#;;Length; Long

[psychxpxthic]

|| @jokethur | 𝑺𝑻𝑨𝑹𝑻𝑬𝑹 || ------- Located in historic Wynwood, feel free to enrich yourself with everything mango; from vanilla layered cake with mango curd to Mango Lemonade ! Stroll along our historic main street and find that perfect treasure at our many venues. There is so much to do: unique shopping, children's activities, demonstrations, fun-filled contests, festival foods, live music and more. So don't miss this free, family-friendly festival ! ------------------------------------------------------------------------------ Mellow cozy rays beamed down from the sky, spreading warmth across the streets of Wynwood; a city located a town over from Gotham. A city that felt almost entirely untouched from the modern era, still captivating an authentic aura that beguiled many of its occupancies. Typically tranquil, this suburban community needn't much to draw in a crowd, but crowds there were when the time came for it's much well known Mango Festival.

Many streets already blocked off from the event; folks coming early to prepare for the many delectable dishes presented, along with more of the miscellaneous venues. You had your fair share of people trying to sell paintings they'd created, to even outer décor meant for garden use. But perhaps, no other booth stood out most than the one belonging to Edgar Cizko himself.

It was a bijou booth which sat a little ways away from the others— not only feeling out of place, but also looking out of place too. The stand was painted entirely purple with different array of light fixtures hung up and around it's surface to catch people's attention. In white bold letterings a sign read off ' Psychic '. Alongside this were also decorative stars painted onto the woodwork, in company with a single painted open palm on the left side of the frame. The opening had been obscured by beads threaded through strings, making the inside almost entirely unseen for ongoing passersby.

Light glistened off from the ovoids as a olive toned hand crept out, pushing the blanket of beads away from his path before stepping out. Even with a compact structure, Edgar stood out like a sore thumb, especially with the garb he'd presented himself in for this event. Typically clothed in a black suit, he'd instead found himself wearing a purple blazer with rounded shades over his eyes and a metal chain hung over his neck. Around his wrists were dissimilar mismatched bracelets, each being made out of varying different rocks and crystals. Then finally, worn on all digits but his ring finger were many flashy bands. Eventually, he'd appear as someone would when claiming to be some sort of Psychic.

Moving the sunglasses away from his face, Edgar allowed them to sit at the top of his head. He'd began to scan the perimeter. He needed money, and quick. Sure people were coming into his booth, but not enough to make the doctor feel content. But then...

Piercing almond eyes which appeared almost crimson from the sunlight fallen directly onto one who'd worn a suit of red. It was Arthur, and he'd seem to accompanied by two little rascals. To him, this was all too perfect— he could make a easy buck out of these three, instead of just having to search for one individual. Besides, he was a clown ! Fooling him into handing over some money shouldn't be that hard of a feat, right ?

Amongst the crowd called out a low yet velvet sounding voice, one that held some elegancy to it. It was distinct, distinct enough to ensure someone to turn their head.

❝ Salutations my good sir ! ❞ He chimed out with a sneer ❝ Might I interest you in a reading ? Come—Come, Don't be shy ! I have a one hundred percent back satisfaction guaranteed. What's there to lose ? ❞

[eggwishing]

I ONCE TRIED TO WASH THAT SCUFFED OLD THING WHILE HE WAS TAKING ONE OF HIS NAPS, BUT WHEN I TOOK IT OFF HE WAS WEARING ANOTHER IDENTICAL ONE UNDERNEATH! AND ANOTHER! I GOT THROUGH TEN MORE LAYERS OF THE SAME THING BEFORE HE WOKE UP. I WAS SO FRUSTRATED! WHERE DID HE EVEN GET THOSE FROM? THEY ALL EVEN HAD THE SAME STAINS!!

[superdaisypowerhour]

There are two schools of thought on the locked tomb series; there are the people who took tazmuir at her word when she said gideon had a longsword and drew it as such; then there are the people who know what a longsword is and know that the thing gideon swings is at the bare minimum a fucking claymore.

[keirahknightley]

Costume appreciation series: Barbie (2023) dir Greta Gerwig

Costume Design by Jacqueline Durran

[elitisim]

so, i hit 1k sometime in the beginning of June ✨🥳. Which means my incessant yapping about absolutely nothing on every post I make and multiple months-long unannounced hiatuses didn't scare all of you off yet, so thanks for that y'all.

No, but for real tho, I genuinely want to express my gratitude to each and every one of you for putting up with me and all my BS, so my 1k+ gift exclusively consists of hairs requested by YOU!  Which is totally about giving back to the community that has supported me and NOT just an excuse to dump all the requests that have been sitting here piling up for months.

there are only 7 hairs in the preview image but a bunch of these are from sets, so all-in-all you're getting 17 female hairs!

INFORMATION:

None of this is my original work! All mesh credit goes to @sheabuttyr, @ebonixsims, @daylifesims, @simstrouble!

Set contains 17 hairs for for Teen ➤ Elder Females

due to how the meshes where made the Poloma Passion Twists and Monae Beads don't have root/tip controls so they’re only 2 channels the rest are 4 like normal.

credits, preview pictures, links to originals, poly counts and individual download links for every hair is under the cut.

polycounts are ALL over the place. Lowest hair is +10k, Highest one is +32k. Please reference the list under the cut before downloading!

Files comes in two flavors: Merged and Unmerged

Both types contain the exact same type of stuff (package file and preview images) except version one is one big merged file and the version has individual files.

[DOWNLOAD MERGED]

[DOWNLOAD UNMERGED]

[PICK AND CHOOSE]

Tagging list: @pis3update, @naturalhair-sims3, @xto3conversionsfinds, @kpccfinds

@simstrouble Adeline Braids//22.2k poly// requested by @paigeywaigeyy

[DOWNLOAD]

@sheabuttyr: London Locs // 16.2k Poly //requested by @thesirensims

[DOWNLOAD]

@daylifesims: Honey Sun Clover Dreadlocks v1// 10.8K Poly //requested by anon

[DOWNLOAD]

@daylifesims: Honey Sun Clover Dreadlocks v2// 10.9K Poly // Under hats // fully recolorable// 1 channel// requested by anon

[DOWNLOAD]

@ebonixsims: Monae Beadset V1//32.7K Poly! // Under hats // Recolorable beads 4 channels//no tips or root controls due to mesh//requested by anon

[DOWNLOAD]

@ebonixsims: Monae Beadset V2//30.5K Poly! // Under hats // Recolorable// 4 channels//no tips or root controls due to mesh//requested by anon

[DOWNLOAD]

@daylifesims :Honey Sun Alfalfa Braids v1// 10.1K Poly // Under hats // fully recolorable// 1 channel// requested by anon

[DOWNLOAD]

@daylifesims :Honey Sun Alfalfa Braids v2// 10.1K Poly // Under hats // fully recolorable// 1 channel// requested by anon

[DOWNLOAD]

@sheabuttyr: Daija Dreads V1 // 28.6k Poly //requested by anon.

[DOWNLOAD]

@sheabuttyr: Daija Dreads V2 // 30.8k Poly! //requested by anon

[DOWNLOAD]

@sheabuttyr: Paloma Passion Twist V1// 25k Poly//requested by @paigeywaigeyy

[DOWNLOAD]

@sheabuttyr:Paloma Passion Twist V2// 25k Poly//requested by @paigeywaigeyy

[DOWNLOAD]

@sheabuttyr:Paloma Passion Twist V3// 25k Poly//requested by @paigeywaigeyy

[DOWNLOAD]

@sheabuttyr:Paloma Passion Twist V4// 25k Poly//requested by @paigeywaigeyy

[DOWNLOAD]

@sheabuttyr:Paloma Passion Twist V5// 25kPoly //requested by @paigeywaigeyy

[DOWNLOAD]

@sheabuttyr:Paloma Passion Twist V6// 25kPoly //requested by @paigeywaigeyy

[DOWNLOAD]

@sheabuttyr:Paloma Passion Twist V7// 25kPoly //requested by @paigeywaigeyy

[DOWNLOAD]

@sheabuttyr:Paloma Passion Twist V8/ /25kPoly //requested by @paigeywaigeyy

[DOWNLOAD]

[staggerinbeauty]

The nest time Doris would check her phone, Edgar had left a voicemail behind. The moment the giantess would hit play, his voice- trembling, angry, but still filled with a level of caution, would come through.

"Doll, listen. Things have escalated. I need you to get out of the country for a bit. Go to the Legion's campus in Europe. Tell Vandal that I sent you there, okay? It's about to get dirty, and.." He sounded like he was choking on his words. "I can't let you get hurt."

There was a sniffling, as if sending her away was putting him in tears. Likehe couldn't handle it. "Please, Just.. be safe. For me, Doris."

A voice called out in the distance. "I gotta go. You're my number one, baby. Stay safe."

What a day, what a long tiring day... The main thing she was looking forward to was getting back to the warehouse she called home, sprawl out in bed and call it quits for the night. Prior to her return, Doris had spent the day out with her bestie Marsha; them two shopping and having the time of their lives. But there was one vast issue...Doris had forgotten her phone. So while he'd called, she was absolutely oblivious. Her and Marsha had already long since been deep into their shopping spree once she'd noticed the absence of her cellphone, though, by that time this occurred it was already far too late to go back for it.

Ironically enough, while out Doris couldn't help herself but to get Edgar a little something of his own. It was a day that was meant for just her, but of course, she had issue neglecting the thought of Dr.Cizko; making her obtain a red handkerchief. Originally Doris wanted to buy him a entirely new suit, one she bought with her own money but was quick to find out that, well, suits- even in his size, was well beyond her range. So... a nice crimson hanky should subside.

So it wasn't at all a surprise by how the giantess rushed over to her phone ready to call Edgar and see if she, despite the time, could come over in order to give him the surprise. That was of course how the redhead had noticed the missed call from him, one that was sent some time ago.

Doris looked rather mused to see he'd called, humbly letting out a quiet ❝ — Looks like SOMEONE was thinkin' about meeee ! ❞

Without any hesitation, Doris opened up the voice mail to see what message he'd left behind. Though, it was anything but what she was expecting.

The once content smile that was worn on her face immediately fell the very moment she heard the tone in his voice. The more he spoke, the things he was telling her she had to do- she wasn't ready for any of it, not by a longshot.

There was a tightening feeling gripping ahold of her chest, making it hard to catch the next breath that tried to enter her lungs. Leaving her hands was the very handkerchief she'd gotten for him; falling to the floor as her grip around it became weakened, as did her heart. It felt as though it too had sunken deep into her gut. Doris didn't know how to feel. She felt nervous, she felt worried, she felt... she felt so— so hurt.

They were a team, a unbreakable force! He out of all people should know this! That no matter what obstacles they may face, they were going to face it together. It's always been that way and never from her recollection has been any different.

Confliction gnawed away at ever fiber of her well-being. He didn't want her to get hurt... he wanted her to stay safe, she could hear the trembles in his voice. But why- why could they not find a way to take whatever force Edgar was talking about down, side by side?

Part of her wanted to run to him, find where he was and scream ! Ask him all her why's and how come's. But then there was the other half of her, the one that spoke loudest of them all. The one that made her wanna just...hold him, keep him close— comfort him and tell him how it's going to be okay. But it was hard, gosh was it so very hard as she kept flip flopping between these two overwhelming emotions.

❝ NO ! ❞ A sharp yell left her lips as she felt the grip around her phone tighten. ❝ —IK GA NERGENS HEEN !!! ❞ She spouted with complete anger combined with frustration in her native tongue.

The dame could feel her face begin to heat up, her cheeks and nose turning red while a shimmer glared over her eyes. Doris tried to hold back the droplets that were beginning to form within her eyes, hastily wiping them off from her own face.

She had to call him.

Taking a deep breath, Doris double tapped the call button, bringing her cell up to her ear while trying her absolute best to maintain a calm composure. It was safe to say though, this was not at all the case, in fact far from it. She was a wreck; and even her attempt was nothing shy from glorious.

Once she heard the phone be picked up, her feelings only amplify as she couldn't contain her emotions any longer and let out an immediate—

❝ VERTREKKEN? HM? HM??? NO— NO, NO ,NO ,NO NOT HAPPENING; ❞ one did not need to know what words she was speaking to understand she was UPSET. There was a hint of hurt accompanied by utter sadness that failed to hide behind her furious tone. Doris continued, obviously trying to say something in his voice by doing a horrendous impression of a man's voice.

❝ 'WE ZITTEN IN HETZELFDE SCHUITJE' ! ❞ Just as she finished this male impression, Doris's voice notably cracks as a sharp breath entered her lungs, the next words leaving her lips quivering as you could hear her practically on the verge of tears ❝ ARE WE ? ARE WE THOUGH ? ❞

[remanedur]

tumblr music survey

because this has come up with a few friends before, i am curious -- in the replies or tags, can you list:

what you consider the average song length

what you consider 'long' for a song, and 'short' for one

a few genres you listen to the most/consider your favorite

[wilteddreamsofbaldursgate]

Overindulgent father Astarion who tells his children they’re allergic to any kind of jewellery that isn’t made of the highest grade Dwarven crafted gold. 

It’s not even because Astarion might have a certain aversion to silver, no, he just raises his children to have standards, thank you very much. 

And it doesn’t end with shiny things, oh no… 

The Ancunín brood is known to be dressed in perfectly woven cotton, silk and soft leather clothes, no matter the occasion.

They’re seen playing with expensive toys, reading artfully illustrated books that certainly belong behind thick glass, not in children’s sticky hands. 

There’s even talk that one of the children is not as naturally inclined to music as his parents claim him to be, surely his lyre must be enchanted—the instrument certainly looks extravagant enough! 

And then there’s always this air of effortless haughtiness surrounding the Ancunín children whenever their nannies and servants are parading them through town as if they were perfect little dolls; objects to show off the wealth their parents acquired in quite the mysterious ways. 

So, it’s no secret that Astarion and Tav are pampering their children—some might say they’re even spoiling them rotten. 

And maybe they are, especially Astarion.

But he doesn’t see why he should raise them any other way, nor does he want to.  

When it comes to his children, Astarion has his own standards, and as long as Tav agrees with him nothing really matters. 

Because, these people, they don’t know anything about the Ancuníns. 

They don’t know that it’s not unusual for Astarion to wash out dirt and mud and strawberry stains from comically small finery, leaving behind only the memories of a day spent playing in the garden, chasing after ducks, picking flowers, lazing in the sun…

That any holes and tears the children’s clothes might suffer are quickly mended, making them look as good as new in no time. 

Nor do they know that Astarion doesn’t mind fashioning a brand new dress to match that of a favourite doll, either. Or to embroider a pretty vest with the likeness of that stray cat the children seem to adore, although their father would rather they don’t touch the mangy animal. 

No, those people know nothing at all...

“Not tired!” Astarion’s youngest cries; the vehement denial of her father’s earlier accusation is cut short by a telltale yawn.

The room still smells of fragrant lavender oil and peaches even when the bath water has already grown tepid, just one or two degrees above what Astarion would consider too cold to be enjoyable. 

Amused, he raises an eyebrow at the protesting toddler before he lifts her out of the copper bathtub with little effort. 

By now, he knows every step of this game.

“Tut-tut, my dear child, what did mama and I say?” Astarion kneels, quickly wrapping a soft towel around the child to keep her warm. “We only tell lies outside of this house.”

Unfazed by her father’s gentle scolding, the girl crosses her arms that haven’t yet lost their puppy fat across her chest, reminding Astarion a little too much of a very displeased Tav. 

Suppressing a sigh, he leans back to consider the pouting child, wondering what could possibly be upsetting her this time—the list is growing longer by the day, after all. 

“What’s the matter, dear?” Astarion asks gently, hoping it’s something easily fixable as it’s growing rather late. 

“Want apple!”

Decades ago, Astarion might’ve rolled his eyes—he knows exactly which stupid apple the child wants, it’s been haunting him all day—but once he started to treat his children’s problems as if they were his own, his life has grown somewhat easier. 

“Why, let’s get an apple on our way to bed, then. Would that be alright, Your Highness?” 

The girl promptly nods her head, allowing Astarion to pat her hair dry before dressing her in a clean night dress. 

She rests her cheek against her father’s shoulder as he carries her first to the kitchen to grab a fragrant apple and a knife, then to her bedroom where they settle on the cosy window seat, just like they do every night.

Soft moonlight is pouring through the windows; the child giggles at the way the knife’s blade is catching the silver light as Astarion peels and cuts the apple into even pieces.

“Here you go,” he finally says, giving the slice of apple one last examining look before surrendering it to the impatient little hands reaching for it. “A sweet treat for my little sweet. Doesn’t it taste so much better when we don’t eat it off the floor, darling?” And when it’s not crawling with ants…

The appeased toddler nibbles at the juicy fruit as Astarion carefully combs through her still-damp curls. 

Her hair’s getting long, he notices, knowing that taking care of it will become more time-consuming each day. 

Once, Astarion would’ve thought this task tedious, brushing out hair that’s not his own, oiling and braiding it for no other reason than knowing his children enjoy him doing it. 

But that’s why he loves doing it in the first place, he supposes.

Astarion can tell by his toddler’s heartbeat that sleep is about to claim her. 

The half-eaten slice of apple is still clutched in her little fist as he cradles the child to his chest, slowly rising from the window seat to put her to bed. 

He’s just about to lay the child down that the fruit drops to the floor, his daughter’s tiny hand clutching at his shirt instead.

“Thank you, papa,” she mumbles, more asleep than awake.

Astarion pauses.

He breathes in the clean, yet unique scent of the little girl that is forever engraved in his brain, the same way he knows under which exact constellation she was born. When she took her first steps, what her first word was. Soon, he will have to memorise her favourite colour, and what she likes to eat when dirty apples won’t be that appealing anymore. 

By now, Astarion knows this game by heart, knows that with every year that passes, he has something new to learn about his children.

And sometimes he wonders what it’s like to grow up with clean bed sheets and full bellies. Sleep filled with naught but warmth and happy memories. Ever open doors and tears that are dried by tender kisses. Living in a house where mistakes and anger are welcomed, safe. 

He wonders what it’s like for his children to know that their father’s love comes without conditions. Not now and not ever. 

Sitting down on the bed, Astarion holds his youngest a little closer to his chest, unwilling to let go of her, yet. 

He’s often accused of spoiling his children when most people can only just grasp the very surface of his love for them, the bare minimum of what he feels for his one and only, precious family. 

These baseless accusations are as unimportant to Astarion as the people voicing them.

He’s raising his children to have standards, wants them to take their father’s love for granted, to accept nothing less but pure devotion.

It’s the only way Astarion knows how to love them, the only way that comes most naturally to him. 

Astarion looks down at his little girl, now fast asleep, a gentle smile tugging at her lips. 

After all these years—all these children—he’s still in awe watching them sleep in his arms as if no harm in the world could ever befall them.

And it won’t—not if Astarion can help it. 

“No, thank you, my heart,” he whispers, pressing a kiss against the crown of the toddler’s head. 

When it comes to his children, Astarion holds himself to the highest standard.

[wigglebox]

Sad Bois’ Story Time

Bonus:

[cuddlytogas]

So I accidentally almost got into an argument on Twitter, and now I'm thinking about bad historical costuming tropes. Specifically, Action Hero Leather Pants.

See, I was light-heartedly pointing out the inaccuracies of the costumes in Black Sails, and someone came out of the woodwork to defend the show. The misunderstanding was that they thought I was dismissing the show just for its costumes, which I wasn't - I was simply pointing out that it can't entirely care about material history (meaning specifically physical objects/culture) if it treats its clothes like that.

But this person was slightly offended on behalf of their show - especially, quote, "And from a fan of OFMD, no less!" Which got me thinking - it's true! I can abide a lot more historical costuming inaccuracy from Our Flag than I can Black Sails or Vikings. And I don't think it's just because one has my blorbos in it. But really, when it comes down to it...

What is the difference between this and this?

Here's the thing. Leather pants in period dramas isn't new. You've got your Vikings, Tudors, Outlander, Pirates of the Caribbean, Once Upon a Time, Will, The Musketeers, even Shakespeare in Love - they love to shove people in leather and call it a day. But where does this come from?

Obviously we have the modern connotations. Modern leather clothes developed in a few subcultures: cowboys drew on Native American clothing. (Allegedly. This is a little beyond my purview, I haven't seen any solid evidence, and it sounds like the kind of fact that people repeat a lot but is based on an assumption. I wouldn't know, though.) Leather was used in some WWI and II uniforms.

But the big boom came in the mid-C20th in motorcycle, punk/goth, and gay subcultures, all intertwined with each other and the above. Motorcyclists wear leather as practical protective gear, and it gets picked up by rock and punk artists as a symbol of counterculture, and transferred to movie designs. It gets wrapped up in gay and kink communities, with even more countercultural and taboo meanings. By the late C20th, leather has entered mainstream fashion, but it still carries those references to goths, punks, BDSM, and motorbike gangs, to James Dean, Marlon Brando, and Mick Jagger. This is whence we get our Spikes and Dave Listers in 1980s/90s media, bad boys and working-class punks.

And some of the above "historical" design choices clearly build on these meanings. William Shakespeare is dressed in a black leather doublet to evoke the swaggering bad boy artist heartthrob, probably down on his luck. So is Kit Marlowe.

But the associations get a little fuzzier after that. Hook, with his eyeliner and jewellery, sure. King Henry, yeah, I see it. It's hideously ahistorical, but sure. But what about Jamie and Will and Ragnar, in their browns and shabby, battle-ready chic? Well, here we get the other strain of Bad Period Drama Leather.

See, designers like to point to history, but it's just not true. Leather armour, especially in the western/European world, is very, very rare, and not just because it decays faster than metal. (Yes, even in ancient Greece/Rome, despite many articles claiming that as the start of the leather armour trend!) It simply wasn't used a lot, because it's frankly useless at defending the body compared to metal. Leather was used as a backing for some splint armour pieces, and for belts, sheathes, and buckles, but it simply wasn't worn like the costumes above. It's heavy, uncomfortable, and hard to repair - it's simply not practical for a garment when you have perfectly comfortable, insulating, and widely available linen, wool, and cotton!

As far as I can see, the real influence on leather in period dramas is fantasy. Fantasy media has proliferated the idea of leather armour as the lightweight choice for rangers, elves, and rogues, a natural, quiet, flexible material, less flashy or restrictive than metal. And it is cheaper for a costume department to make, and easier for an actor to wear on set. It's in Dungeons and Dragons and Lord of the Rings, King Arthur, Runescape, and World of Warcraft.

And I think this is how we get to characters like Ragnar and Vane. This idea of leather as practical gear and light armour, it's fantasy, but it has this lineage, behind which sits cowboy chaps and bomber/flight jackets. It's usually brown compared to the punk bad boy's black, less shiny, and more often piecemeal or decorated. In fact, there's a great distinction between the two Period Leather Modes within the same piece of media: Robin Hood (2006)! Compare the brooding, fascist-coded villain Guy of Gisborne with the shabby, bow-wielding, forest-dwelling Robin:

So, back to the original question: What's the difference between Charles Vane in Black Sails, and Edward Teach in Our Flag Means Death?

Simply put, it's intention. There is nothing intentional about Vane's leather in Black Sails. It's not the only leather in the show, and it only says what all shabby period leather says, relying on the same tropes as fantasy armour: he's a bad boy and a fighter in workaday leather, poor, flexible, and practical. None of these connotations are based in reality or history, and they've been done countless times before. It's boring design, neither historically accurate nor particularly creative, but much the same as all the other shabby chic fighters on our screens. He has a broad lineage in Lord of the Rings and Pirates of the Caribbean and such, but that's it.

In Our Flag, however, the lineage is much, much more intentional. Ed is a direct homage to Mad Max, the costuming in which is both practical (Max is an ex-cop and road warrior), and draws on punk and kink designs to evoke a counterculture gone mad to the point of social breakdown, exploiting the thrill of the taboo to frighten and titillate the audience.

In particular, Ed is styled after Max in the second movie, having lost his family, been badly injured, and watched the world turn into an apocalypse. He's a broken man, withdrawn, violent, and deliberately cutting himself off from others to avoid getting hurt again. The plot of Mad Max 2 is him learning to open up and help others, making himself vulnerable to more loss, but more human in the process.

This ties directly into the themes of Our Flag - it's a deliberate intertext. Ed's emotional journey is also one from isolation and pain to vulnerability, community, and love. Mad Max (intentionally and unintentionally) explores themes of masculinity, violence, and power, while Max has become simplified in the popular imagination as a stoic, badass action hero rather than the more complex character he is, struggling with loss and humanity. Similarly, Our Flag explores masculinity, both textually (Stede is trying to build a less abusive pirate culture) and metatextually (the show champions complex, banal, and tender masculinities, especially when we're used to only seeing pirates in either gritty action movies or childish comedies).

Our Flag also draws on the specific countercultures of motorcycles, rockers, and gay/BDSM culture in its design and themes. Naturally, in such a queer show, one can't help but make the connection between leather pirates and leather daddies, and the design certainly nods at this, with its vests and studs. I always think about this guy, with his flat cap so reminiscient of gay leather fashions.

More overtly, though, Blackbeard and his crew are styled as both violent gangsters and countercultural rockstars. They rove the seas like a bikie gang, free and violent, and are seen as icons, bad boys and celebrities. Other pirates revere Blackbeard and wish they could be on his crew, while civilians are awed by his reputation, desperate for juicy, gory details.

This isn't all of why I like the costuming in Our Flag Means Death (especially season 1). Stede's outfits are by no means accurate, but they're a lot more accurate than most pirate media, and they're bright and colourful, with accurate and delightful silks, lace, velvets, and brocades, and lovely, puffy skirts on his jackets. Many of the Revenge crew wear recognisable sailor's trousers, and practical but bright, varied gear that easily conveys personality and flair. There is a surprising dedication to little details, like changing Ed's trousers to fall-fronts for a historical feel, Izzy's puffy sleeves, the handmade fringe on Lucius's red jacket, or the increasing absurdity of navy uniform cuffs between Nigel and Chauncey.

A really big one is the fact that they don't shy away from historical footwear! In almost every example above, we see the period drama's obsession with putting men in skinny jeans and bucket-top boots, but not only does Stede wear his little red-heeled shoes with stockings, but most of his crew, and the ordinary people of Barbados, wear low boots or pumps, and even rough, masculine characters like Pete wear knee breeches and bright colours. It's inaccurate, but at least it's a new kind of inaccuracy, that builds much more on actual historical fashions, and eschews the shortcuts of other, grittier period dramas in favour of colour and personality.

But also. At least it fucking says something with its leather.

[psychxpxthic]

|| @frestoniia | 𝑺𝑻𝑨𝑹𝑻𝑬𝑹 || ______________________________________________________________ ❝ He took what was mine, th- that 𝑴𝑨𝑹𝑨𝑼𝑫𝑬𝑹 !!! -siiigh- No matter... For that I will make him pay, and pay with 𝐂𝐫𝐮𝐬𝐡𝐞𝐝 𝐡𝐚𝐧𝐝𝐬 he shall. ❞ ------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Like memories tucked between the pages of Edgar's mind; the evocation of the man known as 'Maelstorm' trifling one of the doctor's greatest schemes screamed loudest of them all. He were to take over the minds of all citizens who dared stepped foot upon the city; his city. But alas, foiled to such an embarrassing degree.

But how could a powerful telepath such as Dr.Cizko be able to take over the terra-firma of a thousand people? Surely there was limitation to his abilities; and well, to that there was. He'd only been able to achieve this normally impossible feat by the assistance of his glass orb. To some, a simple nick-nack, but to Edgar; this magical ball possessed the muscle to enhance and strengthen his power to such an formidable degree.

But that cyclone manipulator...that VEXATION of a man...He ruined it !!!

Maelstorm got the upper hand, seizing the orb straight out from the mad man's cold grip. All of whom was under his command regaining a conscious thought, a conscious mind. Edgar was left vulnerable, taken control of by the rapid winds that flooded the area; he was not prepared. And oh how that statement alone could even be formed made Edgar grit his teeth so hard he could sworn they'd break. He planned, and planned— he strained his mind with the sheer amount of time spent planning this diabolical stratagem; only to be overturned by some 'forecast-super hero'. How shameless... How 𝑯𝑼𝑴𝑰𝑳𝑰𝑨𝑻𝑰𝑵𝑮 !

But that was then...and this is now, and in the now Edgar had formulated himself a new plan. It was personal, he made it personal. If Maelstorm was going to steal a prized possession of his, why, Edgar was simply just... going to to the same, return the 'favor' if you will.

The sun was setting, it's rays slowly vanishing beneath the earth's crust. This was it, it was time and Edgar wasn't going to let this opportunity slip out of his hands.

He waited outside a small bistro, Baratie to be exact. It took some time and some underground methods, but he was able to locate where the hero's kid had worked. The plan was simple, take something of value from him, make the hero break, which then should give Maelstorm no choice but to return his glass orb.

Once he caught sight of the blonde haired boy leaving, Edgar changed his demeanor to better fit the scene he was about to create. He played the role of a person in distress, while also trying to remain as polite as possible. The dwarf-structured man hurried over to Craig, giving him a wave as to signal for his undivided attention.

❝ Salutations ! uh, I do not mean to be a burden but... Could you come with me for a moment, if you please? I'm having trouble with my car. It's parked down a block away... I cannot get it to properly start and I need help pushing it off the streets. ❞

[silusvesuius]

baby👶 drawings. these are very dear to me rn.. 2nd pic is my Nelavis with @barvin0k's Varonur 🩵 last one is a baby bosmer and snow elf, hairiest of them all. although the bosmer was meant to be my girl Barletta too lols

[charmac]

Glenn Howerton on MacDennis (x)

[crunchy-rocc]

guys i would put in a microwave just to watch them spin around in there

[monakisu]

the it girl & the nobody

[poorly-drawn-mdzs]

The Quest Continues...

(part 1- part 2)