[[ okay!!! reblogged everything to sideblogs and i’m using this as a hub now! i’m going to follow/like/send questions/replies with this but i’ll make sure to specify who’s doing the talking
wanda is still at lightninglucio
wilma is still at la-mort-de-lauteur
wonne is still at wonnenpointe
this is just a lot more streamlined and easier for me to handle haha]]
[[ yo guys just lettin u know what’s up, i’m going to screenshot asks i have on here and respond to them on the new blogee ;o ]]
The Twist: They have to wear it.
Museu Nacional do Traje via Matrizpix
Laziness, 1898-1900, by Catalan Spanish painter Ramon Casas I Carbo.
la-mort-moved said: You know, I don't believe I ever got your thoughts on that painting. Oddly enough, I seem to recall being dragged to the depths of this hell before I even got to see you in person.
"Did you not?" He tilted his head slightly. "I must have forgotten about it. If you still want my thoughts, I found it magnificent, though I can’t say I’m pleased that you chose to leave some things out. Still, it was good work. I could still pay you, though I’m sure you have no use for money here…"
"Why of course. How could I not repay you now? I am, after all, a man of my word.” He mimicked her smile, almost tauntingly so. “What sort of payment would be to your liking? I do have access to anything you so desire…Of course, you do remember what happened the last time I gave you what you wanted, no?”
Her own smile falters at his mocking one. There are people who, under no circumstances, should smile, people whose smiles don’t sit right on their face and look menacing and disturbed instead of pleased. If there was any person to categorize as that, it was certainly Maxwell.
She honestly hadn’t expected anything but a flat “no” or a derisive laugh. After a moment, the shock weans enough for her to respond. “Of course I remember, I’m living it now. My memory isn’t that fractured yet, sir.” She goes silent again for a moment, thinking. It was very, very tempting… “Is there much else you can do that’s worse than this?”
HARRISON FISHER (American, 1875-1934). Graduation, Ladies’ Home Journal magazine cover, June 1903.
Wynton’s head snapped in the direction of the voice, his sullen eyes widening in surprise. “Oh- uh, hello…” He spoke with uncertainty, a bit suspicious of this new stranger. The Tailor scanned the woman over as he took a few steps closer to the camp, clasping his hands together nervously. He wasn’t sure as to how to answer her question. “I’m… fine.”
She doubts it, but she doesn’t press the matter further. People certainly are allowed to keep things to themselves. There’s the uncomfortable silence that always arises from two uncertain, nervous individuals meeting for the first time. She wrings her hands as he draws closer, then clears her throat to break the silence. “Wilma,” she introduces herself quickly.
"There seems to be more people here. I’ve only came across two, which is you and another fellow." She looks up from the fleshy bulb, taking off her dark-lensed glasses to examine the food source. By now, it seemed to be bleeding, due to its earlier incooperation with her poking and prodding. Wardell tilted her head, looking back at Wilma with an embarassed smile.
"Oh, just… Looking at it. It’s odd that a piece of meat can be grown like a common garden vegetable, don’t you think?" Wardell felt bad that she was not paying much attention to her older guest, but the botanist seemed a little… distracted.
"Almost makes you wonder if it’s an animal camouflaging, like a stick insect perhaps?" She quips. Her lip briefly twitches with disgust when the bulb starts bleeding of all things, but she does her best to hide it. “The fauna and flora here are something to be admired, I’d have never thought of such bizarre organisms existing anywhere but my nightmares.”
Illustration for ‘Ligeia’ from Edgar Allan Poe, Prose tales (second series) (1884)