterlist ll f2/f3 masterlist
lando norris
riding him in his sim chair…. – smut ♥︎
nonsense – suggestive ♥︎
post-crash in las vegas – fluff
^^ part two – angst/comfort
aftercare headcanons – suggestive
dad!lando – fluff ★♥︎
jealous lando – suggestive/smut
oscar piastri
aftercare thoughts – suggestive
aftercare headcanons – suggestive
birthday thoughts – fluff
vacation thoughts – smut
charles leclerc
die for you – suggestive
ollie bearman
london boy – fluff, crawford!reader
clement novalak
summer sundress thoughts – smut ★
ibiza blurb – fluff
book smart x street smart blurb – fluff
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