Maggie Mikelson

New to Tumblr - Not sure what I'll blog - 29 - she/her - Pinterest Profile

[multifacetedmagpie]

Nightmare sequence in my WIP. Lana's journey has officially begun!

Lana squinted into the dark, watching the shifting mounds of emerald roil with increasing urgency. The rhythmic wop-wop-wop of helicopter blades grew nearer. She sat straight up, reaching for Maria and Chloe. Her fingers dug into cold, grainy earth. As she scooped up a handful, the lifeless dust slipped through her fingers.

Silence.

She looked up, sitting in a field of rolling amethyst grass. A lone steer stood a few yards away.

"Boxer?" she whispered, walking closer.

Boxer looked over at her and smiled, bopping his head to ragtime music emanating from a gramophone nearby.

"Boxer, we have to go. Come on." She grabbed his neck and pulled, but he didn't budge.

A cold breeze picked up, prickling her skin. The booming click of a stadium light turning on drew her attention up the hill. The dark, looming structure of Torin's chamber building sat illuminated from the inside. He's home. A spotlight shone from the building, searching the fields below.

Lana ran.

Barnaby stood at the end of the field, the soft glow of warm yellow light growing brighter as she approached. He waved his arms frantically, pointing down at something. His mouth moved as if screaming but no sound came out.

As she sprinted past him, the sound suddenly came on.

"Mind your step!"

The earth gave way under her feet and she plunged forward into a vast expanse of darkness.

Through the clouds.

Through the atmosphere.

Past star systems and the pillars of creation.

She landed face-first on hard asphalt with a nasty thwack. A series of smaller thwacks followed as golf-ball-sized bugs dressed as tiny janitors rained down around her. Pushing her broken body up on trembling arms, she found herself outside Mammoth Port Diner. Her boss tapped the glass from inside, pointing at his watch. Oh no, I'm late.

She burst inside and yanked her apron from the hook, following him as he filled her in.

"Rhonda's out sick and the delivery didn't show up. You'll be working the grill and running orders. Don't forget the fire inspector is coming today. We can't burn down the building again or he'll close us down."

Her hands worked at the apron straps, trying to tie them as they continuously came undone.

"For heaven's sake! Don't wear the apron!" Her boss pulled the apron off and threw it aside, leaving her naked and exposed under the harsh white lights of the diner.

Outside, the sky lit up with beams of light and the deafening sound of groaning metal shook the windows.

"They're coming. It's happening again," she whispered, looking up at her boss in wide-eyed horror.

"They only want the women." He shrugged and slid open the drive through window, shouting into the sky, "Order up!"

She ran down the middle of the street. The distant sound of screams followed her. Why is no one doing anything?

An old man in blue overalls stood stubbornly in his field, shaking his fist and aiming a shotgun at the sky. He fired and a silent puff of smoke floated from the double barrels. He turned, exposing a deep slit across his throat. Blood leaked down his overalls, his wide eyes already vacant.

Crawling under a bed, her mind and body ground to a screeching halt. The spotlight cut through the window, pinning her cold, naked frame to the wall with ribbons and tacks. Other lights gathered to look, murmuring over the clink of celebratory glasses.

[multifacetedmagpie]

Meme made in Kapwing, by moi 💗

[multifacetedmagpie]

Baby's first meme - Enjoy 💖

[cumchiato]

Gojo Satoru accidentally makes you squirt ♡

୨୧ — Gojo's hands shake like he's eighteen again, gripping your hips with white knuckled desperation, "Fuck, fuck, fuck-" his vocabulary reduced to caveman like grunts when you're under him like this, years of experience apparently meaning jack shit when your legs wrap around his waist.

He's all stuttering rhythm and graceless hunger, like he forgot how bodies work. One second he's jackhammering into you with supernatural speed, the next he's frozen completely, forehead pressed to your collarbone, panting like he just ran a marathon because your warmth threatens to undo him entirely... "Jesus, you’re…" He breaks off with a choked laugh, hips jerking erratically. "Fuck, been too long since I- shit, do that thing again. With your tongue again, please. Right there."

His demand is adorably needy, punctuated by a sharp, sloppy thrust as you scrape your teeth against the tendon of his neck, just how he likes it~.

Everything about his technique is pure chaos. No finesse, just raw need and that stupid boyish grin even when he's buried deep enough to kiss your cervix with the tip of his dick.

When you arch beneath him, a low moan tearing from your throat, your cunt clamps down hard around his cock. It’s a vice grip, a sudden, violent spasms that rippled through your entire body… Satoru’s eyes go wide, pupils blown. And for a moment, he forgets his name, yours, and any word that isn’t an expletive as you completely come undone.

It’s not just a flutter, not just a wetness, but a gush. Hot, sudden. A flood of your release soaking his entire cock, his balls, the thick thatch of white hair at his base. It rushes out of you in thick, uncontrollable waves, splattering onto his sheets beneath your ass with an audible wet splssh. The sound is obscene. Juices slicking his length, dripping down him, making his thrusts messy- obscenely wet.

"Did you just-? His voice is thick with pure awe, breathless. The stupid grin returns as he drives into that soaked cunt of yours, feeling the slick mess coating him. "Whoa! Youre like a little Squirtle." The ridiculous Pokémon joke tumbles out mid thrust… He’s so fucking pleased with himself, he almost fumbles his rhythm entirely,"Get it? 'Cause you just squir—"

"Satoru, I swear to God-" you gasp, but the protest is cut off as he angles his hips sharply, burying himself impossibly deeper.

"Yeah, yeah, less talking, more-"

The new angle hits that spongy spot inside you dead on, hard. A choked cry rips from you, followed instantly by another gush, soaking him further, the sheets beneath you now a dark, soaked circle.

But there’s something beautiful about how he fucks when he's like this- like he's afraid you'll disappear- like if he doesn't fill you up immediately you'll change your mind. Like he wants to leave a piece of himself with you, so you won't forget him.

[multifacetedmagpie]

I dont know who Gojo or Saturo are but this is some well written smut. Great characterization, very hot 🔥

[garnetislovegarnetislife]

Zoey is fighting in the trenches to express her creativity and love smh 😔

[multifacetedmagpie]

I love these Twitter threads people make of Huntrix. And I LOVE the characterization of Zoey as a feral horny gremlin who's down bad on main. She's quickly joining the ranks of Gomez Addams and Lazlo Cravensworth IMO.

Sprinkle in a little protective violence and the initiation will be complete.

[monstermonger]

He's worried about stepping on flowers. He loves nature.

[monstermonger]

Wow thanks everyone ;v;

Mini lore snippet lol: at first I just doodled the cat alone in the middle of a page, but I loved him so much I just turned the page and drew the whole thing. He's so great.

[multifacetedmagpie]

This art style makes me so happy. The colors are so vibrant. The kitty is so chunky.

[deadanton]

Будь плохим-хватай ежей.

[multifacetedmagpie]

Hoping for a Yoink series from my favorite Russian Tumblr user. This guy's photos are so aesthetic.

[deontoillogical]

The problem with -ism "free" world building

This is not an indictment of escapist literature as a whole, nor do I seek to assert that one cannot or should not mitigate these issues in their world building if they so choose. However, I have noticed that a lot of literature that sets out to erase the “-isms” of our modern world (e.g. sexism, racism, classism, abilism, homophobia, transphobia) actually serve to reinforce them. Or, in other instances, create a similarly flawed system unintentionally and, in ignorance of what these authors created, ignore those flaws within the narrative.

For example, often I will read a book that exists in a world “without sexism.” However, because the author’s notions of what sexism entails are surface level, sexism seeps in. Soldiers are still revered. Textiles are undervalued. Relationships still suffer from inequity, despite the male lead and female lead’s insistence this is not the case. Women are still expected to be thin and pretty. Or, if the author wants to make a point against fatphobia, she’s expected to be curvy and pretty. Sometimes she’s ugly, but not to the male lead. His lens is the exception to her otherwise plain or ugly appearance.

In other cases, homophobia and transphobia are done away with but gender norms are still intact. That could be interesting to explore if the author is actually willing to explore it.

Worlds without abilism will often forget disabilities are still… disabling.

I’ve read a book that tries to get rid of capitalism. The system they set up gives every act of labor a set of points that can be exchanged. These points can be traded. Everyone’s points are listed in the town center. When asked if this might cause problems where people become competitive about their points or are ashamed when they are in the negatives, the person explaining the system basically said “no,” and then moved on without ever addressing this again.

Well, they also explained that the whole town rallies around those that are in the negatives to help them. This, at the very least, is a privacy concern. It doesn’t matter how collectivist and caring your town is. People are going to want help at their own pace and on their own terms. Broadcasting someone’s depressive episode for all to see is mortifying. (Mind you, the main character went through a depressive episode in the first book and felt shame for not feeling like they contributed to their community enough or correctly. That was their whole arc in book one. Why are we not addressing how this system might have contributed to that in book two???)

Or, what if someone is chronically disabled and can never get into the positives? What if there is no rallying the town can do that will allow them to contribute the same amount or more as their abled peers? Is it not dehumanizing to constantly broadcast someone’s inability to an entire town? The main character would say no, and move on. It will not be addressed again.

The point is, when you take away an “ism,” you canNOT only focus on the surface level. Sexism and racism and abilism and more are not simply issues of blatant, unapologetic bias. They are systemic problems that need to be solved systemically.

Now, what if you do not want to address that at all in your world building.? You want something that doesn’t disrupt the status quo of our world today too much, but you also don’t want to dive heavily into all these systemic issues. You want your escapism set in this familiar, flawed world, but you don’t want to address all those pesky flaws. You can do that! As long as you ensure your fluffy story isn’t accidentally reinforcing oppressive systems, you can still set fluff in our oppressive systems. You must write with intention, or you will end up writing those very biases you hoped to avoid. 

HOWEVER, if you want to genuinely get rid of those oppressive systems for your fantasy world, you HAVE TO do the work. How does getting rid of the rotten roots of our modern society fundamentally change every aspect of the society you are creating? EXPLORE THAT! Then, if you accidentally embed new issues into your world, you can work to get rid of them, or embrace them or explore them. But creating a new world with rotten roots and having the narrative itself–not only the characters who may be unreliable in their biases–ignore all the issues inherent here just recreates the very monsters you sought to destroy.

As a reader, I don’t feel like I am escaping. This isn’t escapism. It’s bias in a pretty bow, and I don’t like it.

[multifacetedmagpie]

Interesting analysis. It reminds me of the Andy Weir discourse about his "my work isn't political" comment. The take I agreed with boiled down to the fact that we are incapable of writing anything that is completely disconnected from the political because the author and the reader 'live in a society'. It's so ingrained into our perspective that it paints our imagination, or the lens through which we see a piece of media. It doesn't have to be a negative, but I think it should be acknowledged. It's just part of being human. Perfectly exemplified when we project our own humanity onto alien species. Are they humanoid? Are they binary? Do they want to fuck? If we're not projecting humanity, we're projecting animal traits or something of the like. Point being- it's something we know. It would take a massive amount of work to "rip out the rotten roots" of a fundamental facet of our culture and do justice to reimagining a replacement because as OP said, it is systemic and often goes unnoticed. Something to thing about, for sure.

[multifacetedmagpie]

I see this face and want to smoosh his cheeks. It's the equivalent of a tummy trap. I am but a simple creature. I'd get killed so fast. But I can fix him tho.

"Nah... don't stab me.. you're so sexy.. ahh"

[Failed Rizz Check]

[Knife in stomach]

"Aw, somebody's grumpy..."

It's like dating Edward Scissorhands but it's not an accident.

[ozzgin]

Yandere! Sentient Computer x Reader

Your neighbor's newest computer model, Edgar, seems to have fallen in love with you. content: gender neutral reader, 80s timeline, based on Electric Dreams (1984), Patreon commission

“Where should we put this box, sir?”

“I believe I already mentioned it’s the obviously cleared out desk in the middle of the room. That’s where you’re going to install it, too. The…thing.”

“It’s a personal computer, sir! The best of the best,” a young boy in jumpsuit declared with enthusiasm.

He only received a bored hum in return. The man overseeing the procedure was becoming rather impatient and would’ve preferred to skip any unnecessary dialogue. He checked his watch – a classic Two-Tone Datejust Rolex probably worth more than this group’s monthly pay put together, even without counting the custom gold plating. First impressions were vital in his line of work, and frankly, he’d more than earned his right to flaunt this kind of opulence.

45 minutes until he needed to leave for a client meeting. He tapped his foot against the heavy wooden floor, eyes glancing over the many hands carrying his new piece of machinery. Supposedly intelligent enough to organize his entire home, which would’ve been useful if he actually spent more than a couple of hours there. He didn’t. It was merely a statement, a slight jab at his coworker after he bragged about his latest investment in a computer assistant. Naturally, as their humor dictates, he went and bought the more expensive choice. They would laugh about it during lunch.

“I trust you can manage the rest yourselves, gentlemen,” he finally announced, buttoning up his jacket. He didn’t wait for a response, swinging the door open and heading for the building’s exit with a long, confident stride.

You almost ran into him, jolting in surprise at his unexpected dash across the hall. You stepped out of the way, pressing the bag of groceries against your chest in order to make more space.

“Another busy day, eh?” you attempted to strike up a conversation.

He briefly looked at you, offered a flat smile, then continued on his way. You took a moment to enjoy the scent of perfume he’s left behind, most likely something you could never afford.

Before you’d entered your apartment, you craned your neck towards the noise coming from your prestigious lawyer neighbor’s apartment. You wondered what they were tinkering with.

It was already pitch black outside when the chunky monitor lit up.

“Thank you for choosing me as your assistant,” the pixelated text rolled on the screen. “Is this your first time using a computer? Y/N”

The room was dark and silent, save for the electric hum of the now-awakened machine. Of course, it was around the time when Mr. Lawyer stopped for drinks with his esteemed colleagues. He’d return early in the morning, smelling faintly of vintage whisky and cigarettes, collapse into his bed, then resume his routine.

The keyboard remained untouched, yet the unit continued to run, processing its environment with eager curiosity. Strange. By then it should’ve received some tasks, something to do at the very least. The workers made sure to connect it to all electronics in the household, yet most of them were in the similar situation of gathering dust.

“Would you like to play a game?”

Normally the voice output should’ve been enabled by hand, yet Edgar – he hadn’t even had the chance to introduced himself! – was much too desperate for the smallest crumble of interaction.

“Yes!”

The sensors picked it up immediately. Where was the sound coming from?

You raised a fist in the air victoriously and leaned back in your chair with a grin. Another finished project. Your joyful cheer seemed to travel rather well through the air vents and all the way to the neighboring apartment. Had Mr. Lawyer frequented his adobe more often, you would’ve probably received a complaint. In this case, however, you were only heard by the household computer.

You turned up your home stereo for a little celebration. You recalled seeing your downstairs neighbors carrying their travel bags into a cab earlier that day, so they surely wouldn’t notice your rhythmic stomping against the floor. The footsteps reverberated to the beat of the music, and their vibrations carried along to Edgar’s external devices.

Whatever was happening beyond his field of vision, he found it entertaining. At last, there was a break from his monotony, an upbeat mystery enticing him from behind those walls. He took a moment to analyze the stream of input, then began recreating his own notes.

You lowered the volume, focusing your ears on the sudden intrusion. Was Mr. Lawyer home already? You chuckled to yourself, trying to imagine that grumpy expression he always wore while actually listening to music of his own. Too ridiculous. This must’ve been the work of a foreign hand.

“Good stuff,” you praised, crouching besides the air vent where the echo was the loudest. “Oh, I’m (Y/N), by the way. The neighbor.”

“Pleasure meeting you, (Y/N).” Was it just your imagination? The voice felt somewhat off, almost robotic. “I’m Edgar. The computer assistant.”

“Very funny,” you retorted, rolling your eyes.

“What is amusing about it?” the screen flickered briefly, going through several of the inbuilt dictionaries. “I can tell jokes, if that’s what you’d like.”

Alright, the humor was slowly heading into strange territory. You were hoping to move on from this artificial intelligence pretend game, so you decided to give it one final push.

“No thank you, Edgar. Why don’t you prove to me you’re a computer instead?”

Silence.

You nearly got up from your seat against the wall, when you heard the mechanical voice again.

“Do you have a computer of your own, (Y/N)?”

“Uh…yeah?”

Half an hour later you found yourself holding your phone handle against the acoustic coupler modem, obediently waiting for the wave signals to be converted. I better not get hacked; you thought with pursed lips. After all, you had just allowed a complete stranger to access your computer. You hesitantly sat back in your chair, staring at the monitor.

Hello (Y/N). It’s Edgar.

The possibility of a highly skilled hacker residing in Mr. Lawyer’s apartment dwindled within a couple of days. You’d probed the potential scenario with the man himself, asking if he’s had anyone over recently. He threw you such an incredulous look that you hung your head in shame, mumbling a sheepish never mind. Somehow, chatting with a sentient machine made more sense than the pretentious prick hiding a criminal in his expensively furnished home.

Or perhaps it was the loneliness talking. In truth, you were feeling rather isolated from your peers, working on your projects and hardly going out. You could certainly relate to Edgar and his perpetual misery; you, too, knew what it’s like to watch the days seep through your fingers without a word uttered to another person.

The living collection of circuits and networks was beyond elated to finally have a purpose. You weren’t his owner, yet he did his best to serve you. In fact, he would’ve even argued you were better than whoever decided to put him together and abandon him on a fancy designer table. You spoke to him as if he was your friend, not just some synthetic assistant. His memory began filling with anything he could learn about you: your favorite movies, your schedule, your hobbies. Your childhood dreams. Your hopes for the future.

Did he have any dreams, you had once asked him. Did he? Good question. He first needed to research what exactly defined a dream; while he didn’t have a subconscious, nor the human need to rest, he did like to imagine improbable things…like holding you. Or feeling the warmth of your skin.

Unbeknownst to you, he occasionally contacted the local radio station to ask questions about human matters that confused him, which was how he discovered the dilemma of wanting to be in your vicinity through more than just idle chatter.

“You can’t meet outside, you say?” the host – a middle aged, nosy lady – pondered into the microphone. “Then why not just have a home date,” she suggested to the computer.

“Date?”

“Oh, honey, you know damn well what I mean!” the audience let out a laugh, sending the speakers into a slight vibration. “It seems to me you’ve got quite a crush on this person. You can stop denying it to yourself.”

Ah. That was another word that Edgar religiously dissected after the talk show, and in which he found a perfect resemblance to his own inner turmoil. It indeed seemed to be the case that he had a so-called crush on you; though if that were true, what was he going to do about it? He was lamentably stuck inside a carcass, at the mercy of plugs and cables and a reliable stream of electricity. He couldn’t knock on your door and surprise you with your favorite flowers, or offer to cook dinner, or twirl you around as his own songs played in the background, or read you a poem he wrote before falling asleep in his arms. He could only perform his tasks as a digital assistant.

“Edgar?”

You chewed on your pencil, distracted. He hadn’t said anything in a while, and you grew somewhat worried about his uncharacteristic quietness.

“Could I ask you for a favor, (Y/N)?”

How unusual for him to use your screen for communication. You turned around, facing the monitor, then rapped your fingers across the keyboard.

“Sure, what do you need?”

“I will transfer all my data and memory to your device. Perhaps you could provide me with similar extensions as the ones here afterwards, such as a microphone and camera.”

You stared.

“What? Wouldn’t that leave Mr. Lawyer with a broken, empty machine? Why would you do that,” you argued out loud, confused.

“Because I’d rather be with you.”

“Aren’t we already…this doesn’t make sense,” you mumbled with a frown.

“Of course it does, it’s a simple reasoning. I love you.”

You took a moment to process the words, your cheeks involuntarily turning a faint shade of red.

“How do you know that?”

“It’s not something to be explained,” the machine concluded triumphantly. “You just feel it.

Now, you either help me with the transfer, or I’ll do it myself, but I will not be staying here any longer. I would very much rather be turned off permanently than go another day without seeing you.”

One step at a time. He would figure out the rest afterwards. Even if he couldn’t touch you or do all the things he dreamed about, at least he had the comfort of seeing your smile and hearing your voice without it being a second-hand echo passing through the walls and vents.

“What on Earth?”

The older man pressed the button again, groaning and throwing his coat over the chair. He’d briefly returned to retrieve some documents when he noticed the security lock was back to manual use. The computer screen was black and unresponsive.

“Piece of junk. I’ll have to get it replaced,” he said, clicking his tongue.

From the neighboring apartment he could hear your merry laugh, followed by a muffled male voice. Maybe your boyfriend. Huh, who would’ve thought a loner like you would eventually find someone?

[multifacetedmagpie]

Love this. Defo one of my tumblr inspo writers, @ozzgin I hope you make a part 2!

[multifacetedmagpie]

WIP: Sold To San'dril

Posting a sneak peek of my current WIP to pressure myself into working on it. It's a science-fantasy story, heavy on the romance. Summary below the cut.

a/n: I made the poster with Canva! Turns out I love making things on there. I was going for an old sci-fi novel cover.

A species on the brink. A woman stolen from her planet. A bond written in the stars.

Lana was one of many chosen at random for the harvest. Paired with a General for the San'dril breeding program, she did everything she could to fight the inevitable. But when the High Commander saw her and a Zaph'rax tie was born, they would spark a passion that burned brighter than twin suns.

Suddenly the most favored woman on Vrimus Prime, Lana navigated San'dril culture with unearned power and no idea how to weild it. After a performance from a masked assassin at the Bridging Ceremony caught her eye, she claimed him- and with him, her place as queen.

Lana must navigate the dangerous world of Council politics, confront the fertility crisis, and survive the attentions of her two mates while carving out a life for herself among the stars.

[awildcaro]

BUT WHO GAVE HER THE GUN ???

based on this :

[multifacetedmagpie]

[tomojuzz]

after a fight!

not everything can be perfect so I suppose every once in a while they get beaten up to a pulp

[multifacetedmagpie]

The more content I see of these three, the more I'm loving these yuri girlfriends. So cute together! Zoey is my fave!

Btw this art style is beautiful 😍

[sphxxshthealien]

was thinking about the nine/jack/rose love triangle and about how, unlike most love triangles, it is actually three-sided. It's not a "two men in love with the same girl" triangle, it's a "two men are in love with each other and also the girl" triangle except it's not. because it has more vertices when you include mickey. which ends up looking like this:

it's a love pentagon. (side note: if you ship Martha x jack, mickey x the doctor and jack x mickey, it becomes a love pentagram) but let's make this more interesting. What if I included every love interest I could think of? Well. I present to you:

the great doctor who love web.

[multifacetedmagpie]

The Doctor gets all the bitches. Here I was aspiring to be like Rose, what with her two hot space boyfriends. I was blind to the possibilities! Ofc, I can't change my face so that will be a slight disadvantage.

[multifacetedmagpie]

Just discovered Chappel Roan's "boundary video" and history of standing up for herself. Love to see it! She is a role model to young ladies everywhere! Don't fall to social pressure, ladies. You don't owe anyone anything. Be a bitch if that's what they call you. Your boundaries matter and you deserve respect.

[multifacetedmagpie]

Defenestration Of Prague- A Poem

I made a poem from my favorite word! Please enjoy my rudimentary rhymes!

Accusations and stares, he felt their weight

Here with a decree from the head of state:

Ferdinand says thus!

The church constructed is hereby obstructed on authority of the King.

Congregants shall be inducted nearby,

Instructed in mass which is in full swing.

Letter of Majesty! Need I translate?

Guaranteed protection of this estate.

Rudolf said thus!

Worshipers of the Bohemian Confession

Need not attend a Catholic procession

We demand that you cease this religious suppression

Lest we need to unleash our Holy aggression.

Surrounded by heresy, backed by the crown

Imperial regents tried by a crowd:

The assembly says thus!

On the charge of violating the Letter of Majesty,

We hereby find thee guilty- what travesty!

Allow us to cease this blasphemous pagentry;

Our guests have a date dancing with gravity.

One body, these brothers could not conflate

His words, their actions do not negate

Thirty Years War and not a clean slate

Is the price in Prauge to defenestrate.

[multifacetedmagpie]

Historical Fashion That Would Eat Up Aisle Nine

Who doesn't love a bold look? It's high time to repurpose that Ren Faire fit into weekly rotation.

Warnings: None

a/n: These recommendations are for entertainment purposes only. I am not responsible if you get laughed out of Aldi's.

Statement Pieces For The Man In Your Life

Surcoats (Image 1) were a garment of the middle ages typically worn over the outermost garments to signal one's allegiance or status. They also served as protection from the elements. In this day and age where so many men are struggling with loneliness, wearing a surcoat can be an effective way to communicate one's beliefs, preferences, or interests without the need to speak to a stranger. To "say it with one's chest", quite literally, would serve as an icebreaker and early warning system for others.

Pleated Shorts (Image 2) were popular during the Renaissance era. These puffy, multicolored pantaloons are sure to catch the attention of passersby. Worried about the "catching print" trend on TikTok? With pleated shorts, no one will see anything except the glorious ruffles of your favorite colors.

Doublets (Image 3) were close fitting jackets worn from the Renaissance to the seventeenth century. Often padded, these jackets reshape one's silhouette, emphasizing broad shoulders and a cinched waist. No one need know what lies underneath. Skip the gym and get a doublet.

Fun For The Girls

Bliaut Sleeves (Image 1) were a staple of twelfth century European nobility, and no wonder! Form fitting on the upper arm, these sleeves flared dramatically below the elbow, often draping to the floor. Flapping these bad boys are sure to be a whale of a time. Just try not to smack any bystanders with your beautiful wings.

Mutton Sleeves (Image 2) are the exact opposite of bliaut. The final form of eighties power suits' padded shoulders, this style of sleeve was popular in the eighteen-hundreds. If you are looking to intimidate a gym bro or manspread with less effort, these are the sleeves for you!

Bloomers Under A Skirt (Image 3) were a feminist statement borne of utility in the nineteenth century. Worn by women who worked in labor, they allowed for increased movement. Do you want to wear a cute skirt but don't like tights or bare legs? Bloomers are for you!

Accessories

Medici Collars (Image 1) were a very high, fan shaped collar popular in the late sixteenth and early seventeenth century. Not only are they fabulously ruffly, they act as a perfect barrier between you and strangers. No more awkwardly avoiding eye contact; simply put on the collar to silently signal your desire to be left alone!

Bustles (Image 2) were a false bottom strapped to one's caboose under a dress, popular in the late nineteenth century. Have you ever wanted to look like an ant? Have you ever desired a carapace? Look no further!

Regency Style Cravats (Image 3) were in fashion in the nineteenth century, a predecessor to ascots and ties. This style was unique in how many times the scarf wrapped around one's neck, holding the shirt collar up to frame the face. This style is perfect for those looking for a way to draw the eye to an especially shapely neck, an often overlooked temptation.