t straps


Kittyinva: 1925 c. Gorgeous gold and silver brocade evening shoes featuring t-straps and Louis heels. They close at the ankle with rhinestone-centered buttons. Label on the inside reads “Arthur Wallace/477 Washington St./Boston”. From Vintage Textile.

she’s just a hanger, a bit bent out of shape,
nothing that a few strong hands can’t fix;
drape a pretty dress on her, when it dries it’ll be wrinkle free and straight,
she’ll be straight.

she’s just a tote bag, something to be flaunted;
her straps aren’t very strong but she’ll bear a heavy burden on the arm of a man.

because you know she’s just a towel,
something to rub up against your wet body,
it’ll be good, but soon you’ll be dry,
and toss her into the spin cycle,
mark her to be used again.

—  commodity by m.m

anonymous asked:

"No one should look as good as you do in safety goggles" + sniperpilot

yay someone read my bodhi tags lol (IDK if this is ooc, who do you think is the perfect AU student??? IDK either but like I think this suits resting-grumpy-face Cassian than universally-loved Bodhi a bit more).

Chem labs infuriated Cassian.

Firstly, they were at 8:30 in the kriffing morning. On Mondays. Secondly, they were on the other side of campus. His treks were sponsored by the campus cafe,  head still throbbing from the night before, his bag swinging in the air, a glower fixed on his face as he downs a cup of cofee, passing cheery-looking students on their way to class.

Thirdly, he hated the goggles. They fogged up (the vents didn’t help), the straps dug into his head (they were permanently stuck), his hair always got stuck in them (and he wouldn’t realize it until his gloves were already stained with some chemical) and he always spent the rest of the day with bright red lines around his face. 

But who liked goggles anyways? 

His lab partner, apparently. Which brought him to the fourth point: Bodhi looked stunning in them. And he knew it. 

Cassian hated him for it. 

Bodhi always showed up to his labs with a (stupid, wide, attractive) smile on his face, nodding at every prof, shooting a “hey, what’s up” to every student he knew (which was everyone). His hair pulled up into a tight ponytail (“we’ve got to be safe, right?” Cassian almost growls at him), lab coat immaculate as always, pressed and neatly folded away in his bag (Cassian’s was crumpled, never given a second look. Was that a acid-burn hole on the sleeves?), prelab completed days before in neat handwriting.

God, Cassian hated him. And he hadn’t even gotten to the goggles yet.

Bodhi wore his chem goggles all day. Cassian had never seen him without them. And he looked good. 

It was infuriating.

Cassian’s only solace was this: he was the better scientist. 

His hands were steadier. (adding small amounts of solution? dripping the last drops of a titration? Cassian’s forte.) He could actually use a flint lighter. (Bodhi tried, and tried, and tried, but never got it to spark.) (He just had more luck with bunsen burners in general.) 

Bodhi knew it too. 

The worst thing was, Bodhi complimented him for it. (”How do you do it?” “I wish I was as good as you”, with that stupid, silly, beautiful grin.)

Not that Cassian looked forward to the compliments on his early morning dash to the chemistry building. Not that Cassian would stare at Bodhi when he wasn’t looking (and fight the urge to tuck the loose strands of his hair behind his ears). Not that Bodhi’s smile made the headaches go away. 

Not that all this tumbled out of him at 5 am on a energy-drink fueled night where both of them realized neither had finished the final chemistry lab due the next morning and decided to meet in Bodhi’s room (it was less of a mess, and he didn’t have loud neighbours).

“That sounds more like love than hate,” Bodhi finally answers. 

“If it was love, what would you do?” Cassian asks, emboldened by the adrenaline coursing through his veins (and the fact they had finally finished the citations). 

Bodhi looks at him thoughtfully. “I’d say I feel the same way.”

“Then it is love.” 

More Bendy Headcanons

-Boris is alive, he just practically can’t do anything because he’s strapped to a table. Even if he weren’t strapped, it might be hard for him because all his insides were taken out of him.

-Bendy can shift size and shape, which means if he was real, you’d PROBABLY see him rampaging through cities Kaiju-style.

-(My craziest one yet so I made it a joke) The game actually takes place in the present. The Bendy series was done as a homage to 20’s/30’s cartoons and might’ve actually been made in the 80’s.

“'bout t'lose sunlight, better find a place t'camp.” Readjusting the straps of his backpack, Edward slowed down slightly to survey their surroundings, wiping dust from his face as he turned to look at the man walking behind him.

“Fuck yea, I guess.” Squinting up against the slowly reddening sky, Hancock had a tone of dissatisfaction, but knew better than to run around downtown Boston after dark. “Any place in mind?”

“Buildin’ over there looks stable, at least ‘nough cover t'stay unseen. Dunno if th'super mutant camp up ahead moved or not.”

“I trust ya on that. Just anywhere we can smoke, I would literally murder someone for a smoke right now, babe.”

“Literally?” A slight furrow to his eyebrows let Hancock know Edward didn’t approve of his careless use of the word,

“Fuckin’ literally. If there was a person right there, I would shank 'em if it’d let me smoke. Get the fuck outta here with your fucking remarking words,” With a slight laugh, Hancock gave Edward a playful shove. “Ya goddamn nerd.”

“Well, no one’s around so you’d have t'kill me, 'n I got stuff t'do tomorrow,” Edward responded, letting out a low laugh and a slight shrug, slipping his arm around Hancock’s waist to have him near as he lead the two of them into the dilapidated building Edward had vague memories of being some kind of office. A banking business, maybe?

“Well, shit. I guess I’ll just steal your smokes,” the ghoul replied, ducking behind what they could both guess to be an old receptionist desk, laying out a bedroll to share. “Steal your smokes and run.”

“Is this all ’m worth t'ya? A pack of cigarettes?” Edward scoffed, rummaging through his bag to find dinner, canned beans, some bullets to reload his gun, and the sought-after cigarettes.

“'n the lighter,” Hancock quipped back, sitting down next to him, pulling his boots off and tucking his feet under him.

“Of course. A pack of cigarettes 'n a lighter. The absolute worth of a human life. Glad I ain’t losin’ the fuckin’ love of my life over only one pack of these,” he shook the half-empty carton before producing two of the hand-made paper rolls. One for him, one for Hancock.

“Only the best for you, babe,” Hancock grinned, planting a quick peck on Edward’s cheek before taking the cigarette. “I love ya, Eddie.” “Love ya too, ya dumbass.”

A click of the lighter, Hancock leaned in towards the flame, inhaling deeply as the tobacco ignited, exhaling a cloud of white smoke into the already dusty air. Content, he relaxed and leaned into Edward’s shoulder, smiling as Edward’s heavy arm draped over his shoulders to hold him close, a familiar sense of security settling over them both.

“Man, this place smells like shit, donnit?”

((ok some people wanted to see some of my writing, so here goes! I hope you like it!))