#fashion talks with k

[littlelioncub43]

So I’m kind of obsessed with early 1900s fashion. Gibson Girl aesthetic. Those s bend corsets the thing I’m most impressed with tho is how those girls and women figured out their padding situation to make their waists look so tiny, masters of optical illusions

Uggggh yes 😫 the Edwardian fashion era was truly a marvel of wonder. Here are a few of my favorite outfits/dresses/looks from that time:

I dream about these dresses. I will sew them. Or at the very least, the first one.

Can we appreciate the drama those freaking hats give? I miss when outfits had matching hats/gloves/parasols to go with it.

Then this is the more traditional Gibson Girl look you were talking about. That classic high collar, lace and frills in abundance, the padding at the chest and bum to give the illusion of a fuller top and bottom. The lines are just so romantic and soft. I like that there is an emphasis on the slopes of ones body, it's just so pretty.

I love how much effort went into dressing back then. I don't love the restrictions, exclusion, discrimination, and ostracization of groups of people in these eras, but damn, the clothes were nice.

[ask-saiki-and-friends]

What does aiura do to gyaru-ify her uniform without breaking dress code?

[mao22716]

dear saiki what r those pants....

[lokumgibayanlar]

[yellowheartz]

Aren: Dress sluttier. I can fight. :(

Kusuo: I-

[miss-k-lovenikki]

I'm like ten years late for this but i've only been playing the new style boutique (1) for a week (I guess that counts as retro gaming ? Dear god i'm old) so here's my honest opinion :

The good points :

- Absolutely love that the daily cycle isn't linked to irl day cycle but to how many activities you've been doing. Lacking a certain thing but you already own every item in the showroom ? You can just go to sleep in game and the showroom stock will have changed !

- That also means it's much faster to grow your stock and personal wardrobe

- Clients will tell you if your stock is missing a certain item or style

- Speaking of, i love that clients no longer look for a specific brand but for a certain style ! It feels more realistic.

- Male brands ! (more brands in general) Male clients ! Also male and female stocks are separate so you don't have to give up on one to please the other. Nice !

- Bigger stock from the get go which makes it so much easier to have a little bit of everything (considering your clients are a lot more diverse, this is good)

- You can choose in what order brands unlock so you can get your favortie style(s) first

- because of a mix of the previous points, i actually get the feeling that i can properly style outfits for my clients

- More personalisation ! You get to choose quite a few details about the outside of your shop and apparently you can decorate your own apartement too (i have not however unlocked that yet)

The bad points :

- The justification for you getting your own shop is even more ridiculous than in the first game

- None of the previous characters are here. I miss them. (Rococco has a very small cameo but that's it so far).

- Mannequin when trying on clothes at the showroom and your shop are white which makes it impossible to distinguish white clothes

- Okay that one is stupid but they changed around where my shop and my appartement are so i keep on going to the wrong one. Damn you muscle memory !

- Hate the horizontal mode. Vertical made so much more sense so i could see the entirety of my outfits

- Events can require you to wear a certain style. If you just wear one item that isn't the right style even though it looked really cute with the rest (the basic jeans apparently make me less feminine, the more you know), you will fail it.

- Subjective, but i don't like how lipsticks look

- Male clothes are very basic and boring

- Money NEVER feelt like an issue. I just have so much of it.

- I get a lot of loading screens in my wardrobe... not good

- Fashion is almost the same as in the original style savvy (so clothes themselves don't make the game upgrade really worth it)

[theinfinitedivides]

'can’t we just go back to the way it was before we met that woman?' Ryang Eum angst alert i repeat Ryang Eum part two My Dearest angst alert

[ridiasfangirlings]

1/4) Yata moved in with Kamamoto and found out that he had been fired. Yata immediately started looking for a job and was invited for an interview at a fashionable business center in Tokyo. In the corridor, Yata ran into some guy with glasses and they argued for a short time about who was to blame. At an interview from Akiyama's senior assistant editor-in-chief, Yata learned that they were looking for a junior assistant for Fushimi, the editor-in-chief of Tokyo's most popular fashion magazine.

I see absolutely no way that Yata choosing to quit could backfire horribly :P Imagine Yata trying to apply to work for a fashion magazine while wearing his terrible garbageman outfit, he’s lucky he’s cute. Say Yata’s been struggling to find a job, he lives with Kamamoto who’s letting him stay rent free since Yata lost his job but Yata’s aware that he’s living off his friend’s goodwill and he feels bad about it. Kamamoto’s family runs a lucrative liquor shop and they’re in the middle of the fashionable Tokyo business district so Yata decides to apply there, like it’s just a bunch of frilly fashion magazines how hard could it be. On his way to an interview imagine he runs into this skinny guy in glasses on the train, making the guy drop his coffee. The guy mocks Yata and Yata gets defensive, like didn’t you bump into me and why weren’t you holding onto the bar so you didn’t get thrown around when the train stopped. They end up going to the same building and the guy in glasses wonders what someone like Yata is doing here, Yata snaps that he’s here for an interview. The guy in glasses laughs and takes his leave, waving a hand all sarcastic good luck on your interview shrimp.

Yata is interviewed by Akiyama, who tells Yata they’re looking for an assistant to the editor in chief of Tokyo’s most popular fashion magazine. Imagine Yata walking in, dressed in his ‘best’ except of course his best is, well, Yata’s clothes, plus he’s got a big coffee stain on the front of his shirt and he’s all nervous and hyped up from running into that guy, and Akiyama just slowly looks him up and down all ‘….I see,’ clearly too polite to say anything else. Yata knows he totally botches the interview, stumbling over his answers and completely lost and he’s bemoaning once again losing out on another job when he gets a call that he in fact got the job. 

Yata’s thrilled, until he walks into the office and is greeted with a crooked smile and a ‘you’re five minutes late, Misaki’ and realizes his boss is that asshole in glasses. Yata pretty quickly regrets taking this job, his boss is a picky asshole who takes every opportunity to tease Yata or mock him. Imagine at first Yata tries to be a ‘proper employee,’ biting his tongue every time Fushimi mocks him and not noticing how annoyed Fushimi looks when Yata responds to yet another demand with a tired ‘yes sir.’ Yata’s making a ton of money but he’s being run ragged and he doesn’t know how much longer he can keep this up, that guy has the most ridiculous demands and Yata feels like Fushimi is just trying to get him to quit. 

That’s when the magazine’s creative director, Munakata, asks Yata for a meeting. Yata expects that here’s another weird guy who wants to make me do a million things but no, Munakata thought he would help Yata update his wardrobe. Yata tries to politely decline without saying he plans to quit but Munakata is insistent. As Munakata helps Yata choose some clothes he asks Yata about his job, if he’s enjoying it and how is Fushimi as a boss. Yata stops himself from saying ‘he’s an asshole,’ just glumly saying ‘it’s fine.’ Munakata finds that interesting, because Yata had so much more fire in the interview. He mentions that Fushimi actually stepped in to choose Yata himself as his new assistant, because he liked that Yata yelled back at him on the train. Munakata gives Yata a couple hints and Yata realizes the problem: Fushimi chose the guy who would yell back at him, and Yata’s just been quietly accepting everything.

The next day Fushimi snaps at Yata to get him a coffee, Yata leaves and comes back with a big bag of Chinese takeout that he sets in front of Fushimi. Fushimi glares at him all what is this and Yata’s like this is actual food that you’re gonna eat, you can’t live off Caloriemate and coffee (Fushimi: ‘watch me’). Fushimi clicks his tongue but he does eat, taking out all the vegetables as Yata yells at him for being picky. After this their relationship slowly gets better, Yata stops taking every request quietly and instead pushes back when needed. He also makes sure Fushimi eats and sleeps and basically takes care of himself, now that the ridiculous requests have slowed down Yata realizes that wow this guy is amazing but also a human disaster, Fushimi sleeps in his office more often than not and barely eats and Yata is just like how did you survive this long on your own seriously.

Eventually there’s supposed to be this big fashion week trip to Paris and Fushimi intends to take Yata along. Yata agrees but he’s  planning to quit afterward — maybe he’s actually realized that he’s in love with his boss and feels like now he wants to pursue the job he always wanted, skateboarding, while taking care of Fushimi not as his assistant but as his friend/boyfriend. Of course while they’re in Paris Fushimi finds out that Yata’s going to quit and naturally takes it the exact wrong way, that Yata like everyone else never really cared about him and was just using Fushimi as a paycheck. Fushimi ends up storming out and Yata chases after him desperately. Imagine them having a dramatic confession scene in front of the Eiffel Tower at night as fireworks are going off, Yata admitting that yeah he hated Fushimi at first but now he wants to be by Fushimi’s side, not because he’s being paid for it but because he cares about Fushimi too much to leave him alone.

[digiweed]

Forgot to share these on here.

[stevecoregirly]

A not so friendly reminder that if you don’t write your own songs, give poor mediocre ass performances, lip sync half the concert and when u do sing live, your vocals are unstable af, release the same repetitive songs with weird lyrics over and over again and fail to admit that they’re blow par - You’re not a real artist. You do not deserve the title of ‘Best GG’ or ‘Biggest GG’. 

[littlelioncub43]

Time to wear this for Eddie.

- P!R

YES. YES YES YES.

He would want to take pictures. So. Many. Pictures.

And talk about body worship. This man would fall to his knees for you. He would caress and pet and cradle and touch you so reverently in this outfit. He would kiss any part of skin he could, nibble on the chain just for giggles, and suck on your glove covered fingers.

And when he finally did get around to fucking you, he wouldn't stop for the rest of the night. He makes love to you so passionately you both cry, he fucks you within an inch of your life — in every possible position you guys could come up with.

[nordic-language-love]

kinda wanna use hellotalk again to find native speakers to talk with so i can practice more but last time i got so inundated with people i had nothing in common with just bombarding me with messages that i’m scared to open the app again :|

[yekkiz]

destroy fashion aesthetics abolish trying to fit in certain style “etiquette” i don’t believe in having just one specific way of presenting urself that’s boring as fuck and just perpetuates both feeling miserable and unhappy w urself and capitalism trying to change ur wardrobe into ur “new vibe” every single season bc u saw 60 ppl online wearing the same microtrends and made u believe u need these to finish your curated wardrobe!! dress in 7000000 different styles and combos and mix different eras ur whole being is built by a mix of experiences circumstances and memories so ur wardrobe should be too! be free stop worrying about not looking consistent no one is a cartoon character!!!!!!!!!!!!!

[leatherbookmark]

hopping around different blogs is fun.

a post on blog 1: i find it a little weird that -- don't get me wrong, the barbie movie looks great with all the doll-like details, i bet the actors had great fun and i'd like to see it myself, but -- people are getting excited about marketing of this movie. they're acting as though mattel's 3985* deals with 837* different companies are something new, exciting and creative instead of... 3985 deals with 837 companies spanning many different areas! this movie is a commercial for a doll! isn't this kinda weird?

*numbers made up

a post on blog 2: i don't think any sane adult doesn't realize that this is a toy commercial! it's rather obvious.

a post on blog 3: boo hoo 'the barbie movie is capitalist propaganda' i don't give a SHIT marx won't fuck you. did you do this for transformers too? do you think only stupid girls who like pink need the reminder?

like, oooooh! things are happening!

[90z-babyy]

i love the buzz in the city during london fashion week!! saw some gorgeous girlies getting dressed for a shoot outside my university yesterday

[valeskafics]

"Belong" - Young!Coriolanus Snow x Reader

a/n: aaand first time writing for coryo. i have failed you, ancestors, i have failed you. making a taglist for this war criminal so lmk if you wish to be added 🩷

Summary: Your best friend comes back from District 12 changed. And you wonder if the boy you knew is still there, buried deep inside.

Word Count: 1,325

Rating: 18+, MDNI

TW: HEAVY DUBCON, afab reader, she/her pronouns, profanity, innuendo, heavy overstim, oral f receiving, fingering, p in v sex, creampie, choking, hair pulling

Disclaimer: I do not own any of the Hunger Games/Ballad of Songbirds and Snakes characters nor do I claim to own them. I do not own any of the images used nor do I claim to own them.

Comments, likes, and reblogs are never required but are immensely appreciated 🩷

Just a year ago, you would’ve been able to say with total confidence that you know Coriolanus Snow better than anyone in the world. Both of you came from prominent families, so it made sense that you would gravitate toward each other. While many thought of you as airheaded and vapid, Coryo always seemed to see beyond that. To see the real you. The two of you often said that it was you against the world.

But, when he returns from his time as a peacekeeper in District 12, things have changed between the two of you. He has changed. You don’t know what to make of it at first. He’s back with you now, but his eyes always seem so far away. And anytime you try to ask him what’s wrong, he just gives you a small smile, assuring you that everything is fine and you don’t need to worry about him.

There’s an edge to him that there never was before. Your Coryo was soft and gentle and loving. Your best friend. This Coryo is so different. Anytime you mention hanging out with one of your other friends from the Academy, his jaw goes rigid, his eyes narrow as he stares at you and questions why the two of you can’t just spend time together like always. His arm around your shoulder, which used to feel like the affectionate gesture of a best friend, now feels like a weight on you, a reminder that you shouldn’t be looking anywhere except at him, talking to anyone except to him.

You’re lazing about in the room of the penthouse he now resides in, laying on your stomach on his bed, ankles crossed as you absent-mindedly flip through a magazine with the latest Capitol fashions, though your focus isn’t on what Tigris’ newest designs are. You peer over the edge of the magazine at your best friend, watching as he scribbles away in his notebook.

“You’re staring again.”

His voice shakes you from your reverie and you hum in acknowledgement, returning to your magazine before calling back, “Not looking.”

Coryo chuckles, setting down his notebook and turning his chair to face you. You can feel his gaze moving along your body, taking in the bare skin of your legs in the tiny shorts you wear. It feels almost like a shark sizing up its prey before going in for the kill. You continue flipping through your magazine, hoping that he stops looking sooner than later.

“We used to talk more,” he muses, his voice soft as he continues staring at you before questioning playfully, “What, is that magazine more interesting than me now?” 

When you don’t answer, too busy pretending to read your magazine, he moves to sit down beside you on the bed, snatching it out of your hands and tossing it to the floor. You let out a huff of annoyance, turning to face him, pouting.

“I was reading that, Coryo!”

He laughs quietly, moving to run his fingers through your hair, those icy blue eyes meeting yours, feeling as if they could bore right through you with their intensity, “You look cute when you pout like that.”

“Shut up,” you mumble, crossing your arms as you sit up on the bed, “I’m gonna go home-”

Coryo hums, grabbing your arm before you can move, his hands, now calloused from his time as a peacekeeper, running along your smooth, soft skin, “I don’t think you really want to go home. Just give me an apology kiss and we can hang out a little longer.”

You wrinkle your nose in distaste before retorting, “Best friends don’t kiss, Coryo. Don’t be weird.”

That’s likely true for most best friends, but it never was for you and Coryo. Before he left, you would always kiss him, hug him, shower him with physical affection. It wasn’t until Arachne pointed out, a few weeks before the fateful Games, that best friends don’t kiss. Coryo frowns, grabbing you by the chin and forcing you to look at him.

“You’ve always kissed me,” he remarks, his voice stern as he stares you down, “Don’t start acting like you don’t like it either. I know you do.”

You squirm in his grip, your heart thudding against your ribcage, “Coryo, stop…”

He ignores your protest, cupping your face in his hands. Though his grip is somewhat gentle, his voice is harsh.

“Kiss me. Now.”

You shake your head, “No.”

Your best friend frowns, his fingers digging into your jaw now, eyes narrowing, “Don’t tell me no, princess. I know you want to kiss me. So just do it.”

You shake your head, looking up at him with wide eyes. Coryo’s thumb moves along your plump lower lip, pressing down on it before releasing. He licks his own lips, leaning in closer, his breath  tickling your face. Before you can say anything, he presses his lips against your own, kissing you himself, moving to pin you down onto his bed. You let out a yelp of surprise, completely taken aback by his actions, pushing at his chest, though your attempts are fruitless. You try to keep your lips pressed together, not letting him deepen the kiss, but he has no intention of letting you succeed. Coryo bites down on your lower lip, making you let out a whine as your lips part, his tongue pushing inside your mouth, exploring every bit of you. He’s been so patient for so long, it’s finally his time to take you as his. To mark you.

His hands move down to your sides, squeezing every bit of exposed flesh he can, moving down to your thighs as he continues kissing you, “You’re going to be mine. No more best friends.”

You feel his lips on your neck, your voice coming out breathier than you intended as you murmur, “Coryo, please, I…”

Coryo bites down on your neck, reveling in the soft little moan you let out as his lips move along your collarbone. You won’t deny him. You’ve never denied him anything. He knows you won’t deny him this.

“No more running from this. From me,” he murmurs against your skin, “I’m going to mark you. Make you mine and mine alone. You’re never even going to think about another man again. Only me.” His fingers move to your hair, tugging harshly, the slight ache making you let out another moan, “Stop denying what you know you need, princess.” The soft whimper you let out as he bites down on your neck urges him on - he’s wanted you for so long now, having you be his is finally within his grasp, “You can’t run from me anymore. Say you want me to make you mine. Say you want to belong to me.”

You shake your head, your weak protests falling on deaf ears as he pulls off the flimsy excuse for a tee shirt you have on, lips twisting into a smirk when he sees that you’re wearing nothing beneath it. He moves his hands to cup your tits, kneading them in his palms, groaning at how soft you feel against him. And when you continue to protest, a low growl emanates from his chest, his voice firm as he glares at you.

“Say it.”

He’s not going to stop. Not until you give him an answer he wants to hear. And the thing is, the longer he kisses you, the longer he touches you, your will to resist him dwindles further and further. You gasp as you feel his hands moving to the waistband of your shorts, his thumb brushing against you over the fabric of your panties. You sink your teeth into your lower lip at the feeling, barely able to hold yourself back from bucking your hips up against him, chasing his touch as he teases you. He’s not going to do anything until you tell him you’re his.

Coryo leans in, brushing his nose against yours, repeating himself, “Say it, princess. Say you’re mine.”

“I,” you breathe, eyes fluttering shut as his thumb presses down against your clit, “Yes, Coryo, I’m yours…”

“That’s my good girl,” he rasps, lips capturing yours again in a searing kiss, one where you lose all concept of time and space - there’s only Coryo. “Don’t you ever deny me again. You understand me, princess? You’re all fucking mine.”

He tugs off your shorts and panties, tossing them aside, admiring your naked body laying beneath him. You feel more vulnerable than you ever have in your entire life, the way he stares you down like a ravenous wolf. He tugs at the collar of his shirt, undoing the top few buttons, the material of it rough against your skin as he lowers himself onto you. His grip on your hips is almost bruising as he pulls you closer to him, making you cry out his name in surprise. Your eyes widen when he moves to sit back slightly, ridding himself of his shirt before pushing your knees apart. You tremble slightly, trying to press them back together, only for Coryo to let out a low snarl, tossing your legs over his shoulders and burying his face between your thighs.

For a second, you wonder if you’re even still alive, if this is all just a fever dream. The way his tongue moves against you is downright sinful, and worse still? Those blue eyes remain locked on yours. And the moment you try to close your own or look away, you’re reprimanded with a heavy-handed slap against your ass. And so you watch as he mouths at your pussy, his tongue lapping at your folds eagerly, reveling in every mewl of his name, every whimper. And when you reach your peak, he doesn’t seem to have any intention of stopping, continuing his onslaught, stiffening his tongue as he moves it in and out of you, almost as if he’s teasing you with what’s to come next. 

Your second climax hits you harder than your first, eyes rolling back as he moves to focus his attention on your clit, wrapping his lips around the sensitive button while he pushes two long fingers inside of you, crooking them in a come hither motion that has you squirming away from him. But Coryo just pulls you right back, suckling at your pearl, bringing you closer and closer to the edge.

“Coryo, ‘s too much,” you cry out pathetically, your entire body feeling as if it’s on fire.

He gives you a smug smile as he pulls his lips away from you, though his fingers continue their work, rubbing against that rough patch deep inside of you, making you let out a squeal of his name, “Say it. Say you want me to stop.”

“I don’t,” you reply weakly, eyes fluttering shut, “I don’t want you to stop.”

And when you come, soaking his fingers, he pulls them away from you, loving the way your body wracks with shivers. You’re being so good for him, so responsive. He pushes his fingers between your lips, a silent demand for you to lick them clean, which you immediately obey. His gaze is focused on you as your eyes close, your tongue swirling around his fingers. His pretty princess. Never one to deny him anything.

“Such a good girl.”

You shy away under his praise, a soft smile lighting up your features. And he knows in that moment that you want this just as bad as he does. He unbuttons his trousers, pushing them down his legs slowly along with his boxers, making your eyes go wide at the sight of his cock, achingly hard, pre cum weeping from the tip. You squirm when he runs the tip of it along your overstimulated cunt, watching as you whimper when he slaps it against your clit. The control he has over you, over your body… It’s intoxicating. He doesn’t know how he lived without this before.

You cling to him as he sheathes his cock inside you, your entire body trembling as you feel him fill you to the hilt. Coryo gives you a moment to adjust before pulling back out and pushing back into you again, making you cry out his name. His thrusts start out as even and measured, but the feeling of your warm, tight pussy around him sends him into a frenzy as he begins to slot his hips against yours without mercy.

“Who do you belong to?” He demands, hand wrapping around your throat, squeezing just enough to restrict your airflow.

“You,” you manage to rasp, your hips bucking up against his to meet his movements.

“Say my fucking name, princess. Who do you belong to?”

“You, Coryo,” you mewl, throwing your head back, tears spilling from your eyes, “Feels so good…”

Coryo pins your hips down into the mattress, rutting against you wildly, feeling you soak his cock, crying out his name. And when you say those two words, “too much”? All he does is speed up, a devious smirk on his face as he flips you onto your stomach, fucking into you at a new angle, one that has him getting closer and closer to his own end. You make no move to get away from him, his hands moving to your breasts, squeezing them as he fucks you like some sort of depraved animal, no thought except ripping another climax from you and spilling himself inside of you.

And when he does, that’s when he finally collapses against you onto the bed, pulling you into his arms. You stare at the ceiling, panting heavily, trying to catch your breath. When you do, you turn to face him, only to find him already staring at you, a soft smile on his face.

For a moment, however fleeting, he’s there. The old Coryo. He brushes your hair off your face, pressing a kiss to your forehead, then each of your cheeks, before brushing his lips against your own.

“You’re mine now, princess,” he whispers, “All fucking mine.”

And for whatever odd reason, you’re quite alright with that idea.