#conductive goat leather

[conductivefabric5]

Innovative EMF Blocking Fabrics and Conductive Materials: Pioneering Health and Safety Solutions

In an era dominated by technological advancements, our daily lives are increasingly intertwined with electronic devices and wireless communication. While these innovations bring convenience, they also expose us to electromagnetic fields (EMFs), which can have potential health implications. Enter conductive materials and fabrics, designed to mitigate EMF exposure and enhance our well-being. At the forefront of this innovation is Conductive-Fabric.com, offering a range of advanced products including nickel-copper plated fabrics, conductive goat leather, and conductive silver fiber anti-virus masks.

EMF Blocking Fabric Nickel-Copper Plated

One of the standout offerings from Conductive-Fabric.com is the nickel-copper plated fabric. This material is engineered to block EMFs effectively, providing a shield against the electromagnetic radiation emitted by various electronic devices. The fabric is made by plating a base textile with a thin layer of nickel and copper, creating a conductive barrier that deflects and absorbs EMFs.

Key Features:

High Conductivity: The nickel-copper combination ensures excellent conductivity, making it highly effective in blocking EMFs.

Durability: The plating process enhances the fabric’s durability, allowing it to withstand regular use and washing without losing its protective properties.

Versatility: This fabric can be used in various applications, from protective clothing to lining for electronic device cases.

Conductive Goat Leather

Another innovative product is the conductive goat leather, which combines the natural benefits of leather with advanced conductivity. This material is particularly useful in applications where flexibility and durability are crucial, such as wearable technology and protective gear.

Key Features:

Natural Comfort: Goat leather is known for its softness and comfort, making it ideal for wearable applications.

Enhanced Conductivity: Infused with conductive materials, this leather offers effective EMF protection while maintaining its natural properties.

Durability: The robust nature of goat leather ensures longevity and resistance to wear and tear.

Conductive Silver Fiber Anti-Virus Mask

In the wake of the global pandemic, face masks have become essential. Conductive-Fabric.com has taken this necessity a step further with their conductive silver fiber anti-virus masks. These masks are not only effective in blocking viruses but also offer EMF protection.

Key Features:

Antiviral Properties: Silver fibers are known for their natural antibacterial and antiviral properties, making the mask highly effective in preventing the spread of viruses.

Washable and Reusable: Unlike disposable masks, these can be washed and reused, making them an environmentally friendly option.

EMF Protection: The conductive nature of the silver fibers adds an extra layer of protection against electromagnetic radiation.

Applications and Benefits

The products from Conductive-Fabric.com cater to a wide range of applications, from personal health and safety to industrial uses. Here are some key benefits:

Personal Health: EMF blocking fabrics and conductive masks help reduce exposure to potentially harmful electromagnetic radiation, contributing to better overall health.

Enhanced Safety: For professionals working in high-EMF environments, such as technicians and engineers, these products offer essential protection.

Environmental Sustainability: Reusable products like the conductive silver fiber masks help reduce waste, supporting environmental sustainability efforts.

Conclusion

As we continue to navigate a world filled with electronic devices and wireless communication, the need for effective EMF protection becomes increasingly important. Conductive-Fabric.com is at the forefront of this movement, offering innovative solutions such as nickel-copper plated fabrics, conductive goat leather, and conductive silver fiber masks. These products not only provide essential protection against EMFs but also offer additional health benefits, paving the way for a safer and healthier future. 

[marv3l-drag0ns]

Paladin writing! This is part 1/3 probably, and part 4 will be the Paladin presenting the item to the Host at the @the-bone-shop

The Paladin bounced as it left the bone shop. Host was definitely an abrasive character, but gifts were important, especially for small businesses. The Paladin was determined to find one of Host’s enemies, or at least some entity that irritated them.

The goat skull on its back thumped heavily against their scales, reminding them of what they were planning on preparing for. The raccoon speaker was clearly a failure- the Paladin lacked the knowledge needed for runes, and this amateurish item was on its last legs.

The Paladin ran off to try and find its campsite. It didn’t need to eat, drink, or sleep, but recuperation and a base of operations was helpful, especially for magic item construction. It was, however, a long journey, which is why it tried to only visit the Bone Shop if it was necessary. Deer-Wings- or Cryptkeeper, if Host was to be believed- was lovely, but it did not merit the travel. Diving into its cloak, the Paladin withdrew a set of greaves, specially modified for its legs. It did not wear the greaves much, as it would often leave whatever passed for muscles under its scales aching and in need of attention, but it was a good way to race back and forth. It cut the travel time from half a week to half of a day. Equipping them hurt, as the thorns that adorned their maybe-calves were difficult to work around, but the Paladin did not need pain, so it ignored it. They resumed running. The Paladin had chosen a grotto right at the foot of a cliff, which was clear and had many of the basic ingredients for mending or magework. The Paladin had set up many more permanent utilities, such as a workbench, water refinery, and storage system, but it was not used to staying in one place and therefore was unable to think of this as a headquarters, much less a home.

The Paladin kneeled by its storage, which was more of a glorified shelf. It was wrapped in leather strips, with various bags the Paladin had made hanging from knots in the wood it hadn’t broken off. There was a large basket on the ground half-full of stones, many of which were black, more than half representing Condensed Voidsea. The Paladin had assembled on a beach full of marble-sized spheres of Voidsea, and harbored a deep connection to the small stones. It had tried to use them as a focus and ground one up to make a sealant for its first experiment, but it had ended up sealing the dog skull shut. The Paladin reached into its cloak and drew out the new rocks it had purchased, placing the black ones into the basket and setting the aquamarine on the shelf. Hopefully, a more diluted Voidsea sealant would work to provide the self, and the aquamarine would be a better conduct for speech.

Not letting itself get distracted, the Paladin swung off the goat skull and let it rest in the grass. Goats were held sacred in a few cities near the Voidsea, both for their value as sustenance but also for the horns that grew from their heads. Voidsea Goats often had traces of crystalized Voidsea in their horns, which manifested itself in odd ways that depended on the goat. Hopefully the Paladin’s own horns, which it had ground down in order to blend in better (it shuddered to remember that time), would be mirrored in the skull and further help the item.

However, that quest would have to wait. The more time the Paladin waited to give Host its gift, the more likely was Host to think it was rude. Rudeness was heavily frowned upon and would result in less songquartz to mend itself. Rudeness was not tolerated.

The Paladin sorted its purchases, then stood and shuffled over to its workbench. There, it shook out it’s cloak, seeing the various items it kept on itself land on the heavy wood. Various pieces of enchanted armor, the Paladin’s axe, sword, and knife, and various enchanted jewels, rings, and bracelets. The Paladin would not adventure without them, knowing that any item that it could carry would be useful. It kept the greaves on, but slipped a chilled hand in between the metal and scales to try and soothe the irritation. It stared at the seeking bracelet, before tying it around their ankle. Equipping a combination of attack and location items, the Paladin finally retied their bags that lay against their cloak. It was time to hunt.

[lizzbaldini]

Check out this listing I just added to my Poshmark closet: Touchpoint Genuine Leather 100% Cashmere Lining Black Gloves.

[ammocharis]

Random bits of Avvar lore

These are just some bits of Avvar lore that I consider interesting, though I rarely find an excuse to bring them up in discussions about Dragon Age lore. They might not be terribly relevant but I think they're worth mentioning! If you're working on a fic that incorporates Avvar characters, you might even find these bits useful for adding flavour.

The Lady of the Skies has favourite species of birds.

“Bluebirds carry the goodwill of the Lady.” (Amund, DAI multiplayer)

“Budgerigars are sacred to the Lady. I think she likes the chirping.” (Amund, DAI multiplayer)

The Avvar call the shards "elfstones" and were able to locate them with help of Hakkon Wintersbreath before he got locked away.

"In the old times, the first Jaws of Hakkon spoke with the great spirit himself. He opened their eyes that they might see the elfstones hidden across the world, and they entered the old cave and learned the mysteries of winter." (Codex entry: Leather-Bound Hakkonite Journal)

The ability to read and write is not widespread among the Avvar (and may even be seen as odd) but hold leaders and augurs are usually literate.

"Script style and surrounding symbolism mark text as Avvar. Writing not widespread in holds—place marked by a leader or augur? Few lowlanders known to be in area at time.” (Codex entry: Colette's Notes)

“Thane Harofsen thinks he alone can work the words of lowlanders, as though the augurs had not learned the tale-drawing runes to study the old magic.” (Codex entry: Leather-Bound Hakkonite Journal)

They refer to the Tranquil as "dream-slain".

"The lowlanders, though, have found a new way to see them. The skull of dream-slain, set with the right magicks, can bring the elfstones to our sight." (Codex entry: Leather-Bound Hakkonite Journal)

An Avvar warrior won the Grand Tourney once.

The Grand Tourney is the oldest, and perhaps only, tradition of the Free Marches. [...] Contestants come from all over Thedas. [...] Once, the champion was an Avvar mountain man. (Codex entry: The Celebrant)

Their swearwords often involve gods/legendary heroes

Korth's stony arse, Korth-cursed, Tyrdda’s tits

Another common type of profanity is tied to domesticated animals and/or body waste

goat-lovers, goat-kissing, goat’s piss, goat shit, chicken-craps, shit-eating, blood-drinking

Stone-Bear hold has changed its physical location a few decades prior.

"Stone-Bear Hold's been here a few generations. I was born further north, but we left before I could remember." (Arvid Rolfsen, DAI)

Each of the chief gods has a test associated with them that can be used to settle disputes. The test of the Lady is climbing, as witnessed when first entering Stone-Bear Hold. The test of Hakkon involves fighting with blunted weapon, similar to the Hakkon's Trials quest where you face local warriors and fight until surrender. The one test that wasn't shown in any shape or form is the test of Korth, which incorporates flyting - an exchange of insults conducted in verse.

"The test of the Lady. We use it to settle disputes when it is not clear who has the right of it. There are others. For the test of the Mountain-Father, you battle with verse while those who favor you hold you aloft. The test of Hakkon is battle, with blunted weapons." (Svarah Sun-Hair, DAI)

Veilfire runes are known as "god-runes" to the Avvar.

"Stone-hidden lie the tales of this hold. Here's the means to find them. Return when you've seen all the god-runes, and I'll tell you why the Jaws of Hakkon did this." (Augur, DAI)

[gwendolynlerman]

93 English words that derive from place names

This is not a comprehensive list and focuses only on Europe and Mediterranean countries. It excludes cheese and wines.

All definitions taken from Wiktionary, excluding definitions that refer to nationalities.

academia (the Academy, Greece, an Athenian gymnasium where Plato taught): the scientific and cultural community engaged in higher education and research, taken as a whole.

afro (Africa): hairstyle characterized by tightly curled locks and a rounded shape.

alpine (the Alps): of, relating to, or inhabiting mountains, especially above the timberline.

Alsatian (Alsace, France): a German shepherd dog.

angora (Ankara, Turkey): an angora cat; a goat of a domesticated breed that produces mohair; a rabbit belonging to the Angora rabbit breed, one of the oldest domestic breeds of rabbits in the world, raised chiefly in Europe for its silky and long hair (a subspecies of the European rabbit, Oryctolagus cuniculus).

Armageddon (Tel Megiddo, Israel): (Christianity, Islam) Mount Megiddo, the site of a prophesied final battle between the forces of good and evil; (by extension) the battle itself.

Armagnac (Armagnac, France): a brandy made in the region of Armagnac.

attic (Attica, Greece): the space, often unfinished and with sloped walls, directly below the roof in the uppermost part of a house or other building, generally used for storage or habitation.

badminton (Badminton House, an estate in Gloucestershire, United Kingdom): a racquet sport played indoors on a court by two opposing players (singles) or two opposing pairs of players (doubles), in which a shuttlecock is volleyed over a net and the competitions are presided by an umpire in British English and a referee in American English.

balaclava (Balaklava, Ukraine): a type of warm headgear covering the neck, head, and often part of the face, with apertures left as necessary, often made out of wool.

bayonet (Bayonne, France): a pointed instrument of the dagger kind fitted on the muzzle of a musket or rifle, so as to give the soldier increased means of offense and defense. Originally, the bayonet was made with a handle, which needed to be fitted into the bore of the musket after the soldier had fired.

bedlam (Bedlam, United Kingdom, alternative name of the English lunatic asylum, Bethlem Royal Hospital): a place or situation of chaotic uproar, and where confusion prevails.

beyond the pale (The Pale, Ireland): of a person or their behaviour: outside the bounds of what is acceptable, or regarded as good judgment, morality, etc.

Bible (Byblos, Lebanon): the main religious text in Christianity.

bohemian (Bohemia, Czech Republic): an unconventional or nonconformist artist or writer.

bolognese (Bologna, Italy): an Italian sauce made of ground meat and tomato.

bugger (Bulgaria): a heretic; (Britain law) someone who commits buggery; a sodomite.

Byzantine (Byzantium [present-day Istanbul], Turkey): overly complex or intricate.

cardigan (Cardigan, United Kingdom): a type of sweater or jumper that fastens up the front with buttons or a zipper, usually machine- or hand-knitted from wool.

Caucasian (Caucasus): of a racial classification pertaining to people having certain phenotypical features such as straight, curly, or wavy hair and very light to brown pigmented skin, and originating from Europe, parts of Northern Africa and Central, South, and Western Asia.

chartreuse (Chartreuse Mountains, France): a yellow or green liqueur made by Carthusian monks; a greenish-yellow colour.

coach (Kocs, Hungary): a wheeled vehicle, generally drawn by horse power.

cognac (Cognac, France): a brandy distilled from white wine in the region around Cognac in France.

cologne (Cologne, Germany): a type of perfume consisting of 2-5% essential oils, 70-90% alcohol and water.

copper (Cyprus): a reddish-brown, malleable, ductile metallic element with high electrical and thermal conductivity, symbol Cu, and atomic number 29.

cordovan (Córdoba, Spain): a leather from Córdoba originally of tanned goatskin later of horsehide.

cravat (Croatia): a wide fabric band worn as a necktie by men having long ends hanging in front.

Dalmatian (Dalmatia, Croatia): one of a breed of dog with a short, white coat with dark spots.

damask (Damascus, Syria): an ornate silk fabric originating from Damascus.

Danish (Denmark): a sweet and flaky yeast-raised roll made from a dough using butter or margarine and filled with remonce (butter and sugar) or custard.

denim (“de Nîmes” [from Nîmes], France): textile often made of cotton with a distinct diagonal pattern.

derby (from the Epsom Derby horse race, in Derbyshire, United Kingdom): any of several annual horse races.

dollar (Joachimstal [present-day Jáchymov], Czech Republic): official designation for currency in some parts of the world, including Canada, the United States, Australia, New Zealand, Hong Kong, and elsewhere. Its symbol is $.

duffel bag (Duffel, Belgium): a large, cylindrical, duffel cloth bag used to carry personal gear, especially by soldiers. 

fez (Fez, Morocco): a felt hat in the shape of a truncated cone, having a flat top with a tassel attached.

frankfurter (Frankfurt, Germany): a  moist sausage of soft, even texture and flavor, often made from mechanically recovered meat or meat slurry.

frankly (the Franks, France and Germany): in a frank or candid manner, especially in a way that may seem too open, excessively honest, or slightly blunt.

geyser (The Great Geysir, Iceland): a boiling natural spring which throws forth at frequent intervals jets of water, mud etc., driven up by the expansive power of steam.

jeans (Genoa, Italy): a pair of trousers made from denim cotton.

jersey (Jersey, United Kingdom): a garment knitted from wool, worn over the upper body.

hamburger (Hamburg, Germany): a hot sandwich consisting of a patty of cooked ground beef or a meat substitute, in a sliced bun, sometimes also containing salad vegetables, condiments, or both.

hollandaise (Holland, the Netherlands): an emulsion of butter and lemon juice using egg yolks as the emulsifying agent, used in French cooking.

italics (Italy): letters in an italic typeface. 

laconic (Laconia, Greece): using as few words as possible; pithy and concise.

lesbian (Lesbos, Greece): (of a woman) homosexual, gay; preferring mostly or exclusively women as romantic or sexual partners.

limerick (Limerick, Ireland): a humorous, often bawdy verse of five anapestic lines, with the rhyme scheme aabba, and typically having a 8–8–5–5–8 cadence. 

limousine (Limousin, France): an automobile body with seats and permanent top like a coupe, and with the top projecting over the driver and a projecting front.

magenta (Magenta, Italy): a vibrant light purple, purplish-red, reddish-purple, or pinkish purple color obtained by mixing red and blue light (thus a secondary color), but primary in the CMYK color system used in printing.

magnet (Magnesia, Greece): a piece of material that attracts some metals by magnetism.

Maltese (Malta): a small breed of dog with a long silky coat.

marathon (Marathon, Greece): a 42.195 kilometer (26 mile 385 yard) road race.

mausoleum (Mausolus, ruler of Caria, Turkey): a large stately tomb or a building housing such a tomb or several tombs.

mayonnaise (Maó, Spain): a dressing made from vegetable oil, raw egg yolks and seasoning, used on salads, with french fries, in sandwiches etc.

meander (Büyük Menderes River, Turkey): one of the turns of a winding, crooked, or involved course.

muscovite (Moscow, Russia): a pale brown mineral of the mica group, being a basic potassium aluminosilicate with the chemical formula KAl2(Si3Al)O10(OH,F)2; used as an electrical insulator etc.

muslin (Mosul, Iraq): any of several varieties of thin cotton cloth.

Neanderthal (Neandertal, Germany): old-fashioned, opposed to change.

Nokia (Nokia, Finland): a phone produced by the Nokia company.

Olympics (Olympia, Greece): an international multi-sport event (inspired by the ancient festival) taking place every fourth year

ottoman (Turkey): an upholstered sofa, without arms or a back, sometimes with a compartment for storing linen etc.

paisley (Paisley, Scotland): a motif of a swirling droplet.

parchment (Pergamon [present-day Bergama], Turkey): material, made from the polished skin of a calf, sheep, goat or other animal, used like paper for writing.

peach (Persia [present-day Iran]): a tree (Prunus persica), native to China and now widely cultivated throughout temperate regions, having pink flowers and edible fruit.

pilsner (Pilsen, Czech Republic): a pale, light lager beer.

polonium (Poland): a rare, highly radioactive chemical element (symbol Po) with atomic number 84.

Pomeranian (Pomerania, Germany and Poland): a breed of small, fluffy, energetic toy dogs in the canine family of spitzes. 

quince (Kydonia, Greece): the pear-shaped fruit of a small tree of the rose family, Cydonia oblonga.

romantic (Rome, Italy): of a work of literature, a writer etc.: being like or having the characteristics of a romance, or poetic tale of a mythic or quasi-historical time; fantastic.

Rottweiler (Rottweil, Germany): a very large muscular breed of dog of German origin with black fur and tanned markings.

rugby (Rugby, United Kingdom): a form of football in which players can hold or kick an ovoid ball; rugby football. The ball cannot be handled forwards and points are scored by touching the ball to the ground in the area past the opponent’s territory or by kicking the ball between goalposts and over a crossbar.

samaritan (Samaria, Palestine): a person who gives help or sympathy to someone in distress.

sandwich (Sandwich, United Kingdom): a dish or foodstuff where at least one piece, but typically two or more pieces, of bread serve(s) as the wrapper or container of some other food. 

sardines (Sardinia, Italy): any one of several species of small herring which are commonly preserved in olive oil or in tins for food, especially the pilchard, or European sardine Sardina pilchardus (syn. Clupea pilchardus). The California sardine Sardinops sagax (syn. Clupea sagax) is similar. The American sardines of the Atlantic coast are mostly the young of the Atlantic herring and of the menhaden.

sardonic (Sardinia, Italy): scornfully mocking or cynical.

scotch (Scotland, United Kingdom): whisky distilled in Scotland, especially from malted barley.

sienna (Siena, Italy): a form of clay containing iron and manganese.

solecism (Soli, Turkey): an erroneous or improper usage. 

spa (Spa, Belgium): a health resort near a mineral spring or hot spring.

spaniel (Spain): any of various small to medium-sized breeds of gun dog having a broad muzzle, long, wavy fur and long ears that hang at the side of the head, bred for flushing and retrieving game.

spartan (Sparta, Greece): austere, frugal, characterized by self-denial.

spruce (Prussia [present-day Germany]): any of various large coniferous evergreen trees or shrubs from the genus Picea, found in northern temperate and boreal regions; originally and more fully spruce fir.

suede (Sweden): a type of soft leather, made from calfskin, with a brushed texture to resemble fabric, often used to make boots, clothing and fashion accessories.

swede (Sweden): the fleshy yellow root of a variety of rape, Brassica napus var. napobrassica, resembling a large turnip, grown as a vegetable.

tangerine (Tangier, Morocco): any of several varieties of mandarin oranges.

tarantula (Taranto, Italy): any of the large, hairy New World spiders comprising the family Theraphosidae.

Trojan horse (Troy, Turkey): a subversive person or device placed within the ranks of the enemy.

turkey (Turkey): a bird in the genus Meleagris with a fan-shaped tail and wattled neck, especially the wild turkey (Meleagris gallopavo, now domesticated).

turquoise (Turkey): a sky-blue, greenish-blue, or greenish-gray semi-precious gemstone.

tweed (River Tweed, United Kingdom): a coarse woolen fabric used for clothing.

vaudeville (Vallée de Vire [valley of the river Vire], France): a style of multi-act theatrical entertainment which originated from France and flourished in Europe and North America from the 1880s through the 1920s.

volcano (Mt. Etna, Italy, believed to be the forge of Vulcan, the Roman god of fire): a vent or fissure on the surface of a planet (usually in a mountainous form) with a magma chamber attached to the mantle of a planet or moon, periodically erupting forth lava and volcanic gases onto the surface.

wellies (Wellington, United Kingdom): Wellington boots

wiener (Vienna, Austria): a sausage made from beef, chicken or pork.

[withyourglance]

Disclaimer: These are notes I'm taking for my personal use as I research certain topics. Feel free to suggest corrections or second opinions!

Here is my master list of Classy Girl Studies.

Sources: x, x, x, x.

Fiber Type

The first element of fabric is fiber type, which is what material is used to actually structure the fabric. There are natural fibers and synthetic ones, and you'll usually see a blend. Luxe fabrics tend to be, or at least look natural (according to Anna Bey, who runs a finishing school for aspiring affluent girls), but since synthetic fibers are more stable than natural ones, mixed fibers are not always a bad thing (according to Justine Leconte, a designer and fashion expert).

Natural fibers are very absorbent, usually more eco friendly, and strong, but they tend to shrink. They insulate and breathe more than manufactured fibers, so they're good for cool and warm weather. Manufactured fibers are cheaper, stain resistant, and usually water resistant. They're non-biodegradable, and break down into microplastics.

You can tell the fabric type with a burn test (I trust you have enough common sense to look into burn tests and not just burn your clothes). Synthetic fibers smell acrid and form hard beads when they're burnt, plant fibers smell like burning paper or wood and form either a light ash or become hard and brittle, and natural fibers smell like burning paper, rope, or hair, and form ash or brittle beads. Synthetic fibers tend to roll and melt away from the flame, which is why you can melt the ends of synthetic ribbons and cords to seal them.

Natural fibers-

Cotton, from cotton fibers. Fair to good strength, good absorbency, conducts heat well, and is prone to wrinkle.

Linen, from flax stalk. The strongest vegetable fiber, highly absorbent, a good conductor of heat but also feels cool, brittle and wrinkles notoriously easily. Good for layering and still keeping cool.

Jute, from jute stalk. The cheapest fiber to make, deteriorates when exposed to moisture.

Hemp, from hemp or abaca.

Coir, from coconut husk.

Wool, from sheep shearing. Shearing sheep is not uncomfortable or painful for the sheep. In fact, sheep get uncomfortable holding so much weight if they go too long without shearing. Wool is very warm but breathable, and wicks moisture.

Silk, from silkworms. Smooth but not slippery, keeps cool, lightweight and strong. Note that silk is a fiber type, and can be woven different ways.

Various animal hair or fur fibers. Cashmere fiber is the undercoat of goats, and fleece fiber is the coat of sheep or goats.

Manufactured fibers-

Rayon or viscose. Technically neither natural nor manufactured, high in luster, comfortable, and highly absorbent. A synthetic silk, basically.

Nylon. Highly resilient, very strong and durable, high elasticity, good resistance to abrasions, and thermoplastic (softens when heated, hardens when cooled)

Polyester. Good strength, hydrophobic, and thermoplastic. Tends to be uncomfortable against skin.

Acrylic. Soft and warm, similar to wool, and resilient.

Spandex (Cleer-span, Glospan, and Lycra are all trademarked spandex). Never used alone, always blended with other fibers, highly elastic, durable, and high shape retention.

Animal skins-

Leather, dried and treated skin

Suede, the inside grain of skin

Shearling, wool on skin

Furs, various fur on skin

Weave Type

The weave type is the method used to make the fibers into a solid piece of fabric.

Woven-

These fabrics are woven on a loom. The fibers held still are called the warp, and the fibers woven around them are called the weft. The raw edge is called the selvage.

Plain weave

Satin weave (note that satin is a type of weave, not a type of fiber)

Twill weave

Denim weave

Waffle weave

Brocade weave

Knit-

Knit fabrics are made from connected loops, and can either be made from one continuous yarn (weft knit), or many yarns but only one stitch (warp knit). Many knit fabrics also have stretch.

Stretch-

Stretch fabrics are made with stretch fibers making up some percentage of the total material. Often included is elastane or spandex.

Types of Fabric

The type of fabric is made up of both the fiber and the weave. These are some examples.

Chiffon, one of the sheerest fabrics, plain weave made from either silk or poly fibers.

Lace, a decorative weave made from many different fiber types

Organdy, made from combed fibers, a tight, pain weave fabric

Satin, made from many different fiber types, a type of weave classified as a fabric type

Brocade, woven fabric with a raised design in the weaving process

Corduroy, a twill weave fabric with vertical ribs and a short nap

Fleece, woolen coats of sheep or goats

Polar-fleece, a polyester fabric to mimic fleece

Terry, made with uncut loops (think of looped carpet or the loops on your towel)

Velvet, a short pile weave made from various fibers

Felt, a no-fray fabric, fibers fused together using water

Quilt, two fabrics with a filler fiber sandwiched between

Cashmere, the undercoat of goats made into grade A, B, or C cashmere fabric, with grade A being the most fine and longest fibers, and grade C being the coarsest and shortest fibers. The short fibers make it pill very easily. There are various cashmere mixes, as well.

Understanding Quality

Justine Leconte uploaded a video about how to recognize quality in garments, I highly recommend you watch it for a more comprehensive guide, but I'll outline some of her points here.

Because of the way fabric is made, the individual pieces cut to make a garment have to be cut in a certain direction, or else the seams will twist and warp more and more with each wash. Fast fashion tends to forego the proper cut direction in order to waste less fabric, so the seams aren't proper quality, and it affects the fit of the garment enormously.

Cheap dyes fade very quickly with washes, so be aware of that in fast fashion, as well. Prints on t-shirts are often very cheaply made. Opt for a jacquard, a pattern that has been included in the weaving or knitting process, or a plain color, rather than a print on top of a plain fabric. Also avoid knits or weaves that are too loose, that you can pull apart and see light through the stitching. Fabrics made with tight enough weaving fall and drape better and are more dense.

Look for clean and tidy stitching that lays flat on the inside and out, or, even better, seams that are covered on the inside with an extra fabric detail. Even the pocket seams on high quality clothing are neat and hidden well.

A note about quality:

Beware department store quality. Department stores such as TJ Max, Marshalls, Macy's, Khol's, etc, started as a way to sell the overflow of designer clothing, however, they quickly became greedy. Many high quality brands now have two production types; one for their own stores, made of good quality, and one for department stores, made with cut corners and poor quality, designed to be sold for much cheaper. Always, always, always inspect the quality of a garment, shoe, purse, etc, before purchasing. Justine Leconte has several videos going into quality indicators in different items.

In addition, don't forego an inspection of an item just because you're in the brand's official store. I've seen people note that even the Michael Kors handbags in the brand store are made poorly, just as an example, and I would rather you notice any quality issues before you spend a few hundred dollars on something.

[busterkeatonfanfic]

Chapter 37

Nelly was entertaining June and Eddie in Gerald’s study when her father unexpectedly stepped into the doorway.

“Father.” She got to her feet. She’d been sprawled on the rug playing the Junior Auto Race Game with the children. “To what do we owe the pleasure?”

“Grampa!” the children cried. They rushed over to hug his leg and tug at his arms.

“I could have telephoned,” he said with a twitch of a smile, “but your mother’s in a terrible temper with Jennie. Apparently the woman spoiled the caramel custard we’re to have for dessert. I’m optimistic it will have blown over by the time I walk back.” He ruffled Eddie’s hair absently.

“Telephoned about what?”

Her father crossed the room and relaxed into the leather wing chair where Gerald did his evening reading. “We’re going to celebrate our little actress tomorrow evening. As a family.” He gave a self-satisfied smile. “At the Varsity, six o’clock. Then we’re going for egg foo young at the Phoenix Inn.” He reached into the breast pocket of his suit and held out a folded scrap of newsprint to her. She unfolded it and her stomach flipped.

BUSTER KEATON AND ERNEST TORRENCE STAR IN

‘STEAMBOAT BILL, JR.’

THE LAUGH FEATURE OF THE YEAR

IT MAY EVEN BLOW YOU AWAY

An unhandsome cartoon of Buster in his sailor suit pulling a smiling girl who didn’t look much like Marion Byron out of a tornado was beneath the credits.

She quickly remembered her acting and steeled her features. “Oh, that’s wonderful!” she said, beaming. She turned to June and Eddie, not knowing if her expression looked entirely natural. “These urchins have me so busy I forgot all about the picture.”

She had not forgotten about the picture.

For weeks she’d been dreading someone in her family suggesting they go see it. She’d been hoping by some miracle that they’d be so tied up with their own lives that it would escape them.

“Can I go?” June said, her voice pitched to a whine as if she knew already that the answer would be unfavorable.

“Me too!” said Eddie.

Nelly wasn’t sure they even understood what a picture was, but they sensed from their grandfather’s tone that it was not to be missed. “I don’t know,” she said, exchanging a look with him which said, Aren’t they something else? “Pictures are for grown-ups. It’s up to Grampa.”

“Please, Grampa, please,” June said, placing her hands on his knees and hopping up and down.

“Please!” said Eddie, jumping in place.

June, who had turned six two days before, would probably be fine, but at not-quite-four, Eddie was the wild card. William looked to her for the answer. Ignoring the curdling sensation in her stomach over the prospect of seeing Buster on screen, she nodded. She was a soft touch.

On the walk to the theater the next night, Ruthie reviewed the rules of conduct with the children: stay in your seat, sit up straight, whisper if you need the bathroom, don’t talk during the picture, and don’t—I mean this—talk during the picture. They’d been drilled several times throughout the day and now said “yes’m” and “no’m” to each severe warning. Violet had been left in the care of one of Ruthie’s maids, Kitty, with goat’s milk to tide her over. Nelly was glad that Ruthie’s warnings and the children’s excited chatter occupied so much of the walk. While she had dressed in her peach silk dress and a nice cloche hat, borrowing a real strand of pearls from Ruthie, the careful touches to her appearance were a masquerade. She felt just as heartsick as she had the previous day. She dreaded having to sit through the whole picture pretending as though she was having the time of her life. She didn’t want to see Buster, the expressions that would now be so familiar to her, the vivid memories of his private company.

When her father drew up to the ticket counter of the Varsity and asked for seven tickets, he proudly told the teller, “My daughter’s in this film.” He gestured to Nelly and she gave an obligatory smile at the girl in the booth, who looked at her with wide eyes and said, “No kidding!”

“No kidding,” William said, as the girl took his five-dollar bill.

“You’re not the lead?” she said, craning her head to try to see one of the posters flanking the triple sets of doors on either side of the booth. Nelly had glanced at the poster as she’d passed and saw that it was another illustration of Buster and Peanuts on a miniaturized steamboat, with Buster holding an inside-out umbrella over her head.

“Oh, no no no no. I was just an extra,” she said, flushing. Her stomach swooped sickly. She’d barely touched breakfast and had skipped lunch.

“I haven’t seen it yet but I’m going to look for you. What scene are you in?”

“It’s really nothing,” she said, her face growing hot. “Buster is walking down the street looking for his girl and I’m in the background going down one of the sidewalks. I’d be surprised if you could tell it’s me.”

The teller slid William’s change and the paper tickets toward him, still looking completely unconvinced by Nelly’smodesty. “That’s awful neat. I’m going to look for you just as soon as I see the picture. Everyone’s saying it’s an awful good one. Did you ever meet Buster Keaton?”

“No. It was a very big production. There were hundreds of us on the set. I only saw him at a distance,” she said, wanting to escape.

“Now Nelly, that isn’t so. You met Mr. Keaton. You said so,” her mother objected.

Nelly’s heart raced. She didn’t want to see the picture. She didn’t want to talk about Buster. She wanted to be far, far away. Before she could say anything, Ruthie took her arm. “She’s just shy about it, is all, and she’s dying to get inside and see the picture. I hope you don’t mind.. Maybe we’ll catch you when we leave.” With that, she marched Nelly through one of the doors. “Thank you,” said Nelly under her breath, as they entered the theater.

“You feeling okay?” Ruthie said, scrutinizing her.

“Just a stomachache,” she said.

To Nelly’s relief, after the lobby attendant had torn their tickets, Lena’s remarks about not seeing the point in lying about meeting Buster were lost as they pushed through the interior doors into the theater and the children erupted in shrieks of delight. The Varsity was less than two years old and Nelly had only seen a few pictures there before departing for California, but it was as grand as she remembered and grander (she thought) than some of the theaters she had patronized in Sacramento and Hollywood. The auditorium’s blue-velvet seats were centered in what looked like the courtyard of a sixteenth-century French chateau. Plaster reliefs shaped in the white exterior of a chateau with red terra cotta roofs decorated the side walls. Castle turrets rose in the corners on both sides of the stage and the proscenium arch was sculpted in the facade of a castle, with the stage an open drawbridge. The reliefs were studded with sconces that burnt orange as if with true fire and the walls above them were painted dark blue. Minute lights hidden in the upper walls and ceiling above sparkled like stars. The entire effect was so striking that Ruthie scolded Eddie and June only halfheartedly for their outburst.

They found seats toward the front and center, Nelly sitting between her mother and Eddie, with Ruthie and June to her right and William and Gerald to her left. The picture opened with a Laurel and Hardy two-reeler she’d seen before, Flying Elephants. They played cavemen warring for the affections of the same cavegirl. She was too distracted to concentrate on the film, but June sat spellbound and Eddie bounced and flapped his hands. When the short ended, Ruthie dipped into her purse and quietly handed the children a Baby Ruth candy bar apiece. She gave four candy bars to Nelly to pass around. Nelly handed hers back. Ruthie raised an eyebrow and she shook her head. “Stomachache,” she said in a whisper.

Her stomach was genuinely knotted as the title card swam into focus, JOSEPH M. SCHENCK presents BUSTER KEATON in STEAMBOAT BILL, JR., and the organist struck up a cheerful, whimsical tune.

She watched the first few minutes with hot dread. Although the picture was only setting the scene, showing a panoramic view of the river and introducing the other characters, it was somehow worse than seeing Buster off the bat. The anticipation tightened the knot in her stomach. She couldn’t appreciate the realism of the crowds greeting the steamboats (a scene she’d witnessed in person what seemed like years ago) or the street Peanuts whizzed down in her car. The film moved on to a scene of passengers disembarking from a train and Ernest Torrence scanning for his long-lost son, whom she knew would be Buster. She felt faint, as though she were going to be sick.

The train pulled away and there he was, standing on the wrong side of the tracks with his back to the camera in the ridiculous outfit he’d been wearing at their first encounter in his dressing room. She had to blink back tears when he turned around. She’d forgotten how much she missed him. Dozens of memories flooded back, his hands going to his belt buckle in the dressing room, his arm looped in hers as he led her out of the prop house to join the other extras on the street scene, the first dance with him at the Villa, the whiskey and cigarette taste of his mouth during their kiss beneath the stars, the solidness of his shoulder as she cried on it the day she found out about The Taming of the Shrew, his nervous smoking on the car ride to the lakeside cabin, the way he’d pulled her on top of him after they first made love and asked with some anxiety how she’d liked it, his showing up to her apartment in the middle of the night after filming for a month in California, the warmth of his body next to hers in the bed at the bungalow.

Her stomach burnt and she sagged in her seat. The film had barely begun. Two months ago, she would have been delighted for Buster at the audience’s reaction. They laughed at his preposterous outfit, they laughed when the barber whisked his pencil moustache off with the razor, they laughed when he tried on hats, they laughed when he strode onto the rustic steamboat wearing a fancy tailored Navy uniform, but she sat in a state of misery, unable to muster even fake laughter, wishing the children’s joy was infectious. They went into stitches at the hat scene. She tried to think of excuses to leave, but short of becoming physically sick, nothing was plausible. The film wore on. Everyone loved it except for her.

A little over half through, she felt obligated to lean over and say quietly to her mother, “This is my scene.”

“Oh, this is Nelly’s scene,” said Lena to William and Gerald, so loud it was evident she wanted the surrounding rows to hear.

“This is Aunt Nelly’s scene,” Nelly told the children. “Watch the end of the sidewalk.” She pointed. “I’ll be right down there.”

They had done an admirable job of staying relatively quiet to this point, but the sight of the figure on the screen—and really, no one who knew her would be able to tell it was her, she was so far away from the camera—they pointed and shouted, “It’s Aunt Nelly! It’s Aunt Nelly!” She was gone as quickly as she was glimpsed, just two brief shots was all, but the way her family carried it was as though she was the next Bebe Daniels.

“Hush,” Ruthie told the children, but Nelly could hear pride in her voice.

It gave her momentary satisfaction, but that was washed away as more scenes of Buster unspooled. As the picture built toward its climax, she still couldn’t muster any interest. It seemed to last forever. Still the memories came: pushing her broken table against the wall with him so they could do a foxtrot in the confines of her living room, opening a bag lunch he’d had Caruthers prepare for her and finding roast duck and angel food cake, being surprised at devilish things he could do with his tongue when he ducked beneath the bedcovers, watching him stand in the middle of the bungalow acting out gags for Snap Shots, listening to him strum his ukulele and sing “Baby Face.” On screen, he was sliding around on an infirmary bed, dodging falling buildings, and standing nearly horizontal in the wind. She remembered how she’d stood off to the side as the cameras rolled during the facade scene and hoped he wouldn’t be crushed to death. He would have loved the reaction the daredevil stunts were getting, gasps and cries of “Oh my!” The children were clapping and squealing.

Finally, the film was done. Buster rescued Peanuts’ father from the river, was rewarded with a kiss, and went to fish a preacher from the water so they could be married. Everyone in the theater applauded.

The Fosters were bursting with chatter as they stood with the rest of the audience and made their slow way up the aisles.

“That was wonderful, Nelly,” said her father.

“Real fine picture,” Gerald said, shaking her hand.

Even Lena said, “I did very much enjoy that!”

Only Ruthie seemed to cotton that something was amiss. “Sure you’re feeling okay?”

“Fine,” she said. She put on a smile and was relieved that the ticket taker wasn’t in her booth as they filtered out of the theater.

“Now onto the Phoenix!” William said, puffed with success.

The idea of sitting with her family for at least the next hour having to discuss the film was the thing that shattered her brave face. Tears filmed her lower lids and a lump pressed its way into her throat.

“What’s wrong?” said Ruthie, taking her by the elbow.

The tears shivered and rolled fatly down her cheeks. She shook her head. “I can’t go out to eat. I can’t.”

“Why not?” Ruthie looked into her face with concern.

“Why Nelly, what’s the matter?” said her mother.

“What’s wrong with Aunt Nelly?” Eddie asked Gerald.

She could sense a scene coming on. She didn’t want a scene. She wanted to be at home safe in bed crying her eyes out. The tears came fast, dousing her cheeks and chin and upper part of her throat, and her nose began to run. Ruthie put her arm around her shoulder.

“I have a stomachache,” she choked out. “I might be sick.”

“We don’t have to go to the Phoenix. I could run and fetch the car and take you home,” said her father. “It will take me twenty minutes, but if you wait here I can bring the car.”

“No,” she said. “Eddie and June—they’re looking forward.” The tears spilled. “I’m okay. I’m just fine. It’s only my stomach. I don’t want to spoil it for everyone.” She felt like a child having a tantrum, but she couldn’t stop the tears or the attention she was drawing.

“I’ll sit with Nelly for a spell,” Ruthie said firmly. “You go on ahead and I’ll catch up when she feels better.”

“Maybe she ought to be taken home to bed,” said Lena, her forehead pinched. “Anna can give her some peppermint.”

“Mother, it’s just a stomachache,” she managed. “I’m going to be okay.”

With Ruthie’s insistence, the Fosters were persuaded to continue on foot to Davis Street. It was now perhaps a half hour from sunset. The air was warm and the light golden as Ruthie put her arm around Nelly’s waist and steered her left, then left again into the wide alley between the theater and Saville Flowers. Finding a clean spot on the bricks, she pulled her down to the ground with her and extracted a handkerchief from her purse. Nelly was too upset to fret about the silk of her dress snagging on the brick.

Ruthie waited without a word as she finished crying. She was vaguely aware, blowing her nose into the handkerchief and wiping her eyes, that Ruthie had struck a match and was now smoking a cigarette.

She looked over. “You smoke?” she said through her tears.

Ruthie gave a rueful half-smile. “You’re not the only one with secrets.”

It was surprise over this more than anything that staunched her crying. She blew her nose a few more times and opened her handbag to find her mirror. As Ruthie smoked, she drew her eyeliner back on and brushed her lashes with mascara. She scrubbed the watery black tracks of makeup from her cheeks and dusted on some powder. Her face was swollen, but no one would be able to tell she’d been crying unless they looked closely.

“So what really happened to you?” said Ruthie, after she’d stubbed her cigarette out on the bricks. She was trying to sound casual, but her voice was sober, its tone clearly suggesting that Nelly had concealed some dark ruination from her.

Nelly had to laugh. “I wasn’t lying. No one took advantage of me.”

Her sister looked skeptical.

“Well, one night some fellows tried,” she said, recalling the night at the blind tiger. “I got invited to a speak-easy and drank more than I have in my life. They tried to get me into a room with them. They weren’t stars or directors or anything, though, just crew. It was awful stupid of me.”

“My God,” said Ruthie. Her face was pinched with worry. “How’d you get out of it?”

“A knight in shining armor showed up. I don’t remember it. I just remember I woke up in a hotel about to puke my guts out. He got me to the bathroom just in time, then he put me back to bed and he spent the night on a sofa.”

Ruthie’s expression became knowing. “That was Joseph.”

Nelly nodded. She looked down at her feet. She was wearing her Oxfords with the low heel, a habit she’d adopted after she’d started seeing Buster regularly. She wondered whether to be honest with Ruthie.

“His real name is Joseph,” she said after a few moments.

“Whatever do you mean?” said Ruthie, looking at her queerly. “Whose real name is Joseph?”

“It’s Joseph Frank Keaton. Mother called one day and I wanted to get her off the phone. You’d just had Violet. I told her I was having dinner with Joseph. We’d barely even begun seeing each other then, it just came out.”

Ruthie looked as confused as ever, but in a few moments understanding sank in. “You mean Buster Keaton?” she said.

Nelly nodded. “No one calls him Joseph though, not even his mother and father.”

“You were seeing Buster Keaton,” Ruthie repeated in flat disbelief.

“Oh, don’t make me feel guilty,” she said. “I never in a million years dreamed of it. When I went out there I was thinking about John Barrymore. He’s really how this all got started. I wanted to be in this Barrymore picture once we wrapped up with Steamboat and I called Buster—I got his number from Bert, he managed the prop house—I hadn’t seen him in weeks by that time. I felt so foolish after he rescued me at the blind tiger. He sat there watching me throw up, for God’s sake. He even held my hair for me. He told me I took off my stockings and tossed them out the window because I was hot. I was an utter mess. And then I told him he was stupid for doing that scene in the picture where the house falls on him, when we were on set. It could have killed him. It really weighed two tons. So we weren’t on the best footing. The Barrymore picture, though, I heard they were casting and I couldn’t think of anyone else who’d be able to help me get my foot in the door.”

Ruthie was staring at her, stupefied.

“I can go back to the beginning, if you want to hear it,” she said, aware that she probably wasn’t making a great deal of sense.

“Of course I want to hear it!” said Ruthie, squeezing her knee. “I want to hear everything. Every detail. He’s terribly handsome, isn’t he?”

The sun went down and the shadows grew long as she told the story of Buster mistaking her intentions and wounding her feelings when she showed up to his dressing room, the apology that had come in the form of an invitation to be an extra, her rescue from the blind tiger, the angle she’d played trying to land a role in Tempest and the unexpected invitation to his party that had resulted, the kiss underneath the stars, the months of not hearing from him, the collapse of her dream about The Taming of the Shrew, the kiss on her sofa, the invitation to the cabin beside the lake, the things they’d done there both torrid and ordinary, and everything that had come after, down to the ill-fated visit to the Villa while Natalie was away and the Paul Whiteman Orchestra. The shadows grew so long that they moved to an ice cream parlor farther down Sherman Avenue. Ruthie got a root beer float and Nelly drank a cream soda that settled her stomach and prodded at a hot fudge sundae that melted as she finished retelling everything. It felt good to confide in someone after so long. Ruthie listened with only occasional interruptions. Contrary to what Nelly had expected, her demeanor made it plain that she did not disapprove.

When she was done saying what she had to say, Ruthie said simply, “I wish you’d told me before.”

Her sundae was soup by now, but she sipped some of it from her spoon. “I thought you’d be scandalized. I thought you were—well, like Mother I suppose. You’ve done it all as it should be done, by the book.”

Ruthie laughed. “Because I got married too young?”

Nelly took in this eye-opener. “I never knew you thought it was too young. You did what all girls want. The children are beautiful—”

“—and an awful pain in the neck—”

“—and Gerald is—”

“—boring as all get-out.”

“—so good at what he does.”

She stared at Ruthie, whose lips were tight. Although she’d soon realized over the past few weeks that her sister didn’t have it as easy as she once imagined, she’d never thought Ruthie was unhappy.

“He’s a dreadful bore, Nell,” she said, a resigned expression on her face. “All he does is talk about Mr. So-and-So who’s defending Mr. What’s-His-Name and Mr. What’s-His-Name Who’s prosecuting Mr. So-and-So and torts and claims and motions. He’s a cold fish in the bedroom. Sometimes I could just scream.”

She didn’t know what to say.

“I’d rather be a mistress than a wife,” Ruthie continued. “You have it right. Don’t ever go thinking the grass is greener, because it isn’t.”

“I didn’t know,” said Nelly. It was all she could come up with.

“Did you ever consider maybe Buster cared for you more than his wife?” Ruthie said.

“No,” she said, stirring her sundae soup. “I think he cared for me, but now that I think of it I don’t think he ever meant to leave her. Stars get divorced left and right in Hollywood. Nothing would stop him. I saw the way he looked at her at his party. He loves her.”

“Then he’s a coward. If she won’t see to his needs, why does he bother with her? He should face facts. He ought to have stood up to those Talmadges. You’re ten times the catch she is.”

Nelly shook her head, feeling conflicted. “I don’t think it’s that easy. They had him over the barrel with our pictures.” She blushed. She considered whether to tell Ruthie about the picture of Buster. In the spirit of sisterhood, she decided to be open. “I have his still. High up in the closet where the children won’t find it, of course.”

“Oh, you must show me,” Ruthie said, her face lighting up with real eagerness.

Nelly stared at her for a moment, then they both burst into giggles. “It’s so wicked, isn’t it?”

“You could go to the Tribune with it,” Ruthie said with a smirk. “He should have written you. It would serve him right, the coward.”

Even though it was a joke, she said, “I wouldn’t do that to him. And after all, he wanted to find a way to keep it going. I was the one who insisted on coming back home.”

Ruthie glanced around the soda shop as if to make sure no one was listening, although only one other table was occupied and the soda jerk was wiping the countertop. It was close to closing time. “I’m going to say something serious now. I know it will shock you, God knows it’s easier having you around, but don’t be a governess forever.  Don’t give up on your dream just because some jealous old actresses chased you out of town.”

Nelly laughed. “I have every chance of getting into pictures as I do marrying Charles Lindbergh. That’s hardly Buster’s fault.”

“So go back to the theater then. You were always so good at it.”

She finally pushed aside her melted sundae. Since she’d been home, she had avoided all thoughts of acting. It would mean facing the aimlessness of her future and the limitations on it. She already knew she would never return to Hollywood. Though her forced exile from California still made her miserable, she could also see things from a practical perspective. The competition simply could not be overcome. Not only were most of the girls prettier, they were frequently more experienced and many were willing to submit themselves to directors and other powerful men for advantages. Of course, even if she wanted to give it another try, she had been blackmailed. Returning to the theater would be a final admission of defeat in her dream of being on the screen.

She also feared that if she returned, she would find it staler than it had been before her departure for California. She had never been very excited about her short-lived role in the Los Angeles Players Company’s production of Twelfth Night.

“I don’t know,” she said.

“I do know,” said Ruthie. The bell on the door of the ice cream shop jingled. “Oh look, it’s Gerald.”

“I was starting to think you’d been abducted,” he said, his brow pinched as he walked over to their table. He looked relieved to see them. “Walked all over creation trying to find you.”

“Don’t be dramatic, dear,” Ruthie said, as he leaned in and pecked her cheek. She rolled her eyes at Nelly.

“How are you feeling Nelly?” he said, sliding into the seat next to her.

“A little better than I was. I had a soda.”

“But didn’t touch your ice cream. We’ll have to get you out to the Phoenix next weekend. The children went mad for the chop suey and egg rolls. I was very sorry you were missing it. Well, we should get going so Mr. and Mrs. Foster know you’re both alive,” he said, laying a hand on her shoulder.

They walked out of the shop with Gerald between them, their arms in his, and he drove them back to Ashbury Avenue. Ruthie caught her eye a couple times and they both laughed. When they had satisfied William and Lena that Nelly was okay, they collected June and Eddie and drove home. Ruthie persuaded Nelly to have a cold chicken sandwich before she retired to bed, exhausted. Yet even after she was under the covers with her teeth brushed and hair braided, she couldn’t sleep. There was too much to think about. For the first time in weeks, she thought for a long time about her affair with Buster. Ruthie had regarded him as a mixture of debonair, villainous, and cowardly. She was almost sorer about his behavior than Nelly had ever been. Her fondness for him had left him blameless after their affair ended, and she considered for the first time whether she should have been angry with him. Ruthie was persuasive. If he truly had cared for her, maybe he should have fought harder against the Talmadges and pleaded for her not to go. And why hadn’t he written?

Then there was marriage in general to ponder. Was anyone actually happy with it or was everyone just having affairs or dreaming of someone else? She even questioned her parents’ marriage. William was in the city most days of the week. Who was to say he didn’t have a penthouse and a mistress there which enabled him to come home on weekends and tolerate Lena and her frothy, excitable ways? Was the choice as bleak as that, being a mistress who was never quite fulfilled or a wife whose husband either roamed or bored her to death? Her mind turned to the theater, too. Would taking a role in a play be an admission of defeat or a triumphant return? She tossed and turned. All she was certain of was that she missed Buster again. Her chest ached with what she’d lost. She fell asleep after midnight, and her dreams were pained.

Note: Photo source: http://cinematreasures.org/theaters/418/photos/205783

[northernxstories]

Trading in Dignity

It was shocking how quickly it all came to an end. It started in the 2020s and within a decade, after the third global pandemic, they were faced with the worst yet. All the science deniers, those who refused to distance, wear masks and all of that ... well, most of them caught it. Some of them caught it without showing a single symptom. That didn’t matter because approximately eight months after you were infected, after you thought you were all well again, your lungs started to bleed. Nothing could make it stop. You drowned in your own bed, at night, sometimes in mere minutes. Most of the time, you just went to sleep and never woke again. It was grim.

The survivors were rare and the disease progressed so quickly, institutions fell almost overnight. Whole cities became ghost towns. Survivor teams started sweeping, looking for children, infants, pets trapped in houses and then supplies. Survivors came first. There were a lot of supplies. Not that many people.

She was rare and she knew it. Immune. How? No idea. Luck? Genetics? It didn’t matter at the end of the day. The world grieved and cities were abandoned for smaller communities. It wasn’t like in the horror movies or post-apocalypse fiction. No one ate people, bought and sold people, or any of that ridiculousness. For the most part people tried to help one another. Older people banded together to raise the children who survived. With the population reduced in the span of a decade to less than a third, it became very clear that every single human was a necessary addition. Funny how prejudice and differences in sexuality mattered a whole lot less when the end of the human race was at stake. All that shit became real irrelevant real fast.

In a spate of particularly weird coincidence, some communities lost more of a certain type of people. The east coast of North America for example had nearly no men left. It was startling, You could travel for days, scout many towns and communities and find less than a dozen males. West of the Rocky mountains however, the opposite was true. The average was 1 self-identified female to 20 self-identified males (like people were checking - get real). Some communities the ratio was more like 100 to 1. In the mid-west, prairie region, well there was almost no people left there at all. No one knew why they were so hard hit but the coasts survived. Perhaps it was just population distribution. Scientists would be studying it long after she was dead.

So, in a world where you lived with almost 100 men in your community and the number of single women could be counted on one hand, and you wouldn’t need every finger? Yeah. This was fantastic. 

Again, it wasn’t like the books though. She wasn’t chained, or bound or really mistreated in any way. Nope. None of that.

She was a strong survivor. She had a thriving garden and a number of animals of her own. Her house was cute as hell and in really good shape. Her grandmother had taught her to sew and the rest she learned from books. The little town was powered by a local dam that kept the predatory animals such as the dog packs, at bay with electrified fencing in key areas, including around her goats whom the wolves thought looked super yum yum.

But even she needed supplies. I mean, was she going with a raiding party into a city to get tampons and advil? Ummm ... no obviously. That was terrible. That’s how people died! Those places were not safe. It took rigging and expertise she did not have to be on a scavenger team. Plus do you think they would be cool having one of the few women in town go out with them? You’re dreaming if you think that’s gonna happen buddy and no one went without a team. That was a fucking death wish.

So, she had to shop. She had to trade. Fact of life. They didn’t want her tasty preserves or baking. Nope. That they could do for themselves. She traded the one thing that few had around her - her pussy. Fucked up right? 

Prostitution was the oldest game in the book for a reason it turned out. So she went into the store and put in her order for supplies that she needed. Flour, tampons, books for example. There was a tally and a calculation conducted. She was a modest girl. It rarely went above two visits. Then there was a jar. Yup. A fucking jar, with names on it. Men who had paid into the credit system. 

“One” The merchant stated bluntly marking it in his book. 

“One?” She repeated, a little surprised by how light the requirement was. Her list had been pretty long.  

“Yeah, Bernice fell pregnant, she’s off the list until after and maybe permanently since the Bennett brothers are putting serious court to her. All remaining traders just had their value go up.” 

That’s what they called them - traders. Like she was wheeling a cart through town with little jars or something instead of letting men cum in a minimum of two holes per trade. It was awesome. By the way, that was sarcasm in case you can’t tell.

“Nice.” She replied with a nod, “I hope the baby is healthy.” That was the customary statement these days when anyone fell pregnant. You see, the virus didn’t exactly go away and infant mortality was high as fuck. It was depressing as hell. She didn’t know a single woman who didn’t half dread getting knocked up, even if they really wanted to be a mother. It was a huge risk and all too likely to end in just more painful loss. Yay for survival.

“We all do.” the merchant stated sincerely as he pushed the jar toward her. Sliding her hand in, she let slips of paper, card stock that was refreshed so often you couldn’t get a feel for any one particular person, just dance through her fingertips. You just had to stick your hand in and pray to whatever god you might actually believe in that you didn’t get one of the gross old coots who thought bathing was fucking optional. Last time she had one of those she had about forty baths and still felt disgusting.

She pulled out the card and took a deep breath before flipping it over. Both her and the merchant looked surprised. “Well good luck there. Didn’t even know he paid in.” The merchant marked his book and then nodded. “I’ll get your order in as soon as ... you have about four days before you’ll have had to pay up.” 

That was another thing, the man had to confirm you had ‘paid’. However, if that man lied, he was off the books permanently. Not only that but the other men in town usually paid you a visit and beat the holy hell out of you. It was an honour system true but most followed the rules, out of honour or out of necessity, it didn’t matter at the end of the day. Men who might only get one fuck a year with a ‘willing’ woman weren’t about to lose the privilege because you decided to get fucking cute about it.

“Thanks ... Have a good day now.” She replied with a sincere smile. The merchant was a good man after all. He never put his name in and if he found out one of the men was cruel or unkind even, he’d return their credits and tell them to start getting real used to the sweet feel of their left hand because that was about all they were getting from now on. 

She walked through town, that name flipping through her mind. It was just so unexpected. 

Well no time like the present she supposed. She had had a bath last night, given the old cunt a tidy and all that. She had a debt to pay and she just knew she wouldn’t sleep right until it was paid off good and proper. Yes, it was a little fucked up but that was the system and she had lived with it for a while now. Strangely you kinda got used to it. Most men were pretty appreciative about it. 

Walking down the main street, she noted the weird combination of old and new that had blended together in this world. Cars jerry-rigged with solar panels to charge the batteries travelled on the same road as horse-drawn carriages. Kids wore sneakers cause there were still plenty of those left in old stores but paired them with clearly homemade clothes and then spiked them with leather jackets kitted out with studs and chunks of cell phones used as artistic decoration.

She walked until she hit the slight outskirts of the main town area. She could see him now, his arm lifting as he pounded the steel into shape with a large hammer. Farriers, blacksmiths, knife-makers, welders and so on made a nice living in this new world. You could always tell who they were because they smelled like fire and had arms the size of her entire body it seemed. She licked her lips and straightened her back. For the first time in well over a year, she had to admit that she might just be looking forward to this one.

“Hey ...” She greeted. He put down the hammer and shifted up his eye protection, squinting at her in the bright light of day. “Hey.” He replied back, his voice a little gruff. “You looking for something?” He asked.

“Ummm ... pulled your name.” Turns out all the cool things she was saying in her head since pulling his name had just fallen right on out of her brain. Well I wasn’t cool before, she thought bleakly with a tinge of amusement, Guess I’m not now either. Maybe the next apocalypse.

He stopped, frowning lightly as if he wasn’t sure what she was talking about and then his expression cleared and his eyes grew wide. “Oh.” he said. It was actually more of a sound. He cleared his throat. “I ... I  ... yeah. Now?” he queried.

When she nodded, “If you have the time. Otherwise ... I can come back.” I can come back. What the hell, was she Uber Eats? What the fuck is wrong with her?

He shook his head, “Now is good.” He tipped his head toward the interior. “Let me shut this down a bit and then I’ll wash up and be in.” 

He seemed nervous. Why did she like that so much? Maybe she was bored of the older guys who just had you bend over or would just unzip when they saw you coming. No effort man. No fucking effort. Literally. Wham bam, you’ve paid for your groceries Ma’am.

Mr. Muscles here better put in some damn effort at least.

[aroacehogwarts]

not necessarily a /hogwarts/ hc but i love the concept of autistic aroace enby newt scamander and autistic aro tina goldstein being qpps and stimming with each other all the time?

(We love headcanons from all over the magical world, but who says this can’t be a Hogwarts headcanon?)

Catch Newt and Tina in some remote corner of the library at Newt’s alma mater. Tina’s latest assignment requires some obscure texts that are only known to exist at Hogwarts, and she has received special permission by the headmaster and MoM to conduct her research for as long as needed. Newt comes as her assistant, (one who may be planning to sneak some of the rare magizoology books ne wasn’t able to read before ne was expelled into nir piles for Tina’s research).

The morning of their journey Newt leads Tina through King’s Cross, onto Platform 9 ¾, and onto that all too familiar train. Tina had only seen her qpp hand flapping this happily when ne was with nir creatures. Throughout the entire trip Newt recounts all of nir favorite memories of school as ne lies on the seat with nir head in Tina’s lap and Tina running her fingers through nir soft, brown curls.

When they finally make it to Hogsmeade they check into the inn and visit a few of the shops, only making it to Honeydukes within minutes of closing. They strategize about how they will tackle Hogwarts library’s seemingly endless shelves over some cauldron cakes before going to sleep. It’s a night that they both want to be close, but Newt feels a little overstimulated by that point. They crawl under the sheets and fall asleep to each other’s slow, soft breathing, not cuddling but just as intimate.

The next morning they have a hardy breakfast at the Hog’s Head. Newt overflows with questions for Aberforth about the creatures kept on the castle grounds and of course Aberforth’s goats. Tina can’t help but giggle. Their joy is infectious.

But, once TIna and Newt leave Hogsmeade and say goodbye to the thestral pulling their carriage, Newt grows quiet. On the front steps of the castle that was nir home for so many years, Tina offers her hand. Newt gratefully accepts it, and TIna pushes open the enormous doors, feeling centuries of magic infused in the wood and metal. Tina leads her qpp into the place ne loved and lost for so many years; but, since she has never been there, Newt joins her in the lead. Newt leads the way to the library, but Tina gives nem the confidence to do so.

They hadn’t said a word since entering the castle, but upon entering the library the mandated silence feels oppressive with so much excitement bubbling to the surface. Tina can’t help but let out a small a small “skree!” Immediately drawing the (even louder) censure of the librarian who appears out of nowhere. “How did she do that!? You can’t apparate in the castle.” “There was a theory while I was at school that she is an unregistered moth animagus.” Both are a little rattled, but they pass the librarian and enter the forest of books.

They spend all day in the library, sitting crisscross on the floor inside a book-pile fortress that only grows whenever either of them return from another search. Tina loves the feel of old parchment, and Newt loves the feel of Tina’s coat. They stim with those favorite textures through hours and hours of reading.

It’s when the shadows get long and Newt lights and levitates a few candles ”Our own little Great Hall!” that Tina screams again. She jabs at a passage in the enormous book balanced on her lap. Newt listens intently as Tina explains at an incredible pace while pulling over books from her inner piles. She’s found it! The answers they traveled across the world for! Newt pulls her into a tight hug, and she pulls nem in too. They stay like that for a long while, revelling in the pressure stim as well as the physical and emotional closeness. After a bit Tina reluctantly pulls away and copies the text from the book onto her own parchment. She stows it away and pulls out her wand to levitate a stack of books. Newt stops her.

“Don’t bother,” ne says. “The librarian will want to make sure every book makes it to the right place.” Tina is hesitant as that seems a bit rude, but follows her qpp’s lead. And ne’s right; when ne tells the librarian about their abandoned piles of books her face lights up and she disappears in the direction the two of them had come.

Before they leave, Newt takes nir qpp’s hand and leads her to nir favorite part of the library: the aroace safe space. There are some leather-bound books from the magical world, some muggle paperbacks, and lots of student-made pamphlets and zines about being on the aro and ace spectra. Tina is amazed by how much information and affirmation the aspec students of Hogwarts have; she wishes she had had the same at Ilvermorny. Before they leave they write pride-filled encouragements to anyone who finds comfort in this cozy little space.

That night they fall asleep holding each other close, feeling understood, accepted, and loved by each other and so many others.

- Ravenclaw Mod

[conductivefabric5]

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[zoebulukaki]

Art in Liverpool

In this lecture we looked at the various artist which began their career in Liverpool and the way each one of them conducted their practice. 

William Holman Hunt’s ‘Scapegoat’, followed his interest in religious subjects for his paintings and a determination to paint directly from nature culminated in his first trip to the Holy Land in 1854/6. Here he could pursue his desire to paint religious narratives in the landscape in which they took place. He travelled to Jerusalem in June 1854 and then on to Oosdoom, on the southern shore of the Dead Sea, in October of that year. He bought a rare, white goat in Jerusalem then spent about ten days working on the Lady Lever canvas at Oosdoom, painting the distant mountains and lake and making sketches of the goat. When poor weather forced Hunt to return to Jerusalem for the winter, the goat died on the journey home. By early 1855, Hunt had purchased another goat for use as a model and completed its image and the sky in his Jerusalem studio, having waited most of the winter for the right sort of clouds. In his diary he describes standing the long-suffering goat in a tray of salt and mud, collected in Oosdoom, to create the dried and cracked lake shore beneath his hoofs. In March he bought a camel skeleton and borrowed an ibex skull from a friend to add these grisly details to the painting.

The James Abbott McNeill Whistler ‘Peacock room’ was  was the dining room of the London home of shipping magnate Frederick Leyland. It was designed to showcase Leyland’s collection of Asian ceramics, with Whistler’s painting La Princesses du pays de la porcelain (1863-64) featured over the mantle. Asked to consult on the colour scheme for the room, Whistler took bold, if not egregious liberties while Leyland and his architect were away and in a fit of enthusiasm painted the entire room, executing his now famous peacocks over the expensive Italian leather wall panels. The collector sued the artist for the large sum of money Whistler charged to Leyland’s account, and Whistler, in response, painted an unflattering caricature of his patron titled The Gold Scab.

While in the band “the Beatles”, Stuart Sutcliffe was torn by this concept that his art was suffering due to his time with the band, nevertheless he continued with the band but remained as active as possible with his painting. In 1961, he left the band and studied with the famous Eduardo Paolozzi at the art school.  Sutcliffe started school full time in Hamburg and Paolozzi considered him to be a very talented student. He wrote that he was “very gifted and very intelligent” in one of his evaluations and became one of the best students in the school. He sold some works and continued to improve with the help of Paolozzi.

Walsh began a teacher-training course in Liverpool and continued to show his work around England, sharing wall space with the likes of Peter Blake, David Hockney and Patrick Hughes. At this time, Adrian Henri described him as a 'portrait painter for money and an abstract painter for love’.

'The Dinner Party' (1980), a bold and detailed assembly of sitters from all periods of his life, including his neighbour, solicitor, ex-wife, partner, bank manager, and friends and contemporaries Adrian Henri, Roger McGough and Maurice Cockrill. The composition, a series of 23 heads (two of which were him) posed in recessional profile along two sides of a table, was inspired by Millais's 'Isabella' in the collection of the Walker Art Gallery. 

In conclusion, this lecture was quite pleasant, as I got to see the connection of Liverpool to great artists and the way that has shaped the city we know now.  

[girlbookwrm]

i can’t believe i’m doing this

@jhscdood​ listen i got No Time to write the fics for this right now, but have some Fellowship of the Pod People (but not like that) Headcanons.

@ all of the rest of you, please for Eru’s sake help yourselves: literally nothing would make me happier than to have someone else write this shit so i could read it like the lazy asshole i am.

None of this will make a DAMN LICK OF SENSE if you aren’t familiar with the Not Your Mama’s ABO Clownfish AU that @silentwalrus1​ created with @skellerbvvt​ and @galwednesday​ in the Magnificently Weird MCU Stucky Gem Scents & Sensibility 

shit this got hella long don’t look at me but please all feel free to correct/expand/modify because I just whipped these off to decompress after a long day

The Númenóreans are responsible for all that “reef” “pod” and assorted “fishy” terminology, so while “pod” “reef” etc may be the accepted academic names, they’re often replaced with local variants and colloquialisms. The Númenóreans picked this linguistic quirk up from the sea-obsessed Noldor elves, so it’s sometimes used in Rivendell and Lothlorien too.

(The Sindar elves fucking hate that)

(Sindar use bee euphemisms instead. It’s all “hives” and “skeps” etc etc etc. Try to tell me Thranduil isn’t a Queen Bee. I FUCKIN DARE U. The wine is all honey mead. Hex honeycomb aesthetic for the win. Even the dungeons.)

(FYI Dwarves ALSO have a Hexagonal Aesthetic and that just Really Gets Thranduil’s Goat.)

everyone’s got their own local names for alphas and omegas too because seriously who fucking came up with that, i bet there’s a whole appendix at the end of the red book about terminology and shit

(Now I’m having meta thoughts about linguistics and there being a clownfish!Tolkien to go with the clownfish!Middle Earth. And now I’m thinking about the Inklings being a pod and if i follow THAT rabbit hole any further I’ll fu cki ng  AS C E N DHJKfghjk.)

Anyway

Men smell gross. Everyone else is agreed upon this. Unflattering comparisons to badgers and weasels have been made.

This makes “MANFLESH” 12000% more hilarious ur welcome

it’s funny cuz Men are big into perfumes. Incense! Herb Sachets! Oils and tinctures! Have you ever seen a olde tyme perfumers’ box? That kinda shit. Everyone has their Signature Smell.

but elves especially are like you still smell like man stop trying to hide it.

The Dúnedain embrace The Musk. (some have fully weaponized it)

this is very important: Aragorn Smells Amazing. (to be clear, still very Man Smelling, but awesome. first time he goes all I AM UR KING everyone in the throne room goes a little glassy eyed.)

Minas Tirith, being old, is very Old Numenorean Oceanic Aesthetic. Give me all that white stone carved to look like coral and driftwood holy shit YES. 

WHITE! TREE!! GARDEN!!! 

ATHELAS!!!! SCENTED!!!!! EVERYTHING!!!!!! (pairs well with lemon and other citrus smells.)

veering away from Gondor now

The Rohirrim stick with horse metaphors because of course they fucking do. Also, since they’re more nomadic, the entire concept of a “reef” as in a physical structure is kind of ??????? to them. So. “Reefs” = “herds” and “pods” = “bands.” 

Fresh Hay is considered to be Peak Homely Smell in Edoras. Tapestries! Only The Softest and Nicest and Most Beautifully Tooled leather! leather smells!

OH SHIT GIVE ME ALPHA-FOR-LIFE-EOWYN MEETING FOREVER!OMEGA FARAMIR *HEAVY BREATHING*

(oh shit while we’re in the neighborhood, Dúnedain Rangers tend to be solitary As, which spooks the natives like whoa, but the Ithilien Rangers are generally O, and their waterfall hideout is totes a big ole reef.)

hang on i forgot about elves

Listen, I’m not super into elves myself but I’m imagining that they are perpetually switching back and forth between A and O depending on the day — nay, the HOUR — and the extremes between A and O are much less extreme for them than other races.

Every other race finds this super weird and disturbing.

Legolas is like “hm this forest is making me feel very O.” And Aragorn and Gimli are just like ‘what’ and then suddenly Leggy smells very O too and Aragorn and Gimli are like ‘WHAT’

Feänor is the exception. He turned the dial all the way to A and broke the goddamn knob off.

Galadriel can go from Maximum Softe O to Roid Rage A in .0004 seconds. “iiiinstead of a dark lord yyYYOU WOULD HAVE A QUEEEEEEN!!!1!” and the Hobbits are literally bowled over.

Elves in general smell woody but also very ocean-y i think? Have you ever stood in a pine forest by the ocean, where you get those light, clean wood and cedar and pine smells all shot through with sea breeze? Like That.

But elves are more into visual/audio. Soft singing. Leaves moving in the breeze. The whisper of pages in a library. 

and the light. Elves are lighting wizards, they are all about that gentle starglow.

(I’m also having thoughts about the Lothlorien Elves embracing that A-ish urge to be Up High. A holdover from Galadriel’s time with the feanoreans? I'm not as up on silm lore as I should be)

but let’s get back to my happy place: 

THE MUTHAFUCKIN SHIIIIIIIIRE

Hobbits really embrace dat sweet sweet O lifestyle. good food and warm hearths. throw blankets and pillows. hugging and cuddle puddles and playing footsie. gardens. Gardens. G A R D E N S. 

“Going A” is done as rarely as possible. the transition takes about a month and Hobbits who are “going A” tend to call in sick like it’s some unsightly thing. 

Tooks have an unusually high rate of going A. Of course they do.

Bilbo has never gone A. Not! Once!

Neither has Frodo.

Sam did, after the breaking of the Fellowship. Merry and Pippin did, in Fangorn, when they grew six inches. The three of them all stayed A after that, for the most part. YES EVEN SAMWISE. it was v scandalous.

Hobbit “reefs” are called “warrens” (unless ur rich, then they’re Smials and they’re Only For Family) and their “pods” are “nests.” “Nesting” is a whole Thing.

Hobbits! Smell! Like! Baked! Goods! Not sweet but like… warm. Humans sometimes turn their noses up and call it a “yeasty” or “beery” smell but it’s usually much more a rising-bread smell. Pipeweed smoke and sweet florals make a nice contrast to the perpetual bakery window smell.

Hobbits are very mouth/taste/chew oriented. Mouthfeel is a Big Deal. Recipe Books are Heirlooms. Courting is frequently Food/Drink Oriented.

Rosie Cotton brews the finest ale in all the land and she did that for the express purpose of seducing Samwise Gamgee

He Did Not Realize.

Courting that is not food/drink oriented is Flower/Plant oriented.

Sam Gamgee became the finest gardener in all the land in the desperate hope of wooing Mr. Frodo.

He Did Not Realize.

Everyone Else Realized. Merry and Pippin especially considered it Peak Comedy.

(they eventually worked it out.)

last but not least:

there’s just no way around it. Dwarves smell like dirt. nice dirt tho! Petrichor and stone with hints of copper and metals. Smoke smells. Rich spice smells. Eau de forge is considered a particularly desirable perfume. Dwarves don’t particularly notice smell though (for reasons that will become apparent) when it comes to Softe Things they’re much more about dem sweet sweet sparklies, and fur, and being super fucking tactile.

Dwarves are SUPER into haircare, like, every night the Company of Thorin makes a braid circle and exchanges hair beads. 

(elves are also super into hair care. this too really Gets Tharanduil’s Goat)

Dwarf social structure is like… hobbits in reverse. They tend to default to A status, hence their general rowdiness but with strict codes of conduct to help manage conflict. They’re just these huge roving groups of A’s just rough-and-tumbling around their one O. dogpiles are peak pod bonding. aaaaand the alpha reek kind of tends to make them all a little noseblind.

Poor Bilbo.

Lucky, Lucky Bilbo.

But also poor, poor Bilbo.

Most dwarf Royals go O, but Thorin hadn’t been O since he was 24 and got chased out of Erebor by that pesky dragon.

Dwarf “reefs” and “pods” have their own terms in Khuzdul that do not translate well but have to do with crystal growth. Rough translations are “lattices” and “cells” (Hence the hexagon aesthetic)

Wizards Have No Designation. They Smell Like Gunpowder and Lightning. It Is Very Disturbing For Everyone Around Them.

A

N

Y

W

A

Y

Give me EveryoneLives!au Hobbit stuff. Bilbo trying to homely up the lonely mountain! Thorin going O and chilling the fuck out as a result! 

Give me fellowship!pod!! Aragorn is the diplomat! Pippin is the wild child! Gimli is the Adventurer! Frodo is the peacekeeper! Boromir is the den mother!

How Much More Heartrending is the Breaking of the Fellowship if the fellowship was a pod????

and then you’ve got the fractured podlings: Merry and Pippin bonding hard with their new Rohan and Gondor stress-pods. Sam going A to protect Frodo from Gollum while Frodo tries to adopt this weird frog into their pod. The Three Hunters as Nick, Nora and Nelson (Gimli is Nick, Leggy is Nora, Aragorn is Nelson.)

Give me post-war Legolas and Aragorn and Gimli (and Arwen too) breaking cultural boundaries and proving that yes! Interracial Pods Can Work! these differences are cultural, and cultures can be melded! nothing wrong with this! if half-elves exist and can have kids of their own, then elves and men are not separate species, and I’d bet a significant limb that the same is true of all the other races so

GIVE IT TO ME

ok i gotta stop now.

...

yeah there’s probably a star trek one of these coming too

kill me

(And hey jhscdood I’m not saying you have to come back at me with more lotr clownfish or ocean’s 11/Star Wars/M*A*S*H/Leverage/West Wing/whatever clownfish But I would certainly consider it a Fair Exchange if you did. MORE INSTITUTIONALIZED SOFTISM. MAXIMUM SOFT FISH FRIENDS.)

[dfroza]

in this life, we have to choose who our King, or king will be.

either as God our Creator and King, or self, or someone or something else.

worship isn’t a choice. we all worship something, no matter what. the heart was designed this way.

in Today’s reading Paul describes his change of heart, from following what he thought was right in his own eyes, to seeing that he was actually fighting against God.

Today’s reading of the Scriptures from the New Testament is the 22nd chapter of the book of Acts:

Paul: Brothers and fathers, please let me defend myself against these charges.

When they heard him speaking Aramaic, a hush came over the crowd.

Paul: I am a Jew, born in Tarsus in Cilicia. I was raised here in Jerusalem and was tutored in the great school of Gamaliel. My education trained me in the strict interpretation of the law of our ancestors, and I grew zealous for God, just as all of you are today. I encountered a movement known as the Way, and I considered it a threat to our religion, so I persecuted it violently. I put both men and women in chains, had them imprisoned, and would have killed them— as the high priest and the entire council of elders will tell you. I received documentation from them to go to Damascus and work with the brothers there to arrest followers of the Way and bring them back to Jerusalem in chains so they could be properly punished. I was on my way to Damascus. It was about noon. Suddenly a powerful light shone around me, and I fell to the ground. A voice spoke: “Saul, Saul, why do you persecute Me?” I answered, “Who are You, Lord?” The voice replied, “I am Jesus of Nazareth, the One you persecute.”

My companions saw the light, but they didn’t hear the voice. I asked, “What do You want me to do, Lord?” The Lord replied, “Get up and go to Damascus; you will be given your instructions there.” Since the intense light had blinded me, my companions led me by the hand into Damascus. I was visited there by a devout man named Ananias, a law-keeping Jew who was well spoken of by all the Jews living in Damascus. He said, “Brother Saul, regain your sight!” I could immediately see again, beginning with Ananias standing before me. Then he said, “You have been chosen by the God of our ancestors to know His will, to see the Righteous One, and to hear the voice of God. You will tell the story of what you have seen and heard to the whole world. So now, don’t delay. Get up, be ceremonially cleansed through baptism, and have your sins washed away, as you call on His name in prayer.”

I returned to Jerusalem, and I was praying here in the temple one day. I slipped into a trance and had a vision in which Jesus said to me, “Hurry! Get out of Jerusalem fast! The people here will not receive your testimony about Me.” I replied, “But Lord, they all know that I went from synagogue to synagogue imprisoning and beating everyone who believed in You. They know what I was like and how I stood in approval of the execution of Stephen, Your witness, when he was stoned. I even held the coats of those who actually stoned him.” Jesus replied, “Go, for I am going to send you to distant lands to teach the outsiders.”

They were listening quietly up until he mentioned the outsiders.

Crowd (shouting): Away with him! Such a man can’t be allowed to remain here. Kill him! He must die!

Chaos broke out again. People were shouting, slamming their coats down on the ground, and throwing fistfuls of dust up in the air. The commandant ordered the soldiers to bring Paul to the barracks and flog him until he confessed to whatever he had done to stir up this outrage.

Back at the barracks, as they tied him up with leather thongs, Paul spoke to a nearby officer.

Paul: Is this legal—for you to flog a Roman citizen without a trial?

The officer went and spoke to the commandant.

Officer: What can you do about this? Did you know this fellow is a Roman citizen?

Commandant (rushing to Paul’s side): What’s this? Are you really a Roman citizen?

Paul: Yes.

Commandant: I paid a small fortune for my citizenship.

Paul: I was born a citizen.

Hearing this, those who were about to start the flogging pulled back, and the commandant was concerned because he had arrested and bound a citizen without cause. He still needed to conduct an investigation to uncover the Jews’ accusations against Paul. So the next day, he removed the ties on Paul and called a meeting with the chief priests and council of elders. He brought Paul in and had him stand before the group.

The Book of Acts, Chapter 22 (The Voice)

Today’s paired chapter of the Testaments is the 13th chapter of the book (scroll) of Isaiah that points to an act of God’s Judgment against wrongdoing:

The burden of Babylon (Isaiah, Amoz’s son, saw this message):

Eternal One: Raise a signal on a bare mountaintop;

flash the message; broadcast it widely.

Shout out to the nations to assemble an army;

wave them on and welcome them at the gates of the nobles.

I have enlisted them to be the ones to execute My fierce anger.

They are mine—I have commanded and consecrated them—these high and mighty ones.

Listen! There is restlessness and rumbling on the mountains,

as a powerful company assembles.

Listen! There is an uproar among the nations

as they gather their might together.

The Eternal, Commander of heavenly armies,

is mustering an army—thousands, maybe millions—for war.

They come from lands far away,

beyond distant horizons.

That’s where the Eternal calls up His weapons of wrath—

in order to destroy the whole land!

Cry out in terror!—the time is coming;

the day of the Eternal is nearly here,

Violence and destruction as only God-All-Powerful can wreak.

This is why all hands will shake and tremble;

every heart will flutter and melt.

People will be paralyzed with fear, weakened with terror.

Taut and shaking, they’ll be overcome like a woman in labor.

They’ll look to each other dumbfounded,

their faces flushed with fear.

See here! The fury of God has been building and is too great to stop;

the day of the Eternal is nearly here.

It will come down in all its cruelty, fury, and fiery anger,

to make the land a wasteland, to wipe out all who failed God.

For the stars that define the constellations in the heavens

will fail to give their light.

The sun will go dark even when it’s high in the sky;

the moon will not shine.

Eternal One: I will turn the world’s wrongdoings back on itself.

I will punish those who act wickedly.

I will stop the arrogant musings of the proud and pompous,

and make them puny and weak.

People will be a rarity in the land,

like great chunks of gold from Ophir.

Like nothing you’ve ever dreamed,

the heavens will tremble and the earth itself will rock out of place,

When the fury of the Eternal, Commander of heavenly armies, is unleashed

and the power of God’s anger is loosed.

Then, in their confusion and distress,

like a hunted gazelle or a neglected stray sheep,

They will turn to their own people and run for whatever seems safe;

they’ll try to escape to their own land.

The terror rages on. Anyone who’s found will be run through with a sword.

Those who are caught will die by its cruel edge.

Their babies will be dashed to pieces on the rocks as they look on in horror;

their houses will be ransacked, and their wives will be raped.

See, I’m rousing up the Medes against them; they are a people

who kill indiscriminately and can’t be bribed off with silver or gold.

The young warriors will fall before their arrows;

not even infants or toddlers will receive mercy at their hands.

But afterward, the awesome and mighty city Babylon, pride of the Chaldeans,

will be razed to the ground like Sodom and Gomorrah, which God destroyed.

It’ll never be inhabited again, and future generations will never call it home;

there Arab nomads won’t pitch their tents; shepherds won’t rest their flocks.

Only desert animals will occupy the deserted city;

owls will nest in their formerly swept-clean houses.

Mangy jackals and wild goats will roam among the rubble

and romp among the ruins.

Hyenas will prowl around and howl among its towers;

jackals will haunt its formerly palatial palaces;

Babylon’s time of destruction is coming; her days are numbered.

The Book of Isaiah, Chapter 13 (The Voice)

A link to my personal reading of the Scriptures for monday, june 21 of 2021 with a paired chapter from each Testament of the Bible along with Today’s Proverbs and Psalms

A post by John Parsons about God’s Justice:

Shalom friends! Our Torah reading for this week is named after an ancient Moabite king entitled “Balak” (i.e., בָּלָק, “the destroyer”) who sought to curse Israel by hiring the services of a wicked Midianite “prophet” named “Balaam” (i.e., בִּלְעָם, “one set above the people”). It begins this way: “And Balak the son of Zippor saw all that Israel had done to Amalek and grew fearful.... King Balak’s plan was to employ Balaam’s sorcery (i.e., kashafut: כַּשָׁפוּת) against the Israelites to prevent them from entering the Promised Land. Similar to the delicious irony that befell the villain Haman in the Book of Esther, however, King Balak’s scheme was upended, and the curse he sought to put on the Jewish people was repeatedly pronounced as a blessing by Balaam instead. After several foiled attempts, Balak fretfully dismissed the prophet, but before departing from the dejected king, Balaam ironically prophesied the destruction of the Moabites and the victorious establishment of Israel. Some peoples lives, it seems, are meant to serve as warning of the dangers of self-destruction.... The shameful story of Balaam reveals that "there is no enchantment against Jacob, no divination against Israel" (Num. 23:23). Ein od milvado (אֵין עוֹד מִלְבַדּו) - no weapon or scheme devised against God will ever prosper (Isa. 54:15-17). [Hebrew for Christians]

6.20.21 • Facebook

Today’s message (Days of Praise) from the Institute for Creation Research

June 21, 2021

Jesus Christ Is Lord

“That at the name of Jesus every knee should bow, of things in heaven, and things in earth, and things under the earth; And that every tongue should confess that Jesus Christ is Lord, to the glory of God the Father.” (Philippians 2:10-11)

Often this passage is thought of as an admission by all sentient beings of the deity of the Lord Jesus—and it certainly is that. There surely will come a point in time in which “every thing that hath breath” will praise the Lord (Psalm 150:6). Those of us who are the twice-born will do so with great joy. Those who have chosen to reject the gospel will also do so—but with overwhelming terror (Proverbs 1:27).

However, the foundational passage from which the New Testament quotes, and by which it twice applies the event, is found in Isaiah 45:22-23: “Look unto me, and be ye saved, all the ends of the earth: for I am God, and there is none else. I have sworn by myself, the word is gone out of my mouth in righteousness, and shall not return, That unto me every knee shall bow, every tongue shall swear.”

Our verse today applies the Isaiah passage to the great final judgment referred to in Revelation 20. Other insights in Revelation cite some of the songs we may sing and something of the ceremonies and pageantry associated with the celebration of Christ’s formal assumption of His role as King.

The first New Testament quotation of Isaiah 45:23 is in Romans 14:11-12. Here, Paul applies the judgment to an open report of our deeds: “So then every one of us shall give account of himself to God.” Surely this broader sight should strengthen our resolve to “please him who hath chosen him to be a soldier” (2 Timothy 2:4). HMM III

[kathleenseiber]

A US ban on kangaroo leather is a missed farming opportunity

A ban could be an animal welfare disaster.

By George Wilson, Australian National University, and John Read

The US Congress is considering a proposed law to ban the import and sale of kangaroo parts. Backed by a campaign called Kangaroos Are Not Shoes, the bill is aimed at stopping Nike, Adidas and other big brands from using kangaroo leather in their products.

Supporters of the bill decry the “mass slaughter of kangaroos – more than two million a year”.

We have a combined 80 years experience in kangaroo management. In our view, this proposal is one of the most comprehensive own goals in history of improving kangaroo welfare. Our research shows the kangaroo industry leads to better kangaroo welfare, more stable populations and improved conservation outcomes.

Weakening the industry will result in more kangaroo suffering, not less. If the bill succeeds, it would further suppress global demand for kangaroo products, and allow unregulated, uncontrolled and unmonitored killing by amateur hunters to flourish.

The bill aims to prevent major sports brands from making products, such as shoes, from kangaroo leather. Shutterstock

The industry state of play

Kangaroos are widely dispersed and abundant on the temperate Australian rangelands where cattle and sheep are raised. Over the past 200 years their numbers have increased steadily due to greater availability of pasture, increased watering points, dingo control and less Indigenous hunting. In the rangelands where aerial surveys are conducted, the kangaroo population is estimated at more than 40 million.

Harvesting of kangaroos in Australia is tightly controlled by state and federal governments, and quotas are set to ensure only a sustainable proportion of kangaroos are commercially harvested.

The graph below shows how only a tiny proportion of Australia’s kangaroo populations is harvested commercially each year, and at numbers far less than quotas allow.

In 2018 for example, the kangaroo population in commercial harvest areas in New South Wales, Queensland, South Australia and Western Australia was about 42.6 million. The following year, a sustainable quota of 6.2 million was set (about 15% of the population). However, just 1.6 million kangaroos, or about 3.7% of the population, were harvested.

The commercial kangaroo industry employs accredited, licensed shooters who kill kangaroos in the field at night using high-powered spotlights and rifles. A national code of practice requires that kangaroos are shot in the head and die immediately.

Abattoirs reject carcasses not killed with a headshot. Commercial shooters must not target females with obvious young in their pouch or at foot. If a mother is shot, the joeys must also be killed using sanctioned methods.

Kangaroo meat is sold in Australia – to the food service industry, retail outlets and as pet food – and exported to many countries.

National kangaroo population estimates, harvest quotas and actual harvest. Data from Department of Agriculture, Water and the Environment.

Managing kangaroo numbers

Kangaroo numbers decline in droughts and rise in good seasons. They roam from property to property, and in and out of national parks, seeking best pastures in response to local rainfall.

Overabundant kangaroos are a serious issue for threatened plants and animals and revegetation programs. They also compromise landholders’ ability to manage their properties. For example, during drought, kangaroos graze on valuable pasture, making it harder for farmers to keep cattle alive.

Because the commercial industry harvests so few kangaroos, landholders must take steps to prevent the animals from damaging their properties. They erect fences around clusters of properties, often with government support, to exclude kangaroos from pastures and watering points.

They use amateur shooters and even illegal poisons, to reduce kangaroo numbers on their properties. Our research shows the number of permits for non-commercial culling of kangaroos is increasing and in recent years exceeded the commercial harvest.

Overabundance can also affect the welfare of the animals themselves. During the recent drought, for example, millions of kangaroos starved and breeding was suppressed, causing kangaroo numbers to fall markedly.

According to the NSW Department of Primary Industries and the RSPCA, professional marksmen, operating within a commercial industry, are the most humane way to manage kangaroo populations.

When kangaroo kills are brought in for processing, regulators can monitor the industry’s compliance with welfare codes. Such monitoring is nonexistent with amateur culling.

We believe a further decline in the kangaroo industry – the goal of the proposed US legislation – will lead to worse animal welfare outcomes. It will prompt more amateur culling, and risks mass kangaroo starvation in the next drought.

Kangaroos are currently considered pests by many landholders and farmers. Shutterstock

Where to now?

We welcome the Australian government’s opposition to the bill. Regardless of whether the bill succeeds, a broader question remains: what should Australia’s future kangaroo industry look like?

We believe an alternative vision is required – one in which consumer demand for kangaroo products increases. Landholders would then consider kangaroos, including the young, valuable rather than pests – creating a form of custodianship and an incentive to integrate kangaroos with other farm enterprises. This would lead to more effective management and animal welfare outcomes.

Key to encouraging farmers to value kangaroos is increasing public demand for – and therefore the price of – kangaroo products. But in recent years, demand has been falling. For example, in 2016 California banned the import of kangaroo skins. This rendered them worthless and led to a processing plant at Broken Hill discarding them as town waste. Our research found in 2018 a kangaroo was worth as little as A$13 – much less than goats (A$70), sheep (A$100) or cattle (A$800).

Demand for kangaroo products could be increased by promoting:

the positive health attributes of kangaroo meat

the leather’s high strength-to-weight ratio

the ethical advantages of field harvesting.

The positive attributes of kangaroo products should be promoted. Shutterstock

Kangaroos can benefit landholders in other ways. Their soft feet cause less damage to soils than hard-hooved introduced livestock. And farmers could earn carbon credits through better management of grazing pressures and substituting high-emission meat and leather for kangaroo alternatives.

We urge the federal government to show leadership and work with the states to improve kangaroo management. Doing so would seem a great project for the Future Drought Fund.

A stronger kangaroo industry integrated with the other red meat industries, delivering high-value products, is possible. But the US bill is not the right way forward.

George Wilson, Honorary Professor, Australian National University and John Read, Associate Lecturer, Ecology and Environmental Sciences

This article is republished from The Conversation under a Creative Commons license. Read the original article.

A US ban on kangaroo leather is a missed farming opportunity published first on https://triviaqaweb.weebly.com/

[pilferingapples]

For @lesmiserablesfashions , a little bit about beards: 

In the late 1820s and through the 1830s, Beards , in Paris especially, were a definite sign of being counterculture. They were famously Romanticist, usually republican, and just generally the sort of thing to make Proper Respectable people clutch their pearls.  The Beard Thing is mentioned pretty much every time people talk about Bouzingos , and as Hugo says 

From time to time parties resole their old terms of insult.  In 1832 , the word  “bousingot”filled the interim between the word “Jacobin”, which was worn out, and the word “demagogue”, then almost unused, but which has since done such excellent service. (Les Mis)

This level of Social Coding only applied to full beards, though-- men wore moustaches and mutton chops the whole time, and a few Only Slightly Daring types might even try out a small chin-tuft. But the more a guy’s facial hair approached the realm of the Actual Beard, the more Scandalous it became. 

Finding all the mentions of Beards As A Sign of Rebellion in the reading I’ve done would be entertaining, but would also take, alas, several hours of time at the least, since I can’t just Ctrl+F my paper books :P But here’s a few quotes from some writers we know to give you an idea of how the whole Beard Issue was still remembered!

From Gautier’s History of Romanticism(talking about Petrus Borel )

A beard, fine, silky, full, scented with benzoin, and cared for as a Sultan’s beard might be, framed in a dark shadow his pale and handsome face. A beard! A very ordinary matter in France nowadays, but at that time there were but two in the country: Eugene Déveria’s and Pétrus Borel’s. It required absolutely heroic self-possession and contempt of the multitude to wear one. And mark that when I say beard, I do not mean mutton-chop or fin-shaped whiskers, or a tip or a tuft, but a genuine, full, complete beard, one to make a man shudder. 

(See, there’s your fashion plate Deveria!:D He and Borel were definitely Revolution Buddies, in fashion and in practice.) 

From Count of Monte Cristo, by Alex Dumas, talking about Edmond fresh out of prison: 

“I am was almost loathe to do it (save Edmond from drowning)-- with your six-inch beard and hair a full foot long, you look more like a brigand than an honest sailor!”

and

The barber looked in astonishment at this man, with his long hair and thick black beard, who resembled one of those fine heads by Titian.At that time it was not yet the fashion to wear one’s beard and hair long; nowadays a barber would rather be surprised that a man who could enjoy such physical attributes would wish to deprive himself of them. 

(As George Sand points out, being visibly a Bouzingo/Bousingot was also legitimately dangerous:

They were called Bousingots because of the sailor hats of that name, made of shiny leather, which they adopted as their rallying sign. Later they wore a scarlet headpiece in the form of a military stocking cap, with a black velvet band all around it.*  Pointed out again and again by the police, and attacked in the streets by stool pigeons, they next adopted a gray hat, but they were no less frequently rounded up and mistreated.Their conduct has been much denounced, but I don’t think the government has been able to justify that of its own officers,veritable assassins who beat to death a good number of Bousingots while shopkeepers looked on, showing not the slightest indignation or pity. *)

But the Bearded Youths were the wave of the Future of 1830-- as Victor Hugo stresses in Les Miserables, by having Gillenormand, the representative of fading full bourgeois monarchism, rail against them: 

The nineteenth century is poison. The first whippersnapper you meet wears his goat’s beard, thinks he is very clever, and tosses out his old relatives. That’s republican, that’s romantic. What does that mean, Romantic? Every possible folly.  A year ago, you went to Hernani (Hugo’s breakout Romanticist play). I ask you, Hernani! Antitheses! Abominations that aren’t even written in French!”

So the Battle Lines re: beards were very clearly drawn in the 1830s, and fondly remembered by the Romantics decades later XD 

[miramodhvadia]

Assignment three

Introduction

For this project we were briefed and told we should plan and develop a project that draws on your own personal creative strategies. It is our chance to be able to show case a range of skills. The main aim is for me to showcase my own personal design style and produce work that will lead me onto the next steps of my degree programme.

I need to identify a concept or narrative that will lead me to an 8-week project. It is vital that this idea makes me feel passionate and it should inspire and engages me allowing me to conduct critical research, around the chosen subject.

My aim is to ensure that the concept, narrative or message is focused on something I feel needs attention. This subject is going to be quite challenging and its going to be vintage abstract.

After the introduction to this project we had a presentation helping us to find a concept and some inspiration for the project. This PowerPoint was very helpful as it showed us lifestyle designers as well as clothing designers, look books and art work magazines.  This showed us and gave us inspiration for finding our own narrative.

To begin I decided to look at researching into different trends to see which one I can relate to and which ones can inspire me the most.

Trends of 2020

1. Multi Belt Bags

Cinch your waist and keep your things secured with a multi-belt bag. Wrapped around your waist, the humble bum bag has stepped up as a significant trend this season, with multiple bags dripping off the belt. To style this versatile accessory, pair it with a blazer or a dress, jeans or a faux fur coat. This belt bag is an excellent option for those who want to keep their hands free and look stylish at the same time.

2. Oversized Shoulder Pads Jackets

The ’80s staple is coming back into full swing, with the return of oversized shoulder pad blazers. The jacket’s broad shoulders create the illusion of a tiny waist, and it is effortless in style. This trend is perfect for any occasion; wear it in the office, out for brunch or just for running errands, and watch heads turn. Style this trend with a pair of cigarette trousers, boyfriend jeans or a slinky skirt. The opportunities are endless, so why not give it a whirl?

3. Mint

Cool, fresh and sophisticated, mint green is a colour that has made waves this season. This pastel shade is multi-faceted, allowing you to style it any way you like and look super fashionable. Whether you wear it as a trench coat, a headband or as a monochrome ensemble, don’t be afraid to mix things up. With so many options on how to style this trend, it’s mint to be!

4. Body Harness

This frisky trend is making the rounds once again. Stepping out of the box in the accessory department, a harness is a great way to tie your entire outfit together and look endlessly stylish at the same time. A statement in itself, you can style this trend over a fitted shirt, in bold colours or neutral tones. Shake up your wardrobe with a leather, fabric or chain harnesses; don’t be afraid to accessorise in a way you’ve never thought of.

5. Pastel Lens Sunglasses

With all things retro coming back this season, it’s time to start looking at the world with rose-coloured sunglasses. Pastel and pink lenses were all the rage this season, and there’s a reason for it. Cute, feminine and edgy, these sunglasses are the perfect, flirty finishing touch to any outfit. The cordial-coloured lenses are ideal for any season and are the best way to add a pop of colour to any outfit.

6. Androgynous Style

Devoid of gender stereotypes, this season saw androgynous style on every corner. Donning loose-fitting, oversized and darker hues, this season is all about blurring gender norms and pushing binary boundaries. To rock this trend, don’t be afraid to reach out and wear oversized blazers, slacks and loose-fitting shirts. Androgyny is rebellious, sleek and fluid; it’s a trend that has been making its way into the collections of the most established labels and it isn’t going away any time soon.

7. Chunky Chain Necklaces

Make a statement and link your outfit together with a chunky chain necklace. Whether it be an iconic Tiffany & Co. chunky chain necklace or a chain that looks like it’s from your bike, these timeless pieces are perfect for any outfit. Go androgynous with a button down shirt and a blazer or pair it with a roll neck and joggers and sneakers for a full ’90s athleisure aesthetic. This accessory completes an outfit, so give it a try and watch the compliments roll in.

8. Silver

Catch the light and stop traffic for all the right reasons with a splash of silver. It may be second place in the Olympics, but this season, silver is a winning trend. Reflective, racy and radiant, you can rock this gleaming trend with a pair of silver boots, blazer or bag. You can go all the way and don a full silver suit; the whole world will watch you sparkle down the street.

9. Fluorescent Turtlenecks

Neon is the name of the game this season, even in the colder months. Keep yourself warm and radiate fluorescence with a neon turtleneck. Paired with a dark or camel-coloured ensemble, the fluorescent shade will capture the attention of everyone for all the right reasons. Make it yellow, green or pink, this trend takes a classic piece of clothing with a zesty, fresh twist. A fluorescent turtleneck is a great way to brighten up your winter wardrobe, flatters any skin tone and makes a real statement.

10. Split Toe Boots

The Tabi trend that will be taking over 2019 is the split toe boot. Made famous by Margiela, this boot, the “Tabi”, has an Avante Garde edge to it, while disguising as a regular ankle boot. Shaped like a goat’s hoof, this heeled boot is a unique addition to any outfit. Not for the faint of heart, this boot can be worn with anything and will capture the attention of the world as you strut by.

https://www.thetrendspotter.net/top-fashion-trends/