Oh my God, could you do a top 10 for Michiru's outfits? I feel like they tried so hard to make her a fashion plate (as she well she should be) but were so often stymied by the 90s-ness of it all. I'd love to see what you chose.
The real question is, how will I narrow it down to only ten?? Michiru’s style is so hard to pin down because sometimes it works flawlessly and sometimes it’s hard to justify, in-universe, why she would ever choose to wear what she is wearing. (Thanks again to @sailorcivilian and @fukufashion for their comprehensive representation of Sailor Moon outfits!)
10. The 1940s called. They said you look really good in that dress, feel free to keep wearing it.
9. It is written in ink that this shawl may never cover more than one (1) shoulder at any given time.
8. (”coming soon to own on videocassette” voice) She may have a tiny bow and a tiny backpack, but she’s got a big heart.
7. They told me I could be anything I wanted, so I became the ocean
6. Wearing formal gloves and a pencil skirt to the racetrack just seemed like the right thing to do at the time.
5. There are two kinds of people: those who say “you can never have too much denim on your body,” and liars
4. On the back, these shirts say “If found, please return to Michiru”/”I am Michiru”
3. The stylish yet practical baby-stealing ensemble
2. The dress that is responsible for putting many a young boy through early puberty
1. Look. I think there must be a story behind this one. I think this used to be a favorite tunic of Michiru’s; the pale lavender with the white belt is simple but charming. One day she was painting another one of her space whales, and Haruka yelled something from the kitchen about the shrimp paella leftovers in the fridge. In the one uncalculated move she had ever made in her life, she turned around and lowered her brush, leaving a short streak of dark blue on her dress. She tried everything; cold water, rubbing alcohol, Haruka’s Tide-to-Go stick, but she could still see a faint line where the space-colored paint was. Haruka would insist she couldn’t tell there was a stain, but Michiru would always know, and she couldn’t live like that. The next day, she bought a bottle of fabric dye. If she couldn’t remove the accidental stain, then she would make it an intentional one. She wears it as an act of defiance, a warning to the universe that Michiru Kaioh is not one to be defeated.
Halsey’s merch for her summer shows - Black flower ‘hopeless fountain kingdom’ tee: $35 - White flower ‘hopeless fountain kingdom’ tee: $35 - Khaki ‘I’ve Never Heard of Halsey’ hat: $30 - Denim ‘I’ve Never Heard of Halsey’ hat: $30
So, I have this question and I thought I'd send it here :) What are your thoughts on Sam x fashion aside from the crack? Do you have early Sam x fashion meta? I'm feeling it's reflective of his making his own choices as he had wacky weird fashion sense in earlier seasons then during the time he follows Dean cos guilt copies Dean's lumberjack style until season 12 when he gets some weird clothes again (orange jacket cough). I kinda hope we see him in wacky fashion now he's more independent again?
I feel kind of like the asshole cat who’s always knocking things over until someone comes to give me attention
But no, yeah. Sam’s clothes are weird, man. Weird. *shuffles the purple dog shirt to the bottom of my drawer of t-shirts*
In season 1 his quintessential look to me is the brown hoodie and backpack, and sometimes the leather laptop satchel he has. He could be wandering on a college campus, and that’s intentional, because, well, that was what he had been doing. He has t-shirts with things on them, favouring purple and dark red for symbolic reasons but he does have a couple of different designs of each if you squint.
I always like the immediately established pattern that Sam and Dean essentially wear the same clothes with minor differences, but that Sam ALWAYS buttons up his shirt, and Dean ALWAYS leaves his loose. It’s the no. 1 thing that bugs me about fan art of the two of them, that I can tell casual “Lol just dipping into this fandom” art immediately because they’ll depict Dean with a buttoned up shirt or Sam with his open and loose. Sam wears his open in like… 4x07 when he was half-undressed, and Dean wears a button up shirt in 6x01 and 9x13 in a job interview. I may be missing some others but that’s like… in all my years of caring about this and rewatching the show with a meta mind, and keeping half an eye on their clothes in case of Symbolism, I don’t see much variation. (Also: Sam always wears v-necks once the patterns get entrenched, and Dean always wears round necks.)
Of course, the easiest explanation is Sam keeps his shirt buttoned because Secrets and Deep Hidden Layers, while Dean wears his heart on his sleeve slightly more literally, in that his shirt is flapping open exposing the t-shirt beneath, and of course he has the amulet to accent that look for the first 3rd of the show, hanging over his heart. (Dean also is the only one of them who wears henleys, ever. Sam just wears a t-shirt exposed when he’s being vulnerable, while Dean has a little more variation.)
Anyways. Sam’s look is less practical than Dean’s - more white shirts, more dressy shirts to start with. The godawful white one with the red patterning underneath. Pin-stripes. He has patterns and Dean has block colours. Even as the show goes on, Sam collects shirts with stripes and mixes them in with wearing plaid, all in the same manner. I think that is basically again a little link back to the early costuming.
One of the funniest moments of the show to me at the time when it was about all the canon we had, was in 6x18 when Sam’s only concession to time travelling is to change his shirt, and he pulls it off in comparison to Dean’s wildly over-enthusiastic time travelling, and issues with it and eventual re-costuming, again into a whole ensemble. I think that particularly tells us about Sam that he doesn’t really sweat the details like Dean does because his surface layer is such a strong, placid force that people don’t question it. In 8x11 Dean dresses up and Sam stays in his fed suit for most of the episode, and it doesn’t cause him problems in anywhere near the same way. In both episodes there’s a lot more to say about Dean and his need to fit in/exuberance to dress up and be someone else, but I do love the light it shines on contrast to Sam, that somehow his lack of caring about his clothes just beams out and makes everyone else not really care that much either.
But yeah, Sam’s shirts get more interchangeable with Dean as time goes on - he starts wearing some of the same colours, and they have shirts I am sure that in a non-TV world where the costume department takes care of this for them they’d always be mixing them up and accidentally wearing each other’s clothes. Or at least putting them on and then Sam stares in disbelief at how his arm grew another 2 inches overnight and - wait a minute this is one of Dean’s shirts.
(Dean also got a shirt in season 12 with the same pocket buttons as Sam’s rusty bacon shirt, but I think it was a block colour shirt. Of course.)
Although Sam would never, ever wear the denim shirts Dean does. It’s that sneaky little class divide between them again. Not a major thing, but Sam’s striped shirts vs Dean’s denim and henleys does tell the tale, that no matter how much closer their style seems to get, Sam’s always got that different backstory to his fashion.
(In 3x12 the close up of their feet always makes me notice Dean’s jeans are all fraying and old and Sam’s look new. I think for one thing Sam had to start mostly from scratch after season 1 because he took just a weekend of clothes with him to Jericho. But also just that maybe he has slightly more pride in his clothes while Dean will wear out whatever he can wear out (that doesn’t get too torn or weirdly stained.) I like in 3x11 you get the contrast to their ways of living and hunting with Dean clearly the controlling factor in the boot of the impala being all messy and esoterically organised and Sam locking it down in moulded foam to hold everything… Dean having scruffy trouser legs, dream catchers in the boot of the car, all that jewellery, on the other hand, makes me feel like he’s got much more of an instinctive, stylistic connection to the job as a *lifestyle* rather than a *job*, which was an old theme…
Oh gosh what else :P Well Sam’s new jackets… Yes okay I do actually love he’s getting new jackets which stand out so much as actually being items of clothing instead of boring camouflage/background radiation to being a hunter. You got me >.> I still think Sam’s got a baseline dodgy approach to clothes and style but it’s sort of quirky. It’s VERY Sam to get a red shirt under an orange jacket or to wear a jacket with a plaid lining over a plaid shirt. I mean… I would dress just as badly because it’s still practical over style in many ways.
I also wonder about his shoes because Dean’s boots or at least combat boots in general would be more practical in their line of work and they’re always being accused of dressing in army surplus, but Sam started off wearing trainers and I swear he never wore them on screen but I just headcanon him in converse all stars anywhere in like season 1 and 2 because it goes with the whole student/overgrown child thing the hoodie and backpack did… But anyway his shoes are more grown up styles now but he still doesn’t exactly dress for the JOB, while Dean’s always wearing good boots. I always remember an ex of mine wore similar shoes to Sam and I, being me, had a reputation for being pretty wonky and useless, and we were walking and it began raining, and we were in this plaza with slippery tiles, and my ex was like, “DON’T RUN, YOU’LL DIE” but I was wearing boots with a tread? And I legged it. And he was slippy sliding after me, barely able to function in the rain on a smooth surface. And I was watching from the shelter.
(PS: the moral of this meta is don’t date me unless you understand we are 2 completely autonomous humans because I am awful at being a team player or at willingly getting soaked because you wore the wrong shoes :P)
The occupants of the tower negotiate a new chapter of their lives.
various characters and relationships
“Okay, Pepper, honey, you’re upset,
I can see that–”
“Oh, can you? Can you see that Tony?”
“Yes, I mean, I said I could, so–”
“I was gone for a week, Tony!”
“Well, nine days, but–you’re right,
I’m sorry, that’s splitting hairs–”
a smile, glancing at Steve as he shook his head. There were times it particularly struck her
how much Tony was like his father.
met Pepper?” she asked him.
came home to find out Tony had acquired six roommates? No.”
Oh my god–this is not my life, my life used to be normal–”
“To be fair, that hasn’t really been
true for at least ten years.”
“I should have stayed at Tiffany’s.”
“You can buy Tiffany’s.”
“I could also buy a loft. By myself.”
be time to look into other living situations.”
maybe,” Steve said, looking toward the hall Tony and Pepper had disappeared
down. “I mean, I actually have an
apartment but…it’s not exactly much to look at. I’m pretty sure I’m past due on the rent too,
come to think of it.”
said, coming into the living area again.
“Everything is fine. I’m going to
order Chinese and Pepper here is going to have a glass of wine–”
bottle, I’m thinking something vintage…” the tall redhead said, trailing after
him into the room.
So Im extreme Be More Chill trash and I’ve noticed there isnt many BMC designs out there for ACNL so I’ve made Christine Canigula’s outfit (modeled by Michael lmao) The jacket is eh because I’ve never designed a denim jacket before and i may eventually go back in and fix it, but this is it right now! ~Mod Isabelle
Hey, I’ve got a little something for you. You all know me by now, you know I’m trash for angst. I wouldn’t be me if not a little angsty. Hope you’re running low on your angst levels because this drabble is angsty and lame.
It’s hot-sweat in the middle of summer kind of heat. It was sweat dripping from the tip of my nose and Veronica and I had been ice-cream-sweet all day. She smacked her lips and looked up from shy eyes when she spoke about Archie, lips smacking together with pleasure when she described all the things he does to her now that the heat is up and they don’t hide under covers. She kept warm in the memories of last night and he kept warm from deep in her. I blush when I think about it, my face creeps up red-hot from thinking about what was happening in the room right across from mine. She knows that I know, because last night her eyes met mine when she closed the curtains.
It’s hot-sweat in the middle of summer kind of heat but Jughead was muted-twilight-tones with the sun setting on his skin. It was sticky tar pavements and sticky fingers against my iPhone screen from summer sun when I message mom to tell her I’ll be late home but through the heat, Jughead still wore red Docs with long socks and sweat-sticky leather against his back. We stand outside his trailer with the overused door handle and the worn out paint that spoke volumes to me, old, muted. Worn. Sticky-summer-sun is setting on the worn out paint and made it seem a little colder than cold around here.
Jughead stands on a cigarette butt to put it out and nods at me. “Tell me a lie,” he says. “Come on, Betty.”
“I hate it when you’re quiet.”
He laughs quietly and reaches out to my shorts, hooking his lazy-long fingers in the belt hoop of my denim shorts, pulling me closer. My hips bump his hips, my breath hitches in my throat as I feel him but his breath is breathing on my skin. His mouth meets my neck, his tongue dances on sweat-sticky, soft-aching skin. He kisses me. “Let’s not be quiet then.”
His words echo. His smile, though I can’t see it, is larger than ever. I can feel it, I feel his smile on my neck; on my skin. His hands? I don’t see them, I feel them, edging on the start of denim, popping my button, my second button, my third button, and the rest after that. I give in with my eyes curious-kind-of-wide and my voice on my tongue. “Where have you been?” I ask him.
“Gone,” he groans against my skin.
I groan back and pull away, I don’t let his fingers slide into lace. I look him in the eye. His blue is deeper in the absence of twilight. “Gone where?”
He keeps running his fingers on denim, I’m reaching down and doing denim up, never looking away from his leather jacket. But his fingers stop pulling and he steps back, running a hand over his face. “Betty…” he murmurs.
“Jughead,” I say strongly back. Weakly in my heart. Loud in my mind.
He smirks to himself and shrugs his shoulders; exhaling loudly as he reads my irritated mind and knows that my face doesn’t match. “Tell me you’re not mad at me…”
“But then I would be lying,” I say putting my hands on my hips.
He pulls me by the hips again, bumping me to him again, making me weak all over again. “Tell me a lie.”
“Where have you been?” I ask him. Summer was supposed to be about us, he was supposed to match my ice-cream-sticky fingers and dive into never ending pools of water with us. He was supposed to laugh with Ronnie and I, skip Riverdale with us and Archie. He was supposed to be so much more than secret-whispers and smug-cocky smirks.
“Southside,” he says biting his lower lip and shoving his hands pocket deep.
I nod because that’s all I can do when I already know answers to the questions I ask.
His eyes flicker down to the dirt he’s standing on and his lips purse but I can read them and the words he’s trying to speak but I am quicker and I rush to speak first. “Stop going Southside,” I beg. My hands finding his and pulling them up to my lips. “Just be here with me.”
Jughead sighs and his hands tighten in mine. He pulls my hands to his lips this time, kissing them over and over. “I’m here,” he mumbles. “I’m here, I’m here, I’m here,” he repeats his prayer, on my knuckles, smoothing out my fingers, running over my nails.
I feel them building in my chest first then it runs up into my mind; half-prayers and mumbled promises. “I can give you more than they can,” I promise him. “I just want you to be here with me.”
He chuckles again and lets go of me, pulling at my hoops again. “You give me more than anything in the world, Sunlight.”
“Then tell me why you’re never here,” I hiss through my teeth.
“I’m always here,” he answers. “Always.”
I shake my head. “You’re not here.”
He was here but he’s not here. He was in my space but he wasn’t really here with me.
“Tell me a lie,” he murmurs sugar-sweet on me. “Tell me a lie, tell me a lie,” he murmurs as he pulls me in, my shoulders easing, my anger still running electric through me. “Tell me you don’t hate the Serpents, tell me you’re ok… Tell me another lie.”
I push at his chest, I shove him away. Weak-handed, pissed-off-strong. “I hate that you don’t tell me everything.”
He sniggers at me. It’s all cocky-truths and rolled eyes. “That’s not a lie, Betts,” he says running his tongue over minty-fresh teeth. “That’s the worst kind of truth.”
I’m lost in the taste of his tongue and his hands between my thighs.
Written in response to @jokerscrown ‘s prompt on bughead-fanfic-wishlist “
A fic where Betty got injected with an anaesthetic because she broke her arm, and feels a little loopy after the operation. Jughead is the nurse in charge to take care of Betty, and loopy Betty kinda asks Jughead to marry her, and says she loves him. They both are strangers.”
The world was a little different during night shift. It often ushered in intoxicated demons; shadows stretched their gnarled fingers across the little hospital garden; and on the worst nights, when sleep had failed him completely, strange shapes danced along the edges of Jughead’s vision making it hard to be sure what was real.
So, it didn’t worry him quite as it perhaps should when he saw an angel in the ER waiting reception. He was rushing through, a car accident to attend to, so an impression of white gown, blonde waves and radiance was all he had a chance to capture.
Still, it stayed with him throughout the night.
A few hours later, Jughead was in the middle of trying to calm down a shrieking five-year-old with a very painful ear infection, when his best friend Archie walked over.
“Jug, would you mind swapping and taking over the aftercare for my patient? She keeps asking for you”, Archie asked in a surprisingly sulky tone for someone asking a favour.
Archie was a good nurse, but sometimes Jughead couldn’t help but feel there was more than a little truth in his friend’s jokes about going into the profession because of its high female to male ratio.
“Asking for me?” he asked suspiciously. “It’s not Mrs. Wyndham again, is it?” The elderly and somewhat hypochondriac librarian had taken a shine to Jughead and would barely allow anyone else to tell her that there was really nothing wrong.
“No, a cute blonde. Solid 8.5. She’s said I was cute but then started insisting on speaking to, and I quote, ‘the glarey dark haired boy’. No idea why she wants you, but I think the anaesthetic has messed with her head a bit.”
“Gee thanks Arch, when you sweet talk me like that, how can I possibly say no?”
Requested by anon: supernatural imagine
where the reader is dating sam, but she has the mark of cain and she dies, so
when she becomes a demon she nearly kills him and dean but after she’s cured
she’s mortified with herself? you can tweak it for plot purposes if needed.
Pairing: Sam Winchester x reader
Word count: 4.206
Warnings: Violence, a tiny bit of angst.
A/N: Is this enough Sam fluff to make it up for turning it into a two-part fanfic? I hope it is.
wasn’t a tourist’s Paradise, but it was the best a demon could do without
having the Winchesters on her back. How did that work? Well, no one would
believe she was actually staying at a third class hotel in Mooresville, sharing
a connected room with Crowley and spending long nights killing strangers and
The town was extremely
small, but it was also the perfect hideout. (Y/N) and Crowley stayed at the one
hotel in town, and spent their nights in the local bar, but (Y/N) would take
breaks, driving to other towns around the area to make deals and satisfy her
thirst of blood.
(Y/N) was a better
demon than Dean Winchester could ever be. She had an easy tongue that sweetened
the client’s ears, making it easier to seal multiple deals in just one night.
(Y/N) was now like a soul harvester, collecting lives with her blade like a
child collects flowers during spring. Crowley had never been prouder.