Clothing feels
Some days i want to dress up all covered up and fluffy and cute.. and other days i want to wear like the shortest clothes and dress “slutty”( i’m not saying that in a naegative way”) and other days i kind of just wanna be bummed up in sweat pants… and then the next i want to look glamorous…
And like then i want all differn styles of clothes from goth… to prep… to lolita.. to punk…
And i wnat them in differnt fabrics from latex to lace to denim to silk….
Ain all the collrs from black and white to rainbow to pink to gold and green.. purple and blue…
And some days i want to mix all of these together and be a slutty goth bum. Or a preppy latex wearer with denim short shorts.
And i just want so many clothes… and i begin to wonder. Where did thia sterotype that we can inly dress one way and be in once type of fashion come from any way? Why can’t we just wear what we want and not fit in these specific tiny boxes. Why cant we express and mix and match and connect….
Drabble Challenge Day 14 - Wind
See the masterpost for full details and list.
This one totally blind-sided me; I was working on a story about Sigyn and Loki done from Loki’s perspective, but I much prefer this, and suspect I’ll expand this into the clothing/culture thing I actually wanted.
(and since there is no pronunciation, I’m using’ wind’ as in ‘winding around’ versus ‘wind’ as in ‘wind through the trees.)
Wind
Your hands have an easy rhythm. One, two, one, two, round and round, and the thread passes between your fingers like spiders silk.
(You’ve heard tales of Arachne and her challenge to the gods, and you scoff at that. The Greeks, you think, are barbaric and they give your kind a bad name with their ways. No wonder Asgard thinks Vanaheim full of backwater farmers and fishermen and forget the quiet might that has forced them to stalemate generations ago, when the tales the mortals speak of are nothing but the pettiness of that clan. The Olympians and their Olympus; you are glad, not for the first time, you were given to your uncle’s care when your father’s boat foundered, not your aunt’s.)
You hear that your future mother-in-law weaves, and that is a comfort, one of the only one’s you have taken besides your pick between the brothers.
(But you are proud and you do not complain, though you will be taken from hills and rocks and rough seas and set on stable ground amid the too-cold stars. Peace, you know, is hard-won and ever changing, and it is not in you to mourn what cannot be changed.)
You finish winding the thread on the shuttle—green and vibrant as the hillsides of the home you are leaving soon, and begin to weave.
(Your only concession to Asgard’s chill that you will feel every day, this himation done in hues of your future husband.)
(edit 2/16/2013 - there’s a part two to this now here)
You are sort of wonderful, and you've indoctrinated me into your Clothing Feels, which is great. Except now I can't read Liam Rector's poem "Old Coat" without thinking of Dean...
Oh? What’s this then?
Dressed in an old coat I lumber
Down a street in the East Village, time itself
Whistling up my ass and looking to punish me
For all the undone business I have walked away from,
And I think I might have stayed
In that last tower by the ocean,
The one I built with my hands and furnished
Using funds which came to me at nightfall, in a windfall….
Just ahead of me, under the telephone wires
On this long lane of troubles, I notice a gathering
Of viciously insane criminals I’ll have to pass
Getting to the end of this long block in eternity.
There’s nothing between us. Good
I look so dangerous in this coat.
OUCH NONNY MY HEART
