Tights for renaissance costume

Cult Cosplay/Performance for KGATLW @ The Greek Theater. 04/18/2020

2020.03.04 08:28 chonkysadboi Cult Cosplay/Performance for KGATLW @ The Greek Theater. 04/18/2020

WELCOME TO THE CULT OF GIZZ. For King Gizzard and the Lizard Wizard’s BERKELEY, CA 3-hour marathon set (10/2/2022) I am putting the task upon a core 9 of us to become Altered Beasts to really set this show off. We will adorn some ritualistic cloth and (potential) sacrifices to Open the Door. If that’s not you, I would still love this to facilitate a meet-up with fellow Gizz-heads! *Lets just meet up and see what does down! :)*

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2014.07.20 05:41 Third Position: The Art of Ballet

The Art of Ballet

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2024.05.13 23:15 oftenfrequently Comparing the HTT strategies for each of the main families

Fair warning, this is gonna be a long one :)
I started working on this for my own purposes because I’m fascinated by the similarities and differences between the HTT styling approaches Kibbe recommends for the different ID families, but then thought it might be helpful to share with the sub. I always see lots of mention of “lines,” but the overall HTT approach for each ID is sometimes (often) oversimplified. Plus all the other very fun elements that make up a HTT are, imo, getting short shrift! There are a few users who have posted amazing full HTTs for their IDs and I'm hoping even more people will be inspired to explore.
So what even is this post?
Basically, I went through the styling directives in Metamorphosis (Chapter 4) for the main families and directly compared the recommendations for the IDs on a number of smaller, more discrete variables because my brain finds it more digestible that way. I only did the main families because “you’re a [insert family here] first and foremost!!” is a thing regardless of your ID ;) And I thought it was more interesting to compare the elements of the pure families without the influence of any other undercurrents. Also it just would have been a lot of work to do all of them 🙃.
A few notes before getting to the good stuff

I tried to mostly focus on the words Kibbe uses to evoke feelings rather than specific items, since the book was written in the 80s and clothing is obviously quite different.
Some of the things that fall in the middle of a scale have debateable positioning since the middles are sometimes hard to compare (ex. Is a moderate pinstripe more angular or less angular than a soft-edged plaid? My vote was more angular but your vote could be the opposite!) I included all of the language I used to determine placement on the scales so you can make your own call if you want.
I disincluded some, ahem, charged descriptors in a few IDs but I don’t think it changes the overall picture painted of what that ID would be looking to channel in their HTTs

This post includes all of the scales I compared the families on in 6 main categories - silhouette, fabric, detail, prints, color, and accessories - plus some keywords that came up for each family that give the overall impression of the HTT. I might make a second part later with key similarities and differences between the approaches for each pair of families, but we'll see! I'm also interested in any discussion here or observations that others might have on the various categories :)
And of course you can always read Metamorphosis for yourself in full here, which I highly recommend!

1. Silhouette

This section is related to the base silhouette of an outfit - the overall shape of garments that make up a HTT and how they relate to one another. For the purposes of this category, I'm defining "ensemble" as the pieces look related or like they were purchased together, which I believe is the sense Kibbe uses it in.
https://preview.redd.it/8earo8fbm70d1.jpg?width=1965&format=pjpg&auto=webp&s=40f17625fbfc45cc723b9cc83d447111428d8b02
Shapes

D - “keep shapes sharp and geometric. Triangles, rectangles, and everything sculpted, sleek, and elongated, with crisp edges.” “square, sharp shoulders”
R - “keep your shapes rounded with soft edges! Circles, ornate swirls, and intricate flowing shapes” “shoulders should be curved”
C - “slightly geometric or slightly curved, blend the same shapes together in your look” “slight, crisp shoulder padding”
N - “geometric shapes with soft or rounded edges are the key. Rounded-edged rectangles. Soft oblongs, rounded-edged squares, irregular shapes, and soft asymmetrics.” “soft-edged shoulder pads are very good”
G - “small, sharp geometrics” “sharp edges and crisp tailoring” “crisp” “sharp edges and extreme tailoring and construction” “sharp shoulder pads”

Outline quality

D - “Always straight, with elongated draping that is sleek”
R - “your outline should always be soft and flowing” “lots of gentle draping everywhere” “soft fluidity”
C - “smooth and symmetrical with the emphasis on controlled and even edges, soft, straight lines, or smoothly curved lines - softly tailored or slightly flowing.”
N - “a relaxed, straight line is the outline of your look”
G - “sharp, straight, and staccato” “severe lines with sharp edges” “broken, staccato, animated outline. Utilizing many short vertical lines and many short horizontal lines is also effective.”

Closeness of fit

D - “always tailored and sculpted” “streamlined shape” “tailored and sleek” “the more tailored the better”
R - “showcase the lush curves of your body” “Sleeves should be tapered at the wrist” “waistline should always be emphasized, with soft gathers, folds, draped sashes, and lightweight and supple belts to give a cinched effect” “[Jackets] should be fitted at the waist”
C - “very slight draping in constructed garments” “crisp and finished cuffs” “tailored pleats” “narrow and tailored [jackets] with a smooth outline.” “lightweight unconstructed jackets are fine when they are kept sleek and narrow. Blazers, cardigan-style, elongated Chanel (not cropped) are all good choices” “softly tailored”
N - “softly tailored, always unconstructed” “Your outline should be fairly narrow and slim, in a loose and easy way.” “Dropped waist detail (loose sashes, overbloused tops, ties, etc) is excellent, as are slightly dropped shoulders.” “Relaxed shapes” “relaxed and easy fit” “dresses should be simple and unconstructed, with a narrow shape and a relaxed outline.”
G - “Precision fitted and crisply tailored” “[a] precisely fitted silhouette is crucial to your look” “Sharp and narrow waist definition.” “very fitted” “[skirts] should be very fitted at the waistband” “Pants should always be very sharply tailored with outlined or animated detail at the edges (waistbands, pleats, crisp cuffs).” “Skin tight stretchy pants are excellent” “Very tailored [blouses] with sharp edges and crisp detail (collars, cuffs, pleats, etc.)”

Length of garments

D - “Long, vertical lines are essential.” “generally [jackets] should be long (ending at the mid-thigh area), although a very sleek, Italian-style might be cropped (be sure this has an extremely sculpted, streamlined shape)” “straight and long [skirts]” “a long hem” “long cardigans or pullovers”
R - "lengths should be kept gracefully long as uneven hemlines (mid-calf), and short as the tapered styles with an even hemline (mid kneecap)" "[for sweaters] short lengths with waist detail"
C - “standard length is best [for jackets] (just below break of hip)” “slightly longer jackets are possible when the corresponding skirt is elongated to match.” “moderate length [skirts]”
N - “Elongated [jackets] (ending from the upper thigh on down.)” “Moderate length [skirts]” “Very short skirts for fun/funky looks.” “Nearly all styles [of pants] are excellent, from very casual to very dressy… short, cropped, or long.” “Any and all lengths [for sweaters]”
G - “Short, cropped [jackets]” “Straight, sharp, and short [skirts]” “A slightly flared hemline [on skirts] may be slightly longer (top of the calf). Anything extremely long is very tricky, and must have a slit and be pencil slim.” “[For pants] Short lengths, anywhere from cropped at the calf to the top of the ankle.” “Short, cropped cardigans” “Short cropped jackets, vests, and boleros work well with dresses for you”

Cohesion

D - “keep individual pieces blended together in an artful way for elegance”
R - “include an artful blending of plush textures, draped fabrics, and luxurious colors” “avoid any kind of harsh contrast between top and bottom”
C - “A clean, unbroken silhouette is your most elegant statement! Think ‘head-to-toe’, and blend everything accordingly.” “Use [separates] carefully and sparingly” “Make sure colors, textures, and prints blend together”
N - “Separates are extremely exciting on you, and should make up the bulk of your wardrobe” “you’ll do better with an artful mixture of patterns, textures and colors than you will with an overly matched look” “designer sportswear” “definitely mix n’ match in the most sophisticated sense of the word”
G - “A use of well-coordinated separates with lots of animated and colorful detail can be very exciting to your look.”

Some random observations from me about this category

N fam has a truly impressive amount of versatility in terms of the length of pieces they're recommended, probably because they're the only family that's really strongly encouraged to go whole hog with a mix and match/separates-forward approach (a superpower tbh).
Although the scale of pieces recommended are obviously quite different, the words he uses to describe the shapes for D and G fams are extremely similar. Definitely two families that benefit from an emphasis on crisp sharpness and angularity.
I thought it was interesting that he used "softly tailored" in both the C and N fam sections, although the effect they're going for is very different (blended understated elegance vs. relaxed funky easy vibes).
He never uses the word "wide" in the N fam section. He does, however, use "narrow" and "loosely tailored" a number of times 😈 No oversized shapeless potato sacks here!

2. Fabric

This category is pretty self-explanatory I hope!
https://preview.redd.it/94e76p19190d1.jpg?width=1976&format=pjpg&auto=webp&s=816214030ae525dd16ec2e071426eab1e571c544
Definition

D - “fabrics that hold a defined shape are necessary”
R - “fabrics that drape easily” “flowing”
C - “beautiful, luscious fabrics are an important element in your understated look” “very slight draping in constructed garments.”
N - “loose and easy”
G - “must always be crisp, able to hold a defined shape, and be tailored easily”

Range of textures (how many different fabrics can they use)

D - “Moderate to heavyweights are best, with a matte finish and a smooth surface” “textures should be tightly woven, and shiny fabrics should be very stiff and ultraglitzy”
R - “softly woven fabrics” “ultrashiny fabrics” “ultrasoft or plush textures” “sheer fabrics” “any kind of sparkle is excellent”
C - “Matte finish or slight sheen.” “Luxurious to the touch” “lightweight textures” “smooth knits” “smooth chiffon and elegantly beaded fabrics for evening.”
N - “All soft textures are excellent” “any fabric with a rough or nubby surface” “any wrinkly fabric works well” “all woven fabrics” “knits are excellent in nearly any weight and thickness, from very finely woven to very heavy and rough” “Plush velours, suede, and soft leather are perfect” “drapable fabrics are best kept to heavier weight jerseys.” “A matte finish is far superior to sheen for daytime” “In the evening, you can go very glitzy with hard-finished sheens”
G - “a flat surface or light texture is best” “finely woven knits, especially when ribbed and skinny, are good choices.” “matte finish is best, although hard-finished sheens can be very exciting (especially metallics)”

Weight

D - “Moderate to heavyweights are best” “occasionally lightweight fabrics can work if they are extra-structured in the design of the garment”
R - “lightweight fabrics”
C - “moderate weights. Lightweights in very constructed or tailored garments.”
N - "knits are excellent in nearly any weight and thickness, from very finely woven to very heavy and rough." “moderate weights are best, although textures can easily be lighter”
G - “usually your fabric will be of moderate weight, though lighter weights that hug the body are excellent”

Some random observations from me about this category

Again lots of similarities for G and D fam as far as structure and matte finish, although D also has heavier structured wovens while G has fine knits.
R fam and N fam get by far the most diverse recommendations as far as fabric and textures go (again a ton of versatility in N fam!). Seems like you really can't go wrong with something sparkly, shiny, glitzy, or plushy if you're in R fam. And for N fam it sounds like you get to mix far more textures into one HTT than everybody else does, which is exciting!
I thought the emphasis on flowing for R fam was interesting. It makes total sense - I haven't read too deeply into R since I am clearly not one lol - but for some reason I had flowing associated with N in my mind.
I really love the C recommendations myself - "luscious fabrics" just makes me think about burrowing in a cashmere blanket haha. I could definitely picture Grace Kelly as I was reading them.

3. Prints

Also self-explanatory!
https://preview.redd.it/nn24my93490d1.jpg?width=1920&format=pjpg&auto=webp&s=3a8d47c3a4d4d5984b6cac8d9deeccdf7da834c4
Pattern

D - “bold and geometric: stripes, zigzags, asymmetrics, and irregular shapes.” “Think Picasso and strive for a contemporary feeling”
R - “rich and luscious with the emphasis on an abstract, watercolor blend (think Monet). Swirls of color, flowing together, with soft and rounded edges may be used in abundance.”
C - “symmetrical, evenly spaced, and regular or realistic patterns. Understated prints (pin dots, pinstripes, checks, blended plaids, herringbone, symmetrical paisleys, etc.)”
N - “casual styles that are soft-edged geometrics (plaids, stripes, paisleys, etc.) and funky prints in irregular shapes (abstract asymmetrics, leaves, animal prints, etc.).”
G - “Prints should be sharp, colorful, and animated. Small geometrics and angular asymmetrics are excellent. Most of your prints should be very contemporary in feeling (“Picasso-ish”) although humorous styles that are outlined and caricatured can be quite stunning on you as well.”

Contrast

D - “Bold color combinations and high-contrast blends work best”
R - “swirls of color, flowing together”
C - “Make sure colors, textures, and prints blend together” “understated”
N - “generally have a softly blended edge”
G - “colorful and animated” “outlined” “contrast”

Scale

D - “bold”
R - “luxuriously large: oversized florals or feathery shapes are especially lovely”
C - “understated”
N - “moderate scale to slightly large”
G - “small”

Some random observations from me about this category

Again lots of similarities for D and G for the type (sharp geometric) and feeling of prints (contemporary/Picasso) with the main difference being large vs. small scale (don't worry, they're about to diverge hardcore 😂)
R fam is recommended significantly more abstract and organic prints than everyone else. I also thought it was interesting that both D and R call for larger-scale prints - finally something in common!
For C fam it seems like the most important thing is that the prints blend in and are understated rather than drawing attention to themselves.
Preferring high contrast and sharp prints vs slightly more blended and soft ones seems like a notable difference between D/G and N fam.

4. Garment Detail

This category is related to the details within the confines of the outline of a garment. So things like necklines, collars, effects like beading and sequins, trim, buttons, etc etc.
https://preview.redd.it/342pwi6y390d1.jpg?width=1971&format=pjpg&auto=webp&s=64115f1045c7a3cb6d9ac1d6d843754ca943a603
Shape - sharp vs soft

D - “angular shapes” “sharp edges” “clean, angular necklines (plunging v’s, skinny turtlenecks, high Mandarins, slashed collars, halters…)” “anything tailored (crisp cuffs, sharp pleats, sharp lapels, etc.)”
R - “soft” “[Sleeves can be] very soft and flowing” “lapels should be curved, rounded, or shawl-collared” “gathers, tucks, or bouffant shapes” “any draped, gathered, or shirred touches are wonderful accents”
C - “clean, tailored necklines” “crisp and finished cuffs”
N - “Any unconstructed or loosely tailored detail works well.” “Simple necklines… are best, and you should concentrate on open necklines for your air of casual chic” “lapels should be tailored, notched, or clean (lapel-less).” “Cuffs should be very plain.”
G - “Detail should always be… sharp” “very crisp, staccato, broken up, and multicolored” “lots of crisp trim” “lots of outlining (collars, cuffs, waistbands, lapels) with piping of contrasting colors or fabric, braiding, beads, etc.” “Small, crisp pleats.” “Sharp, angular necklines - also small” “Small, crisp ties (ribbon, leather, etc.)” “Small, tailored lapels or crisp lapel-less with piping.” “Small, crisp cuffs.”

Scale - large vs small

D - “bold, sweeping geometrics”
R - “oversize bows, flouncy ruffles, and delicate lace are always good choices”
C - “[detail] should never call attention to itself”
N - “pleats should be soft and deep” “You can use small touches of hand embroidery or rough lace and eyelet for very simple trim.”
G - “Detail should always be small” “Small, crisp pleats.” “Sharp, angular necklines - also small” “Small, crisp ties (ribbon, leather, etc.)” “Small, tailored lapels or crisp lapel-less with piping.” “Small, crisp cuffs”

Complexity - clean vs intricate

D - “detail should always be clean and minimal”
R - “intricate, ornate… with an emphasis on framing your face” “Sleeves should be tapered at the wrist with intricate buttons” “any kind of sparkle is excellent (pearls, sequins, beading, etc.)” “belt buckles should always be intricate” “the more intricate or antique looking your buttons are the better” “ornate detail” “ornate necklines”
C - “clean, simple, and minimal - just enough to add an elegantly understated touch.” “never call attention to itself” “clean lines” “minimal detail” “minimum of detail”
N - “detail should be kept minimal. Plain and simple is best for you.” “gathers should be minimal” “simple tailored styles with minimal detail” “Simple shapes with easy fits” “Minimal detail”
G - “an overabundance of detail” “You can never wear too much detail! An abundance of it and everywhere in your look is one of the most effective tools you have for capturing your animated effervescence!” “Detail should always… call attention to itself (not blend into the lines of your garments)” “lots of animated and colorful detail” “Collar, cuff, lapel, and waistband detail (outlining, trim, piping, ribbing) are essential”

Some random observations from me about this category

A very stark divide here between the families that lean minimal/clean (C, N, D) and the families that lean complex (R, G)!
Even though R and G both call for a lot of detail, G fam seems to like it literally everywhere (but especially at the edges) while R focuses on framing the face. Another difference between them is that G detail is high contrast, sharp, and colorful while R fam's detail tends to the ornate, flowing, intricate, and sparkly - very different shapes I think.
Finally a category where N fam is not running away with the versatility haha - it seems like a more minimal and clean approach to detail really helps them shine.

5. Color

Y'all know what colors are :)
https://preview.redd.it/5he7hmfk790d1.jpg?width=1949&format=pjpg&auto=webp&s=bc59971dc9518bfbd276300feccba5838f4d7971
Number

D - “Always think ‘head-to-toe’ with your color schemes” “All monochromatic schemes are excellent”
R - “include an artful blending of… luxurious colors”
C - “Make sure colors, textures, and prints blend together” “monochromatic schemes are excellent, although you do not need to be limited to just one or two colors.”
N - “Color is an area in which you should have lots of fun! Strive for zip, verve, and lots of pizzazz with bolds, brights, pastels, vivids, and wild color combinations - anything imaginative.” “Break all the rules when it comes to color! Mix ‘n match with ease.”
G - “lots of animated and colorful detail can be very exciting to your look” “Your use of color should be bold and sassy; break all the rules here! Multicolored splashes are perfect. Bright and shockingly colored accessories played against a dark or light background. High, sharp contrast and wild color combinations are all very chic on you. Break your line with color!”

Effect

D - “color combination should be bold but elegant. Combining bright shades with dark shades achieves this with ease.”
R - “should emphasize a watercolor palette of soft pastels and luscious brights.” “rich, luxuriously blended colors” “pale neutrals… are your best accents”
C - “accentuate your smoothly blended visual outline. This means that a mixture of colors in an outfit should blend together in intensity so as not to disrupt your clean and smooth silhouette.” “The key is to make sure the tones (intensities) blend, instead of contrasting.”
N - “Strive for zip, verve, and lots of pizzazz with bolds, brights, pastels, vivids, and wild color combinations - anything imaginative. Neutrals work well when they are used in beautifully textured fabrics… but you will feel a little dull without a few bright accents, either in accessories or jewelry.” “Colors can be very wild and unusual if you wish, or more muted and earthy-looking”
G - “bold and sassy” “Multicolored splashes” “Bright and shockingly colored accessories played against a dark or light background.” “High, sharp contrast and wild color combinations”

Some random observations from me about this category

It's been said before but D fam's inability to do anything but monochrome has been greatly exaggerated. Outfits can have high contrast colors as long as they still read bold and sleek!
I found it interesting that both C fam and R fam call for a blended effect.
Color seems like a key category to focus on for both N fam and G fam - bold color kings/queens 👑

6. Accessories

The category for everything else - bags, hats, shoes, jewelry, belts, etc etc.
https://preview.redd.it/ek7fu7oz790d1.jpg?width=1923&format=pjpg&auto=webp&s=7c24f3db63656cef4a8da916665ba0f19893cc86
Scale

D - “Belts should be bold and wide” “Metal belts will be sculpted and quite large.” “[Hats should have] wide brims” “[Jewelry should have] an emphasis on bold, modern shapes.” “[For jewelry,] Pieces should be large but not overly bulky.”
R - “The effect may be lavish, but the workmanship should be intricate and delicate.” “delicate [shoes]” “[For bags,] Delicate shoulder straps. Elegantly slim briefcases.” “Jewelry should always be delicate and lavish, with intricate and ornate touches. Rounded shapes, curves, swirls, and lots of dangles”
C - “slender pumps” “narrow heels” “moderate size [bags]” “slim and elegant” “keep [belts] elegant, slim, and narrow with small smooth buckles” “small and crisp [hats] with even brims” “Small [jewelry]”
N - “moderate-sized [bags]” “Jewelry should be kept on the chunky side” “It is possible to get away with very minimal chains, tiny diamond studs, etc., but chances are you won’t be satisfied with this once you experiment with a zippier look!”
G - “All accessories should be small, crisp, geometric, and colorful” “Small, crisp geometrics [for bags]” “[Belts] may be narrow to moderately wide.” “Small, crisply tailored hats.” “Jewelry should be small and sharp.”

Shape

D - “All accessories should be crisp, sharply tailored, and angular with geometric shapes. Keep everything sleek and contemporary in feeling.” “High, straight heels, crisp soles, and elegantly tapering toes.” “Angular envelopes, clutches, or structured briefcases.” “[For jewelry,] thin sharp pieces are good choices, as are avant-garde works of art.”
R - “softly sophisticated.” “[Shoes of] Lightweight and supple leather.” “[For bags,] small, rounded shapes. Soft, supple leather or fabric.” [For belts,] soft and supple leather or fabric.” “Soft, curvy [hats]” “Large, fluffy fur hats.”
C - “elegant scarves in symmetrical ties” “tapered toes” “elegant leather” “softly tailored flats” “crisply tailored [bags]” “supple leather [bags]” “tailored, symmetrical shape[d hats]” “Keep your jewelry elegant, smooth, and symmetrical” “Small, slightly geometric shapes [in jewelry] are good, as are smoothly curved swirls.”
N - “Unconstructed styles with soft or rounded-edged geometric shapes are most effective.” “high heels should be very angular and straight, not tapered” “unconstructed pouches” “Simple geometrics in supple leather” “softly geometric [belts]” “unconstructed [hats]. Large, loose, and floppy. Shaggy-haired fur.” “Soft or rounded-edged geometrics [for jewelry]”
G - “All accessories should be small, crisp, geometric, and colorful” “tailored and angular [shoes] in lightweight leather. Unusual shapes in toes and heels are excellent (asymmetrics, wedges, sharp points, etc.) as are bold colors and printed fabric.” “Small, crisp geometrics [for bags]” “Stiff leather [belts] with geometric buckles.” “Jewelry should be small and sharp and in geometric, asymmetrical, or irregular shapes.”

Detail

D - “sleek & elegant”
R - “ornate” “strappy, slender-heeled [shoes] with tapered or open toes” “[Flats] with ornamentation” “[For bags,] Ornamentation or luxurious detail (beads, gathers, trim).” “[For belts,] All beaded, bejeweled, or sparkly styles are excellent.” “belts are a focal point, and should be selected as carefully as a fine piece of jewelry” “Jewelry should always be delicate and lavish, with intricate and ornate touches. Rounded shapes, curves, swirls, and lots of dangles… sparkly materials are essential… and an antique, baroque, or rococo effect is desirable.”
C - “simple, clean, and elegant” “Be careful not to overdo! Go elegant instead of extreme.”
N - “Accessories should be kept minimal; plain and simple is your best look here” “evening sandals should be very bare, not strappy” “belts should be simple” “[For jewelry, think] “wearable art”... or it can be bright and funky costume pieces that add pizzazz! Earthy materials are very elegant and sophisticated on you (copper, silver, amber, turquoise, etc.). Hard-finished enamels and glass are fun, especially when used in bold colors for vivid accents”
G - “[Accessories] should call attention to themselves as detail” “Contrast is being strived for with your use of accessories, as well as bringing out your wit and a sense of fun.” “[For shoes] bold colors and printed fabric. Flats of all kinds should always be funky and fun (patent leather, trimmed, etc.)” “Brightly colored belts are excellent aids in breaking your line.” “[For jewelry] Brightly colored enamel, stone, or glass are best. Very contemporary avant-garde pieces are excellent on you, as are trendy pieces that accentuate your wit.”

Some random observations from me about this category

In keeping with the general themes, D fam again shines more with much bolder or larger scale accessories than everyone else, although they don't need a ton of detail within them. The overall shape seems to do most of the heavy lifting.
In contrast, G fam and R fam once again call for a lot of detail within their accessories. They also get the most fun-sounding shoes (to me, a magpie).
And again N, C, and D have the cleaner strategies for accessories, although N does have a more G-like approach recommended for fun colorful jewelry.

7. In closing, some keywords

Picked out from the sections for each main family. I find these helpful to kind of paint a word picture of the overall vibe each family is recommended to go for.

D - sharp, geometric, elongated, sculpted, sleek, streamlined, defined, structured, clean, bold, sweeping, angular, tailored, elegant, long, straight, contemporary, avant-garde, crisp, modern, chiseled, high-contrast
R - soft, rounded, ornate, intricate, flowing, draping, light, shiny, plush, sheer, delicate, curved, tapered, sparkle, gathers, folds, blended, luxurious, fluid, antique, shirred, flounces, frills, fluffy, swirls, watercolor, rich, abstract, sophisticated, strappy, ornamentation, beaded, bejeweled, lavish, rococo, elaborate, colorful, glitzy
C - smooth, even, blended, controlled, softly tailored, slightly flowing, clean, elegant, luscious, understated, quality, moderate, simple, minimal, crisp, symmetrical, gathers, slim, beaded, sleek, natural
N - geometric, soft, rounded edges, irregular, asymmetric, relaxed, straight, softly tailored, unconstructed, narrow, slim, loose, easy, textured, plush, matte, minimal, plain, simple, open, casual, chic, separates, mix and match, pattern, color, sophisticated, easy, elongated, short, zip, verve, pizzazz, bold, bright, pastel, vivid, wild, imaginative, funky, blended, chunky, elegant, tousled, free, fresh-faced, glowing, radiant, healthy
G - small, sharp, geometric, fitted, crisp, tailored, straight, staccato, severe, animated, broken, short, detail, defined, flat, light, matte, sheen, moderate, call attention, colorful, trim, outlined, piping, ribbing, contrast, pleats, angular, ties, lapels, narrow, well-coordinated separates, tapered, stiff, slim, asymmetrical, bold, sassy, splashes, bright, high contrast, wild, chic, contemporary, humorous, wit, fun, angular, unusual shapes, prints, irregular, avant-garde, sleek, beading, tousled, cropped, fresh-faced, glowing, doe-eyed

Phew! You made it to the end. Hopefully it was helpful, or gave you some ideas of smaller, more approachable categories to explore for HTTs. If not, at least it was a great exercise for my own weird brain processing lol. Feel free to drop any observations/thoughts you might have in the comments, I'm curious what everyone else sees or thinks is notable or interesting!

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2024.05.13 19:47 Rose84NYC Friday 5/17 RenFaire Figure Drawing Party at Lawless Brewing Co.!

Join Sketch by Sketkh at 7 pm Friday 5/17 at Lawless Brewing Company for a Renaissance Faire themed night of figure drawing, featuring a live stilt walking model and a custom curated playlist to transport you to a realm of fantasy! Come in your best RenFaire garb and enter our costume contest for some fun prizes!
No drawing experience required! Professional illustrator Sketkh Williams guides artists through a series of timed poses in an inspiring, creative workout for artists of all skill levels. All you need is a pencil and paper, bring your own or use ours! Doors Open at 6:30 pm. This event is open to all ages. Recommended age 13+ Tickets available on Eventbrite.
Follow us on IG: @ sketchxskekth

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2024.05.13 19:42 Rose84NYC Friday 5/17 RenFaire Figure Drawing Party at Lawless Brewing Co.!

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2024.05.13 19:38 halfkeck "I fubar'ed it" A 24 Hours of Lemons story

Things have been busy here so I thought I would catch up on our two latest race adventures.
It's time for another race, so I hook up to the trailer and bring it to work. The Miata has been in the enclosed trailer since I ran it through the Christmas parade, but now it is time to wake it from it's winter slumber and start preparing it for Barber, our 10th 24 Hours of Lemons race.
The car should not need much as we ran nearly flawless at the last race at Road America. We had one spin and the wing mounts broke but that was about it.
I get it to the shop and we hurry up and start in. I already have one bay tied up with the next car we are building (more on that later, it is epic) and can't afford to tie up a second during business hours. Youngest jumps in and rebuilds the entire wing assembly. Manny comes by and drives the car to his place and keeps it there until a few more parts come in. It's a block or two away from the shop, we can nearly see it from the front sidewalk. No plates, no insurance, no problem.
Next we change out the brake pads, front rotors, front brake hoses and rear pads. We also change the timing belt after a debate on exactly how many race hours the old one has. Change the oil and the car is ready to load.
Racerguy comes down and we leave out Thursday night. I am driving a little fast as the website shows the gates close at 9 and our gps says we are expected to get there at 9.01. A quick fuel stop and a brisket sandwich at Buccees off I65 in Alabama and we are rolling on through the night.
Finally we get to Barber Motorsports park in Leeds Alabama. Just before 9pm we get in line and get signed in. The team ahead of us is just realizing they lost a wheel off their enclosed sometime on their tow in. The way I was driving before we stopped for fuel I could have lost the car out the back like in the movie Cars and not noticed. Luckily everything seems to be in one piece, we give everything a check over and drop the trailer and head off to the hotel which is thankfully just across the street from the entrance to the track.
The next morning we are up early. No Gill this race as he has had foot surgery and is out of commission, which means we are sorely missing his cooking skills. So we take advantage of the breakfast at the hotel and head over to the track. After we unload the car we have a discussion which ends with us moving across the paddock to the far side as the side we have had for the last few years is shorter and we can't park the trailer in that area as the new trailer is about ten foot longer than the old open trailer.
After the first of two drivers meetings of the weekend (many tracks do the practice day and hold their own drivers meeting to explain their own rules, then the next day Lemons runs the race and has their drivers meeting) we load a driver in the car and send him out to practice. Rinse and repeat until we have sent all the drivers out for a few laps.
By then it is time for inspections. First off all the tech inspection. They have a big crew this race but our favorite inspector Dale Strimple is there. He's knowledgeable, affable and very popular among all the racers. Every day is also his birthday, a story best told later. He and the other tech people soon pass our car then it's time for BS tech.
We have gone all out this race for our theme. This has been a long time thought of mine, it just took a while to get it enacted. So for context I am a cancer survivor and we are always doing crazy themes to try and draw attention to the importance of early detection in cancer improving your chances. In the past we have done free colonscopy tests with huge antique cameras and motor oil for props which thankfully no one took us up on. Later we have done dinosaurs with the inflatable dino costumes to bring home the point that that "dinosaurs never got checked and now they are extinct" which is also on the side of the car. It was popular, I mean who doesn't like to see a inflatable dinosaur walking around?
Today we have again upped our game. We are taking a scene from one of the funniest movies I have ever seen, Johnny Dangerously. There's a part where Micheal Keaton's character is counseling his younger brother not to have sex until he is married, which is funny in itself because Micheals character is always surrounded by a crowd of ladies who apparently are all competing for his affections. Anyhow he shows his brother this video of all these poor guys who are suffering from poor choices that have caused them to have severely enlarged testicles. Like basketball sized. Watch it sometime, it's hilarious. So we made up special pants to hold some dodgeballs and shirts that said: "mens health is no joke, get checked before you croak!" We got a lot of attention for that and even made the wrap video. Walking in those pants with the dodgeballs was not easy!
The next day it's race day. It could not be a nicer day in Alabama. Temps are great, sun is shining. We get through the drivers meeting and line up the cars. Racerguy is going first, we are trying to balance our drivers so that everyone gets one start or one finish for the weekend. It's fun to finish the race or the day and fun to start as well.
The flag drops and we are off. It was a complete fiasco at the start! Someone oiled down half the track on the pace laps and the track was not ready when they dropped the green. It was an immediate yellow but cars where stacking up and passing then realizing the yellow was out. Race control messed up that one pretty badly. It took another ten minutes to clean the track. Finally it really is time for a start and we go green for real. Racerguy is driving smooth as always and moving up. He brings the car from 87th out of 131 cars there to a respectable 39th when the first incident happens. A car spins and hits our rf wheel. Racerguy didn't think much of it but they flagged him in anyway. While in the penalty box we realize the rf is going flat. I did not see it then but by the time we get the car up to our spot in the paddock the wheel is destroyed. We slap another wheel on and send him back out. We lost nearly all the spots we gained, dropping to 78th on the board. Sucks but it happens.
The rest of his stint goes great and he brings the car back to pit road and we put in Youngest. He is running great and the car is showing no signs of any issues from the earlier contact. He starts making up ground and we get all the way up to 54th. Then I get a radio call. "The car is on fire and stopped running!"
What?!!! I radio back asking if he needs to get out of the car. "I'm trying to decide that" Ok, maybe not such a big fire then? We have to wait for more information and in a few minutes the rollback shows up with him in the car. We have had a wiring fire from the passenger side floorboard where the stock PCM harness is. I immediately think the car is done but after Youngest gets some fresh air he jumps in and cuts all the burnt wires out and patches it all up. Start to finish we are off the track an hour and a half and drop to 90th.
I suit up and take the car out to see if it will run or not. It struggles and will only get up to 45, so I bring it right back in. Youngest thinks he knows exactly what is wrong and jumps in again and patches one more wire. I go out and the car is spot on. I start clicking off laps and trying some things the guys said to do to improve on my lap times. There's a few parts where I just need to be more aggressive and roll through and trust the car more. I pick up about four seconds off my best time and am pretty pleased by that. The car runs flawless for the rest of my stint and I bring it back to pit road for the crew to fuel and driver change. We put Manny in the car and send him out. He's running some fast laps and really pushing the car. All the sudden we realize we do not see the car going by. One of the other teams say our car is in the wall on the front stretch. Manny comes over the radio "I FUBAR'ed it" Great, The front stretch at Barber is one of the places I have noted will bite you pretty hard. I have seen a few Lemons cars get really messed up there including a 63 Valiant last year. I am expecting the worst when the roll back comes by with the car for the second time this day.
It's pretty bad. The nose is knocked sideways, the steering is all out of sorts, a closer look reveals the lf tie rod is broken. The right rear is all messed up, the wheel is pushed so far forward it is into the quarter panel and won't even turn. We put the car up on jack stands and look it over. Not good. But there's glimmers of hope. The radiator is not broke. The engine is still fine. The core of the car seems square. And we have almost an entire Miata in parts in totes in our trailer. Maybe we can fix this. I start dragging out parts and we start changing them. The tie rod on the front is soon changed and we now have both wheels pointing the same direction. Youngest takes the nose off and straightens the brackets that hold it and the splitter in place and adds a whole lot of zip ties.
On the rear it just keeps going and going deeper. We change the knuckle, the lower control arm and the upper. We spend a long time saving the bolt that goes through the lower control arm and knuckle, we do not have another. This one is bent and has questionable threads too. In true lemons never say die fashion we beat it out of the bent parts, straighten it and when we cannot find the correct die to chase the threads we use one that is close and pray it works. It does, but then we get it all back together and realize even with all the parts replaced we still have two inches of rear toe. Just a wee more than the 1/16th we started with.
Turns out the rear subframe is bent, so we all go out and start walking the pits looking to borrow a port a power. This small hydraulic jack comes with rams and other attachments and has a pump attached to a hose so you can jack and bend parts that are bent like ours. We actually end up borrowing two after searching almost every team that is still around. It's getting dark, rain is moving in after midnight and the clock is ticking on the car being done. Is it fixable or is the damage terminal? There are three guys under the car jacking and measuring and I am handing them parts and tools and making a run for food.
In a dramatic fashion, they pull it out. I run for food and they finally announce the car is perfect. I think they worked until nearly midnight, but everything they measured was on the money. It was an amazing effort and a huge comeback. We all fall into an exhausted sleep wondering if the car will drive good tomorrow or did we miss something important.
The next morning dawns and as expected its raining. And colder. I cannot emphasize enough just how wet and cold it was. All day long it rained and I think the temps dropped. Made for a miserable day, pretty sure even a duck would have been unhappy.
I go out first, I had called this stint early on. Sometimes you have to pull the car owner card. It's a two hour stint then a quiet hour then the race resumes.
We gas up the car and I line up. The car seems to drive straight, but it is raining and the track is slippery so who really knows? The car stumbles a bit on accel and I wonder if we outsmarted ourselves with our home made ram air system that sucks air from right below where the left headlight was. It keeps on doing that for a few laps then finally gets better.
Driving in the rain is not without it's challenges. You have to drive very carefully and not push the car too hard. The fun part is the Miata goes straight when you floor it so anytime I get a chance I gas it up and go hard to the next corner where I slow down and ease through it. Soon enough another issue arises. The windshield starts fogging up. It gets real bad on yellow flags where we all slow down then gets better if I have a good run at speed, but there are times a smart person would have pulled off as you cannot see much at all. But most of us aren't real smart. I can't reach the windshield or I would try to wipe it. The temptation is there to loosen the belts and get enough room to reach but even I am not that crazy. I keep the belts tight but do take off one glove and give it a few swipes under a long yellow then hasten to put the gloves back on. There's probably not much chance of a fire in these conditions but no sense chancing it. I've seen pictures of burns from race car incidents and they aren't pretty.
On one corner I make a mistake, I get off line to let a really aggressive car go by. It's the Party Girl car and they are hyper aggressive. If you would think they would wait to pass until you get through a critical part you'd be wrong, they typically will jam their car in wherever they can and go on. Other fast cars are a bit more respectful and do a better job on the give and take. Not wanting to make an issue, I get over and promptly realize there is zero grip outside on this corner and slide through the grass. I go to penalty and explain what happened. The judge asks if I learned anything, I said "Yes, next time to be a jerk" I might not have used that exact wording but I meant it. The same car also was what indirectly caused the wreck the day before, their aggressive driving was what caused Manny to get the red mist when they did the same thing passing him. He over drove the car after that and lost it. Mental note to drive them the same way going forward, we both can be hyper aggressive and see where that leads. We have a few more cars to build in the driveway if need be.
After my two hours are up, I bring the car in and explain about the terrible fogging and vision issue. Manny goes out after the quiet hour and slides off the track for black flag number two. It's just very nasty out there and cars are going off all the time. We fix up a ice scraper with a rag tied to it to give the driver a method of clearing the fog. It's primative but way better than nothing. The drivers report they used it quite a bit the rest of the day. It's just gloomy and the race is going on, but cars are hydroplaning if they get into the water which is starting to pool on parts of the track. The rest of us are watching from inside Manny's car with the heat on, it's gotten that cold and wet.
We are so far behind now we aren't bothering to suit up and go to pit lane. Rather we bring the car up to the pumps, get the driver out and fuel and put the next driver in. It's still raining and not having to get anymore wet than necessary is a plus. Racerguy gets flagged in after he's run about half his stint and he has no idea why. Apparently the cameras show what they thought was contact in the corner, he says he got real close and braked hard to avoid it. The car shows no new signs of contact. The judge tells us one more flag and he's parking us for the rest of the day. Over contact that someone thought they saw on camera that apparently never happened. (I went to look this up on our go pro footage but the chip glitched and we had no footage)
Racerguy goes out and finishes. He reports the same as Manny, the track is getting increasingly treacherous. Very few cars are getting around good, if you have a front wheel drive with skinny tires, today was your day. I saw a escort wagon running laps as fast as us and later the Dodge Caravan passed us.
Youngest goes out and after about 15 minutes I notice the lap counter is not updating. I look outside the trailer and he is in the car, sitting there. We go out and he announces he cannot drive the car anymore, it's sideways all the time. I ask if he wants to load the car and he said yes. I don't object. We race for the fun of it, and at that point none of us were having fun. We loaded in the rain and left before the race was over. Many other teams had already done the same. Some were gone before the day ever started. We have raced in the rain before but this was the worst conditions I have ever seen on the track. Barber is a top notch facility, it was just such a lingering rain and the temps being below 40 made it miserable. The vision and grip levels seemingly got worse as the day went on and the water built up and the temps dropped. We saw a lot of big problems and overcame many. Probably if we were not so exhausted from fixing the car and were in the hunt for anything we might have stayed until the end. As it were, we dropped from 65th to 67th or so. Time to rebuild and get dried out and ready for the next race.

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2024.05.13 19:34 Rose84NYC Friday 5/17 RenFaire Figure Drawing Party at Lawless Brewing Co.!

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2024.05.13 19:29 Rose84NYC Friday 5/17 RenFaire Figure Drawing Party at Lawless Brewing Co.!

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2024.05.13 19:18 Rose84NYC Friday 5/17 RenFaire Figure Drawing Party at Lawless Brewing Co.!

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2024.05.13 08:15 jus-de-pomme Loosen tight wrists on a body suit?

Hey all, I recently bought a costume off of herostime and it fits for the most part.. except the wrists are a little too tight for my liking. Is there any way to loosen them up?

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2024.05.13 04:11 KatieQRS Full Text Nicola Coughlan in Sunday's LA Times

There it was, on the table in Nicola Coughlan’s apartment — a microscopic undergarment that loomed large in the actor’s mind.
The “Bridgerton” costume department had sent Coughlan home with a piece of intimacy wear that was essentially a strapless thong that would cover the bare essentials of her body during an upcoming love scene.
It would be her first time ever acting in such a scene, in a series known globally for its sexy yet empowering bedroom romps, and it would require her to be almost totally naked in front of people she’d worked with for years. Coughlan was understandably terrified. One night, she poured herself a margarita and summoned the liquid courage to try on the tiny sliver of fabric.
“I went to the bathroom and looked in the full-length mirror. I was like, ‘Absolutely not.’ I hid it down the bottom of the laundry basket,” Coughlan recalled on a cold morning in January at Netflix’s offices in Manhattan. “I was like, ‘How am I going to do this?’”
Coughlan eventually got over her nerves. Much to her surprise, she found the process of filming the scenes with her co-star Luke Newton creatively satisfying — liberating, even. “By the end of the day, we were both lying under a blanket, not clothed, just chillin’. We were like, ‘This is why nudists do it,’” said Coughlan, who speaks in a rapid, melodious accent that only adds to her natural exuberance.
While discussing the arc of her career, she goes on joyful digressions, praising everything from Mrs. Renfro’s salsa to Ryan Gosling’s performance in the forgotten teen series “Breaker High” to “Saturday Night Live,” which she’s just attended for the third time and hopes to host one day (are you listening, Lorne Michaels?).
She is nothing if not enthusiastic, and she brings this level of passion to Season 3 of “Bridgerton,” the first half of which will return to Netflix on Thursday. Until now, her character, Penelope Featherington, has been content to be a wallflower in the ballrooms of Regency London, allowing her to observe and secretly write a society scandal sheet under the pseudonym Lady Whistledown.
But this season will focus on Penelope as she — spoiler alert — consummates her long-simmering crush on Colin Bridgerton (Newton) in a friends-to-lovers storyline with distinct rom-com overtones. Penelope’s move into the center of the narrative also meant that Coughlan faced new pressures as the lead in one of the most watched and dissected shows on Netflix.
“With Penelope this season, it felt like there were so many things that were reflected in real life. The whole theme of her stepping out of the shadows and into the light, and not feeling quite ready — I felt like I had to do that,” said Coughlan.
“It was really challenging. It was terrifying. It was cathartic. It was a million and one things,” she added. “I loved it.”
She juggled “Bridgerton” with an edgy turn in “Big Mood,” a “Fleabag”-esque dark comedy released last month on Tubi. On top of that, she also had a small role in the biggest box office hit of 2023, “Barbie” — she wanted to do more but, alas, her schedule was too packed — and filmed a guest appearance in the “Doctor Who” Christmas special to be released later this year.
It amounts to a long-simmering breakout moment for Coughlan, who is 37 but thanks to a preternaturally dewy complexion often plays characters who are much younger than she is, like a Catholic high school student in the Troubles-themed sitcom “Derry Girls.”
“It was very exciting to play grown women. But I was like, ‘Can I do that?’ Even in drama school, they would always cast me as the random kid, like, there was an Ibsen play called ‘Little Eyolf,’ and I had to play Eyolf. I was like, ‘This is gonna be me forever.’”
Raised in County Galway on the western coast of Ireland, she grew up liking whatever her older siblings were into — whether it was Nirvana or “Wayne’s World.” When her sister starred in the school play, Coughlan showed up in a sequined vest, looking like a little Liza Minnelli — as if she knew she also wanted to be onstage. (She still has a taste for eccentric glamour: Despite the wintry gloom, she’s decked out in a gold spangled dress and a cloud-like ruffled bolero.)
At age 9, she scored her first professional gig, a movie called “My Brother’s War” starring James Brolin. She got the day off from school, but she wanted more. “I used to look at the Olsen twins. I was like, ‘God, look, look at where they are,’” she joked. As a teenager, she did regular voice work in cartoons. Her father, who was in the Irish army (as a teenage cadet, he took part in U.S. President Kennedy’s funeral in 1963), and mother, a stay-at-home parent, were supportive but also baffled by their youngest child’s dramatic streak. “It’s really not in my family at all,” Coughlan said.
After graduating from the National University of Ireland Galway, Coughlan enrolled in a foundational course at the Oxford School of Drama in England, where she quickly bonded with fellow student Camilla Whitehill.
“We were the only people there that really cared about things being funny,” said Whitehill, a playwright who would go on to create “Big Mood” as a vehicle for her old drama school friend. “Everyone else just wanted to do plays where their family had died, or whatever.”
There it was, on the table in Nicola Coughlan’s apartment — a microscopic undergarment that loomed large in the actor’s mind.
The “Bridgerton” costume department had sent Coughlan home with a piece of intimacy wear that was essentially a strapless thong that would cover the bare essentials of her body during an upcoming love scene.
It would be her first time ever acting in such a scene, in a series known globally for its sexy yet empowering bedroom romps, and it would require her to be almost totally naked in front of people she’d worked with for years. Coughlan was understandably terrified. One night, she poured herself a margarita and summoned the liquid courage to try on the tiny sliver of fabric.
“I went to the bathroom and looked in the full-length mirror. I was like, ‘Absolutely not.’ I hid it down the bottom of the laundry basket,” Coughlan recalled on a cold morning in January at Netflix’s offices in Manhattan. “I was like, ‘How am I going to do this?’”
Coughlan eventually got over her nerves. Much to her surprise, she found the process of filming the scenes with her co-star Luke Newton creatively satisfying — liberating, even. “By the end of the day, we were both lying under a blanket, not clothed, just chillin’. We were like, ‘This is why nudists do it,’” said Coughlan, who speaks in a rapid, melodious accent that only adds to her natural exuberance.
While discussing the arc of her career, she goes on joyful digressions, praising everything from Mrs. Renfro’s salsa to Ryan Gosling’s performance in the forgotten teen series “Breaker High” to “Saturday Night Live,” which she’s just attended for the third time and hopes to host one day (are you listening, Lorne Michaels?).
Luke Newton and Nicola Coughlan hold champagne glasses on "Bridgerton."
Colin Bridgerton (Luke Newton) and Penelope Featherington (Nicola Coughlan) go from friends to lovers in Season 3 of “Bridgerton.” (Liam Daniel / Netflix)
She is nothing if not enthusiastic, and she brings this level of passion to Season 3 of “Bridgerton,” the first half of which will return to Netflix on Thursday. Until now, her character, Penelope Featherington, has been content to be a wallflower in the ballrooms of Regency London, allowing her to observe and secretly write a society scandal sheet under the pseudonym Lady Whistledown.
But this season will focus on Penelope as she — spoiler alert — consummates her long-simmering crush on Colin Bridgerton (Newton) in a friends-to-lovers storyline with distinct rom-com overtones. Penelope’s move into the center of the narrative also meant that Coughlan faced new pressures as the lead in one of the most watched and dissected shows on Netflix.
“With Penelope this season, it felt like there were so many things that were reflected in real life. The whole theme of her stepping out of the shadows and into the light, and not feeling quite ready — I felt like I had to do that,” said Coughlan.
“It was really challenging. It was terrifying. It was cathartic. It was a million and one things,” she added. “I loved it.”
She juggled “Bridgerton” with an edgy turn in “Big Mood,” a “Fleabag”-esque dark comedy released last month on Tubi. On top of that, she also had a small role in the biggest box office hit of 2023, “Barbie” — she wanted to do more but, alas, her schedule was too packed — and filmed a guest appearance in the “Doctor Who” Christmas special to be released later this year.
It amounts to a long-simmering breakout moment for Coughlan, who is 37 but thanks to a preternaturally dewy complexion often plays characters who are much younger than she is, like a Catholic high school student in the Troubles-themed sitcom “Derry Girls.”
“It was very exciting to play grown women. But I was like, ‘Can I do that?’ Even in drama school, they would always cast me as the random kid, like, there was an Ibsen play called ‘Little Eyolf,’ and I had to play Eyolf. I was like, ‘This is gonna be me forever.’”
Raised in County Galway on the western coast of Ireland, she grew up liking whatever her older siblings were into — whether it was Nirvana or “Wayne’s World.” When her sister starred in the school play, Coughlan showed up in a sequined vest, looking like a little Liza Minnelli — as if she knew she also wanted to be onstage. (She still has a taste for eccentric glamour: Despite the wintry gloom, she’s decked out in a gold spangled dress and a cloud-like ruffled bolero.)
At age 9, she scored her first professional gig, a movie called “My Brother’s War” starring James Brolin. She got the day off from school, but she wanted more. “I used to look at the Olsen twins. I was like, ‘God, look, look at where they are,’” she joked. As a teenager, she did regular voice work in cartoons. Her father, who was in the Irish army (as a teenage cadet, he took part in U.S. President Kennedy’s funeral in 1963), and mother, a stay-at-home parent, were supportive but also baffled by their youngest child’s dramatic streak. “It’s really not in my family at all,” Coughlan said.
After graduating from the National University of Ireland Galway, Coughlan enrolled in a foundational course at the Oxford School of Drama in England, where she quickly bonded with fellow student Camilla Whitehill.
“We were the only people there that really cared about things being funny,” said Whitehill, a playwright who would go on to create “Big Mood” as a vehicle for her old drama school friend. “Everyone else just wanted to do plays where their family had died, or whatever.”
Nicola Coughlan holds her fingers against her cheek. Yellow orbs float behind her.
Nicola Coughlan on playing Penelope this season: “The whole theme of her stepping out of the shadows and into the light, and not feeling quite ready — I felt like I had to do that.” (Evelyn Freja / For The Times)
Coughlan, ever the pop culture connoisseur, introduced Whitehill to the sitcom “Arrested Development.”
“She’s one of those people who, if she thinks you will like something, she will make you watch it. And she is — annoyingly — usually right,” added Whitehill. (More recently, Coughlan urged her friend to catch up on “The Real Housewives of Salt Lake City.” “It’s such an easy one to sell to people. I’m like, ‘One of them is a cult leader who’s married to her granddad; are you in or are you out?’” Coughlan said.)
They both eventually landed in London, where “neither of us was successful at all for our whole 20s,” said Whitehill, who would often cast Coughlan in “my bad unpaid short plays at pubs,” including one where Coughlan played a cat.
“You leave drama school, which is a lovely, cozy bosom where you get to do the thing you love every day. Then you go, ‘Hang on. Thousands of people leave drama school every year, and they want to do the exact job I do.’ It seems so improbable that you’ll make a living doing it,” said Coughlan. “I felt like a loser at so many points.”
One such nadir came when she was working at a frozen yogurt shop at a mall in West London and the cheap jeans she wore as part of her uniform tore “right up the butt crack.” It was sobering, she said. “I was like, ‘This is not the life I wanted.’”
By the time she was in her late 20s, she’d moved back home and was working for an optician in Galway. Then she saw a listing for an open casting call for a festival of plays being put on by the Old Vic Theatre. Even though she was broke, she flew back to London for the audition and landed a part in a play called “Jess and Joe Forever.”
It marked a turning point for Coughlan, who was soon cast as studious teen Clare Devlin in Channel 4’s “Derry Girls,” a project she was drawn to because of its vividly drawn female characters.
“They were all really distinct — young women who were ballsy and foul-mouthed,” she said. She convinced herself that the show would flop because “people hate women trying to be funny.” Instead, the show was a massive hit in the U.K. and earned a devoted following in the U.S. when it was picked up by Netflix.
Then, Shonda Rhimes came calling about “Bridgerton.” After a single audition, Coughlan was cast as Penelope, a thoughtful, sharp-witted young woman with an overbearing mother and tacky, dim-witted sisters. Season 1 was released in late 2020, when much of the world was staying home because of the COVID-19 pandemic-related closures, and it became a sensation.
Whitehill recalls going out with her friend once restrictions had lifted in the U.K. and sensing how much had shifted. “It’s such a weird, un-put-into-words-able experience to watch someone you know for such a long time become globally famous,” she said. The fact that Coughlan didn’t find success straight out of school “has grounded her significantly, which means that she doesn’t let it go to her head.”
Success has not come without complications, however, like the relentless media scrutiny around Coughlan’s physical appearance. “It’s really hard and feels [like] s—,” she said.
In 2018, she wrote an essay for the Guardian responding to a theater critic who described her character in a London production of “The Prime of Miss Jean Brodie” as “an overweight little girl.” Coughlan is determined to push back against this kind of casual body-shaming because, she said, “I grew up at a time where it was so overt. There was the circle of shame for cellulite [in magazines] — just horrific, horrific messaging.”
It’s also why this season of “Bridgerton,” which celebrates the allure of a character often overlooked as a wallflower, is so meaningful to Coughlan — and why she suspects it will resonate with so many viewers. Rhimes and showrunner Jess Brownell decided Season 3 should deviate from the timeline in Julia Quinn’s novels and focus on Penelope and Colin — a couple known to fans as “Polin.”
“We’ve watched Colin not quite understand that Penelope has a crush on him for two seasons. You can only play that dynamic out for so long before it gets frustrating,” said Brownell.
Stepping into the lead meant Coughlan would need to be on set nearly every day for eight months straight. But if she was overwhelmed at first, she didn’t let on. “She just seemed so game and ready for anything on set,” said Brownell. “If anything, I just noticed how seriously she was taking her preparation.”
Coughlan was insightful and collaborative, said Brownell, sharing an endless stream of ideas about her character in a WhatsApp group chat with Newton and Brownell. She had suggestions for specific music cues and for Penelope’s makeover, which sees her ditching her tight red poodle curls and garish citrus-hued gowns for loose waves and cool blues and greens. Coughlan is also very plugged into the fandom, and she advocated for including a scene, important to novel readers, in which Penelope calls Colin “Mr. Bridgerton.”
As if that weren’t enough, she even found time to bake fresh Irish soda bread and bring it to set.
This season is “a lot lighter and more playful than we’ve been able to be in the past,” Brownell added. The writing leans into Coughlan’s strengths as a comedic performer, particularly her knack for awkward banter, a skill she deploys as Penelope throws herself into the London social season in a bid to find a husband.
Coughlan, who enjoyed being, as she put it, “the weirdo in the background” for the first two seasons of “Bridgerton” and who idolizes women like Tina Fey, Amy Poehler and Kristen Wiig, said it was a thrill “to play Penelope as goofy and terrible with men.”
Like Coughlan, Newton was nervous about filming the love scenes but found the anxiety quickly dissipated after the first take. “We both had a similar outlook — it’s like doing comedy because you’re having to put yourself out there and feel exposed and risk something,” said Newton (who watched “Hamilton” at Coughlan’s recommendation and loved it, just as she predicted.) Because of how these moments focus on consent and emotional intimacy, “It was essential that we were friends,” he said.
The co-stars were especially heartened to hear from a burly security guard named Dave who has worked on “Bridgerton” since Season 1 and was moved by the romance he watched them act out on set.
“He came to Luke and I and said, ‘I don’t normally watch shows like this. Something about this season is very special, and I’m very proud of you,’” Coughlan recalled.
For several weeks, Coughlan was filming “Bridgerton” and “Big Mood” at the same time. She coped with the stress by watching “Vanderpump Rules” from the beginning.
“It’s a testament to how nosy I am that I heard people talking about Scandoval, had no frame of reference and was like, ‘Well, I need to know,’” said Coughlan, now a superfan who recently threw a “Vanderpump”-themed housewarming party and made a beeline to take a selfie with Ariana Madix when she was at “SNL.” It’s not just escapism: She also finds creative inspiration in reality TV personalities, channeling some of Lala Kent’s mannerisms into her character in “Big Mood.” “You forget how f— weird people are, how bizarre they can be,” she said.
In January, Coughlan had not yet seen the new season of “Bridgerton.” But by phone in early May, she said she’d finally watched the episode in which Colin and Penelope sleep together, nervously, by herself in a hotel room. Once again, the anticipation was worse than the thing itself.
“I laughed and cried and I was like, ‘Oh, my God, it’s amazing,’” she said. “They’re not titillating just to be titillating, even though we hope they are sexy. There’s so much about female pleasure and positive sexual experiences, and we don’t get enough of that onscreen.”
Coughlan has reached a bittersweet crossroads on “Bridgerton,” now that her character’s big season has wrapped and she will soon return to being “the weirdo in the background.” But she has no regrets.
“We left it all on the pitch. There’s nothing I wanted to do this season that I didn’t get to do,” she said. “And that’s a rare thing.”
Source: https://www.latimes.com/entertainment-arts/tv/story/2024-05-12/nicola-coughlan-bridgerton-season-3
It seems some people are having trouble accessing it. There's no paywall for me, and I'm in the USA.

submitted by KatieQRS to PolinBridgerton [link] [comments]

2024.05.12 14:10 worldtenor [WTS] OMAS 1930’s Extra restored, Parker Premier LE Stealth

Verification and writing samples
Doing a minor de-stash to fund some other purchases. These are some stellar pens that should make someone or two people very happy.
OMAS Extra from the 1930’s. This has been professionally restored by an Italian pen restorer specializing in vintage Italian pens. It is…simply gorgeous. Check out the video at the end of the pictures to see what this nib can do. Hairline strokes without being too scratchy and then THICC flex which is out of this world. I just end up staring at it more than using it which is a real shame. I have used it several times and it NEVER disappoints. Fires up immediately. The pictures are taken very close up to see any minor imperfections (posting mark, which is a must at 4 7/8” capped and 5” posted, and minor surface scratches from handling. A thin coat of renaissance wax and its showroom clean again). This pen is tight, no shakes or rattles. The threads are tight, imprint is deep, and lever functions perfectly. The lever fillers are the most desirable since there were some issues with pistons in the early ones. No excuses with this pen. It is highly collectible and I should simply hold onto it for value, but that’s just not me. ~~$950~~ $750 I’ll probably regret this one.
Parker Premier Limited Edition Stealth Black . Beautiful, metal bodied pen which lives up to the name stealth. It is Monochrome black, but truly more of a gunmetal gray finish. Machine polished lines give this pen an aesthetic unlike many others. It’s kind of like the Lamy 2K, but more pronounced. The clip is beautiful IMO. Writes like an absolute dream and puts down a nice M line with the 18k gold nib. I like a cap snap that requires some serious force to cap and uncap. This is on the lighter side which makes me give it a B+, but otherwise a flawless example…and that nib! Comes with original box, paperwork, full box of cartridges and converter (though I don’t love Parker’s converter). ~~$165~~ SOLD
All transactions via PayPal G&S and shipping within CONUS is included in the price. Hope you have a great day. Give your mom a hug if you can!

submitted by worldtenor to Pen_Swap [link] [comments]

2024.05.12 04:27 I_love_SKALD Help meeee

Okay, so I'm going to GA Ren Fest to work at Georgia Reptile Society for almost 10 hours and the theme is Viking. So, normally, I would just wear something basic, but I LOVE anything that has to do with Vikings, Norse mythology, etc., BUT here's the thing: I have quite literally, NOTHING to wear besides this dress from Amazon that I cut about 5 inches off of to be able to walk safely in.
Any ideas for layering, trinkets, ANYTHING, etc. would be beyond appreciated :)))
Link to dress:
frawirshau Renaissance Costume Women Medieval Costume Women Ren Faire Dress Halloween Costumes

submitted by I_love_SKALD to renfaire [link] [comments]

2024.05.12 02:00 Logic_Sandwich JoJo's Bizarre OC Tournament #7: R2M22 - Markov vs Reese McGuffin

Vote on a match featuring the detective teams allied against a masked vigilante having gone berserk!

(Shoutouts to u/ShimoDragon and Heart of the Rose for the match!)
Scenario: The Kamala Rose International, Vasitanagarh — 2:06PM
Weeks ago, in the very center of The Kamala Rose International lay the fantastical garden known as the Heart of the Rose, in the center of that garden stood a gazebo, and in the center of that gazebo was a table surrounded by four individuals in a heated discussion.
“That was sloppy work, Margherita!” Sulka slammed their fist against the table in an uncharacteristically loud fit of rage, “I told you to get rid of that man last week! Now because of your pointless delays he was able to leak that scandal to the news!”
“Hey hey, levati dai coglioni! I don’t appreciate the blame being thrown onto me here,” Margo threw up his arms in response, looking more annoyed than upset, “You never told me there was any urgency. Besides, it takes a bit of time to frame an accidental death. What, do you think you can just shoot a guy in the head and call it a suicide? You watch too many movies if you think that kind of thing can just happen overnight, mammalucco.”
“Do you even care that our operation here is in jeopardy now that that video is drawing prying eyes our way?!” Sulka almost spat at the italian man, “Your nonchalance is insulting!”
“Easy, Sulka,” Jim Peckle interjected, “Margo did his best. No way for him to know that things would turn this way.”
“You’re both right, actually,” Margo sneered, “I did my best, as I do with every job, but I honestly couldn’t care less if this little crime ring collapses. You lot are nothing more than a side hustle to me, my allegiances lie back in Italy. In other words, stop pestering me and vai a cagare.”
With a swish of his apron Margo left, leaving Sulka to smolder in a more recognizable quiet anger.
“That’s the last time we give him a time sensitive job, if you ask me,” Pluto spoke up for the first time since arriving (late), “The unwanted attention is a problem, don’t get me wrong, but I’m more concerned with how we even got to this in the first place, hey? That guy in the video was talking about missing people, Kiisseli. Just what the hell have you been up to?”
“Need I remind you, Hendrix,” Sulka’s cold gaze turned to meet Pluto’s, “that part of our arrangement involves the right to privacy. I do not intend to pry about what you use our resources for so I expect that you will do me the same decency.”
“Excuse me…?” Pluto straightened up from his relaxed position, “You don’t get to just shrug this off after bringing the feds to our damn doorste-”
“To be curt,” Sulka cut him off, “It’s none of your damn business, Pluto. So drop it.”
Behind Sulka’s back, Jim quietly scoped his nearest emergency exit.
Pluto’s vein bulged visibly at Sulka’s words, “You’ve got people paying attention to the airport cuz you’ve been pulling some shady bullshit and you just managed to get your ass handed to you by a cat and some whackjob in a mask, hey. Obviously this is my fucking business!”
“I may have been beaten by a “whackjob” as you put it,” Sulka slowly rose from their chair, “but I could certainly beat you if you’re going to keep acting like a thorn in my side.”
“You could beat who?” Pluto’s voice raised an octave in sheer frustration and confusion, “Trust me, you don’t want this smoke, Kiisseli.”
“What’s this about smoke?” Dark Disquiet shimmered into view and lit a fire in its palm behind Sulka as they spoke, “Because from where I stand you’re the only one who should fear getting burned, Hendrix.”
“This isn’t the time or place for a fight,” Jim stepped in between the two, holding up his hands. Behind his dark sunglasses, his eyes flicked cautiously over to Sulka. “Everything just goes up in flames. Nobody wins… Best cool things down and make peace.”
An uneasy silence hung over the gazebo until Pluto clicked his tongue in frustration, “Yeah. Fine. Better an ally than an enemy, I suppose. But let it be known that next time I have to deal with problems caused by your actions I’ll be expecting a damn good explanation, hey? Now I’m getting out of here before your self important face pisses me off any more than it already has.”
Once Pluto had left earshot, Sulka let out a sigh and pinched the bridge of their nose, “I hate to admit it but I too am in a state where I still need to rely on Hendrix’s assistance. Oh how I despise co-leadership…”
“I like having him around,” Jim replied, shrugging minutely, “He brings a lot to the Heart. He’s easygoing, and a lot more dedicated than he seems on the surface. It would be a shame to drive him away.”
“You’ve already deescalated the situation, Jim Peckle. Any further arbitration would be pointless, unless you mean to crawl your way back onto my good side. In which case you have a long way to go,” Sulka made a dispassionate gesture towards the exit, “You may leave as well, but don’t assume that this means you’re off the hook. You’ve not yet been forgiven for leaving me in the dirt and running off with that costumed clown after our fight.”
Jim hesitated for a moment before deciding to swallow his pride and take his own advice. Instead, he simply gave a light nod in response and scurried out of the gazebo.
For a time Sulka sat in silence, partially to gather their thoughts and partially to make sure their team members had cleared out. “Marko, Olli, come here now.”
Barely missing a beat, the Runoilija brothers ran in to greet Sulka, “Right here boss!” Marko, the bigger of the two, responded, “Sorry we weren’t here for the meeting–that kid you hired a while back was break dancing in the halls outside the garden and we were entranced by the little guy!”
“Enough!” Sulka was all too familiar with how the brothers could prattle on if left unchecked, “I didn’t call you over to have you discuss your simplistic entertainment. I have a job for the two of you.”
“Lay it on us boss, we’ll get it done in no time,” Olli rubbed his hands together in anticipation.
“To be more accurate it’s closer to a reassignment than a job,” Sulka tucked their hands behind their back, beginning to pace across the raised dais. “Thanks to this mess we’re in, I’ll be forced to decrease, if not totally halt, my… cultivation, we’ll call it, her at the Rose. In order to make up for the drop-off in offerings we will need to expand operations outside of the airport. I’ve already made the arrangements. Starting tomorrow, you two will be stationed at Club Naraka over in Port Konwar. You will remain vigilant for any and all stand users that enter the building. I don’t care how you do it but make sure you check every guest. Once you find a stand user you are to restrain them and call for me. This is by far the most promising location I’ve managed to get a hold of, so I am expecting big things. Are there any questions?”
“Uh, it’s a club, yeah?” Marko cocked his head, “That means there’ll be booze, right?”
“...Yes Marko,” Sulka sighed, “There will be drinks of all kinds.”
“Alright! We won’t let you down boss! You can count on us!” Olli beamed—and promptly tripped on Marko’s heels in his haste as the two of them rushed for the door.
Sulka sighed again, if that pair of fools weren’t so loyal they would’ve discarded them long ago.
Scenario: ???, ??? — 1:20 AM
THUMP
THUMP
THUMP
Reese’s eyes slowly opened, his vision hazy. His head stung—that was the first thing he noticed, the dull throbbing pain in his temple. He couldn’t think straight. Where was he? Why was he here? What was-
God, his head.
“Ghhh...” He massaged his temples, blearily trying to force some sense into his brain. He was... Where was he...
Memories came back to him slowly, filtered through heavy bass and the scraping of a rusty fan overhead. He was looking for leads on something... His father was looking into Nightblooms... There were rumors of knowledgeable Stand users here... His teammates had told him not to go, but he-
The door creaked open, slamming against a dingy, degraded concrete wall. Reese lifted his head, slowly. His head felt like a ten ton weight on his shoulders. He could hardly see. What the fuck happened?
Through the now open door a stream of light poured in highlighting the silhouettes of two men. The bigger man on the right spoke first, “So this kid is the fresh meat, huh? And you’re sure he’s one of us this time?”
“Oh definitely,” The skinny man on the left replied, “This guy’s a stand user, no doubt about it.”
Reese could hear what the men were saying but his mind was covered in a fog and it was difficult to comprehend the words. Fresh meat? Stand user? Did these two bring him here? What did they want?
The skinny man kneeled down to bring himself face to face with Reese. Even in the darkness of the room he was close enough that Reese could make out his distinctly crooked nose , “I’m gonna make this real simple for you, pal. You see our boss is a very important person. They are the type with big plans that some people might not agree with. Because of that, they like to make powerful friends whenever possible. Friends like you, for example. For that very reason the boss is on their way here right now to meet you! I’m sure the two of you will get along great but I thought I should give you a bit of a warning. The boss doesn’t like it when their offer of friendship gets turned down, you see. There’s only one thing they hate more than that. Unnecessary risk. If they can’t have you as a friend… Well, I’m sure you’ll make the right choice once you meet them.”
“Uhhh, Olli?” The bigger one tapped the skinny man on the shoulder, “I don’t think this kid is hearing you. Look at his eyes, it’s like he’s still asleep.”
“Wha-?” Olli aggressively grabbed Reese’s head and forcefully opened his eyelids all the way to stare into the boy’s pupils, “Goddamnit, the drugs still haven’t worn off! Urgh, just put him back to sleep Marko. I’ll give him the speech again once he wakes up.”
Reese wanted to run or fight or something but he could barely move as the skinny man- Olli let go of his head. Drugs? Had these two drugged him? His mind was swimming with Olli’s monologue creating a whirlpool of words and phrases that he recognized but could not focus on. With every ounce of his available strength he lifted his body onto his elbows and looked up to his captors.
“W-wait a se-” He couldn’t even form a full sentence before the bigger man- Marko reeled back and threw out a punch.
There was a violent shake.
A loud thud.
And then black.
Scenario: Club Naraka, Port Konwar — 1:22 AM
Club Naraka was, if nothing else, accurately named.
When you first stepped into the subterranean hell pit of human desire, you were greeted with the thick smell of booze and cigarettes and other far less legal things. It had a way of overwhelming every sense, actually. Harsh lights strobed against the otherwise dim chambers of each floor, and the bass thumped hard enough to feel in your ribs. When you eventually found yourself in a place where it didn’t smell so harshly of booze, it was because it smelled like vomit instead, or some other thing you didn’t really want to figure out the source of.
Emile Gulati, 27 years old, stared with half lidded eyes at the air freshener she’d hung behind the bar, wishing with all of her heart that it actually worked. It was her last little rebellion against this place. She tried wearing earbuds, but she couldn’t hear her own music over the stuff they played in the club. She tried normal earplugs, but those hardly worked, and just made it harder to bartend. She considered nose plugs, but that’d just make her look weird - customers gave her enough shit already.
“Evening, bartender~.” A sleazy looking man had somehow wandered over to the bar without her noticing, splaying himself over the counter. Emile tried her best to hide her immediate disdain. “You, uh, wow, huh, eheh.” He pointed at her. “Nnnn~ice outfit. Eheh.”
She scowled.
“You gonna order something or what?” Emile made sure to step back a few feet. Best not to stand too close to guys like this - she’d learned that the hard way just a week ago. “I don’t work here as a fucking model. Get a drink.”
“Bitch.” The man sneered. “You people should be more agreeable. Tsch.” He wandered off, having seemingly forgotten what he came for in the first place. Emile sighed in relief. She idly looked back at the little bottle under the counter, and winced. She’d made a routine of reminding herself it was there and feeling like shit about it.
Being a bartender here was bad enough, but every now and then she’d get a lovely text from a higher up on the burner phone they’d given her to slip a few drops of that into their drink. Within moments a security guard would drag them away, leaving Emile with no explanation. Not that she was expecting one, granted. But she would’ve liked to know what exactly she was doing here. For closure, or something. Maybe.
Couldn’t pay rent in Mist City without a job, she reminded herself for the fourth time that night. The latest one really got to her - some bright eyed youngster filled with determination who was trying so hard not to look like he was there on some sort of mission. She had hope that whatever job it was would succeed, but that hope seemed to evaporate like a fine mist when she watched him disappear behind the elevator doors.
She rubbed her temples.
“...”
And exhaled. This place got in the way of her reason, the music keeping her from thinking. Was next month’s rent worth the people she’d screwed over? Hell if she knew.
“I’m taking my fifteen,” said Emile, to no one in particular. She marched away from the bar, stalking towards the elevator. When the doors closed behind her, she found herself blessed by something close to peace and quiet. It reassured her.
Equally reassuring was the golden coin beneath her feet, glinting in harsh LED light.
“...Lucky coin, huh?” She picked it up, admiring it for a moment before pressing down on the lowest button on the elevator keypad. She didn’t know what she was actually going to do - but it’d probably be better than doing nothing.
When the doors opened, Emile found the floor was completely barren. No one wandered through the dusty concrete halls; the only thing that gave her company was the thick, noxious smell that clung to the air. Preferring not to investigate its source, Emile began walking through the halls…until her eye caught on an open door. Unsure where else to go, she peeked inside.
Curled on the cold floor was a body. Emile’s stomach dropped–until she saw movement in the person’s chest. Still alive. That she could work with. Rushing over, Emile knelt next to the unconscious person, as she had with countless blackout drunks. She made sure he was on his side, and then gently stirred him until he woke. All the while, dread tangled her organs in knots. Who would do such a thing? Why? Still, the answers didn’t matter. What mattered is that something was very wrong with this place, and they needed to leave as fast as possible.
Yet, when the young man opened his eyes, he didn’t look at her with shock or fear, but anger. A righteous fury that had him just about jumping to his feet.
“Woah! Woah, settle down, you were unconscious, your body needs time-” Emile began, before the man shook his head. That alone seemed to dizzy him, as he braced himself against the wall.
“I don’t have time. I need to- I can’t have been the only one. I need to-”
Emile stepped closer, trying to put a hand on his shoulder, but he immediately bristled at the touch, as if on reflex.
“You’re hurt- look, man… something’s up with this place. We need to get out of here.”
But he just shrugged her off, moving towards the nearest unlocked door. Without hesitation, he flung it open, frantically looking for other survivors. Yet, what he and Emile found…were rows of bathtubs. That horrid, sharpened smell was even stronger now, nearly overwhelming. It was all Reese could do to not keel over. Instead, Emile moved to support him, and the two crept closer, peering over the edge.
Inside the tub, something boiled, bubbled, churned.
The thing inside could barely be called human. The acid gnawed at the corpse like a desperate, starving animal, stripping the charred flesh off of its bones. Unable to support itself, it collapsed further, head sinking under the liquid. Soon, its blank, lifeless expression was stripped down to its gleaming bone. Gone. All gone.
Reese felt like he was standing in a tunnel. Lightless. Empty. Infinite. The feeling of Emile letting go, the sound of sharp retching, something splattering against the tile, all of it was muffled.
What cruel animal is man.
It was the twin jolts of fear and rage that hit him like an IED. Pounding adrenaline restarted his heart, clicking the world into focus. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Emile heaving, shuddering, pulling at her hair. All the unconscious drunkards, for all the rowdy bar fights, none of it could have prepared her for these horrors. That adrenaline pumped through her in turn, she could feel that fear grow sharp and jagged-
She could feel something take that fear, guiding it towards a sound. Footsteps. Reese didn’t seem to hear them, only her. She tried to speak- nothing. No sound could escape her lips. The fear that gripped her chest was unlike anything she had ever felt before. She couldn’t make a whisper but with the full force of her adrenaline she could still move.
The next few moments were a blur. A bottle on a shelf, shouting from the previous room, a desperate lunge, and the distinct sound of rending flesh. Suddenly everything was vivid and clear again. She felt the guards blood trickle through her fingers as Emile looked down and witnessed what she had done. The bottle had become a knife, and she had stabbed someone.
The guard fell to the ground as Emile stared at her shaking, blood stained hands, “I- that wasn’t- I didn’t mean-” She was stammering all while Reese watched on in silent shock.
“He’s not dead Emile,” a feminine voice echoed through her skull, “You have to finish it. You have to make sure.”
Her eyes darted from one end of the room to the other, trying desperately to find the source, but the longer she delayed the louder it got.
“Kill him. Kill Him. KILL HIM. KILL HIM.”
What happens when an animal is backed into a corner?
It attacks.
Suddenly, something in Emile snapped- no, it shattered like a broken bottle. A low scream escaped her throat betwixt clenched jaws as she savaged upon the barely breathing man.The knife became her teeth, raised into the air and plunged into red flesh. A wet schlllrk rang as she pulled it back out, only to bury it down again and again and again.
Reese moved quickly, instinctually- tackling her to the ground. A desperate move- to break this haze that she was in, end whatever vile urge had overcome her.
His eyes widened as they tumbled onto the floor, spotting several pairs of feet. Guards. He had tackled them into the direct view of more guards.
”Shit.”
A snapping noise split the air. An ethereal crocodile came from the ether, ready to defend its user.
A cornered animal attacked.
Meanwhile in the upper floors of the club the Runoilija brothers sat at a bar. Olli casually nursed an elaborate cocktail as he criticized his larger brother, “I think you hit that guy a little too hard, he should be awake again by now but there’s no news from the guards… You better not have killed him by accident like that last guy, Sulka’s already pissed enough at us as is.”
“That was not my fault!” Marko slammed his beer mug on the counter, “That last one wouldn’t stay down, so I just kept hitting him until he did. How was I supposed to know that he’d die so easily!”
“You literally just gave a textbook description of negligence, you moron. Of course it was your fault!” Olli smacked Marko on the side of his head to emphasize his point.
“Why’d you always gotta hit me…” Marko grumbled as he rubbed his head, “If you’re so sure that I’m the moron then let's bet on whether the fresh meat has gone cold or not. Whoever loses pays for the other’s drinks for the rest of the night.”
“Alright deal,” Olli snickered as they shook hands, “I’ll go take a look.”
Olli’s hand restlessly gripped the switchblade in his pocket as he descended through the floors of the nightclub. He fully intended to finish off the drugged up kid in the basement, assuming he refused to work for the boss like most did. He would pin the blame on his dumbass brother and have him pay for his drinks for the whole night. A win-win scenario.
Suddenly, a vibration from his phone. An update from the guards:
The prisoner got out. There are two of them now.
Marko received the same message back at the bar above. In a fit of rage he chucked his mug of beer at the wall with his full strength, just barely missing the skull of the bartender who was serving him. Before he had a chance to cause any more senseless damage another message addressed to himself and all the other guards came through, this time from his brother.
Find them both, NOW! Kill them if you have to, just make sure they don’t leave! If they’re gone when Sulka gets here we’ll all be fucked!
Marko stood up from the bar and began to push through the flirting couples and stumbling drunkards of the nightclub as his Ultraviolet materialized. The fresh meat had a helper and the two were trying to scurry away like rats? That was fine by him. Marko specialized in hunting down rats.

The music seemed to distort more intensely the longer Reese listened. Maybe it was the dull ache of the base, punctuated by a hundred frenzied footfalls, a rhythm that toppled over itself. Maybe it was the rage that sent his own heart racing. He could feel it pound against ｢Magenta Mountain｣ as he held the hourglass close to his chest. Still, there was no time to rest.
Finally, the two of them found the source of the noise. A dark, dingy dancefloor. It stunk of sweat and mildew, and the dancing bodies seemed to twist in the low light. Even as the two entered, splattered in blood, no one took notice. They were too caught up in dance, alcohol, god knows what else. In this moment of respite, Reese turned to Emile. Her gaze was as vacant as his own, she seemed to look right past him.
“Hey, focus.” Impatience had made his voice sharp. There wasn’t time for niceties, not for her. Emile’s eyes readjusted, finding him. In the dark, he could not see that was shone in her expression wasn’t malice, but fear.
“What the hell was that!?” he pressed. She shrunk away in turn.
“...I had to get out.”
“I know that,” Reese frowned, “We’re in the same boat. But that’s not an excuse- I could have helped! You didn’t have to-”
“I have to get out,” Emile continued. Her gaze went past him yet again. Her body shuddered. “Please, please just let me out. I’ll do anything, anything you want, I can’t stand this hell- just let me out!”
“I…” Reese swallowed, hugging his Stand tight. “What?”
His mind reeled, trying to process his next steps. This woman was unstable, that was clear. Unstable, violent, dangerous—not just to others, but herself. If Reese allowed her to simply leave, without understanding what was happening, who knew how many would suffer? Yet, the crowd shifted in strange ways, the beat becoming frantic, the music growing warped and mutilated. Should he stop the woman? Should he protect her from these maddening halls? What should he do? What should he do?
The moment Reese looked up, trying to make a call–Emile was gone. She had vanished deep into the crowd, following that horrid, golden voice. The music reminded Reese of the howl of coyotes in the night. The raucous celebrations of beasts who found their meal.
Against his beating heart, he felt ｢Magenta Mountain｣. Inside those grains lay the vast expanse of evolution, and its uniting link: the will to survive at any cost. His beasts had all failed, each one had faced death, and lost. At this moment, Reese understood them. He knew what it was to be a cornered animal. He would deal with the moral quandaries of man once he escaped. But first, he had to escape. The grains of sand were slipping through the hourglass. He knew he would not die like all those beasts that came before him. He would escape. He would survive. He had to.
Nothing else mattered.
Lost in the crowd, he and Emile reached that same conclusion.
Nothing else mattered.
Open the Game.
Location: Club Naraka, with the players currently on the second basement floor. Throughout the stage, the brown sections of the map are doors, furniture, lockers, crates, and whatever makes sense for the location. The players may interpret the map to read furniture as what would make sense for the location and may find any items that would be reasonable to find in that area of a club; if these ever would conflict in strategies, treat both readings as, somehow, correct.
Green circles are guards, each of which have 333 physicals, Guard: 3, and Basic Weapon Use: 3. These are overall competent operatives who aren’t going to be utterly trivial to get past, and each is armed with a handgun loaded with 9mm bullets and a baton.
The 2nd basement floor has MARKOV on one side in the bar, and Reese on the other in the boiler room. A few guards are already on the map; neither has immediate line of sight on either player.
North of MARKOV is a storage closet, which opens into a bathroom. North of this is the backrooms of the club, with the currently full dance floor in the middle. North of the boiler rooms is the security guard room, and at the far northeast of the map is the office of the club’s owner, filled with various trophies.
Of note for Reese, there are a few dead rats (purple triangles) in the boiler room, and a piece of coral (purple circle) in the office. This chunk of coral is 8 kg, and when reanimated by ｢Magenta Mountain｣ forms as a sort of hemisphere 2m across and 1.5m high.
The 1st basement floor is mostly for club business, with speakers and various technical material spread around. Of note, the many, many guards on the south of the first level will, if the players choose not to fight through the closest stairways, slowly fill into the lowest level, chasing the players. In essence, there will be significantly less guards around the stairs to the ground floor if the players take the longer path.
Finally, the Ground Floor is an open warehouse space with no traditional obstacles- as everything in this room is currently floating airborne, with a gloating Sulka armed with a fire extinguisher acting as the final obstacle. Between Sulka’s mobility, their guards acting as easier targets, and the needs of the match, they may not be RETIRED, but attacks launched at them will temporarily distract them and force them to block or avoid them. Otherwise, Sulka will alternate between launching single massive crates and flurries of small objects at the players as they fight their way through the ground floor, up to the doors at the north.
Goal: Fight your way out of Club Naraka! In particular, leave the club in better shape than your opponent.
While combat is allowed and expected, for the most part guards won’t leave too far from their base location; they can be snuck past. The winner of the match is who gets out of the club in the overall best condition.
Combat between players with the intent or foreseeable result of RETIREMENT is not recommended, though other types of interference are.
Additional Information: MARKOV’s current user is Emile Gulati, who has 233 physicals and 3 Bartending; Bartending gives Emile a thorough understanding of the layout of the club as well as preternatural skill in being able to throw around glass bottles or other similarly hefty items.
As for other NPCs besides the guards, the clubgoers have 222 physicals, Ignoring Any Chaos Around Them 5, and Mostly Irrelevant To The Match 4. Essentially they can act as a sort of cover in the dance floor, but besides hiding among them, don’t worry about anyone besides guards too much.

Team	Combatant	JoJolity
Gallery of Wayward Reverie	Markov	“Come on, what are you doing anyway? Calm down—got up on the wrong side of the bed or something?” Use a variety of tools, items, and tactics during your escape!
I.M.P.A.C.T.	Reese McGuffin	“What I have to do is look for the bone using my strings…” Use a variety of tools, items, and tactics during your escape!

Link to Official Player Spreadsheet
Link to Match Schedule
As always, if you would like to interact with the tournament community and be among the first to get updates for the tournament, please feel free to PM a member of our Judge staff for an invite to our Official Discord Server!

submitted by Logic_Sandwich to StardustCrusaders [link] [comments]

2024.05.11 23:08 justfordafunkofit Period and undergarments?

Purchased from a costume house as “Renaissance”, but I’m thinking it might be more Tudor? What are the appropriate undergarments for this piece?

submitted by justfordafunkofit to HistoricalCostuming [link] [comments]

2024.05.11 15:55 ChanceDimension7820 How can modern-day TikTok influencers successfully blend historically accurate Renaissance Faire costumes and mannerisms to compete for the title of the most authentic portrayal for a day?

submitted by ChanceDimension7820 to AskReddit [link] [comments]

2024.05.11 13:45 Sinister-John One the craziest last day vacation stories you’ll ever read in your life! 💀

This story was written and emailed to me by an anonymous source. And it’s one of the craziest most bizarre stories I’ve ever read. Ever! 😆 Enjoy the read. It’s long and ridiculously wild. ☘️
Okay so…
I went on vacation to Ireland with my brother last year. And had the most wildest experience of my life there.
Or should I say, we both had the most…wildest experience.
But More so me. And to Tell you the truth, I don’t think I’ll ever go back again after what happened.
As a matter of fact, no, I won’t go back.
So, it’s a Sunday night and it was pretty much our last day of vacationing.
My older brother Shane, wanted to go out… And I’m quoting him - “let’s get fuckin wasted tonight!”
So… We’re on vacation right? Why not? We had rented an Airbnb for the week, we had a rental car - we had a great week so far and we were having…
A proper vacation.
He was already dressed up and ready to go. I wanted to take a quick shower and shave so I told him to head out and I’d call him when I was ready for him to pick me up.
He says cool. He leaves, and I jump in the shower. He’s the one that knows the hot spots in Ireland better than I do. I mean, this was my first time ever coming here. So…
I take a shower, shave, and I get dressed. As I’m about to call my brother, the front door to our Airbnb opens up.
And Its my brother with two bad ass Irish women! They both jump on the couch and they’re laughing their asses off and my brother is just standing there looking at me with a sly grin on his face.
He looks over at the ladies and says - “Give me a minute please” walks over to me, puts his arm over my shoulder and walks me to the bathroom. He then whips out a bag of mushrooms and smiles. Ya know… The psychedelic kind.
I look down at the bag and I shake my head.
He says to me - “come on bro. We got two hotties out there who are trippin and they want to party. Don’t be a flake. This is our last night. Let’s make it special.”
I don’t like disappointing my brother but I was kind of hesitant.
I opened the bathroom door and take a look at these gorgeous women who were both sitting upright now and both looking at me as I opened the door. Both smiling. I smiled back. Closed the door… I looked at my brother and said - “Alright dood fuck it! Let’s do it!”
He gives me a huge hug, kisses me on the forehead, pours me a handful of shrooms and does the same for himself.
We both looked at each other to see who would go first. He counted to three and down the hatch they went. But they were the most unpleasant tasting mushrooms I’ve ever eaten in my life. They were disgusting.
I ran to the fridge and grabbed a bottle of juice because I was having a hard time chewing these nasty things.
But my brother Shane? No, he’s a pro. You give that guy a barrel of hay and he’ll eat it faster than a horse. The guy can eat anything.
40 minutes go by and I’m still straight as a pin. However, my brother on the other hand? He’s already trippin.
I think he had already taken some beforehand.
But in the next 10 minutes… These shrooms hit me like a ton of bricks! It was like this intense wave of cool and hot went completely through my body.
And I’ve taken mushrooms quite a few times but have never felt anything like this before. It was so sudden!
And I feel fantastic!
The next hour went by so fast because we were having so much fun! And these Irish girls? Man… I had the sexiest one! A beautiful Redhead by the name of Katrina.
She was kind of short though. About 5’1” maybe? But good things come in small packages, right? Well, not really. And you’ll know why soon enough.
I don’t recall anything else that happened for the rest of the night after my brother left with the other girl. And before I continue with the rest of the story. My brother’s name is really not Shane. And the redhead girl I was with is not named Katrina.
You see I had to make up these names to protect me and my brother. Because what happened during the rest of the night? I don’t remember. But also, I’ll never forget either.
Okay so, let's get back to the story…
I do remember my brother leaving with… Let's just call her Gloria, Katrina’s friend? And me and Katrina, the redhead, stood behind. I do remember us making out in the bathroom together, but…Everything else after that? There’s nothing there. Nothing. I don’t recall anything from that point forward no matter how badly I try to remember.
This is what my brother told me he witnessed as he arrived back at the Airbnb five hours later with Gloria.
And until this day, I still don’t want to believe this happened. But according to my brother…
It truly did happen.
My brother is going to write this part of the story because he’s the one that has this locked in his memory for life. And for the sake of the story, my name will be Alex.
Here is my brother Shane’s point of view - his perspective on what he witnessed that crazy night. Wow man… This is so fucking nuts. So buckle up and be prepared. I understand you don’t know who I am, but I swear, I’m not a bad person. Okay.

“Shane’s” story on what he witnessed.

Yeah so, I guess I’m Shane now. Unreal…
Okay. Here we go. Meat and potatoes.
We arrive back at the Airbnb and I see Alex outside in the front of the house wearing only socks and he’s running around on top of the grass like an animal yanking out handfuls of grass from underneath him.
I look at Gloria and we’re both baffled at what we just saw.
First thing I said was - “Oh yeah! This dood is off his rocker right about now - as I parked the car.
We both hop out of the car and walk up to the front door. I slide the key into the door, it unlocks, but there’s a chair behind the door and it’s tipped over blocking the entry way and only leaving enough space for a crack. We both awkwardly look at one another and as I’m about to call out for my brother, I hear someone sprinting towards the door and bang!
The fuckin idiot shuts the door on us.
I then knock on the door softly because It’s almost 1 in the morning as I don’t want to make too much noise. God only knows what this kid has been doing since me and Gloria left.
After I knock on the door a few times, I hear the chair getting pushed to the side and my brother slightly opens the door. I take a peek inside, and his nose is broken, lips are bubbled up and his left eye is completely shut, black and blue and swollen.
He then drops to his knees, and begins crying but no sound is coming out of him! You know… Like when you get smacked by your parents when you’re a kid and it shocks the soul of you? Yeah, that kind of cry.
I don’t react to what he’s doing to not scare the shit out of Gloria, because she’s right beside me. So I push the door open and tell Gloria to hang on a second and shut the door and lock it.
I pick his busted ass up and sit him on the couch. I look around the house and it’s in complete shambles. Our clothes are everywhere, there’s food all over the fuckin walls. It was chaotic. And my brother is now sitting up breathing frantically.
I ask him - “what in the fuck happened?”
He looks at me. Face looking like he got into a boxing match with Rocky Marciano and whispers to me.
“Dood… There’s a leprechaun in the bathroom.”
“A fuckin what now?” - I said with the most bewildered look on my face. I mean I must have… I wish I would have taken a picture of my face at that very moment. I should have taken pictures of everything so this idiot could see the havoc he wreaked on that night.
My imbecile brother continues - “I’m telling you. There’s a fuckin leprechaun in the fuckin bathroom and this little lucky charms motherfucker won’t tell me where he hid the gold!”
“A leprechaun in the bathroom. What the fuck happened to you?” I said as I felt my blood beginning to boil.
The Imbecile then says - “Don’t worry. Don’t worry! I hogtied that little bitch and stuffed my underwear in its mouth. It’s in the bathtub. But don’t go in there. Don’t go in there. This thing fucked me up!”
And now I can hear someone fumbling in the bathroom moaning very softly. I looked at my brother and said - “What in the fuck did you do Alex?”
He replies - “I’m telling you. It’s a fucking leprechaun.”
“Okay. Okay.” - I said. “Stay right here and just, don’t move. Don’t do anything. Just keep still.
His eyes were so huge and dilated. He was so fuckin high. He had heartbeat pulses pumping from the top of his head.
I rushed back over to the front door and told Gloria that my brother got into a fight with a couple of guys at a pub while me and her were out and that her friend Katrina left because she got scared. She told me that was the first time she met that girl tonight so she really didn’t care and shrugged it off. Which was a huge relief to me. I told her thank you for a wonderful night. She understood. W said our goodbyes. I shut the door. And now… What the fuck is in the bathroom? Or better yet, who, is in the bathroom? Because let’s face it. This motherfucker did not find and fight with a leprechaun tonight. No way. There’s just no fuckin way.
I rush over to the bathroom and my brother leaps at my legs, and he’s holding onto me for dear life, begging me!
He says - “Please don’t untie it! It’s got magical powers! PLEASE!!!
Now, at this very moment? I am sort of hesitant about opening the bathroom door. But I snap out of it and open it. What the fuck. A leprechaun? No, I don’t think so.
I open the door…
“Holy shit.” - I said while covering my hands with my mouth. The floor was smeared in blood as if someone was dragged, leading to the huge cast iron tub. Smeared bloody handprints were all over the tub. And now I hear the faint moan coming from the tub. My legs are shaking and feel like they’re ready to give out on me. I was scared shitless.
“What did my brother do? Who is in that bathtub? I pray to God Katrina isn’t in there right now.” - I said to myself completely freaked out.
I slowly walk up to the bathtub…
And sure enough, there is a hogtied person lying in it with my brother's underwear stuffed in their mouth with a ripped t-shirt tied around their head and mouth, but… It’s not Katrina.
It’s a little person. You know, a dwarf? And… He’s literally dressed up in a leprechaun costume…
And how, on God's green earth did he end up here?
He has no idea I’m standing above him. I reach down to begin untying him but he begins squirming and screaming. I told him to relax and that I was here to help him.
And then My imbecile brother Alex, rushes into the bathroom and tackles me down. Stands up and begins shouting at this poor bastard hogtied in the tub - “Tell me where it is you greedy little fuck! Tell me!!!
I jumped to my feet and slapped my brother back to his childhood. Grabbed him by the throat, tripped him and threw him to the ground and said - “are you fuckin crazy? Do you want to go to prison for kidnapping? What in the fuck is the matter with you? You dumb fuck!!”
He then looks up at me with this pessimistic look on his face and says - “It’s a fucking leprechaun dood. A leprechaun.”
I was absolutely dumbfounded and furious at this point. I have this stranger in my Airbnb rental, hogtied and gagged and squirming and screaming and my brother thinks that he’s a leprechaun…
I can’t make this shit up.
He was so fucking high on those mushrooms. He was absolutely convinced that this man was a leprechaun. So… I had to play the game.
It was the only way to help this poor son of a bitch that my brother had kidnapped and hogtied in our Airbnb rental.
I calmly whispered and told him to please leave the bathroom so I could interrogate the leprechaun and find out where he was hiding the pot of gold.
My brother slowly stood up to his feet, face busted up, his cock and balls all shriveled and tight, looked at the man dressed up as a leprechaun, smiled at him with an evil grin and just, walked away…
And as he walked away, I told him to go and please put some clothes on, lay down in bed, and that I would handle the leprechaun. That I, would find out where the gold was hidden…
And that’s all I’m saying. I’m giving the computer back to my dumbass of a brother to finish off whatever else he wants to write.

Back to “Alex”

Pretty outlandish right? I know. I know. You must think that I’m bat shit crazy huh? Okay so, to make the rest of this long story short, my brother Shane never told me what he did with the poor guy I hogtied and, well… i don’t remember how this guy came to be in my possession. I really don’t.
The only thing my brother Shane told me was that he ungagged him, untied him, and that he was extremely pissed off. And that he had compensated him for his troubles.
Man, I felt so horrible. I felt so horrible…
What I do remember though is waking up that following afternoon with my face all fucked up. Dehydrated with a tremendous splitting headache. I had no clue as to why I looked and felt the way I did. It was terrifying.
All of our luggage was packed and my brother was just sitting there, legs crossed and his arms folded.
Hey man… Take it from me. Don’t do fuckin drugs.
Regards, “Alex” & “Shane”
Disclaimer- This story may not be used for anything other than reading, sharing your thoughts and enjoying it. Thank you. ☘️

submitted by Sinister-John to TrueScaryStories [link] [comments]

2024.05.11 11:58 Sinister-John A Proper Vacation

This story was written and emailed to me by an anonymous source. And it’s one of the craziest stories I’ve ever read in my life. Enjoy the read. It’s wild. ☘️
Story by - Anonymous
Okay so…
I went on vacation to Ireland with my brother last year. And had the most wildest experience of my life there.
Or should I say, we both had the most…wildest experience.
But More so me. And to Tell you the truth, I don’t think I’ll ever go back again after what happened.
As a matter of fact, no, I won’t go back.
So, it’s a Sunday night and it was pretty much our last day of vacationing.
My older brother Shane, wanted to go out… And I’m quoting him - “let’s get fuckin wasted tonight!”
So… We’re on vacation right? Why not? We had rented an Airbnb for the week, we had a rental car - we had a great week so far and we were having…
A proper vacation.
He was already dressed up and ready to go. I wanted to take a quick shower and shave so I told him to head out and I’d call him when I was ready for him to pick me up.
He says cool. He leaves, and I jump in the shower. He’s the one that knows the hot spots in Ireland better than I do. I mean, this was my first time ever coming here. So…
I take a shower, shave, and I get dressed. As I’m about to call my brother, the front door to our Airbnb opens up.
And Its my brother with two bad ass Irish women! They both jump on the couch and they’re laughing their asses off and my brother is just standing there looking at me with a sly grin on his face.
He looks over at the ladies and says - “Give me a minute please” walks over to me, puts his arm over my shoulder and walks me to the bathroom. He then whips out a bag of mushrooms and smiles. Ya know… The psychedelic kind.
I look down at the bag and I shake my head.
He says to me - “come on bro. We got two hotties out there who are trippin and they want to party. Don’t be a flake. This is our last night. Let’s make it special.”
I don’t like disappointing my brother but I was kind of hesitant.
I opened the bathroom door and take a look at these gorgeous women who were both sitting upright now and both looking at me as I opened the door. Both smiling. I smiled back. Closed the door… I looked at my brother and said - “Alright dood fuck it! Let’s do it!”
He gives me a huge hug, kisses me on the forehead, pours me a handful of shrooms and does the same for himself.
We both looked at each other to see who would go first. He counted to three and down the hatch they went. But they were the most unpleasant tasting mushrooms I’ve ever eaten in my life. They were disgusting.
I ran to the fridge and grabbed a bottle of juice because I was having a hard time chewing these nasty things.
But my brother Shane? No, he’s a pro. You give that guy a barrel of hay and he’ll eat it faster than a horse. The guy can eat anything.
40 minutes go by and I’m still straight as a pin. However, my brother on the other hand? He’s already trippin.
I think he had already taken some beforehand.
But in the next 10 minutes… These shrooms hit me like a ton of bricks! It was like this intense wave of cool and hot went completely through my body.
And I’ve taken mushrooms quite a few times but have never felt anything like this before. It was so sudden!
And I feel fantastic!
The next hour went by so fast because we were having so much fun! And these Irish girls? Man… I had the sexiest one! A beautiful Redhead by the name of Katrina.
She was kind of short though. About 5’1” maybe? But good things come in small packages, right? Well, not really. And you’ll know why soon enough.
I don’t recall anything else that happened for the rest of the night after my brother left with the other girl. And before I continue with the rest of the story. My brother’s name is really not Shane. And the redhead girl I was with is not named Katrina.
You see I had to make up these names to protect me and my brother. Because what happened during the rest of the night? I don’t remember. But also, I’ll never forget either.
Okay so, let's get back to the story…
I do remember my brother leaving with… Let's just call her Gloria, Katrina’s friend? And me and Katrina, the redhead, stood behind. I do remember us making out in the bathroom together, but…Everything else after that? There’s nothing there. Nothing. I don’t recall anything from that point forward no matter how badly I try to remember.
This is what my brother told me he witnessed as he arrived back at the Airbnb five hours later with Gloria.
And until this day, I still don’t want to believe this happened. But according to my brother…
It truly did happen.
My brother is going to write this part of the story because he’s the one that has this locked in his memory for life. And for the sake of the story, my name will be Alex.
Here is my brother Shane’s point of view - his perspective on what he witnessed that crazy night. Wow man… This is so fucking nuts. So buckle up and be prepared. I understand you don’t know who I am, but I swear, I’m not a bad person. Okay.

“Shane’s” story on what he witnessed.

Back to “Alex”

creepypasta #truescarystories #crazy #leprechaun #truestories

Disclaimer- This story may not be used without consent of its original author.

submitted by Sinister-John to u/Sinister-John [link] [comments]

2024.05.10 23:08 The_Bogwoppit 40l one bag - UK - hiking - wedding - fancy shenanigans

I posted a week back about my shoenicorn conundrum. Lots of helpful advice was received, and I have now resolved my dilemma. Everything fits easily in my 40l bag, wheeled because there will be a lot of airport walking and some train and bus stations and city streets.
This is my finalised list for my three week UK trip starting next week. Events are, a posh wedding, mum's 80th birthday, a themed dinner party (Casablanca), a hiking and driving trip of the North Coast 500 in Scotland, then lastly week of out and about in Scotland, plays, pubs, dining and walking with family. So a broad range of activities, the shoes were the biggest challenge, but flipping from a dress to pants for the fancy stuff, really helped with that.
I can do laundry here and there, and can hand wash as needed.
Wear on the plane

Black chisel toe Blundstones (yup cannot give them up)
Black Eddie Bauer sightscape horizon joggers - cute and I can hike in them too
Lululemon white ribbed Hold tight t-shirt (so comfy, dress up and down)
M&S black round neck cardigan
Lululemon black raincoat - knee length, looks stylish
Athleta Ritual bra - pale pink
Fossil black leather 1L crossbody bag - dressy and not so dressy
kindle

Pack in Monos carry on -

SheFit sports bra
Lululemon high neck tank black - for running
Lululemon 4" high waist speed run shorts
Helly Hanson - very thin windbreaker - for running - bright pink for visibility
Nightdress - short black jersey
3 short socks
3 long socks
6 underwear
1 M&S underwired bra
Uniqlo JW Andersson slim cropped jeans
Black leather belt
LLL running leggings - for running and hiking - layer under rain pants
Rab goretex rainpants
Arcteryx Beta rain jacket
Uniqlo thin quilted jacket - very small layer, packs down to nothing - no hood
Kari Traa pink beanie
thin Saucony running gloves
Lululemon Black hold tight ribbed t-shirt
Gap - white ribbed tank top
Uniqlo l/s heat tech shirts - great layers - one black and one white
Uniglo dress shirt - handy for layering
Hatley black and white striped sleeveless top

Shoes -

Salewa goretex black trail runners - running and hiking
Kate Spade black pierced leather flats - for fancy stuff

Wedding & fancy outfit - will wear to three events - with the KS flats

Lululemon Noir wide legged pants - black
Black and white polka dot S/S ruffle blouse - no brand that I have heard of
some crappy costume jewellery

Stuff-

hairbrush
sea to summit toiletries bag - Great for hanging in small cabin bathrooms along the hiking route.
Full make up kit - in one 1l clear Muji pouch
Bar shampoo/conditioner
Moisturizer - face an body
perfume mini
toothbrush/floss/toothpaste
deoderant
make up remover wipes - hate the concept, but love them for short trips
hair products - decanted into tiny pots
meds bag, bandaids
laundry sheets cut into little squares for handwash size.
bug net - NC500 very buggy hiking
waterproof backpack cover - will borrow daypack in the UK
chargers for phone and watch
Folding grocery bags x 2
Baseball hat - great for hiking in the rain
headlamp - for so many things
tiny umbrella
sunglasses in case

submitted by The_Bogwoppit to HerOneBag [link] [comments]

2024.05.10 20:28 pillowcase-of-eels [Music] Emilie Autumn's Asylum, pt. 5 – Musician spends years building vibrant and loyal audience; single-sentence comment from concerned fan triggers civil war and ruins everything forever

🪞 “It's much easier to get in that it is to get out,” Emilie Autumn used to say. Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4.1 - Part 4.2
She was not wrong. Welcome back to the Asylum write-up!
In this installment, we're finally getting down to the nitty-gritty of the enmity between EA and her fans.
It's time for war. It's time for blood. It's time... for tea. 🎵

THE PRESENT DAY: “ASK ME ANYTHING (WELL, NOT QUITE)”

"Ask me anything" titles are catchy, and that’s why I’m using one. But, obviously, don’t ask me anything, by which I mean that, if you think I wouldn’t answer it, you’re probably right. Ask me something really good. I’d love to answer you. I’d love to have comments on these posts, in fact, so that I could answer questions there regularly and ask you things as well, but insanity is doing the same thing over and over and expecting different results, or so Einstein is supposed to have said, and attempting to create yet another interactive online venue after every previous attempt has ended in heartbreak—forums, facebook groups, social media accounts—it would indeed be insanity to think that this time would be any different. So there are no comments. This too is heartbreaking in the sense that, and you may not realize this, but I desperately want to connect more completely with you—to be able to intelligently converse and share and exchange. We can do that in person, of course, because the wrong people never show up in person. Isn’t that funny… So, perhaps we’ll have to arrange that;). I’ll start you off with an example question I’d want to know if I were you (I can almost guarantee that you do not want to know this). Q. Hey EA, how do you keep your wireless bodypack transmitter secure when you are leaping about in skimpy costumes and doing frequent costume changes? Also, dye your roots. A. Fantastic question, EA, and I just dyed my roots thank you very much. ... (Deleted blog post followed by a year of radio silence, 2022 📝)

Sooo. For the past five-ish years, the vibe in the Asylum has been that of a protracted Christmas dinner where everyone is tensely moving their food around in their plate, bracing themselves for whatever will trigger the screaming match. Wondering what it's going to be this time. Weary old-timers make small talk about the food because no other topic feels safe. Every glance, every forced smile, is fraught with eons-old grudges and unspoken regrets; every nervous pleasantry sounds like a thinly-veiled accusation. Aunt Emilie always insists on hosting, but not-so-secretly hates having people over. Sooner or later, she finds a way to get all of these assholes out of her house. Most of the adult children are daydreaming about going no-contact.
Everyone ready for some dysfunctional family history?
CW for discussion of bullying, online harassment, mental illness stigma.

YE OLDEN DAYS: CUCKOOS OF A FEATHER NEST TOGETHER

In the beginning, it was beautiful.
EA had the excellent instinct to start banking on her online presence📝 long before MySpace was even a thing. She had a website, several online stores, an active LiveJournal and a ProBoards forum right from the turn of the millennium.
In 2004, she attached an official forum to her website; the earliest archive shows 74 registered users. By the time Opheliac came out in 2006, that number had grown tenfold. And it was, by most accounts, a pretty dope place to be! (I should specify that this write-up focuses on the anglophone side of the fandom: there were also thriving fan-run communities in at least German, French, and Spanish. Because EA doesn't speak any of those languages, the lucky bastards were mostly left alone.)
Forum users enjoyed interacting with some of EA's closest IRL friends and associates – and with the mistress of the house herself (user flair: PsychoFiddler), when she occasionally responded to comments under her own posts. But that wasn't even the main appeal for many. For a long time, on top of all EA-related topics, the official forum had very active “Off-Topic” subforums, with lively and friendly conversation on a variety of subjects. (There was even a “Filthy Libertines (18+)” sub for a while, which was closed due to preemptive concerns about minors.) Swear words (not slurs) were allowed and encouraged, and moderation was overall pretty loose beyond basic enforcement of civility. There was a lot of mutual support, creativity, and solid banter going around.

It wasn't just about Emilie on the forums. People could chat about almost anything with near free reign, making connections and lifelong friends. ... This community mattered SO MUCH to people. They felt included, accepted, and understood within the walls of the Asylum. People invested their time and creative energy into keeping the forums a vibrant, active community, and made sure that carried over into the real world. ... I've never seen anything like it in a fan space. I doubt I ever will again. (@Asylum_Oracle - “Fandom History” Instagram highlight 🔍📝, which contains most of the sources for this segment.)

And it did, indeed, carry over into the real world. There were numerous meet-ups – a few organized by EA, many more spontaneous. People who didn't know any other EA fans in real life, or were just excited to add new Plague Rats to their friend group, would regularly connect with other forum users from their area to meet up and hang out before EA shows. “Who else is dressing up??”
In 2008, for instance, EA held an afternoon meet-up at Lincoln Park in Chicago. 📺 The event was free to attend; it featured live acoustic music and a reading from EA's upcoming book, the intriguingly-titled Asylum for Wayward Victorian Girls.
On the appointed day, EA rolled up in a fabulously tousled red wig, bedazzled white corset and steampunk-altered wedding dress. She had brought friends alongs. Sporting blue hair and a pink bustle and corset was her Chicago bestie, the main forum admin. Rocking a guitar and a top hat was EA's sound engineer, the soft-spoken wizard behind the Victoriandustrial sound, who was also a forum mod. The photographer from the original Opheliac cover art was there as well; he was formally introduced by EA and got his own round of applause.

People who would never normally be involved in an artist's fanbase were in EA's world. And not only were they known – they were respected and incredibly active with the fanbase. These people who managed an online message board were willing to engage in real-world meet-ups (with no security??) because of how tight-knit the community they had built was. People turned out to this event. People traveled to go to this event. It was a short reading of a book that hadn't been released yet, and wouldn't be for some time. Why? Because not only was it a chance to meet Emilie and listen to parts of the new book, but it was also a chance to hang out with their friends from the Asylum. ... The fandom really was a family for a lot of people. (@Asylum_Oracle)

“SERIOUSLY, GET THE FUCK OUT OF MY HOUSE.”

It all started with The End.
The End Records, that is! Quick refresher: in 2009, after three years or so with Trisol, EA split from the label over allegations that the owner was embezzling money from ticket sales. A few months later, she signed with The End Records. Understandably, EA still wanted to sell the album that had made her famous, and to which she had smartly retained the rights – which meant a brand new, “Deluxe” release of Opheliac. (Remember, from part 3? The one you could pre-order as a bundle with the book? Some projects are just cursed, I guess.)
At that point, Opheliac had been released three times already, as recently as the year before, with only slight variations in format and tracklist. (Yes, that is a theme in this story.) The End Records version would feature new cover art and a handful of new tracks, but overall, it was... you know... the same album.
(The following paragraphs are largely sourced from this excellent recap 🔍📝, which also provides potato screenshots for all quotes.)
One fateful day of August 2009, a user started a thread entitled “Opheliac US edition deluxe re-release??” in the “EA News” subforum. In the thread, some people were kind of balking at the re-do, pondering whether to buy the “new” Opheliac or sit this one out. Some expressed that after three years, they were jonesing for a new album. Others shared what B-sides or dream covers they would have liked to see included on the bonus disc. Just... fans being fans, in a fan discussion space.
And then EA jumped out from behind the curtains.

Fan: Okay. Before I start, I just want you to know that I think it's very good that EA is getting more popularity, and that she can release lots of albums, but - are 5 editions of the same album really needed? You may say now “ah, it's not the same, it has 2 bonus tracks” or whatever, but I mean: it's not new material. Now don't get me wrong. I'm happy for it, maybe I'll even buy it, but I'm just wondering if she shouldn't keep herself busy with other (maybe more important) stuff? * hides * EA: Nobody's forcing you to buy it. Thanks.

Record scratch.

Fan 1: is this Opheliac release version number 4? lol If she's recording NEW tracks, then surely they deserve to be sold by themselves, otherwise people are going to have to buy an album that they may have already bought twice (like me!). But... alas, I am a fool and adore everything this woman does... im buying it lol Fan 2: exactly – if it was just reissuing the last version of Opheliac to tap into new markets that would be fine (...) but if they start adding extra bits of material to albums people already have then the true muffins are going to feel obliged to buy new copies (...) EA: How exactly are you obliged to buy anything? Nobody is forcing you to spend a fucking penny, my dears. I suppose it would make more sense to you to simply not have my records available any more as the old label I just escaped from will no longer be distributing them? Forgive me for adding extra tracks. No obligation necessary.

...Okay, so I'm pretty sure that we can see both sides of the argument here. Fans are annoyed at the idea of spending money on barely-anything-new, because they love EA and buy every single CD she releases. EA is exasperated by fans acting like she's twisting their arm and somehow resenting the inclusion of new material, when she was just ensuring that her album would remain available for purchase and trying to keep things interesting.
But maybe we can also agree that those replies should have been screamed into a pillow rather than typed out on a keyboard.
EA was getting increasingly (and, I'll just say it: disproportionately) sarcastic and defensive in her replies. Enter poor FantineDormouse.
FantineDormouse meant well, I think. Maybe she thought, she's spiraling. Maybe she thought, friends don't let friends go down that road. Granted, FantineDormouse probably should have known better than to phrase it the way she did. Or to assume that EA perceived her as a friend.
Either way, at some point, FantineDormouse jumped in and posted the comment that finally made EA lose it. THE comment which, overnight, ended the honeymoon period of the Asylum, triggering a doomsday domino effect from which the fandom would never truly recover. Are you comfortably seated?

FantineDormouse: Uhm, Emilie, love, I don't mean to sound rude or anything... but maybe you should have a cup of tea and relax a little.

...
* sound of archduke getting shot *

EA: Excuse me? You can throw this onslaught of absolute cruel bullshit at me and those I work with in my own space that I own, and I can't say anything back? How fucking patronizing. Relax? Are you fucking kidding me? Who the fuck do you think you're talking to? FD: I'm not trying to piss you off even more, Emilie. And trust me, I have to deal with it myself, and as much as I would really love to punch the cunts I have to deal with in the face, I don't. You're pissed off, I get it. You're bipolar, which makes it 10x worse, I get that. I'm just not the person to stand around and do nothing when a fight where I'm pretty sure there will be a lot of regret is going on.

Famous last words. Literally! Immediately after EA delivered her irate closing statement – which includes one of my all-time favorite EA zingers, bolded...

EA: I cannot believe this... You just don't stop, do you? So just because I've shared the personal information with you all that I happen to be bipolar, I can't get pissed off at all of you being perfectly awful in the very space that I pay fuckloads a month to have up (has it ever occurred to you all that I pay dearly for this space you play around in?) Why not just tell me that I must be upset because it's my time of the month? Seriously, get the fuck out of my house. You are unbelievable, and your level of patronization is almost criminal. Don't make me write another book. With muffins like you, who needs enemies? Nothing I say or feel is legitimate, not ever ever ever because I'm bipolar... discredited before I begin... unbelievable...

...FantineDormouse got permabanned.
Jaws dropped. After days of infighting between white knights, detractors, and crossfire negotiators, several mod resignations, and general mayhem surrounding the ban, EA made a post entitled “In Which: I Invite You to Make a Fucking Choice.” 📝 For brevity's sake (cue laugh track), I can't reproduce it in all of its righteous splendor, but it's quite a read. It runs the gamut from fair and articulate points about how mental illness shouldn't be used to discredit someone's legitimate anger... to histrionic commands that “deserters to the cause” should “turn in their weapons” if they can't handle her way of doing things.

To those of you who appear not to understand why said posts, most especially those of the banned party, were offensive to me, I give you the option to either educate yourselves on your own time and in your own space (because please never forget that this is my space that I share with all of you at my own expense, and in which I generally give you all the freedom I would wish for myself), or to resign your posts in the Asylum Army – this is not the place for you, and I humbly suggest that you turn your attention and support towards other artists of a more placid, non-controversial, and less opinionated nature; there are more than enough of them out there, and I’m sure they all have forums of their own.

Some fans did leave. Most stuck around, whiplashed. Soon, the storm quieted down, and business as usual resumed on the forum. But something had been damaged beyond repair. The FantineDormouse fiasco had erected walls and drawn lines in the sand, both around EA and among her fans; its sad specter would haunt every Asylum crisis that spiked up forever after. “Fucking Patronizing Fucking” or “FPF” 🔍 became memetic shorthand in the fandom for overreaction and self-righteousness. 🐀
...And now you understand why, in the following years, some fans were so delicate and diplomatic in voicing their very legitimate complaints about messed-up orders, unsigned books, and puzzling lies... while unofficial platforms like Tumblr flourished with pent-up resentment and snark. 🦠

A NOTE ON HARASSMENT: “MAD GIRL, CAN YOU BELIEVE WHAT THEY'VE DONE TO YOU?”

Wouldn't they stop When you asked them to leave you alone? (“Mad Girl”, 2008 🎵)

Now, let's be clear, because it should not be minimized: EA has also been the target of genuine online harassment. Based on the simple fact that she is a woman with a public presence on the internet, I have zero doubt that EA has received (and perhaps continues to receive) more than her share of truly vile, bigoted, creepy and threatening messages – and, knowing what I know about the darker recesses of the Asylum, a terrifying amount of emotional blackmail and obsessive projection from people who hold her to punitively high standards. I'm also inclined to believe that it started way before she ever did anything that warranted any backlash. And that fucking sucks. It's repulsive and inexcusable, and the people who harass her should crawl into a hole and live among the worms.
Notwithstanding. In my decade-plus of following EA drama, the public comments on EA's own platforms (where people knew she was likely to be reading) have been, for the most part... civil and nuanced, and relatively mindful of the human? Even very confrontational comments (some clearly written from a place of anger and desire to shame) rarely resorted to outright name-calling or cruelty. When abusive or bigoted language did crop up, it was often promptly shut down by other fans as gross and uncalled for. In short: I have, with mine own two eyes, in real time, read some of the comment sections that EA described as cesspools of blind rage and odious attacks, and... I just couldn't see it.
If anything, for a long time, a lot of the angry comments directed at EA during any given controversy read more like break-up letters to an ex-best friend: harsh, curt and targeted in a way that cuts deep.... but also kind of screams how much love you still have for this person, against your better judgement.
Not that it wouldn't mess a person up to get hundred of those in a matter of hours, even if they don't individually qualify as “abusive”.
It's worth noting that prior to becoming semi-famous and regretting it, EA was also (by her own account and among other forms of abuse) a victim of intense childhood bullying. It feels like the two situations are closely connected in her mind when her focus seamlessly transitions from one to the other. 📺 I don't think that tremor in her voice is put on.
Based on her writings, I get the feeling that over the years, EA has developed a very black-and-white view of two monolithic groups of people. There's (an idealized vision of) her “real audience”, well-dressed, well-read, kind-hearted, and Asylum-savvy, who she fully trusts to “get it” – and buy it, and love it, unquestioningly, whatever “it” may be at any given time – because that is the true measure of love and loyalty. These are the people she makes art and merch for, the people she writes heart-emoji-filled newsletters to, and desperately longs to see in person again.
And then there's the lynch mob, those who really don't “get it”: the trolls, the faceless creeps, the basement-dwelling mouthbreathers, the ones who stalk her every move obsessively, waiting for any chance to spam her with vicious abuse and slander and obscenities. The latter only exist online (they are manifested into arbitrary existence by the internet itself, not by anything EA said or did), and there is zero overlap between the two sets of people. That seems to be the official narrative.

The "public eye" isn't an [enviable] place to be, and the closer I've come to it, the more horrified I've been. Because, for starters, who is "the public?" Is "the public" my audience? Hell no. My audience is special. They are not the general public. If they were the general public I would be a lot wealthier. The "public eye" means getting stalked, harassed, viscously judged, and put in danger. If I do things in the future that gain notoriety, I will do them in spite of fame, not because of it. I am out for world domination, but not fame. (Interview for The Moaning Times, 2014 📝)

In real life (well, mostly online, but I mean: on this shared plane of existence), things play out slightly differently. The Venn diagram of “true blue fans” and “people who criticize EA" and "people who know way too much about EA” is a circle. The call is 100% coming from inside the Asylum, and I think EA rationally knows that. But here's the thing: no matter how many shows and meet-and-greets you've dressed up for, how many loving and supportive comments you've left, or how many family heirlooms you once pawned to purchase a copy of the not-for-sale 2003 DJ pressing of Enchant... the instant EA feels attacked, everyone is a saboteur and a bully until proven otherwise, and suspected treason is dealt with on the spot. One strike, you're out. Unfortunately for everyone involved, her threshold for bullying seems to be “any remotely thoughtless opinion from any stranger on the internet”.
It makes for outstanding human-interest entertainment... but it also sounds an awful lot like the unhealthy patterns of a person suffering from all sorts of PTSD. 🔍 So, please bear that in mind as you read through this write-up. It's easy to make EA out to be the sole villain, a paranoid and delusional drama queen, based on her extreme reactions to things that often “weren't that bad”. Anything can, in fact, be “that bad” when you're thrown back into the very worst moments of your existence every time your brain decides that the situation is even remotely similar.
PTSD takes over your rational mind and actively distorts your perception of reality. That can be how a person ends up impulse-reacting to “a few people expressing an unfavorable opinion” as if the entire internet had just ganged up on them with knives. Which makes their audience feel unjustly accused, which makes them hostile, which gives the person actual good reason to feel attacked... and so the cycle of hurt continues.

You know the games I play And the words I say When I want my own way You know the lies I tell When you've gone through hell And I say I can't stay You know how hard it can be To keep believing in me When everything and everyone Becomes my enemy, and when There's nothing more you can do I'm gonna blame it on you – It's not the way I wanna be I only hope that in the end You will see: It's the Opheliac in me... (“Opheliac”, 2006 🎵)

And YES, it is extremely regrettable to have this as a trigger, when you're a public figure and you're bound to receive more negative feedback than the average citizen. “It's what she signed up for”, “it comes with the territory” and all that jazz. I really don't think EA was unaware of that fact when she decided to become a musician, share her personal life, and form an intense parasocial bond with her audience. But maybe she underestimated how hard it would be to process and recover from.
Just because you expect something unpleasant to happen, doesn't mean your psyche will be ready to handle it when it does – or that you'll pick the best and most effective strategy to deal with it.

A MADHOUSE UNDER MARTIAL LAW: MARCHING INTO THE FORUM WARS

There are two sides to every story... except for this one! (“If I Burn”, 2012 🎵)

You may have noted the military imagery in EA's “Make a Fucking Choice” response post – “resign your post in the Asylum Army”! What do psychiatry and the military have in common? They're both institutions of top-down social control. 🔍 EA's mixed metaphor may be a bit clunky, but it did foreshadow the evolution of the Asylum – in terms of aesthetics and power dynamics – in the years that followed the FantineDormouse incident and the release of The Book.
EA's next big release after the Asylum book came in 2012. It was a new album, an outline of the soon-to-be Asylum musical, called Fight Like a Girl (FLAG for short). As the name suggests, the main mood was bellicose. Incidentally, in the interim years, EA's communication style generally became noticeably more combative, incendiary, and (within her own spaces) controlling.📝 You remember those quirky word filters on the forum, that would change “fan” to “muffin” and “bra” to “teacup holder”? They kind of took on a Nineteen-Eighty-Four-burlesque flavor when you realized that one filter automatically changed “Fischkopf” to “Liddell” - and that circumventing the rule to address her totally real last name would get you banned, as would any discussion of her family. (“Wikipedia, random internet sites and heresay are not credible sources.” - Mod reminder of forum rules, 2010.)
Also, you try sustaining a serious, grown-up conversation among concerned fans about how Emilie Autumn should “take ratsponsibility for her mistakes out of ratspect for her muffins”. Thus, the official Asylum forum kept a tight grip on overt criticism of EA's claims and actions.

The Emilie Autumn forum is a dystopian hell. Truth be told, when I decided to leave you could not do anything but gush about Emilie. Otherwise all of her extremist arse kissing fans will be down your throat, ripping you apart in seconds, if you so much as questioned her behaviour. So much for freedom of opinion, let alone the idea of creating a harmonious community for ‘outcasts’. Hahaha. (2014 🐀)

The word filter thing really wasn't a big deal – I'm just pointing it out as one goofy expression of EA's need to control the narrative and rhetoric, which became especially noticeable in those post-book, pre-FLAG years. By that point, EA's fuse had been shortened by near on half a decade of non-stop touring / recording / writing / promoting / adjusting to the pressure and demands of an ever-growing fanbase, while also dealing with a horrorshow of personal turmoil and health issues behind the scenes. In other words: she was done taking any shit, in any form, or humoring anyone's ridiculous feedback regarding anything.
To be fair, it was never her forte to begin with. Will it come as a shock if I tell you that EA doesn't have the greatest track record for successful collaborative work? Let's do a quick-cut montage!
EA's very first corporate sponsor was her mother's “Enchant Clothing & Costume” online store 🔍; she went on to claim that her mother was dead. She sessioned for Billy Corgan, that went super well. 🎵 She liked Courtney Love for a minute, but that didn't work out because she felt that Courtney only valued her for her pee. 📝 (It probably didn't help that in early 2006, while EA was recording her post-break-up-tell-all album about Corgan, C-Love was recording her post-rehab-redemption album with Corgan. 🔍 Either way, EA didn't seem to like Courtney anymore after that. Courtney likes her, though! 📝) The one artist EA has ever approached for a duet (and by approached, I mean she recorded a demo and threw the CD on stage when he played Chicago in 2004) was, of all people, Morrissey. That never came to pass, thank mercy 🔍 – this fandom has suffered enough. In 2005, EA recorded some haunting vocals and violins for a potential collab with the frontman of Attrition. When, three years later, they were used on one track 🎵 of Attrition's All Mine Enemies Whisper, she alleged 📝 that the recordings had been obtained from her under the false pretense of a different project, then hideously altered to sound “out of tune”, and used without her permission. She enlisted her fans to boycott the album and the band, and threatened legal action. Meanwhile, on LiveJournal and Attrition's message boards, band associates were appalled: according to them, EA had been aware of the project's nature from the start... and had been completely unreachable, even through her label, during the months of its development. (Besides, Attrition is a semi-obscure English darkwave band from the 80s, whose micro-distributed albums don't even have their own Wikipedia pages... so I wonder what EA was hoping to get out of that theoretical lawsuit. These people own nothing but vintage gain pedals!) The song “Cold Hard Cash” 🎤 by Angelspit (who contributed a remix to one of her EPs in 2008) may or may not be an EA diss track. 🐀 Back when indie jewelry brand RockLove (which now has licensing deals with Disney, Marvel, and DC) was still someone's bedroom project, their first drop was an EA-inspired collection 🔍, which appears in many early Opheliac photoshoots. The partnership was terminated on bad terms, for unclear reasons; the RockLove owner shared in a statement that EA had “drunk the cool-aid” of Trisol Guy's shady business practices, and that the two of them had been spamming her with “crazed angry message[s]” for days.
Why am I talking about this? Because it was precisely one such ill-fated business partnership that triggered the Great Asylum Secession.
One fine day of spring 2010, the owner of vegan make-up brand Aromaleigh popped onto the Asylum forum to announce that they were cutting ties with EA, with damning receipts of copy-pasted emails (lost to time). Basically, the brand had been sponsoring her for half a decade, and while Aromaleigh had been actively promoting her music and tours, EA hadn't exactly been returning the favor. (Indeed, the extent of EA's sponcon seemed to have been a banner link to their website on her front page, and a single “random drunken endorsement” LiveJournal post that kind of reads like satire📝, from 2005.)
EA responded by banning the owner's account, deleting the thread, and posting this flippant statement a few days later:

Dearest Plague Rats, To be honest, I have no idea of what the hell happened with Aromaleigh, and I don't care to find out – the whole drama is a complete mystery to me, as I've been away for months touring and have not been in contact with anyone. All I know is that I've been promoting the company for ages and have not asked them for anything in years. (...) Please focus on more interesting things. I am. (“Save the Drama...” forum post, March 2010)

Posts questioning her good faith in the conflict were deleted from the forum. Shortly thereafter, citing how prolific and labor-intensive the Asylum forum had grown, EA shut down all non-EA related subforums – which, among many other topics, included a pretty active thread about Aromaleigh products.
So one Plague Rat decided to create a separate, members-only forum 📝, where users could recreate some of the now-defunct off-topic threads... and also freely voice their critical opinions of EA's behavior without fear of backlash from mods or rabid stans. Thus, “The Reform” was born. (Reform [n]: amendment of what is defective, vicious, corrupt, or depraved.)
For a few weeks, the two-state solution seemed to work fine. And then word spread among forum mods and other diehard fans that there was this horrid other forum, where obsessive haters gathered to spew disgusting lies and vitriol about EA... and soon enough, it was bedlam in the Asylum.
Any explicit mention of the Reform was forbidden on the Asylum forum. Suspicion of participation in the Reform would get you banned. The party line was that The Reform was the enemy 🐀 – even though a number of people were active on both forums, because they liked freedom of expression almost as much as they liked EA. Double agents would lurk on the forum and report back with snark material; sycophants would infiltrate the Reform to identify traitors – much to the amusement of the “haters”, who mocked them and their ilk for “licking EA's pink sparkly boots”. There was no containing the seething, or the sass, among Asylum ranks.
Pretty soon, the insubordination spread to Tumblr. There was the “Ask the Reform” Q&A blog, where questioning fans could interact with “Rebel Rats”, get more details on past drama, and make up their own minds about the people EA called bullies.
And then, there were the “confession blogs”, which published anonymous submissions about EA, positive, negative or neutral, with little censorship. Finally, you didn't even have to pick a throw-away username on a private forum to voice your hottest / strangest / most controversial EA takes. Fans could vent, rant, lament, wonder, shitpost to their heart's content, anonymously. Obviously, given the context of frustration and censorship in the fandom, a lot of the first waves of confessions were EXTREMELY negative.
EA's acolyte Veronica managed to get the first one shut down. If memory serves, she misunderstood the confession blog format, and may have believed that all the posts on “Emilie Autumn Confessions” came from one or a small group of individuals. She was genuinely devastated, and wrote the blog admin to let them know that they were a terrible person who said terrible things. The admin was mortified, apologized profusely and deleted the blog of their own initiative. (Which goes to show that the concept did not come from cruel and malicious anti-fans, as detractors often claimed.)
But a new blog sprung up almost immediately, with a different mod team, and did not surrender. And much like in EA's own book, once the Plague Rats found out that they possessed the gift of speech... well, they really took to it.
Established in 2011 and passed on through generation after generation of mod teams to the present day, Wayward Victorian Confessions would turn out to be the longest-lived institution in the EA fandom. For over a decade now, through all the bleakest nights and dankest debacles of the Asylum, and despite its initial reputation as a troll den, WVC has acted as a kind of neutral ground and vox populi for the active fanbase and anti-fanbase. (The last nominally-active EA fansite to date, She Fights Like a Girl, is actually an offshoot of WVC: one of the old admins created it as a database to answer “frequently asked questions” about EA.)
Wayward Victorian Confessions has now outlived every other EA platform, official and unofficial. Were it not for the continued existence of the “troll den”, what little fan community survives in 2024 would be non-existent, plain and simple. To quote from late 20th century Canadian philosophy: isn't it ironic?

I feel like [WVC] is the only place I feel any of that old Asylum community kind of feeling I felt before EA got so focused on the book. It sucks that it’s so full of unhappiness, and I wish she hadn’t poisoned the sanctuary she claimed to have built. It’s just kind of fallen apart, like a crumbling building. (🐀 2016)

CONTINUED IN COMMENTS

submitted by pillowcase-of-eels to HobbyDrama [link] [comments]

2024.05.10 20:04 Vukobasa An observer in the Near East: MONTENEGRO (1907)

ΜΟΝΤΕΝEGRO
CHAPTER I
THE CITY IN THE SKY
Why I went to the Balkans―The road to Montenegro―Cettinje and its petroleum tins―About the blood-feud―England and Montenegro―Warned not to attempt to go to Albania―My guide a marked man-The story of Tef―A woman's fickleness, and its sequel.
CHAPTER II
AN AUDIENCE OF PRINCE NICHOLAS
The Palace at Cettinje―A cigarette with the Prince―The policy of Montenegro―A confidential chat―His Royal Highness's admiration for England―His views upon Macedonia―He urges me not to attempt to go to Albania. but I persuade him to help me―His Highness's kindness―Souvenirs.
**
CHAPTER I
THE CITY IN THE SKY
Why I went to the Balkans— The road to Montenegro — Cettinje and its petroleum tins — About the blood-feud — England and Montenegro — Warned not to attempt to go to Albania — My guide a marked man — The story of Tef — A woman's fickleness, and its sequel.
I ENTERED the Balkans by the back door. The luxuries of the Orient Express had no attraction for me. I wanted to see the Balkans as they really are, those great, wild, mountainous countries, so full of race hatreds, of political bickerings, of fierce blood-feuds, of feverish propa- gandas those nations with their interesting monarchs and their many mysteries.
The "Orient" runs direct from Paris to the Balkan capitals, it is true, but if one goes to study a people the capital is not the only place in which to discover the truth. One must go into the country, move among the peasantry, hear their grievances and investigate their wrongs. Therefore I decided to enter the East by Montenegro, and also visit the wild and little-known regions of Northern Albania.
The comfortable voyage by the Austrian-Lloyd mail steamer Graf Wurmbrand from Trieste down the Adriatic, touching at Pola, the Austrian naval station, Lussinpiccolo, Zara- famed for its maraschino-Sebenico, Spalato, and Gravosa to Cattaro, has been already described by many writers. Suffice it to say that it is perhaps one of the most picturesque of pleasure-trips in the world, for every moment one has a fresh panorama of mountain and blue sea, of green, fertile islands with subtropical vegetation, and tiny white villages nestling at the sea's edge, as the steamer threads her way through the narrow and often difficult channels.
At times the wild scenery, especially in the Bocche di Cattaro, reminds the traveller of the Norwegian fiords, and at others the coast is an almost exact reproduction of the French Riviera.
The object of my journey was, however, not in order to write a mere description of men and places. There have been other travellers in the Balkans who have related their story, therefore my mission was to make careful inquiry into the present unsettled state of affairs, try and discover the grievances of both sides, and endeavour to obtain from the rulers and statesmen of the various nations their aspirations for the future. This I succeeded in doing, for the various monarchs of the Balkans graciously gave me audience; and from their Ministers, from the middle classes, and from the peasants, I was enabled at last to form some conclusion as to the real situation-political, economical, social, and financial.
The writer who attempts to place the various Balkan questions impartially and clearly before the public will at once find himself utterly confused, and wallowing wildly in a morass of misstatement and misrepresentation. The Balkans are torn by race hatreds, party strife, and the intrigues of the Powers. The Turk hates the Bulgar, the Serb hates the Austrian, the Roumanian hates the Greek, the Albanian hates the Montenegrin, the Bosnian hates the Turk, while the Macedonian hates everybody all round. What is told to one authoritatively one hour, is flatly contradicted the next; therefore it is not in the least surprising that in the European Press there have been so many misstatements about the various Balkan questions, the real truth being so very difficult to obtain.
I have, however, endeavoured to obtain it, and at risk of being injudicious, to place before the reader the facts as they are, without any political bias, or any seeking to gloss over the many glaring defects of administration of which I have myself been witness.
To describe the beauties of the Bocche di Cattaro, that series of winding channels where the high grey mountains rise sheer from the water, would be only to traverse old ground. Suffice it to say that I landed at Cattaro on a bright, sunny noon, and found upon the quay a tall, lean mountaineer who had been sent to meet me.
To the traveller fresh from the West the Montenegrin costume of both women and men is very attractive, but a few days in the Balkans soon accustoms the eye to a perfect phantasmagoria of colour and of costume. Pero was my driver's name, and I noticed that around his waist was a revolver belt, but minus the weapon. I inquired where it was, and with a grin he informed me that Cattaro, being in Dalmatia, the Austrians would not allow Montenegrins to bring arms into their country; so they were compelled to leave them on the other side of the frontier, ten kilometres distant.
My bags packed upon the three-horse travelling carriage and secured with many strings, and Pero equipped with a plentiful stock of cigarettes, he mounted upon the box, whipped up his long-tailed ponies, and we started on our eight-hour ascent of that great wall of mountain that hides Montenegro from the sea.
As we ascended through the little village of Skaljari we entered upon a magnificent road, said to be one of the greatest engineering feats of modern times, and steadily ascended, until at the striped black-and-yellow Austrian boundary post we crossed the frontier, and were in the "Land of the Black Mountain"-Montenegro. Across the road, at an acute angle, a row of paving-stones marks the frontier, and soon after- wards we found ourselves in the wildest and most desolate mountain region. At a lonely roadside hut Pero obtained his big, serviceable-looking revolver, and I, of course, wore mine in my belt; for in Montenegro or Albania arms make the man. A man unarmed is looked upon as an effeminate coward. Indeed, by order of Prince Nicholas every Monte- negrin must wear the national dress, both men and women, and every man must carry his revolver when out of doors.
Four hours from Cattaro we were in a lonely mountain fastness, a wild, desolate, treeless region of huge limestone rocks of peculiar volcanic formation, which gave them the appearance of a boiling sea. The views over the Adriatic as we turned back were so superb that, despite photographing being strictly forbidden on account of the fortresses in the vicinity, I could not resist the temptation to take one or two surreptitiously. On, through a bleak, uninhabited country, we at last reached the guard-house of Kerstac, and then half an hour later found ourselves upon a plateau where, in the centre, stood the small clean village of Nyegush, the ancestral home of the reigning family, and the scene of most of the Montenegrin wars of independence. Here we halted for half an hour at the post-house, and before we left, the big, lumbering post-diligence, with its armed guard, came up behind us.
Before we moved off again it had grown dark, the moon shone, and for four hours longer we alternately climbed and descended through that wild region of silence and desolation, until at last we saw, deep below, the lights of Cettinje, the little capital, and an hour later brought us to the unpre- tending "Grand" Hotel.
Hardly had I entered my room when there came a loud knock at my door, and a tall, scarlet-coated Montenegrin warrior, armed to the teeth, entered and saluted. For a moment I looked up at him aghast, but the mystery was solved when, next second, he handed me with great ceremony a telegram from a dear friend in England wishing me God- speed. I had taken him to be, at least, one of the Prince's bodyguard, and he was only a plain telegraph messenger!
This was but one of many surprises in store for me in Montenegro. Next morning I went out to look round the clean little capital, when, on passing the Prince's palace, I saw a number of soldiers drawn up, and as I went by, the band suddenly struck up the British National Anthem! I raised my hat, halted, and stood puzzled. Surely they were not honouring me! Another moment, however, and I recognised the reason. In a carriage, accompanied by the Grand Marechal of the Court, there drove up my friend Mr. Charles des Graz, the newly-appointed British Chargé d'Affaires to Montenegro, who was about to present his creden- tials to His Royal Highness the Prince.
Montenegro is perhaps the most interesting country in all the Balkans. Cettinje, a small, clean town of broad streets and one-storeyed, whitewashed houses, is a little city in the sky, lying as it does in a cup-shaped depression at the summit of a high, bare mountain. Its long, straight, main street reminds one very much of a small country town in England, if it were not that everyone is, by law, compelled to wear the national dress, and every man has in his belt his big, long- barrelled revolver, without which he must never go out of doors.
The men, sturdy mountaineers, are of fine physique- handsome fellows, all of them. Their dress consists of dark blue baggy trousers, white woollen gaiters, raw-hide shoes, a scarlet jacket heavily braided with gold, and a small round cap, with black silk around the edge and the crown of the same colour as the jacket, bearing the Prince's initials in Servian letters, "H.I." The women, who are particularly good-looking, wear dark skirts, beautifully hand-embroidered blouses, and a kind of long coat, with open sleeves of soft, dove-grey cloth. Forbidden to wear European hats, they are compelled to adopt an exactly similar cap to the men, except that the crown is embroidered instead of bearing the royal initials.
Nowhere have I seen such glorification of the male as in Montenegro. To the men, born fighters as they are, work is undignified; therefore the women toil while the opposite sex look on. I saw women employed in building operations and performing work which, in other countries, is left to day- labourers.
Cettinje is quaint in the extreme. The only houses of foreigners are the various Legations, and the only foreigners are diplomats with their wives and families. The first thing that strikes the stranger is the number of petroleum tins. Opposite the hotel I saw a great ring of empty tins, numbering some hundreds, ranged around a fountain. A few women were squatting gossiping, and an armed policeman lounged against the water-source. On inquiry, I found that there was a water famine, and the tins had been placed there at dawn to await the moment when the authorities thought fit to allow the people to get their daily supply. The women had gone away to work, and would return later. The Monte- negrins a short time ago constructed a reservoir, but there was a crack in it, so the water ran away. Hence the famine.
The petroleum tin is never out of sight for a single moment in Cettinje. At any hour, and in any street, you see women and children carrying them. They are used for everything, from milk-pails to flower-pots.
In Cettinje one comes for the first time up against the dark-faced, scowling Albanian in his tightly fitting trousers of white wool striped with black, his dirty white fez, and the swagger of superiority in his gait. He is well armed, and for a good reason. The Montenegrin hates the Albanian, because of the constant border feuds over at Podgoritza, where blood is constantly spilt, and where I have seen a Montenegrin in the market squatting over a basket of apples with a loaded rifle.
That morning I was chatting to a man in Montenegrin dress, of whom I had bought some excellent cigarettes, manufactured by the Montenegro Tobacco Monopoly-an Italian syndicate, by the way and happened to mention that I was on my way to Albania. "Ah, gospodin!" he exclaimed, holding up both his hands, and glancing at the revolver in my belt. "Take my advice.
Don't go into Albania or Macedonia. You are not safe there from one moment to the other. For half a word they'll shoot you dead as easily as they drink a glass of wine. No man's life is worth a moment's purchase there. I'm Albanian myself from Kroja-and I know."
This was scarcely reassuring. I looked about me on every hand as I strolled through Cettinje. All was so quiet, so orderly, so very peaceful there, even though the big, burly mountaineers in the gold-laced jackets eyed me with askance as I passed. Not without some trepidation I took a number of photographs, for I had heard that, like the Turk, the Monte- negrin was averse to having his counterfeit presentment put upon paper. Nevertheless, the first feeling of insecurity having passed, I very soon found myself quite at home in Cettinje, and in the midst of very good and kind friends.
A good many foreigners come up from Cattaro to pry about Cettinje for a day or two, buy picture-postcards and antique arms, sneer at the honest Montenegrin, and return into Dalmatia. Towards such, the Montenegrin is not par- ticularly polite. But those who go to Cettinje to seriously and thoroughly study the people and their future will find a great deal of genuine and charming hospitality.
My first day in Cettinje was lonely. Afterwards, until I left, I was always with friends and officials, who took the greatest trouble to answer my questions and explain matters.
Montenegro is entirely unlike any other country in the world. Its air of antiquity is particularly pleasing, while on every hand the beneficent rule of Prince Nicholas is apparent. Every man in Montenegro swears by his Prince, whom he almost worships. They call him their "father," and if His Royal Highness raised the standard of war to- morrow, every man would rise and fight to the death. The Prince is accessible to all his people-more so to them, indeed, than to the diplomats. Sometimes, early in the morning, he will sit in an arm-chair on the steps leading to the entrance of his palace, and there hear the complaints or petitions of his people. In this patriarchal way he often ministers justice. Last year he granted Montenegro a Constitution, and there is now a Skupshtina similar to that of Servia; but the people have not yet quite understood that in future they must go to the Ministers, and not to their Prince. They will see him, and nobody else.
In no country is loyalty and patriotism so strong as in Montenegro. The army is well trained, and the whole country being one huge natural fortress, a foreign enemy would experience enormous difficulty in gaining entrance. In Cettinje, even a constant traveller like myself meets with continual surprises. One day, while walking at the rear of the Bigliardo, or old palace-so called because when built the first billiard table was introduced-I heard the sound of clanking chains behind me. At first I took no notice, but as it continued with regular rhythm I glanced behind, when, to my amaze- ment, I saw a convict in leg-fetters with difficulty taking his afternoon stroll beneath the trees! There were several others on the grass plot before the prison, idling in the shadow or gossiping with their friends, who had come to keep them company!
Inquiriesshowed that most of these prisoners were murderers, not for robbery but for vendetta. In Montenegro the blood- feud is constant, and life is held very cheap. It invariably commences by jealousy, and is of everyday occurrence. Two lovers quarrel, and one is shot. Then the blood-feud commences, and unlike in Italy or other Southern countries, the vendetta is not only upon the murderer, but upon his next-of-kin. Therefore, if the assassin escapes into Servia, Bosnia, or Turkey, as he so often does, the brother of the dead man takes up the feud and kills the assassin's brother without parley when next he meets him. I myself saw a man shot dead one night in Ryeka, at the head of the Lake of Scutari, and the murderer walked coolly away undeterred. It was the blood-feud, and no one took much notice.
"S'bogom!" (God be with you!) It is the expression you hear on every hand in the Balkans. In the streets the peasants touch their round caps in salute and exclaim, "S'bogom!" When you leave for a journey and when you return, when you rise and when you go to rest; even if you go for a short walk-it is the same. Life is so uncertain in those wild regions that the protection of the Almighty is invoked upon you always, and your revolver is ever ready in your belt.
In Cettinje I had a faithful guide and servant, a black-eyed, somewhat sinister-looking Albanian, named Palok. He travelled with me through Montenegro and Albania, and was most faithful and devoted. Besides Albanian and Serb he spoke a little Italian, and possessed a keen sense of humour.
One day, while we were travelling through the wild, bare mountain, a perfect wilderness of huge boulders without a single tree or even blade of grass, we halted for our midday meal, and while eating he told me of a great friend of his who had recently been killed at Spuz for vendetta, and he added, fondling the butt of his revolver, "I too, gospodin, shall die before long."
I looked at him in surprise. His usually humorous face had changed. It was dark and thoughtful, and his black eyes were fixed upon me.
"Is there a blood-feud upon you, then?" I asked, in surprise.
"Yes," he replied briefly; and though I endeavoured to persuade him to tell the story, it was not until the following day that with some reluctance he explained.
"A year ago my brother Tef, away in Scutari, fell in love with a beautiful girl. He had a rival-a young Albanian, a coppersmith in the bazaar. They quarrelled, but the girl-ah! she was very beautiful-preferred Tef. Where- upon the rival one night took his rifle and laid in wait for my brother in the main street of Scutari. Early in the evening he left the house of the girl's father, and as he passed the fellow shot poor Tef dead."
And he paused as his brow knit deeply, and his teeth were set tightly.
"Well?" I asked.
"Well, gospodin. What would you have done had your own brother died a dog's death? I took a rifle, and within a week the murderer was in his grave. I shot him through the heart and then I left Scutari."
"And you are safe here, in Montenegro ?"
"Safe! Oh dear, no," he answered. "One day-it may be to-day-the fellow's brother will kill me. He must kill me. It is Fate-why worry about it? It does one no good."
And the marked man, the man doomed to die at a moment when he least expects it, rolled a cigarette and lit it with perfect resignment.
"And are you not afraid to go with me back to Scutari?" I asked, amazed at his fearlessness.
"Afraid, gospodin!" he exclaimed, looking at me in reproach as his hand instinctively wandered to his weapon. "Afraid! No Albanian is afraid of the blood-feud. I have killed the murderer, and his brother must kill me. It is our law." And the doomed man smiled gravely.
"And the girl?" I asked.
"Ah! They are all the same," he answered, with a quick shrug of the shoulders. "A month ago she married a tobacco- seller a man old enough to be her father. Poor Tef! If he could but know!"
"And the blood-feud still continues?"
"Of course-until I am dead."
Then Palok smoked on in silence, entirely resigned to the fate that awaits him. He knows that one day, as he walks along the road, the sharp crack of a hidden rifle will sound, and he will fall to earth, another victim of a woman's fickleness.
S'bogom! God be with you!
CHAPTER II
AN AUDIENCE OF PRINCE NICHOLAS
The Palace at Cettinje-A cigarette with the Prince-The policy of Monte- negro-A confidential chat-His Royal Highness's admiration for England-His views upon Macedonia-He urges me not to attempt to go to Albania, but I persuade him to help me-His Highness's kindness -Souvenirs.
HIS Royal Highness the Prince will be pleased to grant you private audience at four o'clock this after- noon, gospodin."
The tall, burly aide-de-camp in the little round cap, high boots, pale blue overcoat, and pistols in his belt, saluted, and we shook hands.
It was then three o'clock, and I was just about to go out to visit Madame Constantinovitch, the mother of Princess Mirko. So I had to return at once to my room and dress for the audience. The kings and princes of the Balkans have a habit of summoning one at a moment's notice, and paying visits at unearthly hours.
Here, in Cettinje, in the heart of these wild, desolate fast- nesses, one seems so far removed from European influence, yet how great a part has this rocky, impregnable country, with its fierce soldier-inhabitants, played in the politics of Eastern Europe, and how great a part it is still destined to play in the near future!
The fact that everybody is armed gives the stranger an uncanny feeling. The man who brings one's coffee wears a perfect arsenal of weapons in his sash, and one quickly acquires the habit of carrying a revolver one's self. Indeed, if you are wise, you will carry a good serviceable weapon from the moment you enter the Balkans to the moment you quit them. But if you approach the Albanian frontier, you will be at once warned not to fire without just cause. A few shots is sufficient to alarm the whole neighbourhood for many miles, and on hearing the alarm every man seizes his rifle and flies to the rendezvous, fully equipped and eager for the fight with those Albanian border tribes, of whom I afterwards had the good fortune to be the guest.
I had already had a long chat with Prince Danilo, the Crown Prince of Montenegro, whom I found a very smart and highly educated man, fully alive to the political difficulties of the neighbouring states and the necessity of Montenegro preserving her independence. He held very strong views upon the terrible state of affairs in Macedonia, and gave me many interesting details about his own country.
Having met him, and also his younger brother, Prince Mirko, I was particularly anxious to make the acquaintance of their father, Prince Nicholas, the ruler of the sturdy, warlike dwellers of the "Land of the Black Mountain "-the principal and most striking figure in this remarkable country, where peace and war walk ever hand-in-hand.
Since 1860, when his uncle, Prince Danilo, was assassinated, he has ruled justly, if somewhat sternly, and has succeeded in raising his nation from a state of semi-civilisation to the high place it now occupies in the Eastern world. In 1888 he gave the country a Civil and Criminal Code, and last year he granted a Constitution. Indeed, he has done all in his power to induce his warriors to follow the arts of peace without forgetting those of war.
At the hour appointed, the royal aide-de-camp called in a carriage and drove me to the Palace, a long, dark brown building of somewhat plain exterior, as befits the home of a fighting race, where I was received in the great hall by half a dozen bowing servants in scarlet and gold. Here I was met by the chamberlain, who conducted me up the grand staircase and into the great audience-chamber, with its many fine paintings and highly polished floor. Then, after a moment, the Prince-a brilliant figure-entered, shook me by the hand, and welcomed me to Montenegro.
These formalities ended, His Royal Highness said in Italian, "Come, let us go into yonder room. We shall be able to talk there more comfortably." And he led me into a smaller chamber, where he gave me a seat at the table where he sat.
The afternoon was gloomy, and dusk was creeping on, therefore upon the table a great antique silver candelabra had been set, and by its light I was enabled to obtain a good view of the ruler of Crnagora, the "Land of the Black Mountain."
Of magnificent physique, tall, muscular, with hair slightly grey, he bore his sixty-five years lightly. Attired in the splendid national costume of scarlet, blue, and gold, with high boots, he wore a single decoration at his throat, the Cross of Danilo, of which Order he is Master. Upon his hand- some, well-cut features the candles shed a soft light, causing the gold upon his dress to glitter, and I noticed, as I asked him questions, how his dark, keen eyes shot quick, inquiring glances of alertness.
After the first few minutes of regal formality His Highness's manner entirely changed. Putting ceremony aside, he pro- duced his cigarette case of crocodile skin, with the royal crown and cipher in gold in the corner-offered me a Montenegrin cigarette, took one himself, lit mine with his own hand, and then we fell to chatting.
In the delightful hour and a half we smoked together I asked the prince-poet many questions, and learnt many things. He explained several difficult points in Balkan politics, which to me, an Englishman, had always been puzzling. We spoke in Italian of Macedonia and of a certain well-known foreign diplomat in London who was our mutual friend, the Prince giving me a very kind message to deliver to him.
Presently I referred to the splendid result of his rule, and related to him a little incident which had occurred to me in Nyegush a few days before, as showing how deeply he was beloved by his nation. A smile crossed his fine open countenance as he replied simply, "I have done my best for my people-my very best; and I shall do so as long as God gives me life. I am happy to believe that my people appreciate my efforts."
"And now, Monseigneur," I asked, "will you tell me what is the present position of Montenegro?"
"The present position is peace," was his prompt answer. "I have granted a Constitution, and the first meeting of the new Skupshtina has been held successfully. Though the Albanian question is always with us, I am thankful to say we are on the most excellent terms with Turkey, while towards Russia we are pursuing our traditional policy. For the Emperor Francis Josef of Austria I have nothing but the most profound admiration, and I owe very much to him."
"And towards England, Monseigneur ?"
"England has been, as you know, Montenegro's very best friend," replied the Prince. "I, personally, have the greatest respect and admiration for your great country. We Montenegrins always remember that it was Mr. Gladstone who gave us the strip of seaboard on the Adriatic with Dulcigno. He was our greatest friend, and his memory is respected by admirer by every man in Montenegro. Of Tennyson, too, I am a great I am very fond of his poems."
"You are a poet yourself, Monseigneur," I remarked, remembering that more than one poetical drama from his pen had been successfully produced on the stage.
His Royal Highness smiled, and puffed slowly at his cigarette.
"I have written one or two little things, it is true; but nothing of late."
"I wonder if I dare ask your Royal Highness to write a few lines for me as a souvenir of my visit?" I asked, not without some trepidation.
"Ah!-well-I won't promise," he laughed. "All depends whether I'm in the mood for it."
"But you will try, won't you?
And the Prince nodded assent.
Then we spoke of Servia and of recent events there; but he was not inclined to discuss the question, and naturally so, when it is remembered that his daughter was the late wife of King Peter.
Returning to the burning question of Macedonia, I saw that he was well informed of all that was transpiring around lakes Presba and Ochrida and down in Serres.
"It is a monstrous state of affairs," he declared. "Something must be done at once, for as soon as spring comes again the massacres will increase."
"But there are outrages, tortures, and massacres every day," I remarked.
"Ah yes," he sighed, "I know. Most terrible details have reached me lately. But you are going to Macedonia yourself, and you will see with your own eyes."
"And what, in your opinion, would be the best settlement of the question?" I inquired.
"There is but one way, namely, for the Powers to call a conference and place Macedonia under a governor - general, who must be a European prince. The reforms would then be carried out, and the Greek bands expelled from the country. How long will Europe tolerate the present frightful state of affairs?"
"The fact is, Monseigneur, that we, in England, are very ignorant of the true state of things, or even of the facts of the Macedonian question," I said.
"Ah, there you are quite correct. If your English public knew what was really happening-how an innocent Christian population is being slaughtered and exterminated because of international rivalry-they would cry shame upon those responsible for this wholesale murder and outrage. But" -he smiled-" I almost forget myself. My position as a ruler forbids me to talk politics, you know!" And we laughed together.
"So you are going to Servia, Bulgaria, Roumania, and to Constantinople-eh?" he remarked a little later, when we had lit fresh cigarettes. "In Bulgaria, and also in Roumania, you will see many things that will interest you. The Bul- garians are very strongly armed, and so are the Roumanians."
"Her Majesty the Queen of Roumania has also promised me audience," I said.
"When you see her, will you please present to Her Majesty my most cordial respects. She is so very charming."
"I want, Monseigneur, to visit Northern Albania, leaving Montenegro by Ryeka and Scutari. Would that be the best route, do you think?"
"What!" he exclaimed, in surprise. "Do you actually contemplate visiting the tribes up in the Accursed Mountains?"
"Certainly. Why not?"
"Well, my advice is, don't think of going there. If you do, you will never return. You'll be shot at sight, like a dog. You have no idea what those uncivilised tribes are like. The whole country is utterly lawless."
"So I understand. But I've also heard that the Albanian possesses a deep sense of honour. And I thought that I might possibly obtain permission from one or other of the chiefs."
The Prince was silent for a moment. Then, looking at me across the table, said-
"Do not go. It is far too great a risk."
His advice was the same that my, friends in London had given me; the same that I had received there, in the market-place of Cettinje.
But I was determined, and pressed His Royal Highness to assist me, at last receiving his promise of help. By his kind permission, the Albanian named Palok acted as my guide, and what eventually happened to me in that wild region will be seen in the following pages.
"Well," exclaimed the Prince at last, "if you go up there, it must be at your own risk. I've warned you of the danger. No one has been up there for many years. It has been at- tempted, of course, but travellers have either been held to ransom, and the Turks have been compelled to pay for their release, or else they have simply been shot by the first Albanian meeting them. The country beyond Scutari is the most unsafe in the whole Balkan Peninsula."
I replied that I intended to make the attempt.
"Well, then, I wish you buon viaggio," he laughed. "May every good luck attend you, and as we say in Montenegro - S'bogom! (God be with you!) When you return for I suppose you will pass this way down to the sea-come and see me, and tell me all about the Skreli and Kastrati country -for of course I am highly interested. They are always at war with our people on the frontier."
"I will let your Royal Highness know the moment I am back in Cettinje," I promised.
Then rising, he gripped my hand warmly, saying-
"Then I will help you if I can. Be careful of yourself, for I shall be anxious about you. Again, S'bogom!"
And the Prince accompanied me to the head of the grand staircase, where I made my obeisance, turned and descended through the rows of armed and bowing servants ranged in the hall, charmed by His Royal Highness's graciousness towards me and by the pleasant chat I had enjoyed.
When, after my journey through Northern Albania, I one afternoon re-entered that audience-chamber, and he came forward with outstretched hand to greet me, he exclaimed-
"Well, well! I am so glad to see you back safe and sound. You look a little thinner in the face a little travel-worn- eh? Life in the Albanian mountains is not like your life in London or Paris, is it? But never mind as long as you are safe," he laughed, placing his hand kindly upon my shoulder.
"Come along to this room. It is more cosy," and he led me to the smaller apartment, his own private cabinet.
For nearly two hours I sat relating to him what occurred on my journey, and describing the wild country which had, until then, been practically a sealed book. Even though Cettinje is so near, hardly anything was known of the Skreli, the Hoti, the Klementi, or the Kastrati tribes, save that they were brigandish bands who constantly raided the Montenegrin frontier.
The Prince listened to me with great attention, and put many questions to me as we smoked together.
Then rising, he took from a drawer in his great writing- table a small scarlet box, and as he opened it he bestowed upon me a compliment undeserved, for he said -
"There are few men who would have risked what you have done. Therefore I wish to invest you with our Order of Danilo, as a mark of my appreciation and esteem."
And he displayed to me the beautiful dark blue and white enamelled cross of the Order, the same that he was wearing at his throat, surmounted by the royal crown and suspended upon the white ribbon edged with cerise.
After he had invested me with the Order, saying many kind things to me, which I really don't think I deserved, he added-
"The chef du chancellerie will send you the diploma in due course, and I trust, when you petition your own gracious Sovereign King Edward, that His Majesty will allow you to wear this insignia."
I thanked His Royal Highness, gripped his hand, and a few minutes later passed through the line of bowing servants out of the Palace.
And that same evening I received from His Royal Highness the signed photograph which appears in these pages.
Before I left Cettinje I received the following expressive lines, written especially for me by a Montenegrin poet who is a great personage, but whose name he would not permit me to give. They are in Servian as follows, and I have placed their English translation below :-
S' veledušnog Albiona
Pružiše se dvije ruke
Crnoj Gori da pomogu
U junačke njene muke
S' vrućom rječu na ustima
Gladston diže Crnogorce
A Tenison za najprve
U svijet ih broi borce
Na glas svoih Velikana
Britanski se narod trže
Da pomože da zaštiti
Crnu Goru iz najbrže
Posla svoje bojne ladje
Sto na tečnost gospostvuju
Veledušno da zaštite
Domovinu milu Moju
O fala ti po sto puta
Blagorodni lyudi Soju
Dok je svjeta dok je greda
Nad Ulcinjem koje stoju
Hraniće ti blagodarnost
Ova šaka sokolova
Koima si u pomoci
Stiga putem od valova.
The literal translation in English is as follows:-
From the great-souled Albion,
Two arms were stretched
To help Montenegro
In her heroic sufferings.
With fiery word on his lips
Gladstone lifts up Montenegrins,
Whilst Tennyson declared them
The very first fighters in the world.
On the call of their great men,
British people rose up
In quickest manner, to help
And to protect Montenegro.
They despatched their war-ships,
Which rule over the seas,
Generously to protect
My Fatherland so dear to me.
Oh! thanks to thee, hundredfold thanks,
Noble race of men.
As long as the world lasts,
As long as the mountains above Dulcigno stand,
Will remain grateful to thee,
This handful of falcons,
To whose help thou didst come
By the road of the waves.
- An Observer in the Near East - William Le Queux. Publisher, E. Nash, 1907.
\**
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submitted by Vukobasa to Crnogorstvo [link] [comments]

2024.05.10 19:59 Femboy-Teal I dress so manly you guys, it’s insane

submitted by Femboy-Teal to sillyboyclub [link] [comments]

2024.05.10 07:58 broccoli_slut ISO "stiff" bodysuits

Has anyone found any bodysuits while making outfits? Most bodysuits are either compression material (not what I want) or just regular fabric (fine, but can't hold a lot) I assume a thicker fabric will be able to hold form/shape better AND be able to hold more sequins/jewels/whatever. I was thinking about this when I was trying to recreate the midnights bodysuit for the Taylor swift concert, but that was awhile ago and I never found what I was looking for. If you look at her bodysuits, particularly her lover one it almost looks like it doesn't move- like the fabric is stiff so it can't bunch or move at the crotch or anything. All of her costumes are custom made by designers, so that's why it's such high quality, but I'm wondering if y'all have found anything like that either in terms of fabric or a bodysuit that's already made. I think that doing superhero cosplays would be a hell of a lot easier with a stiffer bodysuit compared to a skin tight leotard that can fold and get into crevices.

submitted by broccoli_slut to CosplayHelp [link] [comments]

2024.05.09 21:57 CIAHerpes The Crooked Man murdered my family. Now he has awoken again [part 2]

The Crooked Man murdered my family. Now he has awoken again [part 1] : nosleep (reddit.com)
I grabbed Iris and pulled her toward the car. She stood like a statue, resistant and unmoving.
“Iris, we need to go!” I hissed. She seemed to wake up then, looking at me. Then she looked past me, her eyes glancing up and widening with horror. I turned, seeing the Crooked Man peering down from the upstairs window, his tophat balanced on his alien skull, a grin of sadistic glee marring his face.
“We need to leave,” I repeated, pulling her. She came willingly. We stumbled away from the corpse of Ben. The Crooked Man’s black eyes followed us like cameras.
I got her in the car and peeled out of there. Every time I closed my eyes, though, even just to blink, I would catch a glimpse of the Crooked Man’s smiling visage.
***
“Where are we going?” Iris called. “We need to call the cops! My phone is upstairs on the floor somewhere.”
“The cops aren’t going to help us,” I said. “That thing isn’t human. It can go wherever it wants, apparently. You think a police station would protect us? The cops would leave for a few minutes and come back to find us dead. We need to end this. We need to go to the abandoned factory.”
“The… abandoned factory?” Iris asked, confused. I told her the story, everything that had happened up to that point, even the vision of my grandmother.
“That’s fucking nuts,” Iris muttered. “This whole thing is crazy. There’s no way there’s actually such a thing as a Crooked Man. Shit like that doesn’t happen in real life. It’s gotta be a serial killer in some sort of weird costume.”
“You know it’s not,” I answered. “You saw that thing. That’s no mask.” I sped on the highway at 100 miles an hour toward Union, toward the abandoned factory where this had all started so many years ago.
***
As we pulled into the cracked lot surrounding the old, run-down building, a sense of overwhelming dread crashed through my chest. I felt like I was stuck in some cyclical nightmare from which it was impossible to wake up. I pulled out a cigarette and lighter from my cupholder and lit it. Iris gave me a strange look.
“This is probably my last cigarette,” I said. “Might as well enjoy it.” Iris didn’t say anything, her dilated eyes simply flicking around randomly. She looked like she was still partially in shock. Slowly, she got out of the car, limping across the parking lot by my side.
“I hurt my ankle when I jumped from the window,” she said. “I don’t think I’m going to be doing much running. It feels swollen.”
“I’m just glad you still have the .45,” I said. “Though I wish you had grabbed the AR.” She shook her head.
“Ben shot that thing with a 10-gauge shotgun in the chest. With a slug,” she said. “It didn’t work. The pistol might slow it down, but it’s not going to kill it. We need to find another way.” I remembered the graffiti in the factory: “Destroy it with fire! SAVE your soul.”
We found a threshold in the back where the door was totally knocked off the hinges. It lay on top of crunching shards of glass and layers of thick dust. Old rectangular tables were still nailed into the wooden floor, their surfaces pockmarked and covered in grime. Most of the windows had giant, spiderwebbing cracks running through the glass, though some were just smashed entirely.
I had never been here, but as I walked further in, I realized it was exactly the same as I had seen in my vision with my grandmother. Even the same graffiti was there. “DON’T LOOK BEHIND YOU!” was splayed across the wall in giant letters.
“Fuck, this place is creepy,” Iris whispered. She held the Ruger clenched tightly in her hand, her knuckles white. “Where do we go?”
“I’m… not sure,” I said. “I think we’re supposed to burn something. Maybe we should just burn down the whole factory.” Iris gave me a funny look.
“That’s your plan? Lighting an abandoned building on fire?” she asked with an expression of grave concern.
“Let’s look around,” I said. “Maybe we’re supposed to find something.” We descended deeper into the factory, through more identical rooms that looked like they were from the Apocalypse.
At the end, I found old, concrete steps leading down into the pitch-black basement.
***
I pulled out my cell phone, shining the LED light down the steps. Iris gave me a worried look.
“Let’s go,” I whispered grimly. I felt watched here, even more than at Iris’ house. I knew the Crooked Man was near, biding his time, playing with his food like a cat with a mouse.
The steps led into a concrete boiler room with ancient, rusted machinery still welded into the floor. All over the dark walls, someone had spraypainted pictures of extended, contorted arms and limbs with fingers like talons. There was a smell down here, too- a smell like rotting bodies.
As we got to the center, I heard crying behind us. I turned to see my grandmother, pale and ghostly, crying into her hands.
“Grandma?” I whispered. Iris looked at me, confused.
“Who are you talking to?” she asked. I shook my head. My grandmother looked up at me, fresh tears in her ghostly eyes.
“Jack, you need to burn it,” my grandmother said with a quaver in her voice. “The corpse of the owner, the one who killed us all- it’s hidden in the surge pump. We came together to end it, to end the deaths, but it didn’t stop it. Somehow, he’s still connected to this world through that body. It’s been in there, festering like an open wound for who knows how long…”
I looked at the surge pump across the room. Iris could apparently neither see nor hear my grandmother.
“It’s in there,” I murmured, pointing at the pump. “We need to burn the body hidden in there.” The surge pump had valves and a giant wheel at the end. It was a horizontal cylinder that looked just big enough to stuff a man’s body into. The rusted pipes grew smaller as they crawled up the wall. I put my hands on the rusted wheel and turned. It looked like something from a submarine door.
With a squeal of tortured metal, the surge pump began opening. It was difficult going. Iris came and put her small body behind it, and I felt it turning faster.
“How are we going to burn it, though?” I asked myself, grunting through the effort. Looking behind the surge pump, I found the answer.
A fairly fresh dead body lay there hidden under the metal of the surge pump, holding a small can of gasoline. It looked like a young man in his 20s with dark hair and tanned skin. His arms and legs had been ripped off, and now only a decomposing torso and head remained.
“Another victim of the Crooked Man?” Iris asked. “He was so close…” I wondered, at that moment, how many others had been drawn here, how many victims the Crooked Man was hunting. I grabbed the gasoline. I heard a skittering of feet behind us. Iris backpedaled and gave a horrified scream.
In terror, I looked behind us and saw the Crooked Man, flanked by the transformed bodies of seven children. Their arms and legs had all grown inhumanly long, bending in strange places like crooked stalks. Their faces had become like the Crooked Man’s, their eyes black and lips blue, their teeth long and dark, their movements jerky and eerie.
Iris raised the Ruger. In that concrete tomb, the gunshots reverberated like exploding missiles, deafening me. With waves of adrenaline shaking every muscle in my body, I swung the end of the surge pump open.
Stuffed into the narrow metal steel tube, I saw a mummified corpse covered in tattered rags. Its grinning skull was a mass of cobwebs and dead insects. I unscrewed and overturned the gas can, then pushed it quickly into the tunnel. It just fit through the narrow enclosure.
The gunshots ended as abruptly as they had started. Beside me, Iris was still frantically pulling the trigger, her face a broken mask of shell-shock. I dared not look back as I pulled the lighter out and flicked it. With my ears ringing from the gunshots still, I couldn’t hear a thing, though the ringing had started to slowly fade.
A wave of cold, dead flesh crashed into my back. I went flying forward. Next to me, Iris threw the empty pistol at the nearest of the transformed children. It smacked the boy in the head with a dull crack, but his black, lidless eyes never looked away.
As I fell, the lighter touched the edge of the surge pump. A few drops of gas ignited, sizzling and dripping in liquid flames. After what felt like an eternal moment, the rest of it lit up with a whump and a flash of burning heat.
The Crooked Man started wailing, a tortured, diseased wailing that seemed like it had the voices of many screaming children mixed in with it. I knocked hard to the ground, slamming my head against the concrete floor. Four of the children used their bent, stick-like arms to gingerly pull the burning mummy out of the metal tomb, their claws talons of fingers grabbing the burning flesh without hesitation. On the other side of the room, the form of the Crooked Man started to blacken and drip as his mummy did the same.
Next to me, a transformed girl in blood-stained rags held Iris’ arms tightly behind her back. Iris gave a scream of pain. I saw the demonic girl biting at Iris’ neck and shoulders over and over with her long, black teeth, ripping off strips of bloody skin and muscle between her blue, dead lips. She grinned as she bit and chewed. Iris struggled like a woman being burned alive, but the superhuman strength of the girl held Iris’ wrists pinned together behind her back with an iron grip.
With the sound of hissing flames and shrieking echoing all around me, I watched as the children laid the burning body of the Crooked Man gingerly on the concrete floor. One by one, they laid down on it, smothering the fire with their own pale bodies.
The flames continued to whip and flicker for a long moment. The children’s bodies caught on fire, their white skin blackening and cooking. Even as they burned, though, the fire on the Crooked Man’s body had started to die down, and the mummified corpse wasn’t even most of the way burned yet.
“No!” I wailed, a sense of deep loss ripping its way through my heart. I saw Iris, too, her entire body covered in blood, her white clothes turned ruby-red with blood and gore. She had stopped screaming and struggling by this point, even as the girl leaned forward and ripped her left ear off with her predatory teeth. The flesh gave a sickening tearing sound as it came off. Iris’ eyes rolled up in her head, showing only the whites as her teeth chattered. The demonic girl laughed and pushed the limp form of Iris forward. Her still body spurted blood from dozens of deep gashes. Her legs and arms twitched, as if she were seizing.
I found myself alone with these abominations. The Crooked Man’s screaming stopped suddenly. He stepped forward, his bleached-white skin blackened and peeling now. His clothes had nearly burned off, and his tophat stood as a smoldering pile of ashes. Yet he still moved fast, seeming to disappear and reappear closer and closer, his misshapen legs jerkily skittering to the left and right in rhythmic cracks.
Then he was standing over me, a pillar of burnt skin and insanity. With his sharp fingers, he reached down and grabbed me. I blacked out at that moment, and merciful oblivion took over my mind.
***
I don’t remember much of the next couple months. I woke up in some strange, otherworldly city where the sky rained fire and corpses hung from lampposts all down the street. Empty skyscrapers filled with skeletons and spiderwebs stretched around me, seemingly forever. I could see no end to the city in any direction, even from the top of the highest buildings. The world there was always dark, the sky always black and cloudless as drops of burning flame fell from it, searing me whenever I tried to go outside.
I wandered there constantly, the Crooked Man always behind me. As I wasted away in that land of shadows, he grew stronger, his body healing slowly. I felt something vital and deep within my heart drained more and more, day by day, until I was no more than a walking skeleton clad in rags, hopeless and insane.
After what felt like an eternity of endless nights in that place, waking up to see the Crooked Man grinning over me, it abruptly changed. One day, I woke up at the edge of some woods in a light drizzle, the rain soaking my threadbare clothes. My emaciated body shivered constantly.
I started crawling out to find help. With the last of my strength, I pushed myself off the ground.
Behind me, I heard a gurgling voice ringing out from every tree.
“I’ll be with you until the end, Jack. I need you just as you need me. For the more who know my story, the more fear will spread, and I will be able to come into their homes next.
“For this, you must live. But I will always be watching you, and soon, we will be reunited. To me, you must always return.”
***
A driver found me wandering the roads, shellshocked and half-mad, about twenty minutes later. The police came, surprised to see me still alive. Apparently, I had been missing for over two months. They had found the bodies of Iris and Ben, and assumed that I had been abducted and killed by the same serial killer. I tried to explain the true story over and over to anyone who would listen, but they simply gave me sickening looks of pity and ordered an involuntary commitment to a psych ward.
After a few days in the psych ward, they reluctantly released me. No one believed a word I had said. The cops thought it was some sort of mass psychosis, I’m sure, some urban legend that delusional idiots had come to believe was real.
But I know it was real. I know my days are numbered. It might look like a suicide or a murder or an accident, but, in the end, the Crooked Man always comes back and takes what’s his.

submitted by CIAHerpes to nosleep [link] [comments]

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