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thekitschdiet · 3 years ago

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the kitsch diet part II

part one alr posted!! this chunk is about 3,000~ words long... let me know what u think :-) thank u all for all the luv already!!! looks like I really will hit 31 followers by easter!!!!!!!!

Who is the Kitsch Girl?

I think this is more loosely defined, but The Chic Diet did a truly admirable way of reducing a girl to her YSL bag and her really skinny legs. Now, that implies an archetype, or a population in a specific location. I think kitschness is kind of the niche you fill when you’re not really much of anything else, sort of your own conglomerate of mainstream-specific. One major requirement, though, is being a little too into something somewhat uncool. And the whole illusion falls apart if you have any sort of outward insecurity. See, the Kitsch Girl is somewhat undefinable because she is so much of everything. She exists in multitudes, in a way that is also quite simple to understand; think of a list of axioms, or principles to live by. And now add a section to each one that says “but…” to make a collection of verified exceptions. Say, the kitsch girl will never wear jeans. But she thrifted this pair of vintage flares she just loves. She doesn’t reply to texts efficiently, but sometimes she will within a couple seconds. No mascara, no dinner forks, candles are to be collected not burned; but that was a gift, or something. It’s not personal, of course, those are just the contradictions she exists in. Don’t try to understand it, the enigma is essential to the facade. Or maybe she just lives like this, and her character is so homogenous with her inner world there’s no sense in trying to separate it. You have to have a little bit of an individuality complex about the whole ordeal, which is normally so eugh, but if you’re kitschy enough it works on you. Trust!The Kitsch girl is not someone unlikeable, but amiable and well heeled. I double checked that last one, assuming it meant liked by most, but apparently means affluent. I suppose that is an aspect of the kitsch girl too, having seemingly endless frivolous expenses with no real strain, but that’s not important right now. People that don’t like her think so out of jealousy, or something. Envious that her clothes are all kind of shake-it-up-esque and her highlights desperately need touching up, but she still seems so enthralled with the whole of life… How does she enjoy her own company so much when other people want to know her better? Doesn’t she feel weird about blowing people off to make a joke about reading Kafka in the bath? Why would she document her cluttered, unexciting life on Instagram so delicately, so vibrantly? Of course, no one would say this to her face because they are really baseless claims. She’s nice, generous, and valuable to have as a friend. Trade-offs exist, as they do with anyone. But I like thinking it’s easier to overlook a forgotten birthday when your kitschy best friend gave you a multi strand pearl necklace to celebrate the welcome breeze of June. Or some other made-up holiday. She is so unassuming if you’re not really looking. Girls want in on her inner circle. Or they just don’t care. Nothing wrong with being liked or thought of naught, for the most part. Boys are either enthralled or repulsed by her. Her doctor knows her as something of a hypochondriac, but only minorly. It’s just carpal tunnel, don’t worry… The sales staff at CVS turn a blind eye when she slips an eyeliner pencil into her tote bag. She shoplifts on occasion, just to see if she still knows how. But she is not a shoplifter. $9 here and $6.45 there doesn’t really add up to much. Everywhere she goes, she makes a tertiary friend or two. The term of friend is loosely used here, of course. But it is nice to tell a stranger you like her earrings. Or her phone case is so fun, is it Wildflower? The kitsch girl has an eye for this kind of detail. Simply put, she is sort of unspectacular. But in a way that makes you sort of wish you knew her better.

Phone cases

The phone case is, like, religious for the kitsch girl. Sorry, but there’s just no other accessory as flippant and expensive and single-purpose as a trendy little iPhone case with some semitacky stickers plastered over the design. I used to have an iPhone XS- extrasmall- with like, 18 phone cases. It was kind of a sordid affair. I jest, but really… owning that many phone cases was kind of sick. We get it, you are frivolous and spontaneous and sooo stylish! Stop posting mirror selfies on your Instagram story, your crush isn’t going to see it. Kidding again. Having an extensive collection of phone cases is just so fun because while attainable, most people just simply do not partake in it. That makes you kitschy and unique. I really thought I had more to say about the IDEA of the phone case, but I guess in practice it is all very, very simple. You can slide your driver’s license in the back of a clear case. At what point does it stop being cool to have legal operational control of a vehicle? I don’t display mine because I don’t really like the photo. I look round. In the eyes but also just in general, swollen, unglamorous. Whatever. Not like I drive a Nissan or anything. I drive my *Mom’s* Nissan. Playing Bladee in the car seems sacrilegious. She would hate it.Back to phone cases. Sonix ones are cute but kind of overpriced retail- unless you have like, an iPhone 12 Pro Max or whatever the fuck is new this year, just go to Winner’s. They always have Xs and 11 cases. I had a cherry one for my previous phone, like the exact one Lana Del Rey had? Thank god I sold it before she got outed as a copfucker or whatever. Casetify is for an inadvertent flex. Flexing your lame, lame taste. Sorry, I know you bought it because you liked it, but what you failed to consider is just how un-Kitsch they are. SO common, and they advertise on Instagram. Sorry, I just can’t get into it! Kind of how I just never liked the Brandy Amara tanks. Or lowtop converse. Otterbox is just distressing. Like, if my boyfriend gave me an otterbox phone case I would probably break up with him because somebody clearly isn’t paying attention- one of my favorite, potentially overused joke is how Otterbox cases are the equivalent of orthopedic insoles. Sorry but if you have poor arch support or whatever, but no pain is worth giving up a good pair of Margiela slingback tabi heels. Obviously I couldn’t afford that right now because all loose income goes directly to Wildflower and my cig boy. But like, one day. I hope you want to punch me in the face a little bit after reading that. If Wildflower isn’t your thing, at least have the decency to get a beaded phone strap. But not from String Ting. Pray tell you aren’t keeping score, but they are one of my several parasocial enemies. That should have been ME collaborating with Wildflower! Should have been ME mailing shit to Caroline Calloway (more on her later, but she is the only blue check I follow. I adore her! I was on her patreon for a bit I thinkl!!) …. Side note. Phone cases are cute but there is no way to properly protect your laptop without looking just absurd or colossally lame. The foam sleeves… ick.

Having the shittiest music taste ever

So like, here’s the thing. I’m an Apple Music user, which sort of reinstates my status as an unironic My Bloody Valentine Hyperpop Death Grips kinda gal. Read; volcel. My most recent conquest ended up being a huge L on my part, but also… I totally dodged a bullet. The guy had an iPhone 11 (female trait) and didn’t know who Rei Brown was, which just seemed suspicious given his Niche. I just know he had a “making out playlist” comprising entirely of like, Joji. Which isn’t a bad thing I guess but so unembarrassing it horseshoes back to being humiliating.Like I said. Having the worst music taste. It’s nice how subjective and deeply personal your music taste can be; no one really Needs to know you’re a die hard drainer. But there’s also no point in being a die-hard drainer and Not capitalizing off it somehow. I added it up and I have well over 150 hours of just Bladee and Yung Lean. Which is so yass? The more I write, using myself as a case study, I realize just how desperately jobless I am. And Yogenfruz isn’t even hiring! UGH!I think there is something very kitschy about liking hyperpop in the least ironic, least obnoxious way. Sort of feeds into a “I’m not like other girls” thing, but I mean… That’s kind of the idea of kitsch, isn’t it? Be a little different but also the very same as your lipgloss brethren?!Side note. If you make monthly playlists I am genuinely kind of afraid of you. That is just so organized!! I just make playlists with esoteric titles and then make a new one when I’m sick of the stuff on the last. I have exhausted most genres but I think my favorite is the “I’m wearing f****ng air forces and my teeth are SO white”. Guess what genre it is. Or don’t, but it’s probably what you think is. Okay, moving on….

Curating a scent

I like thinking I smell like mango and peach, Glossier you, whatever citrus is in that Lush shower jelly and mint 5Gum. But of course it is probably less distinct and just kind of generally fruit-floral-mint. Anyway. I think Glossier You is the perfect scent for anyone with a rather elementary understanding of the whole.. Perfume business. Every bottle of intentional fragrance I own was made via aesthetic choices… it really helps that Glossier You is so cute And so universal. Now, Glossier is kind of interesting to me because it really is at the intersection of cheugy and kitsch. Kind of basic, overplayed, unspectacular. But also…. Often popular things are popular because they are good. Glossier has excellent customer suurv, they ship SO fast (and no import duties! W!) and their stuff is just so sweet and nice if not unoriginal, in kind of the same way strawberry ice cream is. Which is still my favorite, of course, especially if there’s a vegan option. I was talking about Glossier. What the hell! It’s really worth trying out. A huge principle of kitsch is just… having as many possible layers and appendages to your composure as possible. And adding a signature scent just really completes that! When curating your own, I say this as a complete amateur, know-nothing; make it something that comes kind of naturally to Your Character. Like, I’m just not a Chanel No 5 kind of girl. Odds are you aren’t either. My bottle (before she asked for it back when I told her I didn’t use it, in exchange for a Nordstrom’s gift card) was from my grandmother. Ummm.. Yeah, I really have no expertise in curating a scent. But it is nice to have a signature. And having a bottle displayed on your dresser next to your aughties McDonald milkshake themed beanie baby and a handful of lip products is just way too fun! This is the kind of girl I am, everyone! Cluttered, but prioritizing pretty-delicate things!

Cheugyism

Cheugy is a relatively new word that has unfortunately wormed into my vocabulary to replace “uncouth”. Which I use to mean graceless or tacky, but if that isn’t what it means…. Don’t tell me. That would hurt more than weighing myself after a “feast” slash pastry binge at my dear Grandmothe’s house. Like I was saying. Cheugy. It’s sort of a fucked up concept to me because it is a critique on consumption, but not the pace or volume or magnitude of it. But rather… the idea of not being “good” enough at engaging in microtrends, or involvement in the fast paced fashion cycle. Don’t get me started on TikTok, or do, but… yeah,. No. That will require a cigarette because I’m so sorry, but writing a thinkpiece on social media is so lowbrow I would need to find about six ways to aesthetically counteract it…. Moving on. I think the idea of cheugy is good, we really do need a word to simply and efficiently define “out of date/uninspired/lame”. But the way it is used to shame others for not liking the same trends or whatever is kind of gross. If you use cheugyism to put other people down and not as a neutral identifier umm… you will become what you fear. Sorry, that’s what happens. Some things that I think are cheugy or embarrassing, or just not part of my stylistic lexicon are… 1. Hooded or zip up clothing, or things with a large graphic on the back. Bingo if it's all three! I just can’t get behind it. Side note, my summer home outfit is brandy sweats and a tube top (Urban Outfitters tank I ripped the straps off) and a large cardigan that should have belonged to a stoner, but probably didn’t. I can dunk on bulky, uninspired clothes because I would honest to God NEVER be caught DEAD out of the house wearing any of it. I’m so serious. Next segment should be about the kitsch girl’s inadvertent affinity for diuretics. Remind me….. One of the ports of my laptop is dead. Not really sure what to do about that.

Eye makeup and what it means to me….

Personally, I am one of those people who never wears foundation and kind of has a complex about it. The kitsch girl wears fluffy eyelashes and owns a plethora of sparkly eyeliner. Or maybe she doesn’t, but she has something distinct and a little ritzy, if not haphazard. We all saw Euphoria and it like, totally imprinted on us. The way glitter sits on your face after a long day is so resplendent. When it’s shining and a little bit melted off from your long, semi-productive day… ugh! Just made for film. Pictures on film. But not the Prequel app. I keep getting fucking ads for it. But it’s so embarrassing. Like, isn’t the whole point of film the authenticity of the moment? The texture of the afternoon? Why would you fabricate that? Prequel is just so cheugy. More on that later. But anyhow. Wearing a ton of eye makeup kind of fits with the idea of film too I think. Like, look at you, in the moment. With your strip lash falling off! It’s all so tres-chic. Plus, for whatever reason, it’s kind of unique or notably dedicated to ~Pull up to the function~ with more eye makeup on than everyone else. Sorry, but it really doesn’t take that long! But yes I will gracefully accept your praise… it’s kind of like the dropshipping of complements if you think about it. Easy to source with little to no effort in the curating. Side note, lashes are like $20 for 40 weeks if you cut them in half and use each pair about 5 times. You could probably do more but I lose track. How the fuck is it almost June? I was trudging through the snow to check the mail for my Online Ceramics shirt just last week, I swear. The trick to cutting your lashes (the way I do it anyway) is pretty simple. Get out two lashes that are symmetrical. Find the middle and cut one slightly to the left and one slightly to the right. This means you have two sets (one set is a little more dramatic than the other but at least they are symmetrical) with longer outer edges. Glue this to the outer corner of your eye and you will look so Composed… obsessed with how this layers with three eyeliner tails (one traditional one pointing up and one pointing down directly below it, sort of like the tail light on a 2019 Lexus UX) and one below your eye, like a clown. Fun, irrelevant fact, is the first time I added this third tail to my eye makeup, my dad had just gotten home from the hospital because he was sure he had like appendicitis or something and it was actually.. Not that. Typical indie hypochondriac. He made me bring him cottage cheese on a plate with a teaspoon that evening. I put black pepper on it for flair, which he hated. Walking up and down stairs with a plate of cottage cheese is much more imprinting than most of the multiplication tables. Don’t forget to use a bright shimmer eyeshadow in your inner corner. It really opens up your eyes. I recommend Too Faced. One time I got a little bit too high and tried to film an “editorial” makeup tutorial. You will never, ever, ever see that video. But I essentially covered my whole eyelid in the ABH shadow “palermo” and smudged out the edges with a tan Tartelette Toasted shade, coupled with my long-expired Milk Makeup holographic stick. Lopsided lashes and near-blinding eyeliner experience aside, it was kind of cool. My point is, you really cannot go wrong with an arsenal of shimmers, taupey mattes and a good eyeliner pen.

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mimiatmidnight · 4 years ago

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Predictions on Baby Girl Sussex?

I’m FREEEEEEEE from finals and ready to chat with you all once again! Thank you all for being so patient, I’m so excited to dive into all your questions and give them the novel-length responses they deserve 😉

I’m assuming you mean name predictions haha, cause the only other thing I can think of to predict would be her birthday (for the record, I’ll go ahead and put my sister’s birthday, June 10th, for no reason other than I predicted my own birthday, April 26th, for Archie!). But I love talking about baby names (as you can see by the length of this post 😅), so let’s get into it.

So I fully expect to be completely taken aback by their pick. Like not even on the same planet as my predictions. Cause that’s just how those two roll lmao. But IF they’re staying in the same theme as Archie’s name, I’m expecting something that’s also short, possibly nickname-y, kind of dusty and vintage, but with a whimsical charm, just like Archie’s. I am still operating with the assumption that she will one day be Princess (whether or not that actually happens, of course, remains to be seen), so I’m trying to keep that title in mind. And also, given that name meanings appear to hold significance to them, I tried to at least somewhat keep meanings in mind. So, in no particular order:

Eloise

“Healthy; wide”

French, English

I am SO charmed by this name. If I hadn’t already decided on Elliott for my future son’s name, this name would be right at the top of my future daughter’s list. I just thinks it’s so delightfully playful yet still timeless and classic. It gives easy and pretty nicknames with Ellie and Ella, or even Lizzy (possibly to honor her great-grandmother?). “Archie and Eloise” sounds so perfect and natural to me, without sounding kitschy or too over the top with the matching. “Princess Eloise” is so deliciously perfect, it just fits together like a puzzle piece.

Eleanor

Unknown meaning

English, French

Eleanor hits almost all the same beats I mentioned above for Eloise, even down to the lovely Ellie/Ella nicknames. It’s even more royal than Eloise, with such heady associations as the legendary Queen Eleanor of Aquitaine (not to mention the American Queen, First Lady Eleanor Roosevelt!). Eloise is closer to my heart, but I’d be thrilled with Eleanor as well.

Greta

“Pearl”; diminutive of Margaret

German

This one’s quite old-fashioned, but I think it’s so charming and would make an adorable name on a little girl. And fun fact, the name Meghan comes from a nickname for Margaret, which is why both those names as well as Greta all mean “Pearl.” So this would be a perfect way to honor little girl’s mama in a more subtle way.

Poppy

“Red flower”

Latin, English

Spunky yet sweet. Pays tribute to her mother’s homeland of California, while also sounding very at home in her father’s homeland of the UK. A flower name in honor of her mama’s own mama. This scarlet name would be even more perfect if the Ginger Avenger manages to make himself another little Gingette. And as I said to one of my anons the other day, “Princess Poppy” is so screeching cute I might actually combust if I think about it too much, so let’s move on.

Lea

“Meadow; weary”

English

To be totally honest, this one is mostly just because I’ve been addicted to listening to “Lea” by TOTO on repeat lately. Although “Princess Lea” might be a bit too . . . you know. Stor Wors. Even though the sci-fi princess pronounces her name differently, I think they’ll probably still want to avoid that association. Still, that song is heavenly and the name goes with all my criteria so I’m putting it in anyways.

Hazel

“Hazelnut tree”

English

Another nature name, one that I’m sure our favorite Earth Mama will enjoy ;) It’s newly popular, but in my opinion still retains that distinctive and whimsical uniqueness of a name that’s much further on the fringe than Hazel actually is. I can just picture a little hazel-eyed princess running barefoot around her gorgeous backyard, wild hair all spread out as she lays underneath a hazelnut tree. Ugh, so cute.

Etta

“Estate ruler”; feminine diminutive of Henry

English, Scottish

I suppose in response to Archie’s middle name Harrison, I’ve seen some Squaddies predict Henrietta for his little sister. And um . . . that is not a favorite of mine 😅 But if Harry wants to add his brand to his second little munchkin as well, why not Henrietta’s much more sleek and dynamic offshoot, Etta? It's got that old school feel, with also a spark of liveliness. I also love that it ties to their Black ancestry through one of the most legendary Queens of American Soul Music, Etta James.

Maeve

“She who intoxicates”

Irish

Incredibly endearing with a rich history. For my own personal use, this safer option might actually be called upon for my future daughter if I never manage to work up the courage to use my actual long-time Irish favorite, Saoirse. But for Harry and Meghan, I can’t really see them using this one. Still, I felt like I needed an M name to cover all my bases, and this is one of the few that I like. Some other honorable “M”entions (get it?) include Maisie, Melody, and Madeleine (thank you to my lovely anon for this one!).

Francesca

“From France; free man”; variation of Frances

Italian

I haven’t really mentioned middle names here, mostly because this post is long enough already and middle name combos just add a whole other level of crazy. But given the enormous legacy of her grandmother, I am extremely torn on whether Baby Girl will be getting a name in her honor. If her parents so choose, Diana’s middle name Frances, or even it’s more ornately feminine variation, Francesca, would be lovely honors for the little princess to carry. If they do end up honoring Diana, I’d expect it to be in Baby Girl’s middle name.

Violet

“Purple”

Latin, English

One last flower name for Earth Mama Meghan. Violet was my top pick for Archie when he was still the mysterious Baby Sussex, but though it has since fallen from my top spot, it still is a lovely, classic name of inarguable feminine grace, yet with an underlying core of strength and fortitude. I feel like Violet is a woman who ties her hair back with a soft velvet bow, but then hitches up her skirts, draws her sword, and shows the battlefield who’s boss. I just love the duality of this name, and I think it would be a lovely gift for a little girl.

Alice

“Noble”

German

Vintage, classic, girly, and solidly royal, this name calls to mind white rabbits and looking glasses. Once again, on a personal note, this might be an option for my future daughter if I chicken out on trying to get everyone to pronounce Alicia correctly. I love that name in the Spanish pronunciation, “Ah-lee-see-ah,” but I find the Anglicized “Ah-lee-sha” to be dreadful and I wouldn’t want to burden my girl with a lifetime of corrections. Anyways, Alice is just as elegant, if not quite as ornate, and in any case is much more likely for our British-American princess. Plus, what a stunning pair of name meanings to gift these two siblings: “Brave” Archie and “Noble” Alice. They sound straight out of an Arthurian legend. (Plus, how cute would “Archie and Alice” sound!)

Honorable Mentions Cause I Need To Wrap This Shit Up:

Evie/Edie (both follow all the E names I wrote about above, and Edie in particular is a modern name full of moxie that would be a great nickname for the older, traditional Edith)

Lily (yet another flower name, and I just like the sound of this one)

Spencer (another possible route to honoring Granny Diana, yet maintaining a much more modern and spunky taste than Frances, while also being less direct)

Clara (of Nutcracker fame, adding here mostly because I think I’d melt if I heard this in Harry’s voice and accent)

Lucy (same vibes as Alice and Clara)

Ivy (cute, simple, girly nature name, but unfortunately already in use by the daughter of Meghan’s close friend Jessica Mulroney)

Zoe (I have absolutely no personal connection to this name, but for some reason it just now randomly popped into my head as something they might choose, so here ya go)

So yeah! Sorry this was so long, but it was super fun! Thank you for sending in this great question. I’d love to hear all your guys’ name predictions, dream picks, and wild card guesses!

#meghan markle #prince harry #baby sussex 2.0 #royal fandom #the princess of montecito #baby names #markle & spencer #the munchkins of montecito

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i-did-not-mean-to · 3 years ago

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Hello Tumblr

The subreddit has directed me here to promote my realfic(s) about actor Richard Armitage on Ao3.

I do not know the etiquette of doing this, but here I am...

Here’s the first chapter of the ludicrous romcom I’m writing right now...

°1° ~Victoria~

Victoria, Vic to her friends and Vicky to her father and Tory to her ex-husband, walked briskly towards the little café at the end of her street, lifting her shoulders to her ears to shield herself as much as possible from the wind that cut into her skin and made her face flush an unflattering shade of windburned red.

She had no idea what Angie and Liza were up to, but apparently, she was to have high tea today, which in itself was not a reason to distrust her friends, but a little voice at the back of her head told her quite clearly that this was not going to end the way she had anticipated, and she was already annoyed before even knowing what they would spring on her.

As her heels clacked on the pavement in an impatient staccato, she yanked her handbag that kept sliding off her shoulder a little harder to wrestle it back in place and slammed it into her face with full force.

“Oh, for heaven’s sake!” She cried out in the middle of the street, rolling her eyes at her own incompetence.

When she pushed open the door though, the warm smell of cinnamon and coffee wafted into her cold, numb face and she relaxed a little, especially as the young girl behind the counter gave her big, beaming smile and took the dark grey coat from her with perfect understated courtesy.

Victoria loved this place, she had loved it from the very first time her former husband had taken her here to introduce her to the owner of the little shop for whom he had a strange fascination (which turned out to be run-of-the-mill horniness, as Angie was a lesbian).

Once, this had been a townhouse much like the one Victoria lived in now, and the old doors were still clearly visible in the bright, open room where polished white tables and dainty chairs with faded blue upholstery invited for a quiet sit-down with a good book and a steaming cup of coffee or tea.

On the old mantlepiece over a disused fireplace, daisies and peonies smiled at her from a slightly kitschy, ornate vase and her favourite spot, right next to the huge windowfront looking out on a neat little courtyard with wrought-iron tables and chairs in impeccable white, was waiting for her.

Angie had worked wonders with the small, crowded rooms, making them appear more spacious without losing the cosy feeling they had once held, and every artfully decorated plate hung on the wall had a special meaning to the dreamy, romantic woman who was the owner and boss of the establishment.

As far as middle-aged women went, Victoria was a good enough catch with her reasonably attractive physique and her actually very pretty face, not to mention her considerable smarts and her undeniable wealth, BUT Victoria was also notoriously stubborn and easily angered.

Most importantly though, at least that was what Angie and her beloved Liza thought, Victoria had taken the ludicrous and completely insane decision never to date another man again after her divorce and they were having none of that nonsense.

Hence why they were about to have high tea with her to gauge how hot her distemper was still burning after months where she had shut herself away in that little house she had taken to spite her family and avoid her ex-husband, refusing to take most calls and only ever coming to the tearoom to read a script.

As a member of a highly successful production-team, Liza had decided to offer Vic a spot as proof-reader of scripts, as her friend seemed particularly good at finding mistakes or inconsistencies. Also, Liza was convinced that Vic needed a few stories in her rather dull life after the childhood and youth she had had.

Vic took her new job as seriously as she did everything else in her life, her existence as a hermit included, and this made Angie’s plan to find her nice man to at least bed increasingly hard.

“She doesn’t want a man.” Liza had rolled her eyes at her, but Angie was convinced that it was not good for a woman to leave home and hide somewhere in London in a tiny townhouse and refuse to meet any kind of new person. It made people bitter, and she definitely didn’t want Vic to become bitter.

“Jesus, Angie, listen, I see bitter old men every day at work.” Liza had laughed, but when her girlfriend’s eyes flashed a feline green, the idea had taken hold in her own head to convince Vic to change her mind after all.

Only, not only did Vic not want to meet any men, no, she had made it very clear that there was a certain type of man that she would never ever exchange a single word with again: wealthy, suave, and handsome men, which was exactly the kind of men Liza had to sell a dime a dozen.

In this very second, she watched Vic settle down in her usual spot, waiting for her friends to arrive, her eyes narrow, suspicious slits as she surveyed her surroundings with hawk-eyed distrust.

~Richard~

He was surprised to see his phone light up and when he saw the name on the screen, his amazement only grew. There was no good reason why Martin would call him up just now as they’d meet a few days hence for one of those terrible meetings where all the rich and beautiful would stand around, bored to tears.

“Hey, what’s up?” He picked up his phone, nonetheless, curious what his friend could want from him.

Martin droned on about all kinds of things before making sure that Richard would indeed show up on that fateful evening, he had just been musing about a few minutes earlier.

It was vital that the man would be there for the success of the plan that he had hatched out with a dear friend of his, which consisted of getting two boorish, middle-aged twats to have a roll in the hay.

Maybe that hay would be pure spun gold, but the roll would be the same as it was everywhere else on this planet for all kinds of people. As far as he knew, the woman Liza had pitched had been made a millionaire by her divorce…and an emotional cripple.

After having married her high-school sweetheart, she had been replaced by a woman 10 years her junior as soon as the money and the fame started rolling in. If Liza was to be believed, she had put her heart and soul into that marriage and into the platform she now owned 50% of, which made of this banker’s daughter a good catch…Only, she apparently hated all men with a burning passion now.

Enter stage left, a rather underwhelming specimen of said population: inveterate bachelor, notoriously shy and often awkward and still stunningly handsome artiste extraordinaire Richard Armitage.

Martin had no idea how much he and Liza had drunk that evening to really believe, even for a single moment, that it would be a good idea to pair a hissing, angry, and disillusioned divorcee with a man who had not even been able to convince wide-eyed ingénues of his merit, but for some reason, they had shaken hands on their game plan and he would be damned if he was the one to drop the ball on this one.

“Yes, I will come. Why?”

That makes two of them being suspicious from the get-go, Martin thought, feeling the challenge raise his hackles and light a fire within his chest. This could be great fun if they managed to pull it off.

“Just checking in on you, old horse, don’t get your panties in a bunch over it.” Martin chirped cheerily, rubbing his hands noiselessly as he popped the earbuds in to move around the house while being on the phone like the puttering busybody he was.

Richard pinched the bridge of his nose in silent exasperation, he worked too much and socialised too little, he was well aware of that, but God, what did people expect of him? Secretly, he HAD thought about ducking out of this function on the down low, but now, that was virtually impossible as at least one person would indeed be looking out for him to show up.

There was an edge to Martin’s voice that he didn’t like all too much either as it announced some mischief he could not yet fathom, but already, he could feel the shadow of those dark rainclouds falling on him and it made him frown impatiently.

He had no time to be the butt of a joke or the unsuspecting victim of some cruel prank that had been hatched in good faith, he had no doubt whatsoever about that, but he was too old to be made a fool of in public and he hoped that his friend would know that, and respect his boundaries.

Poppycock, the hell he would, Richard thought with a sigh, rubbing his forehead to dispel the headache that was building constantly behind his eyes. He really should be wearing those glasses more consistently, but he tended to forget when he was sitting around at home, lounging comfortably around with a good book and planning a productive, prolific future that would keep him from thinking too much about the things he had missed out on.

“I’ll be there, don’t you worry.” He grumbled, hoping that there would be enough mainstream artists so he could blend into the background and slip out of the crosshairs of those who were after some funny business.

“Then I’ll see you there. I’m sure you’ll look ravishing.” Martin chuckled and earned a disgruntled growl from his friend and colleague which made him laugh silently. Oh, he was smelling that something was up, Richard was too smart to be taken unawares, but he was also adorably easily to get flustered sometimes, and, if he was honest, Martin enjoyed that a great deal.

For a second, he pondered if it would be cheating to pull Ben into the fray, but he knew that he’d need help to steer poor, old Richard into the right direction and there was only so much a single man could do.

#richard armitage #fanfic #writing #longfic #realfic #ao3 #introduction #hello #fanfiction #tom hiddleston #oc #never say never #same username #rpf

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rpmemesbyarat · 4 years ago

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Having some trouble picking things your muse enjoys or likes to do? Well, here’s some ideas how! Look at what’s around you right now, and get ideas from that. For instance, next to me is a lamp. Maybe your muse could be interested in antique or kitschy lamps, or collect nightlights, or be interested in interior design. My TV is also nearby. Maybe your muse has a favorite show, or wants to write for television, or is on their school’s news team, or is good with electronic things. My plush unicorn is nearby me too. Maybe your muse collects plushes, or unicorn items, or loves fantasy, or loves equines. My knit hat is perched on the back of my chair as I type this. Maybe your muse knits, or has an interest in millinery, or likes fashion, or does outdoor sports in winter that require a hat. See how easy this is once you get going? Another way is to look at the lifestyle your muse has, as well as the lifestyle that they WANT to have. A girl who lives out in the country on her family’s farm might be all about chickens and livestock and doing outdoorsy farm things…or she might long for glamorous city life. A high society debutante might adore the fancy parties and rubbing shoulders with her upper crust peers…or she might romanticize the “common life” and want to be a part of that instead. Let’s examine those four girls. The country mouse that loves her lot in life might do a lot of 4H shows, keep a garden, go riding or hunting, take long walks through the fields and farmlands, breed her own chickens/dogs/rabbits/etc. She probably also has some sewing skills to keep her clothes in repair until the next time they can afford to buy new ones. The country mouse that longs for the city might also have sewing skills, but uses them to try to emulate the urban fashions from the chic magazines she hoards, loves watching shows and reading novels set in the big city, and is saving up to get away there herself. The debutante that loves her life is probably very fashion-conscious, keeps up to date with the latest people to be seen with and places to be seen at, and is probably a member of some kind of social clubs where she plays preppy sports like polo, tennis, and golf, as well as expensive ski trips in winter and yachting in the summer. The Rebellious Princess, however, might shun these activities and instead sneak out at night to go to the “wrong side of the tracks” and do things that she perceives as the height of bad behavior, such as dive bars, pool, crazy clubs, maybe even something as declasse as wrestling matches, rock concerts, and monster truck rallies! She’s probably fashion-conscious too, but in a different way; she wants to look like a BAD girl, in the latest biker boots and punk jewelry she made out of safety pins. Or she might not dare go out and play the part, but does have an interest in anything that speaks to her desires, be it music, movies, or books. Looking at what job your character has or wants to have can also give you some ideas about they enjoy. For instance, if someone wants to be a writer, it’s a safe bet they probably have a passion for reading, and from that you can choose what kinds of genres they enjoy, and get other interest from that. For instance, a fantasy reader might like other fantasy-related things such as Ren Faires or fantasy-based art or historical costuming. Or perhaps their interest in, say, learning Elvish comes with a passion for languages as well, or their interest in fictional dynasties suggests they might like studying real royalty too. Whereas a sci-fi reader might enjoy speculative biology about what alien species might exist, or building models of fictional spacecrafts. Someone who became a lawyer might have a strong interest in justice, so that might influence what kind of media they consume. Someone who is a wildlife biologist probably has an interest in animals in some way which can lead to various other hobbies as well as science. Other good ways to get ideas is to look at places such as AskReddit and search for topics like “What are your interests?” or browse Tumblrs and see what people are into, look at aesthetics and moodboards, and pick things from them that you feel suits your character. If you know your character’s zodiac or something similar, you could look up common interests of that sign/MBTI group/etc (though feel free of course to take interests more common to other signs/groups/etc!) As I said in the CHARACTER HOBBIES post, ignore stereotypes. I love fashion, and I love comic books, and I love getting dirty with animals. Some people think that if you like something “nerdy” like comics, you must have no sense of style and never go outside. These same people probably think that people who like fashion also sneer at “nerdy” things and shriek at the thought of fur getting on their fancy duds. Obviously, I prove this is not the case, and I’m not the Special Snowflake who is the sole exception to this rule either. For instance, at my high school, the star quarterback on the football team was also in drama club and was a TERRIFIC actor. So don’t feel that just because your muse likes a certain thing means they have to be a certain kind of person or can’t like other things. It is perfectly fine for your muse to enjoy both academic literature and gossip tabloids, classical music and the latest pop, French indie cinema and rubber sci-fi monster movies. Jocks can like art, preps can like poetry, goths can like things that AREN’T black. What social group your muse falls into (though they’re rarely that cut-and-dried in real life as media makes tem out) might help give you some hints about what they MAY be into (for instance, a Goth can like things that aren’t black, but they also probably like a lot of things that are, or else Goth probably wouldn’t appeal to them) but it shouldn’t become a box. Go with what fits your muse as an individual!

#character hobbies #writeblr #writing tips #character tips #oc tips

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littlemisslol-fic · 4 years ago

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Summary: Two years after the events of Barviel Keep, Varian has tried to adapt to the expectations brought by being a King’s Ward, with mixed results. Haunted by ghosts, Varian is forced to face the demons he tried to leave behind in Bayangor when his abdication is forcibly stopped by a third party, out for revenge against the Bayan Royal bloodline. On the run, with few allies left to turn to, Varian finds himself chasing a ghost through a series of tests that only a true heir of Demanitus could ever hope to pass.But the shadows are ever present, looming and dark, and not everything is as simple as it might seem.

Notes: It's KICKIN OFF OH LORD

If there were a word to describe Pincosta, Varian would have to pick bland. It was picturesque, quaint little streets lined with quaint little cobblestones, tiny houses clustered around perfect market squares. It was a perfectly maintained hamlet, adorable and ready to be slapped on a postcard. The people were well mannered, even under the blistering heat of the mid-afternoon sun. Pincosta was charming, delightful, even.

It was also irritatingly saccharine.

Varian grumbled as Rapunzel pulled him along the street, her hand tight on his wrist. He couldn’t help but look over his shoulder, unable to shake the feeling of eyes on him. Eugene was nearby, making room up ahead as they walked through the quiet streets. People milled about around them, going about their afternoon with a sort of quiet calm. Eventually they came to a stop in front of a medium sized building, a large set of stone stairs up in front of it. Eugene went right in, leaving Varian and the princess outside. Rapunzel finally let go of his hand, spinning to face him with a forced grin.

“Okay, Varian, you stay here while Eugene and I speak to Constable Lumph,” Rapunzel said, her eyes darting around the cramped streets. “Just for a second.”

Varian arched a brow at her, tilting his head. “Don’t you want someone to go and get supplies?” he asked, “For when we go back?”

“When Eugene and I go back-” Rapunzel’s tone was unimpressed, “We’ll get our own supplies. After Vardaros I don’t want to risk it.”

“Oh, c’mon!” Varian argued, “I can just go into a market, it’s not even that far; there’s like, six people-”

“Varian.” Oof, that was her big sister voice. “No. Thank you. Please just stay where I know you’re safe.”

Varian rolled his eyes but nodded his assent, leaning against the thick stone wall of the constable’s headquarters. “Fine, whatever.” He muttered, looking away from her. Rapunzel’s face fell at the attitude, but Varian heard her sigh and step up onto the stairs leading to the front door.

“Thank you,” she murmured, “We won’t be long.”

Varian grunted something that could be acknowledgement, but could have also just been him clearing his throat. Rapunzel sighed again, and Varian heard the shifting of the old stone stairs as she entered the building. Eugene was probably already bullying the constable for something he’d done last time the pair had been in the town- Varian honestly forgot, he’d heard the story once and even then, it was mostly to fill him in on where Cass had gone- though, they’d left the vast majority of the details glossed over.

Varian huffed, shifting on his feet. No one ever seemed to want to tell him anything unless it was life or death, and to be honest, it was just bits and pieces. Not his dad, not Frederick and Arianna. Not Rapunzel. Something bitter in him made him roll his eyes at the thought.

He waited a minute, then two. The heat of the midday had started to pick up; between that and the ring of raccoon currently wrapped around his neck, Varian can’t help but feel a little warm. He risks a peek back to the door Rapunzel had disappeared behind, thinking. Sure, Rapunzel had said to stay… but Varian was going insane with this whole protect the babyschtick. He was perfectly capable of taking care of himself, thank you very much.

It was a little insulting, this idea that Rapunzel had that Varian was completely useless- when he was younger, especially after Bayangor, Varian had appreciated it. Hell, he’d even craved it, that idea that someone he loved was willing to deal with him without complaint and push the bad things away. He’d needed it, honestly, needed someone to stand between him and the difficult parts of life, even just to filter out the worst of it. But in circumstances like this, when it was all hands on deck, Varian was rendered effectively useless.

And it made him bitter.

The door didn’t open; Rapunzel would probably be in there for hours. Varian bit his lip a little, thinking to himself. He wanted to be useful, even if she was determined to sideline him. Maybe if he went and got the supplies himself, quick and quiet, Rapunzel would get off his case… Or at least, maybe she would stop thinking he was totally inept. Varian’s mind latched to the thought, and he made his choice. With a movement that was almost casual, he pushed himself off the wall and started walking.

“C’mon Ruddiger,” Varian muttered, “Let’s go make ourselves useful.”

The raccoon chittered in concern, looking frantically back towards the constable’s office. Varian felt his pet pulling on his hair, but ignored it. Ruddiger tried once more to direct Varian’s attention back to the office, only to get a pat on the head. Varian winced when Ruddiger nipped at him, his fingers retreating.

“No, listen,” he said, shaking his stinging hand. “Just in and out, ten-minute adventure. We’ll show Rapunzel who’s defenseless.”

The people of Pincosta were generally pleasant. The town center reminded Varian of Old Corona in a way, if the people were a little less farmerand a little more miner. He liked it, wandering through the streets, feeling normal for the first time in years. Back in Corona he’d never been allowed outside the castle without an escort of some kind, be it a subtle one- like Eugene or Rapunzel insisting on joining him- or an unsubtle one- like Frederic’s ordering Stan and Pete to dog his footsteps like loyal hounds.

He’d missed it, more that he thought he would. The ability to mesh with crowds, to disappear into the throng of faces. To slip in the cracks of the public, vanish like a ghost. Amongst the people, he wasn’t a target, wasn’t a forced heir or a missing child. Here he was just Varian, and something in him settled at the ability to shrug off the status like a musty cloak.

Varian weaved through the crowd, slipping between miners and townsfolk with a small grin. How novel to be able to walk like a normal person again- like he was back home, like Barviel Keep had never happened, like Aldred had never existed…

Like Quirin was home, waiting for him to walk in the door.

Varian coughed roughly. He shook his head, working his way through the main street of the town. Ruddiger perked up at the smells wafting from a nearby bakery, but Varian rolled his eyes and scratched behind the raccoon’s ears again.

“No, buddy, supplies.” Varian laughed, “No cupcakes.”

The animal pulled his biggest puppy dog eyes, but Varian wasn’t convinced. He dipped in and out of a few stores, the money purse he’d nicked out of the bag weighing heavy in his pocket. Varian wasn’t sure exactly where the things they needed were- all of Pincosta’s main stores seemed to be specializing in kitschy souvenirs and housewares- but surely the people needed to eat, so it was just a matter of finding the grocers.

Varian huffed as he left the fourth store, growing frustrated. Maybe he was useless. He sighed, despairing as the maze of keepsakes and clutter vendors grew around him. It seemed like he couldn’t even find food without someone to hold his hand and show him the way. He ducked around a stall, kicking at a loose stone and watching it clatter across the cobblestones; it had been nearly an hour and he was still empty handed, how pathetic. Even Ruddiger seemed fed up, the raccoon draped over his shoulders limply.

Varian wandered to the center of the square, where a large fountain stood. It was an ornate thing, carved to look like flowers and stars surrounding a beautiful, muscular woman, holding a pickaxe out to the sky. He knew the people here followed a deity called Vaara, said to be a goddess of the earth. Made about as much sense as worshipping the Sun, Varian supposed, though he knew the Sundrop had been very real.

He looked over the edge of the fountain, peeking in with a small air of curiosity. He could see coins settled on the bottom, the white limestone bright and clean. Varian could see his own reflection looking back at him, rippling in the water from small streams tossed through the air. He looked pretty much the same as always, maybe a little more exhausted than normal, but nothing out of the ordinary. His gaze drifted up towards his hair, the boy scowling as he saw his hair stripe peeking out from the hood of Quirin’s cloak.

With a rough movement Varian shoved the hair behind his ear, the mass of it irritating under the hood, but hidden, at least. He looked back down into the fountain, smiling softly as Ruddiger reached small paws down as if to grab the water-

Which is why Varian saw the reflection of a dark, looming shadow rear up behind him, and was able to dodge its grabbing hands by the breath of an inch.

Varian spun out of the figure’s reach, snatching Ruddiger off his shoulders and hugging the animal as he backed away. The figure- a woman- smiled at him, a bearing of teeth that scared Varian more than he’d like to think. She looked to be about Eugene’s age, with roughly buzzed hair, short and black and roughly cut. Most startling thing about her, however, was her set of very familiar, toxic green eyes.

“Damn,” she muttered, drawing closer. Varian backed off as fast as he could without tripping, hugging Ruddiger tight. “Aw, what-” she leered closer to him, green eyes glowing even in the shadow of the fountain, “You scared, little crow?”

“Call it more rightfully nervous.” Varian snapped, but was surprised when the woman laughed.

“Fair,” she conceded, “Very fair.”

There was a tense second of silence between the two of them. The woman shifted on her heels, looking Varian up as if sizing up a competitor. The halberd on her back caught the sunlight, a blinding flash of metal that made Varian wince. The market around them seemed unaware of the standoff going on, the people still milling about. Though, the woman’s posture was deceptively casual; Varian couldn’t help but think of Cassandra, how she walked without a care, but was really constantly tense and ready to fight. It made him nervous.

“You know, I expected more,” she commented, pursing her lips. “At least, for Aldred’s heir.”

Varian bristled at that, scowling. “Sorry to disappoint.” He tried to start backing away, stopping when she moved forwards to maintain the distance between them. She paused as he did, cocking her head to the side.

“You know this isn’t going to end well for you, right?” She asked him, as if talking to a toddler. It made Varian all the angrier, the cold wash of fear slipping away and turning to furious indignation. She didn’t seem to care, looking ready to laugh as Varian fumed. “You’re adorable.” She cooed, crossing her arms. “But I can promise that if you try and fight me, I’ll drag you back to my brother missing at least one limb. We don’t need you in one piece, after all.”

Ruddiger hissed at her again, his fur puffing up until the racoon looked nearly double his usual size. Varian inched his hand towards his pocket, stalling for time. Stupid, he thought to himself, stupid, stupid- Rapunzel’s going to have a fit.

“You’re his sister then?” Varian asked the woman, “What, is the whole family out to kill me?”

“What’s left of it,” she shrugged. Her expression was bitter. “Merrick’s young. He needed guidance after what Aldred did to our family.”

Oh, it always came back to that son of a bitch, didn’t it-

“And what?” Varian asked, “You think I’m just going to go with you?”

“I was hoping you would,” she replied. The air of calm surrounding her was borderline infuriating. “But if I have to kill the princess and her husband to make you cooperate… well, no skin off my nose.”

Varian felt his breath hitch in his chest. He’d seen the chaos and bloodshed the Bayans had caused when they’d attacked Corona; he knew she wasn’t threatening lightly. He just needed more time-

“You wouldn’t dare...” He paused, not knowing her name. She caught on, arching a brow.

“Cerise,” she said, her tone flat. Varian nodded.

“Cerise.” Sun, the manners Quirin had instilled in him were so annoying- “I’m Varian.”

“I’m aware.” She looked confused now, tilting her head. “You are an odd one, I’ll give you that.”

Varian couldn’t find it within himself to argue- he only shrugged. She huffed out what might have been a laugh, if not for the smug undertones of a cat who’d caught a mouse.

“You have a choice, here.” Cerise stepped forwards, closing the gap between them just a little more. “Are you going to come quietly, like a good little boy, or am I bringing you back to my baby brother in pieces?”

Varian tensed, his shaking fingers finally touching one of his last alchemical bombs in his pocket. He gently took it in hand, trying to seem nonchalant as the Bayan woman drew closer. “I can’t say either of those would end very well for me,” he told her, trying again to back away. Her face was amused, but in a way that seemed condescending. He felt his rabbit beat heart threatening to burst from his chest with how fast it was going, but Varian forced himself to remain nonchalant; if he panicked now, he’d lose any shot of getting away from her.

“Probably not,” she agreed, like they were discussing afternoon tea. She was getting too close, he had to act quickly. With every step she took he felt his shaking get worse- he nearly fumbled the bomb in his own pocket, nerves finally getting the best of him. Varian grit his teeth, his grip tightening on the smooth glass.

Varian took one more step back, roughly ripping the alchemical weapon from his pocket and throwing it at her. Cerise let out a yell as it exploded at her feet, a plume of noxious green smoke surrounding her instantly. Varian could hear her coughing, could see her frame stumbling through the smoke like she was drunk.

But he didn’t stick around long enough to see what happened next.

With speed he didn’t know he had, the alchemist turned and bolted from the square, Ruddiger situated on his shoulders with a strong grip. He could hear people scream, frantic footsteps everywhere as the citizens fled the market. Varian heard the Bayan behind him shout in rage as he vanished, deliberately weaving between the crowd and disappearing from view The streets of Pincosta flew by as he ran, a blur of brown and dull greys in the bleak morning sun.

“Oh shit,” Varian muttered to himself as he ran. His lungs burned, legs ached- between all the walking and the lack of food, he wasn’t exactly in peak performance- but Varian refused to stop. “Oh shit, oh shit, oh shit.” He could hear people yelling behind him, the smoke probably still thick, even in such a large, open space as the main market.

Varian kept running, leaving it behind. Sun, he’d been so stupid-

The constable’s office loomed before him, only a block away from the market. His heart soared at the thought of backup, nearly sobbing with relief at the sight of the stone steps. He raced to the steps, skidding to a stop in front of them. The dust puffed up under his boots, nearly making him slip into the dirt, but he managed to catch himself with a pivot of his ankle.

“We may have made a miscalculation, Ruddiger.” The boy gasped through heaving breaths. The raccoon grumbled his agreement, clinging tighter as Varian sprinted up the stairs two at a time; the alchemist didn’t care enough to take his time. He didn’t even bother to knock, shoving the door open and falling into the room beyond. He just caught sight of Rapunzel’s purple dress before hitting the wooden floors. Varian grunted as he fell, twisting to kick the door closed behind him with a deafening BANG.

“We’re in trouble!” He crowed into the room, uncaring as to what he may have interrupted.

“What?!” Eugene. The man had been leaning back on a chair, his feet propped up on a table. He dropped his boots to the floor, the two air born legs of his chair quickly following. They landed with a thunk on the wooden floors. Eugene stood quickly, gaze already shifting towards the door. “What do you mean trouble, kid? Please tell me the trash cat got caught stealing again-”

“It’s one of the Bayans.”

Eugene’s face fell into a grimace, the man looking tired. “Of course it is,” he muttered to himself. Rapunzel took the silence after to jump in, rushing over to Varian and grabbing him by the shoulders. She pulled him up off the floor, hands flying around him in a frantic mess.

“Did they see you?” She asked, her voice frantic. “Are you okay? Are you hurt?!”

“I’m fine!” Varian snapped, pushing her away. “I’m fine; she attacked me out in the square, but I got away-”

“She?” Eugene’s voice piped up from behind Rapunzel, the man arching a brow.

“I only saw one,” Varian replied, “She said she was Merrick’s sister.”

Eugene groaned, rubbing at his closed eyes with the tips of his fingers. “Great,” he muttered, “There’s more than one magical lunatic. Why wouldn’t there be?”

Rapunzel looked even more spooked at that, backing off before grabbing their bag off a nearby table. Varian just caught sight of the fresh supplies stocked inside before she was sealing it shut, looking towards Eugene.

“We have to go,” she said, slinging the bag over one shoulder and pulling her frying pan from her belt with the other hand. “We can’t stay here, not if they’ve already caught up with us- how did they even know we were here?!”

“I don’t know,” Eugene was shaking his head, “But you’re right, we have to get out of town, back to the woods.”

“Back to Corona?” Varian asked, head flicking between the two adults. “They won’t be expecting that, right?”

“Kid’s got a point-” Eugene started to say, only to be cut off by a furious noise.

“We are not going back to Corona!” Rapunzel barked, her voice echoing in the small room. Her eyes were wide, almost angry, as she got nearly nose to nose with the boy in front of her. Varian found himself shrinking in the face of her ire, shaking as he stumbled backwards. His back slammed into a table, rattling the contents on top. Mistake, his thoughts screamed, mistake, mistake, going to be locked in your room again-

“If you go back there, we’ll be playing right into their hands,” she said. Varian could barely hear her through the pounding of his heart- when had she gotten so scary?!- “I promised that you would never go back to Bayangor, and I intend to keep that promise, Varian. Even if you don’t like it.”

With that, she shouldered past the stunned boy, not hitting him, but moving in a way that had Varian scrambling to get out of her path. She grabbed at the doorknob of the office, pausing before sighing heavily. Rapunzel didn’t turn around, but Varian could see the way her shoulders slumped, and the grip she had on her frying pan went white.

“It’s for your own good.” She muttered, wrenching the door open and stepping out onto the street.

Varian and Eugene stood there for a second longer, both of them wincing when the door slammed shut. There was an awkward pause, the sudden silence smothering and strange after such an outward display from someone usually so gentle. Varian shuddered in the new quiet, his hands unconsciously reaching up to rub at his wrists. Something in the bones hurt, inescapable and intangible but very much there. Eugene grimaced, moving the few steps toward his younger friend. He shuffled closer to Varian, slowly bringing his hands up. When the boy didn’t react, he reached down to gently take the teenager’s hands and break the vice like grip. Eugene caught Varian’s eye, trying for a smile. It failed.

“She didn’t mean to snap.” He murmured, gently lifting a hand to wipe away a few frightened tears that had slipped from Varian’s eyes. Excuses, always with the excuses for her- Varian’s fear snarled, something bright and angry. Sure she gets a free pass to act like this, but the second he snaps- chaos! Eugene kept going, unaware of the shift in Varian’s mood. “She’s stressed, we all are. Sunshine is worried about you-”

“It doesn’t give her the right.” Varian shuddered, turning away from the older man. “Just because she’s upset-”

“I know.” Eugene soothed (but did he really?), “You’re right, Varian. But we have more pressing issues for now. We have to sort through it once you’re safe.”

The boy looked up to his friend; Eugene seemed to have swapped tactics, but Varian couldn’t figure out if it were an actual change of heart or of Eugene wanted Varian to sit down and shut up. The man schooled his face into an easy grin when he saw Varian looking at him. “C’mon.” Eugene said, “We’ve got places to be. This place was giving me hives anyways, too many goodie-two-shoes for my liking.”

Ah. The second one, then.

Varian sniffled again, fighting the press of tears; he looked towards the door with a sudden sense of apprehension. Not quite fear, but close. He couldn’t help but feel a thousand eyes boring into his back, the creeping vision of a room full of portraits staring into his very being taking over. Eugene’s concerned voice slipped away, the tremors growing more extreme as the seconds ticked by agonizingly slow.

Varian could feel his chest hitching, the shaking doing nothing to ease the tensing of his shoulders and spine. The breaths he was trying to take were unable to reach his lungs, his throat felt clenched tight as if he were being choked from the inside. Tears, unbidden and unwanted, flowed down his cheeks as the alchemist crumbled inwards. His hands curled around his wrist once more, the phantom sting of broken bones pulsing through his hand like a flame he couldn’t put out. Varian’s eyes slammed shut, blocking out the world in a desperate attempt for calm, for peace.

So when Eugene stepped forwards and gently cupped his face, Varian wasn’t ready.

“Don’t touch me!” The boy wailed, scurrying back as if burned. His eyes remained closed, the horrifying images of Barviel Keep flying through his mind at a breakneck pace. The knot in his throat only tightened, the hitching breaths doing nothing to ease the strain. Varian couldn’t hear a single thing beyond his racing heartbeat, the terrified thump-thump of a rabbit’s beat echoing through his mind.

But then.

Hands.

Someone touching his shoulders, a grip that felt like a vice, a manacle, a cage to keep him trapped and complacent and a perfect little doll- a brutal grasp, tight and rough, one that would shake him until he cooperated-

“Father, I’m sorry!” He screamed, an instinctual, gut reaction.

And those hands left his shoulders like he’d burned them.

Varian’s eyes snapped open, a sudden fear taking him at the sudden lack of contact, the boy looking up and expecting to see his own eyes glaring back at him- so when he was met with warm, chocolate brown it was like a shock to his system.

He was free, Aldred was dead; Varian was in Pincosta, not in Barviel Keep.

And Eugene Fitzherbert was staring at him in absolute horror.

“I-” Varian stuttered. “I- Eugene, I didn’t- I wasn’t-”

“Kid?” the man asked. He didn’t dare draw closer, and it broke Varian’s heart. “Are you back, uh, back with me?”

Varian sniffled, nodding. “I don’t know what… what happened,” the boy stammered. “I just…”

“It’s okay.” Eugene said quietly. “You’re okay. You’ve had a rough week.”

Varian rubbed at his eyes furiously, chasing away the thoughts of roaring winds and pink tourmaline. The feeling of eyes on the back of his neck. He took a deep breath, forcing it down past the knot in his throat. It didn’t do much to calm him, but they didn’t have time for much else.

“Try a rough year.” Varian couldn’t help but try and crack a joke, to shove the pain under a layer of flippant, couldn’t care attitude. Eugene didn’t seem to buy it, but could only shake his head in wonder.

“You might be right, there,” the man said, holding a hand out hesitantly. When Varian didn’t flinch, he gently placed it on the boy’s shoulder, slowly directing him towards the door. “I’m sorry kid, I wish we had time to calm down- but we have to catch up with sunshine.”

Varian nodded, the movement rough, and wiped away the last of unshed tears and forcing the panic away. They didn’t have time for this- they had to move before Cerise figured out where they were. The panic simmered, set to a low heat- Varian knew it would come back, later, like it always did- but for now he had to pushed it down and keep moving. Eugene pulled the door open with a grimace, peeking out into the streets beyond. The smoke had done its job and scared away the public, it seemed, as the cobblestone paths that had just been filled with people were left empty.

They cautiously stepped out into the hollow streets, a loud silence ringing all around them. Varian rubbed again at his face, chasing away the last of his cloying panic and steeling himself. Eugene scanned the area once again, brown eyes narrowed and scrutinizing. Varian held his breath, waiting, as the older man finally seemed satisfied with their surroundings.

Eugene indicated with a tilt of his head for them to move. Varian went first, already taking stock of his meagre weapons. He didn’t have much left in the ways of alchemy, just a few more smoke bombs and exactly one sticky bomb. Stupid Vardaros he thought to himself with a grimace, should have grabbed more supplies.

A sudden clang noise echoed along the abandoned cobblestones, stirring both Varian and Eugene into action; the two of them set off at a brisk pace towards the center of town. They drew closer to the marketplace Varian had run from, and the closer they got, the louder the sounds of fighting and female voices became. Varian lagged, but Eugene let him set the pace- probably to keep an eye on him, if Varian were to guess. It was still a fair gesture, as if Eugene were running at full pace, he’d surely leave the alchemist behind.

Varian skid to a halt by the corner of a building, yanked to a stop as Eugene grabbed at his elbow to keep them in place. The boy looked to the older man with confusion, but Eugene held a hand out, asking him to wait, silently. The sounds of fighting were louder here, so Eugene took the lead, peeking out. Varian, stubborn little shit that he was, followed, and winced at what he saw.

Cerise snarled as her halberd slid off of Rapunzel’s frying pan with a harsh bang, the metal blade slamming deep into the stones of the square. Rapunzel twirled out of the way with a grace that screamed of practice, a swirl of purple fabric cutting through the air, but it was easy to catch the sight of crimson blood staining the sleeve of her dress. Cerise too wasn’t unscathed, her body covered in patches of bright pinks and blues- surely the residue of Varian’s own creations. Both women huffed for breath, circling each other like a pair of lionesses. Neon met forest, two pairs of green eyes locked together- sizing the other up and waiting for a break to make their move.

“Where’s your baby brother, princess?” Cerise taunted, yanking her weapon from the rock. It left a deep wound behind, a thick line right through the stone. Varian’s mouth went dry at the sight of the kind of damage that axe could do. Rapunzel didn’t reply to the Bayan’s question, backing off as Cerise spun her halberd in a wide, devastating arc that cut the air with an audible whumph. Rapunzel was forced to dodge, rolling to the side to avoid getting sliced in half. She landed hard, a cry of pain echoing through the square. Eugene let out a lout yell at that, rushing from their hiding place and to his wife’s side.

Rapunzel grinned at the sound of his voice, quickly standing and twirling her body around. Her frying pan clattered to the ground as she brought both of her hands into am interlocked pose, offering a flat surface while she crouched towards the ground. Eugene took it, using her hands as a step. Rapunzel let out a grunt of effort as she brought her hands up, launching Eugene high into the air with a well-timed throw. Varian blinked as Eugene drew his sword while in midair, bringing it down onto a startled Cerise.

The Bayan woman shouted, bringing up her arm to block the blow. Eugene’s sword rattled off her gauntlet, blocked, but Varian could see how roughly Cerise had taken the blow in the way she held her arm once Eugene backed off. The man refused to let up, quickly forcing Cerise away from Rapunzel with a series of well-timed slices. Rapunzel followed, her frying pan forgotten in lieu of a few of Varian’s alchemical bombs.

Varian felt frozen, like he’d been glued to the ground as the two adults quickly backed the threat away. Cerise snarled as she spun her halberd, but splitting the attention between the two Coronians was obviously difficult with such a bulky weapon. Varian felt a sudden sharp tug on his hair, snapping to attention as Ruddiger frantically gestured to the forgotten frying pan.

Varian forced his legs to move, stumbling towards the iron pan. He scooped it up just as Eugene let out a shout. Varian twisted just in time to see the man fall to the ground, Frederic’s sword going flying from his hand. The boy gasped, rushing for the chaos with his newfound weapon. The iron was cold in his hands, heavy and solid. Varian didn’t take to reflect on it, bringing it up in a fluid motion.

Cerise didn’t even see him coming.

Varian brought the pan down with a swift crack onto her head. Her whole figure tensed for just a second, swaying oddly, before she collapsed to the ground with a thump. Her halberd was loud as it fell, a rattle of metal against cobblestone that echoed.

Eugene, still on the ground, gawped up at Varian in shock. The boy huffed, turning as Rapunzel ran up to him. The unsettled fear in him solidified into proper irritation at the sight of her, condensing further into a rough, bitter anger. She got close, her hands already reaching forward, grasping, like she always did. He scowled, shoving the pan into her chest roughly. Her hands flew up to grab at it, green eyes blinking in shock at his ire. Varian huffed, refusing to back down. She knew what she did.

“Can we go, now?”

He didn’t wait for an answer, stepping over Cerise’s unconscious body and holding a hand out to Eugene. The man took it, blinking as Varian pulled him to his feet. The square was oddly silent, now that the fight had been cut off. It felt nearly unnatural, like seeing something fall upwards. Just something that shouldn’t be. Varian shrugged off the feeling, looking at the two adults with a scowl.

“Pincosta’s a bust,” Varian said firmly. “We need a new plan.”

Ruddiger chittered from his place on Varian’s shoulder, dropping to the ground to sniff at Cerise. The animal hissed, scrambling up Rapunzel’s leg. The brunette sighed, grabbing the raccoon and holding him on her hip not unlike one would an infant. He cooed, snuggling close to her. Traitor.

“We’ll just need to hide you somewhere else,” Rapunzel said firmly, “Tropi Island was our next bet-” she shifted Ruddiger in her arms when he got squirmy. “-but we weren’t sure about it.”

“Sunshine,” Eugene tried to interject, “Maybe we should listen to Varian.”

Rapunzel’s face morphed into something almost called irritation, twisting to look at Eugene. Ruddiger complained from her arms, wiggling and grabbing into her dress pocket at the motion. She didn’t notice, too busy locking her husband with a look.

“We’re not going back home until Varian’s safe,” she said firmly, “I won’t lead him right into the hands of the people who want to hurt him-”

“I’m right here, you know!” Varian objected with a tart voice, only scoffing when he was ignored by both adults. Eugene and Rapunzel kept debating back and forth, both of them obviously trying to keep cool, but Varian could see the stress lines creeping across Eugene’s face, the way Rapunzel’s shoulders hitched higher and higher. The alchemist sighed, clicking his tongue at Ruddiger.

The raccoon perked up, his little hands leaving Rapunzel’s pocket. Ruddiger jumped from her arms, scuttling back to Varian, who scooped him up in attempt to ignore the others. The boy sighed, a rush of air that took his whole body. Ruddiger cooed to him, papping at him with one little paw. The alchemist smiled, but cracked an eye open in curiosity when he only felt one paw hitting his face. Varian pulled back, seeing the animal’s other paw taken up by an envelope.

“What do you have there, bud?” Varian asked, taking it gently from Ruddiger and looking it over. It must have been in Rapunzel’s pocket. He felt a small pulse of surprise when he saw a broken wax seal on the front. He flipped it, pushing Ruddiger up onto his shoulders so he could use both hands to inspect the already cracked wax seal.

Rapunzel and Eugene’s tense bickering faded from his ears quickly as Varian pulled the letter out and scanned it, his stomach sinking with every word. It couldn’t possibly, not- she wouldn’t, right? Varian’s thoughts struggled to comprehend what he was reading. If it were true, then his mother- he thought- and Rapunzel had the evidence in her pocket! His heart started to race as everything began to slot into horrifying place.

Rapunzel’s defensiveness, her push towards keeping him in Corona, all of it was because…

Because his mother was still alive, and she’d been hiding it from him.

Because Rapunzel must have known, of course she did. She had the letter in her pocket. He stared at the looping script of Aisha’s signature as the world fell out from under him. He was focused on it, transfixed, blue eyes scanning it as if the paper were about to burst into flame and be turned to ash before he could get to the end. He could feel something stirring in his gut, nausea perhaps, and the ringing in his ears only grew and grew.

He finally tore his eyes away, looking to the two adults. Eugene was off to the side, quietly trying to convince his wife to turn back for Corona. Varian zeroed in on Rapunzel, and the feeling in his stomach cemented itself not as sickness, but in rage. Rage at the lies, at the trickery, at keeping something like this from him…

It was the amber all over again.

Varian let out a strange noise, something of a growling gasp. Rapunzel turned to him, the irritation on her face swiftly turning to horror when she saw the envelope in his clenched grip.

“Varian-” she started, but was cut off when his eyes met hers. Rapunzel had gone pale, a rarity for her. It made her look sick. She was cowed by the glare he leveled at her. Her voice was quiet, weak. “I can explain…”

“How long?” The question echoed in the abandoned square.

“I-”

“How. Long?”

Rapunzel flinched at his tone. For a second she turned to Eugene, who was staring at Varian in confusion. The boy’s face twisted even further, shoving it at the older man to read. When Rapunzel still didn’t give him an answer, he moved forwards into her space. He was shorter than her, but she still shrank under his glare.

“Rapunzel.” He wasn’t asking anymore.

She finally shook her head, turning her gaze away. “Since before your birthday,” she finally admitted. Varian’s hands tightened at his side.

“I… that long?” His voice cracked in the middle, the full weight of her actions finally hitting. “You- you knew, for that long?”

“Sunshine?” Eugene’s voice drifted between them, the man having finished reading. “Tell me you didn’t.”

“I…” Rapunzel trailed off, tugging at her hair. “I was only trying to protect you-”

“From what?!” Varian snapped. “From my own mother-”

“From all of it!” Rapunzel finally said, loud and frustrated. “Varian, after everything that’s happened with those people can you blame me?”

“She’s my mother!” “And she was just as bad as Aldred was!”

The boy reeled for a second at the audacity, before the fury in him exploded outward.

“How can you say that?!” Varian snapped, “She ran from fa- from him! To protect me! How can you think she’s evil after that, after everything she did to keep me safe? If it weren’t for her, I would have grown up with him, I wouldn’t even have had my dad, or my home, or any of it; I would have had nothing-”

“She burned villages to the ground! She murdered people- you know as well as I do; she was a warlord in her own right.” Rapunzel countered, obviously over trying to cushion her words. “She ran away because it benefitted you, it was still in her own interest! You don’t need her!”

Varian bristled, the fury welling up from a place he’d thought was long dead.

“You don’t get to make that choice for me!”

His voice echoed around the square. Rapunzel reeled back at the shout, clenching her fist tightly around her frying pan. Eugene tried to step in, but backed away when Rapunzel took a step towards Varian.

“I did what was right.” Her voice was steel. “Those- those people have caused nothing but pain, and I am not going to let you walk right back to them.”

“I’m not just going to ignore her,” Varian said, “She’s my mother, she’d be the only family I have left!”

“What about us?!” Rapunzel argued. Varian grimaced, shaking his head.

“That’s not fair-”

“No, what isn’t fair is you trying to run away from this! To abandon us, abandon me, because you keep trying to ignore what happened!” Her chest heaved from the shout. Eugene tried to get in between them, handing the note back to Varian numbly, only to be pushed out of the way so Rapunzel could invade Varian’s space once again. Her face was inches from his, his eyes going wide with fear. She snarled the next words, more furious than he’d ever seen her before.

“It happened, Varian; if you go to her, it will happen again- and this time it will be your fault.”

The silence following Rapunzel’s shout was deafening. Varian stared at her with wide eyes, the salt in them burning. His heart raced, a cocktail of adrenaline rushing through his veins. Rapunzel’s chest heaved, her face twisted into an angry mask. She didn’t even look like his sister anymore. The shock spurred Varian’s legs to life, shaking knees unlocking at last. Varian took a step backwards, unable to look away from her eyes. Rapunzel’s tense frame slumped, shock at her own words making her expression drop into horror. She reached a hand toward Varian, grabbing at him, trying to tie him down-

He stumbled back, and ran.

>>>><<<<

Rapunzel scowled, trying again to weave around Eugene. Her husband refused to move, however, blocking her way to where Varian had disappeared between the buildings.

“Eugene!” She cried, “We have to go after him, it’s not safe-”

“Sunshine, I love you, but you are probably the last person he wants to see right now.”

Rapunzel slumped, trying one last time to dip around Eugene’s chest. He stood firm, his boots planted on the cobblestone. She sighed, looking up into his brown eyes, pleading with him.

“Eugene,” she tried again, “Even if Varian’s confused, we can’t let him go off on his own, if she-” Rapunzel gestured to the unconscious Cerise with her free hand, “-wasn’t alone, then he’s in danger! We don’t have time for this!”

Eugene caught her flailing hands gently, holding them close to his chest.

“Rapunzel,” he sighed, “Varian will be fine for a while, he’s a big boy. We need to get you sorted first, or we’ll find him, and he’ll run off again.”

“I…” she trailed off, before scowling. “He needs me- needs us. He can’t handle them on his own.”

Eugene’s face was concerned; Rapunzel felt a knot tie in her gut. She could see in the way he was approaching her that he thought she was wrong, that she was going to have to argue this. Case in point- “Listen to me,” he said, “We’re going to go get the kid, trust me, but first you need to calm down. Varian’s hurting, he needs us to be stable. After the- with the constable’s office- Rapunzel, he had a breakdown. I haven’t seen him so scared in a long time.”

The princess paused at that, her expression dropping. “He hasn’t had one in almost a year,” she said quietly, “He was doing so well… did I… did I set it off?”

Eugene’s grim face was enough. Rapunzel felt her anger shrink, the anger melting away in the face of what she’d done. “Oh, no.” It was nearly a breath, quiet in the abandoned square. “Oh, no, what have I done?”

Eugene’s face broke into a small smile, his hand coming up to cup her cheek. “There you are,” he murmured, “I knew you were in there somewhere, sunshine.”

Rapunzel sniffled, shaking her head. “He must hate me,” she said, “I would hate me. I was just trying to do what was best for him.”

Eugene smiled, wiping away a stray tear. “You made a bad call, that’s okay. Varian’s hurting right now, but he’s a smart kid. He knows that you love him, and he loves you. You went about things the wrong way, now all that’s left to do is try to fix it.”

Rapunzel paused, thinking it through. They needed to move, they didn’t have time to waste. Not while her brother was wandering the world by himself, not while people were still trying to hunt him down.

“We have to find Varian,” Rapunzel said, leaning into the touch. “I need to apologize for the yelling… but the note, I was just trying to-”

“You were trying to protect him.” Eugene said softly, “And I get that, really I do. You think I don’t want the kid wrapped in bubble wrap all the time? But he’s getting older, and we’re not always going to be there.”

Rapunzel sighed, shaking her head. “It’s not going to end well,” she said, her tone miserable. “It can’t…”

“We have two options,” Eugene finally sighed, after a beat of too long silence. “We either follow him and don’t get in his way,” he arched a brow at her at the last point, “Or, we go back to the city. Take Merrick down, and then wait for Varian to come home- if he ever does.”

Rapunzel flinched at the thought, shaking her head. “We’re going after him,” she said, her tone firm. “Whether he likes it or not, he can’t be out here all by himself.” She started to move again, this time brushing past Eugene without protest. They’d wasted enough time, she had to find her brother. Eugene watched her go, before finally sighing. He followed his wife, shaking his head.

Neither of them noticed that Cerise, left behind, was beginning to stir.

#Varian #tangled the series #tts #fic #set the kindling strike a match #WAYO ITS WEDNESDAY MY DUDES

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popculturebuffet · 4 years ago

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Nightmare Time Episode 1 Review: The Hatchetfield Ape-Man/Watcher World

I take a look at the first episode of Starkid’s new show Nightmare Time! Starkid, returns for a zoomcast, bringing back the casts of both Hatchefield plays for an anthology series of science fiction double feature picture shows! This week’s tales of terror:

The Hatchefield Ape-Man: A british heiress gets romanced by a shaved bigfoot with the help of everyone’s favorite kooky college professor. Forgotten fiances, murder and described nudity naturally insue.

Watcher World: Bill and Alice return as Bill drags his daughter to a kitschy theme park for a day of family fun, which Alice enjoys and is as respectful about as much as you’d expect. As you’d also expect given Bill’s general luck, things take a turn for the Shining real quick. Spoilers and full review under the cut.

Well this was a nice suprise. With the ongoing pandemic I genuinely did not think Starkid would be back anytime soon. Having just gotten back into them this years after several years of forgetting they existed via the Hatchetfield plays, I was pretty bummed, if understanding. So last week’s announcment of not only this series but a full scripted series from their sister production company the tin bros was a HUGE shot of happy I needed in this troubling times. Still need to watch spies are forver love the soundtrack nto important.

Point is the Lang Brothers and their merry band of actors found a way to continue on via format I didn’t realize existed outside of table reads but is a nice way to do things: The Zoomcast, basically a podcast done live on zoom, with the actors in plainclothes for the most part, with one person, in this case Nick Lang, reading out descriptions of what’s going on. Being a starkid production this also has musical director Matt Bohm playing accompaniment and pretaped if still via the actor’s own camera musical numbers. Overall while i’ts an understandably cheap production, only what costumes the actors have on hand and most props mimed, it WORKS, allowing for way more elaborate set pieces than the stage would allow and is anchored by Lang’s impeccable descriptions and the cast’s amazing as always acting really making the stories pop. So things worked on a technical level despite having the barest of bones to work with. But did it work on a story level? Well yes, but if I ended my reviews with just that i’d have less than the 3 or 4 fans I do have, so without further ado, it’s nightmare time! The Intro:

Now normally in my reviews I don’t talk about the intro because I come in mid way or because I just didn’t think to. This is an exception since

A) I should be doing that anyway or at least when I cover a show’s first episode since intro’s are sometimes one of the most memorable parts of a show

B) It’s a full musical number that’s been stuck in my head since the trailer for this series and has now set up an apartment there. C) This series is a musical, if not to the same degree as the two plays before it, so it’d be weird NOT to talk about it’s signature song.

So with that out of the way the intro.. is fucking impressive. Seriously taking disparate videos with probably as much as the directions “Sing this part of the song and be kind of creepy or alluring or whatever” and making it really flow? Good work, both to the starkids for bringing their a game to it as always and to Nick and Matt really did a good job editing this together, musically and visually to be an abolute jawdrop. And somehow finding utterly stunning stock image animations that none of us realized were stock footage but still fit the tone perfectly. Just great stuff. Some stray notes: Mariah is absolutely stunning in both voice and apperance in this, John Matheson’s bit as paul was great, and Jeff Blim of course got a great bit with his always astounding hair blowing in the breeze with him at full high pitch. Just an utterly great intro, and for Starkid’s first series in over a decade, and really ever but semantics, they really brought it. Good stuff. Onto the actual episode content.

The Hatchetfield Ape-Man: Lucy, a british heiress played by Angela Giarratana, was saved by the legendary “Hatchefield Ape-Man”.. who apparently has a hyphen like spider-men because while sasquatches can do that. Point is she’s come back every year in the hopes of reuniting with her savior but has so far failed. But as Lucy prepares to leave from this year’s failed expedition, an old friend finally gives her what she needs... old friend to us to her she’s just some grey haired lunatic who showed up out of the mist. Which while accurate, dosen’t quite quantify everyone’s favorite playwright/college professor/murderous psychopath/composer.

Yes at long last Professor Hidgens has returned! I honestly didn’t expect the anthology to bring in such a huge fan faviorite so soon. I mean I expected returning characters, mostly because the project allows old faviorites to come back for their own stories or for the stars of the musicals to get a chance at a much happier ending... there’s a lot of potetial there. That and let’s face it “Jane’s a Car” is a pretty dead giveaway it’s going to be about Tom’s dead wife and Tim’s dead mother coming back in horrible mash up of christine and my mother the car. Maybe. I could be wrong. I also doubt many of you know what my mother the car is and to that I say it’s an old sitcom i’m honestly suprised I know exists and know nothing about other than the title and it being about a son’s mom’s ghost possesing his car apparently. Well that and it was the basis for this.

youtube

Point is, while I expected some returns, I wasn’t expecting one this large and this bombastic so soon, but BOY was it welcome. So getting back on track after all that, HIdgens seemingly takes Lucy to meet her ape man, who goes by the name Klonk, played by everyone’s faviorite sexy caveman Joey Richter. Also it’s adorable he and Lauren share a streaming screen. I know practicality and all that but their engagment is genuinely a sweet thing to hear about at a time when the world’s going down the toilet fast. Fun Fact: I pegged the Ape-Man was either going to be Jeff or Joey, leaning towards Jeff, though given my love of Joey I wasn’t disapointed with him, especially with the twist... but I was EXASTIC to learn the answer was basically “Both.. kinda?”. But yeah Lucy soon bonds with the ape man, with HIdgens encouraging her since it’s more than he’s gotten out of Klonk in 11 months of looking after the guy, and this way they can get him to learn enough to decide what he wants for himself.

So a few months, and some romantic bonding between woman and ape-man, pass but a wrench is thrown into Klonk’s wooing and attempt to tell lucy he loves her: Jonathan, Lucy’s just now mentioned fiance and royal dickhead played by Kurt Mega. And credit where it’s do whlie he clearly didn’t have to dress up, he did have a nice 50′s monster movie british person suit he put on. Lucy is now conlficted and what not even though Jonathan is kind of an asshole who just wants to drag her back home. And i’ts not like Lucy didn’t keep in touch: she sent him texts and probably called, so i’ts not like he didn’t know she was here. He’s also a hunter for extra dick points as if he needed them. Naturally when meeting his romantic rival he’s a dick.. but raises some valid questions: While Hidgens claim he shaved Konk due to lesions, there’s no mark of lesisons or the shaving. But his natural dickheadedness shines through and Jonathan talks about shooting Klonk before lucy takes his ring off and throws it and Jonathan goes after her. Annnnd yeah turns out the disposable dickhead fiance for once is RIGHT. In a twist I did not remotley see coming but damn if it wasn’t clever, Klonk.. is Ted from TGWDLM and the plan was to seduce lucy with this con, marry her and then bump her off. It’s a hell of a twist and cleverly hidden since Joey’s such a starkid mainstay, it’s not a huge suprise he was Klonk and thus easily hid the fact he was also Ted. It’s clever stuff and pivots the story nicely.

Ted is naturally a douchey as ever, going along with Hidgen’s plan to have him marry lucy then kill her and take her dough for themselves.. and unsuprisingly, so Hidgens can get Workin Boys off the ground. Granted there are easier ways to do this with the same scooby doo scheme: Just have HIdgens plan working boys casually, have Klonk really love it and being the sweetheart she is LUcy would fiance the thing just to make them both happy. I mean he can still marry her and ted can still have direct acess to her money if they want, it’s just an easier way that dosen’t shine supscion on the caveman who looks exactly like a local douchebag who everyone he’s met would testify against him. I mean would Paul and Bill REALLY be that suprised that Ted did this?

Exactly. Then again neither of our “heroes’ Here is very bright, and this scheme only works because Lucy is clearly very sweet, very naive, and very much wants a romantic evening with an ape man after all this time and effort searching, so she wants to believe him. So the fact the best they could come up with is something out of Scooby Doo is unsuprisng but still great. However things take a turn for the

Pretty quick as Hidgens takes disposable british douche fiance hunting.. then kills the guy after freely admiting he’s a fraud in what’s an INCREDIBLY chilling scene. Seriously it’s amazing how Robert takes a character as loveably redicilous, even his evil and murderous plan during TGWDLM was still hilariously rediclous, and makes him UTTERLY TERRIFYING. Even when dropping my fair lady refrences. Amazing stuff. So the next day, after Konk “asks” what an engagment is and what not, we then get Lucy wondering just WHERE jonathan is and we get the second biggest laugh of the night as Hidgens gives us the iconic line of “Oh he left... said something about you being crazy and going back to london and basically to go fuck yourself. “. Naturally Lucy has followup questions and goes to find out while Ted, also naturally, isn’t exactly pleased when he finds out his partner in crime did a murder on someone.

Ted may be a sleazy dickhead.. but even he sees maybe murdering a rich british person who just came here, went basically ONLY to this one location, and whose probably got many people who will misss him, one of whom is their primary target, is kinda dumb. Then again this is a plan that hinges on someone who could easily be identified, as he has or at least probably had an office job and three coworkers who know him, assuming a false identity to marry someone for their money. But again we’re dealing with a guy who thinks working boys is marketable to anyone who isn’t a starkid, and a moron who soon says he does his best thinking while erect. They only got this far because their target REALLY wants to fuck a sasquatch, is sweet but naive and well Ted IS still joey richter, and no longer has the porn stache so there you go. Ted decides to cut Hidgens out of things.. partly because you know, he killed a person, and partly because instead of killing Lucy, Ted realized he honeslty has a LOT to gain by simply marrying her and staying married. He gains a hot rich wife (his word’s not mine, but angie is genuinely beautiful so fair point), a mansion, and while Hidgens points out the obvious, he has to stay Konk.. that’s actually appealing to Ted as he feels better as Konk, not just because he impresses an attractive woman for doing basic stuff, but because he feels better as Konk. This is.. an intresting turn for Ted i genuinely like. It shows that Ted may, as much as he presents with bluster and ego, actually LIKE the kind of shithead he knows he is. I mean looking at his life he has two workmates who calling them friends is a bit of a stretch, and one who he’s having an affair with but seems detemrined to make her doomed marriage to an even bigger asshole work. He really dosen’t have much as ted so it’s easy to see why being Konk is better: He’s a better person as him who actually has someone who cares about him. Naturally Hidgens takes this as well as you’d expect and when Ted/Konk tries proposing he goes with the logical option for taking the fourtune for himself:

Yes really. Hidgens strips naked, and swings his arms around like an orangutan to try and convince Lucy he’s the real hatchetfield apeman. Sadly this dosen’t mean we get a shirtless robert manion as he needs to keep the turtleneck on for later, but the mental image.. I had to pause the video for a good minute to laugh over it. Just everything about it from it somehow being a dumber plan than his scheme this episode, to the orangutan swaying to just.. everything. It’s fucking genius. But Higdens has more than a mighty penis to compete with Ted.. he reveals ted’s phone and Ted ends up revealing himsef by telling Hidgens to go fuck himself. Naturally Lucy is distraught and tries to leave and the professor pulls out his shotgun to threaten her into financing his musical because of course it’s about workin boys. Lucy tries to run, Hidgens tries to shoot.. and ted , doing the first good thing in his entire life, takes the bullet. Lucy gets ted out of there then locks the door behind them, and we get the SCARIEST bit in this segment as Hidgens leans into the camera, simulating the peep hole of the vault door to the ape man inclosure and begs her to let him out. It’s some real Jack Nicholson in the Shining stuff and it’s utterly terrifying, but it’s also an amazing bit of acting. Nice job Rob. So ted bleeds out, as much as Lucy wants to save him he knows he’s not going to make it and prefers to die as Konk, finally happy with himself. And I just realized everyone at Paul’s job is horribly miserable. I mean good god, Paul himself has serious depression issues judging by “Let it Out”, Ted clearly hates himself, Charlotte is in a horrible marriage and Bill just got out of one and has a strained realtionship with his daughter we’ll get into more in a bit. I mean honestly, Mr. Davidson is the only one of them who really dosen’t need therapy.. he just needs to tell his wife he wants her to choke him while he jerks off. For as ungodly hilarious as that line is he’s probably the most well adjusted person there. Go figure.

Naturally being already insane, Hidgens breaks out, still naked mind, and chases after Lucy. Also noticable is apparently some people thought hidgens was manipulated by the blue shit hive mind in TGWDLM. Which.. no. I do love the guy dont’ get me wrong.. but it was very obvious both from the way his musical number was done compared to the rest of the ones in the musical, and his actions that was entirely him, and his playing the music was so he could join, especially since we don’t see the hive mind use any mind manupluation on anyone else. Regular manipulation sure as seen with you tied up my heart and not your seed, manipulating charoltte into freeing her asshole husband so he could infect her and torturing bill for funsies. Just something to get out of the way. Point is he was always crazy we just now have him chasing an innocentish woman with his dong hanging out to prove it. He eventually catches her as Lucy catches herself in one of his bear traps when she hits the woods, because he had those for some reason.. and he has a resonable way out: Just give her the 30,000 dollars he needs for his musical. Thing is she dosen’t have the money.. or hardly any. She spent all of it trying to find the ape man and was marrying jonathan for his money and him for her title. And while it is a bit skeezy, it’s very clear both were using each other and likely knew it, and Lucy still comes out the most moral of our cast here.. granted it’s not a big stretch as hidgens is criminally insane, ted’s a skeeze and Jonathan.. well he’s just a diiiiiiccckkkk. It’s not hard is what i’m saying.. much like hidgen’s dick flopping around in the rain. But yeah he dosen’t take it well, Lucy goes up a tree, which is apparently something Becky did once. But before Lucy can die at the hands of a naked thespian, the REAL Ape-Man shows up and tears Hidgen’s arms off, taking lucy in his own arms afterwords and revealing he remembers her. The two hit it off instantly, it turns out his name is chumby in an excellent gag as that was what Hidgens wanted his fake ape man to be named but Ted froze, and go off into the night together. Awww.. what if a naked ape man played by my boy jeff blim and a british person can’t work who can?

We then close out the segment with a cameo appearance by Jamie Lynn Beatty, who while not part of the cast for this double feature, does get a fun showtune about the ape man. Also fun fact that i found out here on tumblr: That costume is from something Jamie did in HIGH SCHOOL. As in well over a decade ago. Like holy shit, good for her. She looks great in it. But yeah it’s a fun song and a nice way to close it out. Final Thoughts on the Hatchetfield Ape-Man: This was a great way to start things off. This one was more in line with starkids pre-hatchetfield work, a goofy story with some hidden depth inside. And like the guy who didn’t like musicals it was utterly terrifying in spots so yeah good stuff ,utterly hilarous and a great way to bring back some old faviorites while giving us a neat new protaganist. Good stuff.

Watcher World:

Now from a mostly comedy with a horrifying ending to just.. pure unfiltered horror and depression! It’s Watcher World! Bill and Alice are back! And given I love Mariah Rose Faith and Corey Dorris, I was exastic to find this was what the second segment was about.. mostly because I had no idea Starkid had teasers for the episodes on their instagram, or I would’ve known Hidgens was coming. I wouldn’t of known he’d be stark naked for the last third of his story but still, pleasant surprise.

So Bill and Alice are spending the day at Watcher World, a run down amusement park on the edge of town. It’s Alice’s last weekend before College so Bill’s trying to reconnect with her by cramming a good old fashioned family vacation down her throat. Alice is less than enthused, both because she clearly resents her dad in general, and because Deb is throwing a huge rager on the same night. My honest interpretation of that is that Deb fully inteded for her girlfriend to come but Bill sprung this on Alice at the last minute and being pretty oblivious and hating Deb, either didn’t care about taking alice from one last night with her friends and girlfriend or didn’t generally think that through. I mean don’t get me wrong normally i’d side with a parent not wanting their daughter to attend a huge teen rager on their last weekend together.. but it’s also Alice’s last weekend in town for some time, and it’s likely a saturday.. so he has another day, and presumibly had friday before this and while things with his ex wife are tense, fighting for an extra day with her would be understandable and i’ts not like Alice, even if she hates Bill, would really fight him on getting an extra day in the town she didn’t want to leave.

But that’s what I really like about this one that it’s layered. While Alice is slightly more in the right, she’s still shutting her dad out, refusing to let him follow her on instagram (though he does agree with her keeping it private as he dosen’t want Ted perving on her, which tracks, or Ted’s brother doing it which.. wait what?), and being on her phone the whole time to very clearly spite him and rub how much she dosen’t want to be there in her dad’s face. She dosen’t WANT to be at watcher world but instead of trying to talk to her Dad just wants to complain and apparenlty has on all their vacations.. it’s easy to see why Bill is annoyed by his daughter at times and thinks he has to FORCE HER to have fun with him, because otherwise she’d gladly ignore him for their entire weekends together for Deb. She’s so determined to punish her dad for the divorce, that she refuses to see on some level he IS trying, and is just sad about her leaving, and possibly leaving him forever and alone with nothing else in his life but his buddy Paul, whose getting married next week so that’s probably not helping. On the other hand the reason I say Alice is more in the right is that well.. Bill’s a grown ass men. And while, speaking for himself, grown ass men don’t always make the right decisions, and not speaking for myself neither do fathers... Alice’s acting out is understandable coming from an 18 year old whose been through hell over the last year, having her parents divorce being forced to move, loosing her friends. Bill however just kind of uses her age and angst as an excuse to undermine and belittle her feelings. Because he doesn’t like deb for the very stupid reasons of she does pot, instead of assuring her that Deb wouldn’t cheat on Alice with Deb’s former crush Zigg, starkid’s first non binary character in a nice show that Nick Lang wasn’t just covering his ass when he said there’d be more representation in starkid, which in his defense I didn’t doubt him on but it’s still nice he did so at the earliest opportunity and very clearly plans to use Zigg if he can find a nonbinary actor for them.

But yeah instead of assuring his daughter, Bill is just like “well sometimes relationships don’t work out” which while true is clearly his self serving way of trying to get Alice to break up with someone he dosen’t like. INstead of supporting her in her dreams of writing plays, one of which was good enough to get her a scholarship, he tries to act like she has no plans for her future and get her to be a doctor for more security, even though having a secure job has done.. no one at his office including him favors. I mean again, the most stable and happy person at the office is the guy in charge, and even he can’t tell his wife he wants her to choke him out at night. He wants her to choke him, he wants her to choke him while he jerks off, he wants her to choookeeee himmm while heeeee jerrrkssss offfff.

While part of this seems to be that Deb plans to be a starving artist who can mooch off her parents in a pinch, Alice GENUINELY seems to have a full plan for her life. I do get his worrying about her future.. but she’s a smart kid. A bit of a brat but she knows what she wants clealry and clearly has talent. He’s just projecting his own fears on her. He also refuses to accept any responsibility in the divorce.. his hating his ex wife IS valid, as she took his daughter away, uprooted her life a year before graduation and spends gobs of money on impressive outings, the latter two seemingly just to spite him when honestly, it’d of made more sense for Alice to stay with Bill for the year before she graduates and been better for her. However, Bill still doesn’t take responsibly that he too is shoving fun down her throat to try and win her over, hates her girlfriend and refuses to treat her with any respect, and really DOSEN’T know Alice all that well. As we learn during their fun day she has anxiety, and he never knew about it. And the divorce isn’t really an excuse when he had years before that. It’s the real problem of their relationship: Bill feels ENTITLED to a good father daughter relationship, but isn’t working at it and blames his ex wife or Alice for it instead of himself. While Alice isn’t an innocent as i’ve made clear, putting up walls and not telling dad things, given bill ignores her when she DOES try to tell him about her life, it’s easy to see she’s just given up. If he won’t listen why bother. Which yeah i’ve found myself there with my own dad from time to time. Bill’s not a bad person, he genuinely loves Alice, as he says “to the moon and back”, but it’s very clear from this outing he still loves the little girl who loved him unconditionally and not the complicated and mopey adult sh’es become, and dosen’t WANT to adapt to that and fears once she leaves for college she’ll avoid him for good, which isn’t unfounded. It’s a good, complex rich dynamic. Naturally with.. all this I covered up front instead of sprinkling it throughout, the day doesn’t go great, with Alice utterly miserable most of the time, and ending up in a goofy novelty t-shirt due to a log ride. She also has an unsettling encounter with park mascot Blinky, our newest adorable abomination, who not only shows up the moment she does something bad on camera but also stares at her ass, which.. Paul you mind coming back for a second?

Thank you. They end up at the Watch Party, a cheesy kids show musical because Bill apparently equates this with his daughter loving musicals. I mean granted cheesy kids stage shows can be rad just listen to this.

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But I get Alice’s annoyance here. Thus we get the return of the sniggles, who apparently serve whatever eldrich deity is around this week and our first song of this segment, The Blinky Song. Which is catchy as hell as well as hilariously dark (”I’m so hungry”), and uses the stock footage well, as I could buy a cheap theme park ran by an eldtirch eye goblin using stock footage. But yeah it establishes Blinky as always watching and kinda fucked up. Also the sniggles are now clearly the smurgs with Angie’s now being named Sniglette, Jeff being papa Sniggle and James being Snigglotts. However Sniglette considers leaving with another song with a long string of words. Then, things get.. dark as the rest of the sniggles don’t want her to leave and try and mob her, and then Papa Sniggle accidently wings her with a mallet and apparenlty injures the actual performer, before everyone’s ushered out and the usher pretends nothing happened. Good mind screw horror stuff.

Alice and Bill then bicker a bit with my above point being made as Alice TRIES to get Bill to accept some respoinablity but he refuses and blames her mom. It’s now time for the Tear-Jerker, the reason they came. Bill’s buddy Paul says someone died. They also find three other people waiting in line and when one goes to the bathroom the other two start making out which.. yeah, dosen’t help Alice’s worry Deb’s going to cheat on her. So she takes the first single rider pass she can, with Bill worming his way in as to not let her get away. The two naturally end up fighting on the Tear-Jerker before it stops up high, and ends up stalled, with the gloriously returning Nerdy Kid played by Joey from Black Friday being as helpful as usual. Seriously bless them for bringing him back. Man in a Hurry also showed up again, bless him too. Alice picks this time to reveal her fear of heights and anxiety, and an approaching storm isn’t helping. So Bill.. steps up. He helps ease Alice down taking her phone for her, if loosing it due tot he rain and helping her stay calm. It’s a REALLY nice portrayal of an anxiety attack, with Mariah herself apparently having them and thus portraying it really well. As someone who has them myself it really hits home and Bills calm attempts to help her are really heartwarming, getting her to describe her musical for him and the two bonding. It’s genuinely sweet. But.. it can’t last, as Alice freaks out about her phone and Bill for once is in the right, as .. he was you know.. trying to save his daughter having a panic attack, and really stepped up given he was obnovious she had anxiety in the first place, and managed it well. He then gives the utterly heart stomping line “I love you to the moon and back, but sometime’s it’s really hard to like you. “

Just damn. So Alice runs off and both find their way to the fairway. Bill tries winning a doll for Alice, getting into a test of strength where he fails repedatly and is constantly mocked by the barker, played by James Tolbert who also played Blinky..

That should be Tolbert’s twitter handle. Anyway point is, Bill keeps trying even as he wracks up 400 dollars in credit card debt, for a 49.95 doll, before eventually the barker and hte crowd’s jeers get to be too much and he does smack it hard, thinking of all of his pent up rage towards alice.. just as the bell at the top takes the shape of alice’s head and explodes. Bill is naturally horrified by this by the barker assures he loves him.. and that he should totally hobble his daughter misery style to make her not leave him and use the mallet for it. Meanwhile Alice is at the shooting Gallery not wanting the blinky doll she wins, just blowing off steam when she runs into an old crone played by Lauren Lopez. But this Crone has her phone... which suspiciously has a ton of instagram photos of Deb and Zigg making out while sharing a toke. Granted Deb COULD’VE cheated, but given Alice is insecure, and her phone was given back to her by a witch working for an eye goblin.. yeah maybe just maybe Deb was loyal, and if she wasn’t wouldn’t be dumb enough to put it on instagram. But given Alice is already worked up it’s easy enough for her to beliive that her relationships in danger and if she gets there in time she can stop it and oh look her gun is now a real gun and can help her get the keys. So yeah it’s time for a creepy as hell Shining-esque showdown, but if both sides were possesed instead of one. It’s.. a CHILLING as hell scene, not helped by Alice wielding a gun again as both fight. I was gripped the entire time and don’t have much to say utter than HOLY SHIT THIS WAS AS TERRIFYING AS IT WAS RIVITING.

But a crowd gathers as the fight continues.. all with purple eyes which ave been seen on and off, watchers with a thousand eyes.. and with Blinky, now revealed NOT to be a costume probably, above them all. We also get one hell of a line. “This is an amusement park but not for YOUR amusement.”

So yeah I love this sequence.. and Blinky as a villain. While it’s vague if he and Blinky are the same entity.. I’m going with not. It’s not a stretch that like Cthulu, Wiggly has brothers in the black and white, with their own motives, methods and ability to get into our world. Unlike Wiggly.. Blinky’s already here and has no real ambition other than to find people to mentally tear apart and set loose on one another for his own amusement. He doesn’t have grand plans of burning the world.. he just wants to be entertained. It’s an interesting and chilling motive and I hope we see him again eventually. I also believe those at the park are trapped there bound after their own day there and trapped doing whatever Wiggly needs. Except maybe squeaky voiced teen. He probably just complains about cleaning up so much blood. But yeah Blinky is very happy as the fight escalates into the hall of mirrors and Alice looses her gun.. with Bill now poised to strike down his daughter as the mirror reflects the various workers at the park, all encouraging him to kill her... it’s utterly terrifying as Bill’s eyes take on a purple tint.. and we get a POWERFUL use of the score and the “why does it hurt to love you’ bit from TGWDLM.. as Bill sees himself and what he’s about to do, sees his daughter understandably having a panic attack.. and calms her, his eyes returning and the two reconciling. Of course Blinky isn’t happy about this “sappy bullshit” and brings htem into his domain, charging at them. But kinda missing that giving a pissed off teenager a rifle she knows how to use when you have a giant target for a face isn’t a good idea and she shoots him, with him bleeding a flood of purple goo that sends them out. While I doubt Winky’s dead, he is done with them. Our story concludes on a sweeet note as the two find their car, and they finally make as tep forward, Bill having seen almost too late how selfish and controlling he was being and accepting his daughter on her phone.. and Alice realizing her need to open up and after checking Instagram, likely finding out those photo’s weren’t real, she throws her phone in the back.. but not before accepting her dad’s request, letting him in. Sure the road ahead is rough.. but the two have made a good first step towards repairing things and loving one another again in a healthy manner. and all it took was bill nearly murdering her and allice shooting an eye goblin int he face and getting covered in his blood. Cue the credits, a beautiful song called “One Thousand Eyes” with Jeff Blim fucking nailing it. A great way to send off this bit. Final Thoughts: This was the best one of the two. While Ape Man is really good too, this one took the darker tone of black friday, but with a tighter narrative. By focusing on a smaller cast, the darker elements really played better and the conclusion felt more satisfying.. though it helped that BOTH of these tails ended without everyone dying, and while I doubt EVERY story will have a happy ending, it makes things more interesting knowing that the heroes can get a happy ending this time around instead of an apocalypse.

Overall Thoughts: This double feature was great, I’ll be getting a ticket to the next one if I can afford it, and if not i’ll see it presumably in December or next year when it comes on YouTube. Really excellent stuff. So this was a first for me but if you’d like to see more starkid stuff from me, let me know in the comments or my askbox, commission me to review one of the musicals via dm, and if you liked how I did this review follow this blog for weekly ducktales and loud house coverage, and amphibia coverage when that returns, among more fun reviews. And until next time.. don’t blink. Play us out Jeff.

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I really hope this is the ending theme for the series.

#nightmare time #hatchetfield #the hatchetfield ape man #watcher world #ted #professor henry hidgens #Bill Woodward #Alice Woodward #Lucy Stockworth #halloween #halloween havoc #paul matthews #jeff blim #team starkid #starkid

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lizzy-bennet · 5 years ago

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May These Memories Lead Us Home Can be read as a stand-alone or as a sequel to The Symbolism of Owls Fandom: Doctor Who Pairing: Whouffaldi Length: 3,700 words Rating: G Also on Ao3

Once, he heard a story from a weathered old woman under some golden alien sky, that the things you love always find a way back to you in the end. And it is only a fairy tale, a shot in the dark, one odd in a billion.

And yet he hopes.

A post-Hell Bent AU.

Clara Oswald is lying dead on Trap Street, and Clara Oswald is alive, somewhere out there, living in the space between heartbeats. There are so many places in the world she could possibly be, but her flat isn’t bound to be one of them, and yet the Doctor finds himself there anyway.

And he doesn’t know why.

For a moment he just stands there, right in the middle of her living room, his black boots sinking into the beige carpet, feeling at a loss for why his unconscious muscle memory would land the TARDIS there.

And then he remembers:

It’s Wednesday.

The two-word thought is something like a sucker punch, or like being sucked into space with no suit on. It is mind-reeling and breath-stealing, and it shatters him, swallows him, and around him, the room spins as the realization circles around and around in his mind to rhythm of his heartbeats.

It’s Wednesday. It’s Wednesday. It’s Wednesday.

”Of course,” he says, and he sighs, runs a hand over his face and closes his eyes. “Stupid, stupid old Doctor.”

Where else in the universe could he possibly end up? Wednesdays were Clara’s days, and old habits were hard to break. He cannot remember the color of her hair or the cadence of her voice, but he remembers other things, like an Ice Warrior on a submarine and (apparently) the address of her flat and the fact that he must’ve loved her very, very much.

Which is why he stays in her flat that she’ll never come back to, and tries to reconstruct an image of the girl he once knew.

He starts with what’s in front of him, his eyes scanning shelf after shelf along her living room wall, trying to learn what he can about one Miss Clara Oswald. She was ridiculously short, he decides, from the placement of the items on her shelves. Her head couldn’t have come up much past the slope of his shoulders. But she was obviously well-read, judging by the weathered pages and worn spines on her myriad of books. And, he remembers significantly, as his eyes land on a bright white ceramic figurine, she had collected owls.

He stares at the ceramic, and a memory niggles somewhere in a dark corner of his mind of the day she brought that first owl knickknack home. The memory is fuzzy, all sort of soft and hazy, and he feels like he’s a sailor on a ship in a storm-swept sea, trying to see a lighthouse’s beacon through clouds of fog. But the fog is too thick, the waves too high, and he can’t remember exactly what she’d told him or what he’d said back.

But he knows the memory is important to him, somehow. And he thinks that maybe it was important to the both of them.

And maybe that’s enough for the plan he’s forming in his mind.

Once, he heard a story, from a weathered old woman under some golden alien sky, that the things you love always find a way back to you in the end. And it is a fairy tale, a shot in the dark, just a nearly nonsensical spark of hope.

Hope, he knows, can be the worst thing.

But, but, but:

Hope can also be the best thing.

And the thing about it is, it’s impossible to resist. So he raises his sonic screwdriver and points it at the owl, letting a glowing blue light wash over the white, putting a tracking imprint on it. The sonic hums, locking onto her leftover memories and fingerprints, and should Clara ever (anywhere, in all of time and space, just by chance) find and hold her owl again, the sonic will glow red and lead him to her.

So he finishes getting a tracking lock on the ceramic owl, puts it back on the shelf...

...and he hopes.

Somewhere out there, Clara Oswald is lying lifeless on Trap Street.

But right now, Clara Oswald (one-hundred-and-twelve and the pilot of her very own TARDIS) is also in a shop on the Embarcadero in mid-century San Francisco.

The idea that her body is somewhere out there, lying beneath a cold tombstone should probably bother her, she thinks, but it doesn’t. Not really. She’d already jumped into the Doctor’s time stream, after all, and has long since come to terms with the idea that the universe is filled with the many graves of Clara Oswald.

All that matters is that, right at this very moment, this version of herself isn't in one yet.

Which is why she’s enjoying herself now, browsing a little, kitschy shop in nineteen-fifty-nine, enjoying the quiet break.

(She’s just been busy saving an entire species of luminous fish in thirty-thirty-five and needs a relaxing change of pace.

Plus, the shopping prices are quite cheaper in the fifties.)

And that’s when she comes across a pair of owl salt-and-pepper shakers.

They are adorable and admittedly tacky, but they match the retroness of her faux TARDIS diner perfectly and Clara can’t help but stop and stare at them. She’d collected owls back in her own, original timeline and silly old habits were hard to break, even after years flying around all of time and space.

Clara picks up one of the owl shakers, runs her thumb over it, and thinks of the first owl figurine she’d brought home oh so many years ago, with it’s white ceramic feathers that nearly looked like furrowed brows and the odd, almost alien expression on its painted face. And then she thinks of him, because of course she does. The only reason why she’d even started collecting owls in the first place was because they reminded her of the Doctor, with his funny, angry owl-like eyes and his velvet coat that floated behind him like a pair of wings.

The one owl she can never have.

Because that is the thing about her and him, they loved each other a little too fiercely, pushed the universe a little too far, and this is the price they paid: she is here, breathless with too many memories of him, and he is elsewhere, living with none of her at all.

Slowly, the owl salt shaker in her hand starts to gloss over and blur, it’s outline all wavy and watery, and Clara has to take a second to purse her lips and shut her eyes and tell herself very sternly not to cry.

(The thing is, she can no longer breathe and her heart doesn’t beat, but she can still shed tears.

She doesn’t know if that bit of leftover humanity is a gift or a curse from the Time Lords.)

And then she shakes her head, clears her throat, and takes the miniature owls to the cash register.

Because decades of agelessly sailing the stars hasn’t done a thing to lessen her fondness for owls.

The Doctor is in Clara’s old room on the TARDIS, and he keeps finding owls. They are tucked away, hidden in corners and locked in drawers and pushed behind other knickknacks, so inconspicuous that he hadn’t even noticed them at first glance, but now he sees nothing but them.

There is a painted porcelain owl standing guard over a stack of silver rings, a discarded phone charm of an owl with outstretched wings, and then, sitting atop her nightstand, as if it was meant to keep vigilance over her while she slept, there is a tiny, grey owl with bright blue eyes. It is a plastic thing, a mere children’s toy, but obviously important to her. And as he picks it up and turns it over in his hands, he remembers it sitting atop the TARDIS console.

He cannot see Clara in his memories. Her silhouette is nothing but an indiscernible blur of colors, a nebula in the outline of a body, and her voice is all distorted, but he still remembers that, at one point, she’d pointed to an owl and said:

“He looks like you.”

And then, later, later, later:

“I love owls.”

His usually steady hands falter at the memory and the owl slips through his fingers, falling to the floor, and he knows he should be moving, reaching down to pick it up, but his hands are frozen and his hearts are hammering and he’s replaying her words in his head, over and over and over again.

When she said she’d loved owls, he wonders, had she meant that she loved him? Had she been telling him all this time and he’d just been too deaf and too blind to take notice?

The thought is too much. It is gut-wrenching and raging and and all-consuming, roaring in his mind like an exploding supernova that just won’t stop, and he sinks down to the floor and puts his head in his hands and tries not to scream.

She loved him. She told him right to his face and he hadn’t heard it.

And the thing is, he no longer knows the sound of her laugh or the curve of her lips, but he remembers how he feels about her. He remembers that he loved her, loved her enough to die every day for four-and-a-half billion years. Loved her enough to burn the universe and unravel time, and he knows that she was some sort of guiding force - a North Star and a touchstone and an anchor and something that meant home.

And she still means home.

He just has to find his way back to her.

Once upon a time, little Clara Oswald had clutched a book about one-hundred-and-one places to see and dreamed of going to them all.

And now Clara Oswald is over two-hundred and has been to them all and then more. She’s seen the birth and death of stars and the seven wonders of the ancient world back when they were new, she’s seen the Grand Canyon on Earth and the one up on Dreaminx, and more than just seen the universe, she’s saved it.

(Thousands and thousands of times. Because in all of time and space, there are Doctors running around with countless faces, but there is also her, and she is a one-woman storm, sweeping in and saving lives before the Doctor’s ever needed.)

And right now she is standing in the middle of a festival on a starship she’s just saved from crashing, and she’s surrounded by a sea of partiers and entertainers. There are brightly glowing balloons and dancers on stilts and jugglers that hover, and off in the corner, there’s a puppet show being watched by the children with rapt attention.

And Clara turns toward it, steps closer, like it’s slowly reeling her in on a string.

(She gets closer, you see, because the puppet being used in the show is an owl.

It is a black owl, and Clara almost expects to see a flash of red in the lining of its wings.)

By the time she gets near enough to hear, she’s missed most of the story, but from what she’s pieced together, it was about something that was lost.

“See?” the owl puppet says in a gravelly voice. “The things you love always find a way back to you in the end.”

And Clara wonders if it’s true.

The tracker on his screwdriver is still running, and sometimes the Doctor thinks that it will always be running, that he’ll spend an eternity chasing after phantoms all hoping they’ll turn out to be her. It was a mere chance, after all, one odd in a billion. He is waiting for one particular ceramic owl to find its way back to one particular girl, and he well knows the vastness of time and the sheer magnitude of the universe and how there’s billions upon billions of galaxies and myriads of stars and countless possibilities of where in all of time and space she could be.

But he can’t bring himself to turn the tracker off.

After all, she’s died before and he’s always found her. Again and again and again.

All he needs to do is find her just one more time.

Clara Oswald is winding her way through an alien bazaar. She doesn’t look a day over thirty, but she’s well over three-hundred.

And she’s about to receive a gift from the past.

Because as she’s weaving through all the brightly colored booths and carts full of trinkets, she finds herself in front of a stall selling antiques, and in that stall, sitting on a stack of crates right at the level of her eye, is a small, white ceramic owl.

It is old and weathered, its paint is scratched and its horns are cracked, but it looks exactly like the very first owl she got, so, so, so many years ago.

(Clara has no way of knowing yet, but after her death on Trap Street, the ceramic owl and her other belongings were packed up and donated and put in a thrift shop and bought as gifts and eventually passed on in wills as antiques until the owl now sits here, some hundreds of years later, miles and miles and miles away from Earth, on an alien planet, simply waiting for her to find it again.

She also has no idea that somewhere out there, the man she loves is spending an eternity tracking it, desperately hoping he can follow it back to her.)

Carefully, Clara picks the owl up, smiling at its glowering beak and the grumpy look in its eyes.

“It’s a very old antique,” the alien vendor tells her as she runs her fingers over the carved feathers. “Made in the form of some Earthen creature.”

“It’s an owl,” Clara tells them, handing over her currency.

“An owl,” the vendor repeats, carefully rolling the odd word over its blue tongue. “What’s an owl?”

Clara smiles, holds the ceramic close, and she thinks.

She thinks of the shade of his eyes and the sound of his voice and the rare curve of his smile and the way he made her laugh.

And at over three-hundred years-old, she’s earned the right to be a sentimental old fool, so she smiles and says:

“It’s something wonderful.”

Clara Oswald is on a far-off distant planet, purchasing back her very own owl in a marketplace, and at the very same time, the Doctor is hundreds and thousands of light years away up in space.

And the tracker on the sonic screwdriver suddenly turns bright red.

He tries to follow the tracker to her, but the time zone and coordinates are always changing, the numbers and eras she’s in shifting and blinking away, the temporal displacement of two different TARDISES making it hard to get the tracking and timing exactly right. He finds he’s always landing just a step behind her, a day or a decade too late to reach her.

But whenever he lands, he always knows he’s in the right spot, because the traces of her are all around; in fresh sonic scorches on metal or in ancient songs about a girl who is the savior of a thousand worlds or in bedtime stories for children about a warrior queen who came down from the stars just to rescue them.

She is everywhere and she is nowhere, and nothing feels more bittersweet.

“She was scary,” one small child tells him, when he’s landed just an hour too late. “But she was kind. She drew a picture with me. Do you want to see it?”

And the child is confused as to why the Doctor looks like he’s about to both laugh and cry over a drawing of an owl holding a guitar.

Clara Oswald has just liberated a prisoner’s of war camp in a futuristic rainforest, and now she’s collapsed on a stool in her faux TARDIS diner.

There’s mud on her shoes and scratches on her skin, but she’s laughing, wired and exhilarated and high off her adventure, and as she laughs she places a small brown owl one of the newly free prisoners carved from the root of a tree for her onto the counter.

She sits it right next to the old, weathered (terribly antique by now) ceramic owl she’s got sitting on the counter, and she thinks of him and wishes he could’ve been there with her, and she smiles into the quiet darkness, and says:

“You would’ve loved it, Doctor.”

(And she pats the owl on the head, and she has no idea that somewhere out there, the Doctor’s desperately trying to use it to follow her home.)

When he follows the tracker and lands on Lumia Five, it’s like he’s entering the aftermath of a battle. There are white ashes dusting the ground like fresh snowfall and little burning red embers that look like fallen stars and sweeping plumes of smoke curling up against the clouds.

But all around him the alien villagers are cheering. They are hugging and kissing and singing, and as a group of alien children run by, screaming at the sheer joy of being alive, the Doctor grabs one of them by the shoulders.

“There was a girl here, wasn’t there?” The Doctor asks.

“She saved us,” the child tells him excitedly. “The sky was burning, but then she saved us.”

“What was she like?” The Doctor asks, desperate and proud and eager to hear. “Please, tell me, what was she like?”

And the child grins and says, “She was impossible.”

The year is twenty-fourty-nine and there’s a comet about to light up the Nevada night, so Clara’s landed her TARDIS on a dusty desert hill under a clear patch of sky.

The comet only passes once every fifty-seven years. It is a once in a lifetime thing.

(Unless you’re ageless or a time traveler, of course, of which Clara is both. She’s just been back to see it in nineteen-ninety-two and is in the mood for a rerun.)

And when Clara hears the soft ding of her diner’s door, meaning someone’s walked into it, she figures that it is simply another mistake. Nothing out of the ordinary.

She is wrong on both counts.

Because who she sees in her diner stops her right in her tracks, and it’s like the world‘s stopped spinning and time has stood still, because he is there, standing in her faux diner. The sight of him again is both breathtaking and heartbreaking, intoxicating and devastating, because he is not hers, not anymore, but he is beautiful.

(And Clara....Clara has seen nebulas that burn color into dark skies and suns that sweep patterns of light and glittering, curving constellations and diamond filled caverns and nothing, nothing, nothing compares to the elation at seeing him again.)

“Owls,” he says softly, and for the first time, she notices that he has not bothered to turn toward her, that he is concentrated instead on the collection of owls she’s got on the counter.

Clara stares at his side silhouette, but he doesn’t even spare her a glance. He still doesn't know her, she realizes. Maybe he’d just wandered in on a whim. It was the night of a historic comet, after all. She’d been reckless and foolhardy, thinking she could be a part of history and not ever run into him.

And once again, Clara silently, violently curses the entire planet of Gallifrey for making her ageless but leaving her with the ability to cry, because there’s a lump in her throat and there are tears stinging the corners of her eyes. And she’s torn between drinking in the sight of him and closing her eyes because it’s been over three-hundred years since she’s seen him and even after all this time she’s not sure she can handle another goodbye.

“You collect owls,” he says, interrupting her internal storm of thoughts, and his voice manages to sound both matter-of-fact and full of wonder.

“I love owls,” she says quietly.

And at her words, he turns toward her. His gaze first falls at her feet, and then slowly, (slowly, slowly, slowly, as if he’s trying to scan a blueprint for a secret or piece together a puzzle) he looks up at her face.

And when his bright blue eyes lock onto her dark brown ones, it feels like everything has all come down to this moment, that maybe timelines changed and the universe rearranged and all that tragedy and heartbreak happened just to bring them both back to here, to now, to this very moment.

(She should not dare to hope, she thinks. She is hundreds of years old and she knows that hope is a dangerous thing, and yet she finds herself standing there, hoping and pleading and wanting and wishing.)

And then, in a rough Scottish voice that’s uncharacteristically, desperately, questioning and quiet, he says, “Clara?”

He is asking for confirmation. He is asking for information that once sent the universe burning. Clara stares, swallows hard.

“Dangerous question,” she says, and she means it.

But then he says, “What’s wrong with dangerous?”

And the next thing she knows, he is running to her, hugging her, his arms coming around her in a way they haven’t since Trap Street, and she is falling into him, collapsing against his chest and clutching onto his coat and swearing she’ll never let go, not ever, not again. His face is buried in her hair, and against her temple she hears him murmur something that sounds like her name, over and over again, and she gasps out a sob, tears falling onto the dark velvet of his coat. And for the first time, she’s happy that the Time Lords left her with the ability to cry. Because this...this is both joy and peace, exhilaration and serenity, every second of happiness wrapped up in something that utterly, unquestionably feels right, because falling into his arms feels like coming home.

“Clara,” he whispers against her hair. “My Clara.”

And she thinks that sometimes the things you love really do find their way back to you.

#doctor who #whouffle #whouffaldi #twelfth doctor #clara oswald #twelveclara #twelve x clara #clara x twelve #twelfth doctor x clara #clara x twelfth doctor #whouffaldi fanfic #whouffaldi fanfiction #the Doctor x clara #clara x the doctor #whouffaldi fic #my fic

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jlf23tumble · 4 years ago

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Top 10 Niche Interests

Fixations? Obsessions? This is incredibly hard because I have wayyyy too many niche interests, so instead of stressing about it, I tried to channel the 10 things that immediately speak to me and maybe aren't so obvious from what I post here, like how much I'm obsessed with wigs, doll furniture, incredibly specific blogs, all forms of clothing with pockets, swimming pools, whimsical bus stops, over-the-top bathrooms, etc. etc Instead, I opted for some specifics that feel a little more evergreen and long tailed, like, so LIFE-long tailed that it's tough to nail down when or how they became part of the national psyche. I thank @alienfuckeronmain for the initial tag, and I'm tagging her AGAIN for round two because I know she has a billion additional niche things, and she'll post them, and I'll scream because it'll trigger five other things I neglected to post here, and I'll probably post my own round two, arggggh, insert aggressive sighing. Anyway, I tag ANYONE who wants to do it, just tag me so I can see!

1. Indoor Trees

I have no idea why this concept PULLS so hard because houseplants are kind of meh to me, but you want to plant an entire-ass TREE indoors, in the place where you live? Me, too, and I'd add a conversation pit plus a combo gold/red bathroom, among other things, and, bam, we're in my imaginary dream home, which I have literally, constantly ALWAYS mentally constructed from the time I was about six or so. (If you're curious, it has multiple themed rooms, and the closest I've seen to it recently is the outstanding Dita von Teese AD feature, but Amy Sedaris’s apartment comes close, too). There are two (2) 1960s houses in Long Beach with magnificent indoor trees, but I can't find them online, so have this modern interpretation and cry with me about how I can't visit the multi-story fake tree inside Clifton's Cafeteria for a good long while:

2. Conventions of Fans of Any Kind

One thing that I don't think I'll ever lose is how much I *love* people who are fans of SOMETHING, people who have a passion and create something about it or cosplay it or simply gather to celebrate it and connect to other people through it. The Internet provides in all kinds of ways, but I'm talking specifically about IRL conventions and the way my heart pitter pats when I first walk in those doors, SWOON! And it doesn’t matter how big the convention is or how random, I've been to smaller events like CatCon and the My Little Pony convention all the way up to biggies like WonderCon and Comic Con, and I have yet to be disappointed. I might know jack shit about what I'm walking into, but I want to see the merch, hear about the panels, and check out the people who are fucking PUMPED to be there. Sadly, I think it's gonna be a lonnnnng time until these come back, but I can live vicariously through my old photos, sigh:

3. Dutch Wax Fabrics and African Fashion

I'm not the snazziest of dressers, but textiles, colors, and patterns have been an obsession that has soothed my visual soul for as long as I can literally remember. Wax fabric marries all three of those touchpoints, plus throws in a healthy dose of style, and I count myself lucky to have seen two big exhibits on the subject (this was one of them), oh, how I wish there were more! For sure, there's a fucked up underlying colonial/imperialist history here, but there's also humor and color and vibrancy, a reclamation of sorts, and multiple levels of fashion that take my breath away. I cannot do the different patterns justice at all, but the fan motif is one of my faves:

4. Hearst Castle vs. Madonna inn

These two fall into my #home tag because they're where I'm from, and they speak to me as equally sublime and ridiculous, camp and kitsch writ large and small, different (yet similar!) versions of Xanadu that two rich white men built as shrines to their own personal "taste." And the irony is that a lot of people shit on Alex Madonna for being tacky (the Madonna Inn is...uh, something else), yet praise WR Hearst for all the high-class art and architecture, most of which is fully lifted from desperate churches between and after world and yet they're both more or less the same concept (lodging for weary travelers, self-aggrandizement, questionable taste-mixing). Hearst Castle edges out slightly for me because it's bigger and has spectacular scenery and history, plus it gives me doses of LA noir thanks to the way Hearst killed a guy in a jealous Charlie Chaplin-related rage and Hedda Hopper covered it up, all kinds of old Hollywood shenanigans happened up there, etc. But I'm low-key an expert on both houses of the holy, I'm OBSESSED with both, and we can leave it at that. I mean, come on:

5. Snow Globes

I had to cull my personal collection slightly just to fit it all on the dedicated shelf in my bathroom, and I seriously need to refill all the water lines, but nothing beats a snow globe in terms of memorable souvenir, especially when you put it in a bathroom. The majesty!!! The jewel of my collection is the one from Sherwood Forest because WHY NOT celebrate a historic place and moment in the basic way?? He robbed from the rich to give to the poor, and the gift shop about 100 feet from the tree he hid in does the same! The circle of life! The irony of all the watermarks on this blessed image...protect:

6. Highly Specific Museums

Look, we can all agree that the more venerated museums in the world are a form of garbage in terms of what they represent, what they've done, and who runs them, but I'm here for the museums that collect and celebrate things that tend to get overlooked. There are too many to list that I love that are still thriving, so I'm going to say goodbye to four recently departed faves. RIP to the Pez museum, I'm so glad I saw you and purchased your stale candy souvenirs. RIP to the museum of terrible food, you were a pop up when Phoenix and I saw you, and I will forever think about the worker describing people literally vomiting during their visits. RIP to the currywurst museum in Berlin, I've had currywurst exactly once and it was not for me, but I respect the Journey you took me on, including obscure east German TV shows that helped make you so popular (??). Finally, RIP to the velvet painting museum, there's no way to mince words, the person who owned you was crazy AS FUCK and had zero clue how to run a business, but I'm so glad I saw you multiple times and purchased my own velvet treasure (not this exact one, but remarkably similar):

7. Liminal Spaces: Grocery Store Edition

Confession time for those who don't know me all that well, I'm a big time voyeur, and nothing fills my heart with joy like a walk at 7 or 8 pm, the witching hour when people haven't pulled the curtains, and I can scope out their decorations/furnishings without it being "weird." Another confession is how much I unabashedly adore grocery stores in other countries and will spend at least an hour wandering aisle by aisle, falling in love with how much everything is different yet completely the same:

8. Agatha Christie Novels:

As a child, I was a fairly compliant reader--I had to read something for school? Okay! For my mom? Sounds good! But the books that sparked the initial fire for me to read something purely for myself were second-hand (probably fourth- or fifth-hand, judging by cover art) Agatha Christie short story anthologies, which were the gateway drug to full Agatha Christie novels, then other mystery novels, and so on. But getting back to Agatha, I obviously loved all the stories, but every decade spawned incredibly good cover art (like, exceptionally good), and this particular artist's are right up near the top for me (I go back and forth on a lot of the '50s and '60s ones):

9. Scopitones

I link my obsession with scopitones both to my love of music videos in general and a shop in Austin, TX, that sold DVD compilations of them in particular, but either way, they're underappreciated and kitschy all in one! Francoise Hardy and the rest of the ye-ye's are my forever girls for this medium, but seemingly every country cranked them out, both actual set videos and "live" performances? If you don't know what they are, scopitones were machines that played music videos in French cafes in the '60s (??), so it was sort of your proto-MTV way to see your faves sing and dance. Oh, Francoise...so moderne!!

10. Cover Songs

I have so much patience and love for cover songs of any stripe, the more genre-bending and/or surprising, the better! My only minor beef is the trend in slooooooooowing down songs to make a point, but even those ones have a special place in my heart if they're effective. Live Lounge feeds my hunger the best, but my meta fave for representing this concept is Pulp's Bad Cover Version, which was already lyrically INSPIRED, a song about bad cover versions in terms of relationships, but then they did a video that was a visual "bad" cover version, with actors lip synching over an audio "bad" cover version, and all of it just worked? The cover for the single is someone in the band as a boy, making his own bad cover version of a Bowie album cover, it's meta meta meta, and I love love love, here's the video, if you're curious. In the more sublime cover category, I'm absolutely addicted to all of Orville Peck's covers, I truly hope he officially releases them sometime soon, but I wholeheartedly support any artist who does it:

#tag games #niche interests #god i have a few

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billdenbrough · 5 years ago

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i'm going through some rough stuff atm and i've been feeling pretty bad for a while, but the shark puppy au made me smile for the first time in days. thank you so much, to you and to all of the people contributing to it. you made someone's day a lot more bearable

first off, i’m so sorry you’ve been having a hard time recently! i feel that a lil deeply, rip, but i’m sending you all the vibes and care i can, and i really hope things shift for you, because that’s an awful way to feel, but i am so, so happy that anything we did or said today/last night made anything a little easier for you 💕it’s nearly 3am and i have work again in the morning (fucking rip) but i thought i’d put some more shark puppy stuff out there in the hopes it might make tomorrow a little easier for you too!

so this morning before work i answered an ask abt shark puppy and was talking in the tags abt patstanlon (essentially just. thinking abt how to execute it)

and so tonight once i was finally home from work i was talking to a few of the others abt it and @benverlesbians brought up patty’s BA and also how in the book she says bill isn’t a real writer bc he’s a novelist (tangent but i just went back to read the start of that chapter and a, ouch, but b, “Stanley drove a Mercedes diesel—teasing him, she called it Sedanley” this will never not make my heart yell) and that led jem to the conclusion that patty thinks real writing is either non-fiction or non-prose, i.e., journalist or poet

we settled on journalist for her career, but she has a background in poetry from college

@benverlesbians: “patty and mike are like “we both got BAs in english and we are both perfect human beings” and they are correct”

anyway this interview takes place after the Scathing Review from the Conservative Magazine (after richie’s bi ass jeans)

jem posited that bev’s rly protective of the band (and herself, ofc herself, and why wouldn’t she be) and tends to like, vet the interviewers pretty hard, bc she has to be sure she can trust them with their words and their image

and then we were thinking abt how that’s interesting bc like. patty probably isn’t super overt on social media (certainly not just showing her whole self on there, miss ‘wouldn’t admit to thinking richard dawson’s watch chain was sexy if wild horses tried to drag it out of her’), which is like. frustrating for bev’s purposes, but also… kinda relatable? and bev can respect it, on an intellectual and empathetic level, even if it’s annoying that it runs counter to her purposes (but there’s also—-part of bev thinks maybe, someone who can be private with themselves can have some integrity with others, but then there’s another part of her, those self-preservation instincts honed from years of not being able to trust… men specifically, but it’s made all trust harder now, and that part is wary, hard-pressed to give people the benefit of the doubt, not when it comes to her and her friends)

jemma: “bev is like “why don’t you have instagram” and patty’s like “this isnt you interviewing me, this is me interviewing you. please pass the maple syrup, my pancakes are dry as fuck"”

(it starts at a kitschy diner (jem’s idea) bc like, well, there are seven of them. like. that’s too many. but they’re probs not all at the diner, maybe just bev, stan, mike & eddie (deliberate choices from bev, given how she couldn’t find too much on patty—-some good testimonials that convinced her to give the interview anyway, even if patty works for a buzzfeet analogue, bev has less personal hang-ups with them than stan does, even though she loyally disavows them with him—-and she trusts stan and mike to hold their own, and while eddie can be a wild card (it’s not wild, she thinks, not really, because it doesn’t come out of nowhere. it’s just that he’s brave and good and loyal and principled, like he’d have her back, have all of their backs, and wouldn’t let anything slide he wasn’t okay with), she’d rather have that inability to back down at her side when their words and image are on the line than some of the impulsive nonsense richie and bill pull, and ben has a tendency to be too earnest, too quick, and if bev wants to be careful, be sure, before exposing ben’s heart and sentiment and big fucking eyes to that, well, sue her) but then patty is interviewing them, and she’s thoughtful, questioning without being probing, framing things in interesting ways that keeps them talking, keeps them interested, and bev’s already halfway to inviting patty back to the clubhouse (their studio) where the others are when stan, like, references some swedish poet whose translated works he was reading when he and mike wrote one of their songs, and patty, like, gets it? and works tomas tranströmer into her next question, and stan’s expression is just. and he glances at mike, and mike grins (bev doesn’t even know why stan bothered. mike’s clearly thought well of patty the entire time), and stan cocks an eyebrow at bev, and she almost can’t believe it, bc since when does stan ever want to allow interviewers more access? but it’s stan, and he never asks, and so of course she turns to patty, and asks: “got a couple more hours?”)

@chaoticbisexualalien: “pre-meeting stan journalist!pat on twitter giving their album a four-star review but singling him out as exceptional and then a bitter fan is like "oh did he eat you out for that review” and she’s like “I would have given them five stars for that"”

@striffyisme: “omg,,,, the fans start calling her Petty Patty for her excellent clap backs”

britt: “stan sees it and doesn’t get involved directly because he doesn’t want to fan the flames but he admires her from afar and then later on he finds out that she’s interviewing the band and he’s like ”!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!“ inside”

alex: “stan, instantly in love and adoring from afar, patty falling for him as she gets to know him, everyone outside the band thinking it was the other way around lmao”

which, yeah, bc when the others catch on, they realise… patty working for a b/zzfeet analogue isn’t a speed bump for patstanlon to overcome, but rather just something stan was holding onto as like, a reminder to himself that ‘objectively she’s not perfect, and the only perfect person in this world is probably mike hanlon, be quiet rich’ but he’s wrong! she’s perfect too! he knows two perfect people! and by the time she’s gotten a job offer for her frankly thoroughly fucking excellent article abt shark puppy and has quit her job at the buzzfeet analogue, he’s pretty much forgotten about that hang-up until she’s like, “god i’m glad i have an actual adult workplace now” and mike laughs and stan feels his heart grow three sizes in his chest

@dykeeddie: “Okay I’m just gonna say it if she’s working at a b*zzfeed analogue for any period of timeShark Puppy Styles Me For A Week… there are 7 of them it’s the only way”

anyway the article is fucking bomb, everyone stan patty blum, and it blows the conservative scathing review sky high into a void of irrelevance

(at the clubhouse, patty makes such an expression at one of bill’s lyrics that richie actually chokes on his coke from laughter)

#shark puppy #patricia blum #beverly marsh #stanley uris #god i've been typing this for hrs i suck at answering asks it's fucking 5am #also the b/zzfeet analogue idea came totally from that ten long yrs of trying to make armie hammer happen article lmao #answered #Anonymous #long post //

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ms-maj · 5 years ago

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Knock Three Times

A little pre-relationship movie night for the song with a number in the title. Enjoy!

If you look out your window tonight

Pull in the string with the note that's attached to my heart

Read how many times I saw you

How in my silence I adored you

Only in my dreams did that wall between us come apart

Oh my darling

Knock Three Times- Tony Orlando and Dawn

“But it’s a chick flick!” Archie whined. At twelve, it seemed that all Archie did anymore was whine. Especially on movie nights. Especially when it was Betty’s pick.

She sighed, arms crossed over her chest. “It’s not!” Jughead shot her a look from across the treehouse. “Okay, maybe it is a little bit but it also fits the theme!”

Archie still looked unimpressed. “Well, okay, but...Jug and I don’t wanna watch it.”

“Oh, I’m sorry, I didn’t realize you spoke for Jughead now. Maybe he does want to watch it.”

He could feel it the moment her eyes landed on him even though he’d gone back to reading his book. Nearly every week it was the same thing. Betty and Archie arguing about movies. If it hadn’t been happening for years, maybe he wouldn’t get so annoyed and try to tune it out. It’s not like he didn’t get it, he did, but sometimes he thought Archie just liked arguing with Betty to get a rise out of her. Of course, he was the only one without a sibling so in a way it made sense. But Betty never gave in, and Jughead always ended up taking her side, because the whole thing was about them being together with the family they made.

It was why they were trying to implement themes for their movie nights. So that no one could pick the same type of movie week after week; that they were forced some variety. Mostly he enjoyed it, being introduced to things he hadn’t seen. Even if Archie primarily picked superhero movies, every now and again there’d be something that was influenced by Fred or Mary.

Jughead would probably agree that he had a type as well. He always seemed to find some Hitchcock or Kubrick flick that fit with that month's prescribed theme; that’s kind of the point. The three of them, still thick as thieves, sharing those little pieces of themselves so that as they grew, they still did it together.

“Juggie?” His eyes met hers. Fuck. While Archie was immune to Betty Cooper’s patented puppy-dog eyes, he was decidedly not.

Exhaling slowly, Jughead tried to straighten up in the exceedingly small space. “Betts, it’s not so much that I don’t want to watch it…”

He watched the light fade from her eyes, a soft flicker behind the green that she tried to hide behind a smile. She moved to close her laptop with a shake of her head and an almost imperceptible sniffle.

His hand shot out to stop her, the contact yielding a sharp intake of breath and, if he wasn’t mistaken, a soft, rosy hue on her cheeks. Before pulling away, he gave her hand a gentle squeeze and said, “Yeah, maybe it’s not my first choice, but it’s not my night. Besides, you’re right. Now and Then totally fits the theme.”

“Jug, c’mon! You can’t do this to me!” Archie groaned, protesting from beneath his pillow, knowing full well he’d lost this battle too.

"Your pick for coming of age movie was both the new AND old Karate Kid. We watched two movies last week, at your behest, the least we can do is watch the only chick flick Betty's ever suggested."

The smile Betty gave him was enough to make him never regret that decision, it was also the first time he distinctly remembers feeling butterflies. From then on out, every time he saw Betty they’d make a reappearance, no matter how much he tried to suppress it. So he scooted a little bit closer, enough that when she realized it, a soft sigh escaped her lips as her head came to rest on his shoulder.

And that’s how they watched the movie. Archie had fallen asleep in the first hour, mumbling something about there not being enough action—of any kind— to keep his interest.

“Thanks for siding with me, Juggie. Even if it means having to watch a chick flick,” she was looking up at him now, illuminated only by the light of her laptop, the green of her eyes nearly glowing in the darkness.

His hand slipped around her shoulders, pulling her even closer to him. “Well, it is pretty girly, I can’t lie, but it’s totally a coming of age movie. The theme is one-hundred percent represented. How could I protest? Even if I’m being forced to endure this kitschy soundtrack.”

Betty smacked him lightly on the chest before laughing. “Stop, it’s fun! How can you not smile when this is playing?”

“So easy.” They laughed, Betty, playing with the strings to her too-big hoodie.

“I know things aren’t ideal at home right now,” she paused, looking up at him again, appraising. He wasn’t sure where she was going with this, her being the only one who knew all the sordid details of his mom and sister's departure. “I just thought this could be something you show Jelly when she’s a little bit older. It’s a great movie to watch with an older sibling.”

“Is that how you saw this? Polly?” Betty nodded against his chest. “Thank you. For thinking of her.” Jughead wasn’t sure what emotion came on first; the overwhelming sadness at the thought of when he’d see his sister next or the absolute elation he’d experienced when he realized she picked this out with him in mind. “I can’t wait for us to show her.”

She beamed back at him and nodded. “Neither can I, Juggie.”

And years later, when he finally worked up the nerve to tell her exactly what she meant to him, he climbed a ladder to her room, knocked three times on the window and got to kiss the girl.

#Bughead #bughead fanfiction #riverdale #songfic writing challenge 2019

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amphtaminedreams · 5 years ago

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S/S 2020 Fashion Month: A Basic, Uneducated Fashion Heaux’s A-Z of Everything Noteworthy (Part 2/3)

Hi to anyone reading,

Back at it again with the giving my unsolicited opinion on 2020′s spring/summer offering, I’m gonna hop straight into part 2 of my fashion month review!

Sorry to start with an underwhelming few but my compulsive tendencies are making it really hard to break out of this alphabetical structure (cry laughs whilst thinking about how long it took me to face up at my retail job last night because it would give me vaguely homicidal urges and make my fingers tingle every time a customer moved something slightly out of line), so I’m gonna whizz through a handful of collections. First up, Halpern:

Not much to say but I’m envious of the heavy liner (my hooded eyes could never) and I like the colour scheme. As for the 80s style metallic pink dress?

Helmut Lang:

And Hermes:

Of these 3 collections, Hermes is definitely the most interesting. I like the colour scheme and the utilitarian shapes and the tan coloured jackets are an absolute shoot. This is how you make safari look fresh, D&G take note.

Isabel Marant was okay. It’s cute, sure, reminds me of something Mary-Kate and Ashley would’ve come out with/worn in the 2000s, and there’s definitely some things I would wear, but I wouldn’t say it looks all that luxury. Pricey, sure, but like, Free People pricey, not designer pricey. As a collection, it’s not all that conceptual, unless the concept is L.A girl does a Starbucks run after her bikram yoga class. What I will say though is that some of the S/S 2020 commercial trends are becoming clear: white cheesecloth pieces, peasant blouses, cowboy boots, scrappy sandals, neutral tones, and bandana print.

Now onto the darling of high fashion Twitter: Jacquemus.

As far as presentation goes, this has to be one of my favourite set-ups of the season; a hot pink runway running through a lavender meadow is as canny and serene as those who sing the praises of Simon Porte Jacquemus would have you expect, and the clothes were easy, breezy and beautiful, even if there is an element of getting dressed in the dark going on with the styling which put me off including a few otherwise gorgeous pieces. It might not be 100% my style but you can tell this is a brand of the future which is only going to go from strength to strength.

And everything was beautifully and purposefully crafted on the runway with J.W Anderson this year. The pieces are graceful and timeless whilst still easy to envision as something a modern woman would throw on to (very fashionably) run some errands in the city. This was also one of the handful of shows (IIRC! This might be a case of extreme deja-vu!) where we saw the sandal straps tied over the trousers, I’m guessing to accentuate the ankles, and...I’m surprisingly here for it? Though in a sense it kinda resembles when I accidentally get my work trousers tucked into my slipper socks, it’s an interesting touch and adds a bit of a shape to otherwise billowing bottom halves.

Following Jacquemus’ lead (or vice versa, I’m way too deep into this fashion month haze to work out who went first at this point), Lacoste also put on a co-ed show. Otherwise crisp and preppy as per, the neckerchiefs (even if seeing them all next to one another does give off a bit of a Disneyland Main Street barbershop quartet vibe) and vinyl/wet-look/PVC/I’m still not sure what differentiates the 3 coats were an out of the box touch for them and I really liked it. It’s athleisure, but more like something Hayley Bieber would’ve worn as part of her Princess Diana inspired shoot than anything I’d wear to the gym.

LMAO, as if I go the gym. But you get my point. Next, Loewe:

Delicate, feminine and all around delightful, the S/S 2020 Loewe collection is up there with Chloe and Brock when it comes to most spring appropriate. More chiffon, lace and doily-like detailing, please, the old woman in me lives for this kinda thing made fashionable. Like with J.W Anderson, you can tell the design team wanted to do something different without just throwing shit onto their pieces for the sake of being wacky, and so we end up with these dramatic, slightly geometric waistlines and almost angelic Victorian nightgown inspired dresses that kinda make me wished that 1). ghosts existed and that 2). I lived back in that era so I could die some tragic death wearing any one of the dresses on the left in the top 3 rows and then haunt the shit out of everyone. That would really be an iconic fashion moment. Also wonderful, imo, was Louis Vuitton:

The mix between 60s and Edwardian I never knew I needed, as opposed to Gucci’s forward thinking take on the former decade, Louis Vuitton takes it back even further and throws in late 19th/early 20th century structures and references. I adore the what seems to be a mix between brocade and paisley print and the exaggerated collars are a very cute touch. The jacket on the top left is a highlight, a more neutral version of the similar catsuit seen at the Longchamp show (I couldn’t personally pick enough highlights from that to include it), and I now more than ever really want to try and pull off a sweater vest. The shoes might not be the most exciting thing ever but they’re also a personal favourite, from the knee high boots to the loafers with the LV moniker.

Maison Margiela was very cool and again, I’m in love with the shoes and just the accessories in general, ESPECIALLY those hats. I don’t know if I’m way off base here but this show is almost a modernised, fashionable version of a 1940s period drama about WW2 pilots and evacuees. Yes, maybe I am just getting that solely from the trench coats and the naval influences and the exaggerated collars but I think with that list I made quite a case for that perspective, right? Right.

And completing this holy trinity (appropriating the term I usually reserve for Emma Watson, Emma Stone and Emma Roberts is not without careful consideration) is Marc Jacobs. One of my ultimate favourites of this season, this collection is absolutely EVERYTHING: kitschy, dream-like, whimsical, over-the-top, and totally appropriate for your slightly eccentric aunt who always drinks too much wine and talks a lot of shit every time she comes over for dinner. I really feel like I walked into wonderland looking at this collection, and in the best way possible, it gives me a female Russell Brand in the 2000s’ wardrobe on crack. On the one hand we have these insanely beautiful and ethereal chiffon floral dresses but then we also have fricken top hats. Basically, it’s everything I love about fashion and I don’t know if anything can top it. Periodt (and I type that with a totally straight face).

Next, onto another personal fave, Marchesa:

Which is as always, beautiful. I was going to write that if Disney princesses came to life and lived in the modern world (so, in other words, Elle Fanning), they would be wearing Marchesa and then I remembered that the film Enchanted exists and had a lightbulb moment and thought OH MY GOD IF THEY REMADE THAT IN 2019, THE DRESS ON THE RIGHT IN THE MIDDLE ROW WOULD BE A PERFECT LEVELLING UP OF THE CURTAIN DRESS.

Anyways, favourites of the favourites are the bottom row; I would die for that feather trim.

BUT where Marchesa is everything opulent, overly ornate and err-ing on “fussy”, Margaret Howell’s S/S 2020 collection is completely stripped back and just as effective, if not as to my taste. Very cool, very current, and altogether effortless (in a good way!), with this show Margaret Howell made mid-20th century utilitarianism relevant. I never thought I’d be praising the combination of bermuda shorts, crew socks and a beanie and yet here I am. Character development.

Next is Marine Serre:

Which I really like! The bottom row isn’t really to my personal taste but I can acknowledge that if I saw somebody wearing any one of those outfits I’d think they looked sick, and as for the first two rows, those mesh tops and the slightly chintzy florals are right up my alley.

Marques Almeida put out a really strong collection, imo. The blending of luxurious silhouettes and fabrics with street wear inspired prints and styling is a really interesting and unique contrast and if Billie Eilish ever decided to stop wearing those tweenie clothes and wanted to actually seduce somebody’s dad (I LOVE BILLIE EILISH AND I KNOW WHY SHE DRESSES THE WAY SHE DOES, IT’S A JOKE, PLS DON’T HATE ME), I’d love to see her wearing something like this. It’s a blend of punk, urban, and 2019 e-girl and has the kind of edge that Topshop has lost over the past couple of years that used to make it so aspirational to my 13 year old self. Of all the shows, it also probably has the most personally wearable accessories, and a shit tonne of cool make up looks I’d love to try if it weren’t for my lack of visible eyelid, lol.

Make up looks were a highlight of the Max Mara show too, for me anyway.

I otherwise wasn’t hugely keen on the collection, it being a little too matronly/Miss.Trunchbull-esque for my liking (wild card fashion inspiration of 2019, apparently?). The light paisley print dresses are very dreamy, though, and I can never resist a good suit.

As for Michael Kors, dare I say it, but the basic bitch in me loved it. I know as a designer he’s not held in very high regard by the fashion community and I'm not saying it’s at all original but it did what it set out to do well; I mean, it’s quite fitting that he cameo-d in an episode of Gossip Girl because every outfit would be perfect for the Constance attending incarnation of Blair Waldorf, which is probably why I like the collection. Like yeah, it’s a bit of a Polo Ralph Lauren/Lacoste rip off but it’s daintier and more feminine and so I’m not gonna lie, I’m on board with it.

Next, Miu Miu.

One of the collections I was most excited for, I was a little disappointed. Don’t get me wrong, I really like the collection, but I have never once disliked anything Miu Miu and I usually love it. There are things I love about this line too: the cream, floral lace-up boots, the off-the-shoulder cardigans, the houndstooth oversized coats and of course the fur-lined gilets. My mum used to buy me similar ones when I was a little girl and so they give me childhood nostalgia in the best way possible. I mean, the collection is as girly and eccentric as ever. I think it’s just a little too on the primary school librarian side for me, this time round. Sorry Miu Miu xoxo

Now I’m just gonna speed through a couple, starting with MM6 Maison Margiela, the younger sister to the more expensive regular Maison Margiela line:

And Monique Lhuillier:

So that I can get to one of my other ultimate favourite collections for S/S 2020: Moschino.

Oh my god, where to even start. Firstly, I might be reaching, but if this show is even remotely to thank for art nouveau mesh tops showing up in the Urban Outfitters new in section, then a very sarcastic thank you to Jeremy Scott. You just made ethical shopping a lot harder. HOW am I supposed to not buy an Alphonse Mucha top? HOW!? I mean, I’m sure I’ll manage (I’m on month 3 without a shopping spree I can’t actually afford now and yes, I am very much patting myself on the back), but HOW!?

But on a serious level, if renaissance was the print of 2019, which I’m still very much into BTW, bring on modern art as its 2020 replacement. The Pablo Picasso inspired show not only livened up a generally pretty predictable fashion month but it’s also got me searching up other times art has met fashion on the runway and thrown me down a particularly aesthetically pleasing wormhole I’m not sure I ever want to escape from (https://frontrowmagazine.ca/art-inspired-looks-were-all-over-the-runways-of-fashion-week-a74e8bc7ff0d and https://www.vogue.com/article/spring-2017-ready-to-wear-fine-arts-trends are good starting points!).

Mugler was also up there with the best of them, imo:

See, if the Moschino collection was all about dabbling in art class, Mugler’s S/S 2020 collection is its more mathematically inclined sister, all about sharp lines and deconstructed silhouettes and symmetry all whilst looking hot as fuck. So very Mugler, basically.

Now, this reference might be slightly off because I haven’t actually SEEN Ex-Machina yet but I imagine if Kim Kardashian were to channel that movie for a costume party she’d end up wearing something from this collection. That sounds like a roast because Kim has worn some questionable outfits but I blame Kanye for most of that and I’m referring to her on a good fashion day, alright!?

As for Off-White, it’s obviously a lot more commercial than most of the lines I’ve reviewed so far. Like, I can see a lot of these outfits on a mannequin in Urban Outfitters (no, I am not being paid to namedrop them, about 3 people in total read this Tumblr so any kind of sponsorship money would be severely wasted on me). That’s not necessarily a bad thing, and I love all of these looks; it just seems unfair to compare them to the the Mugler or Moschino collections, for example.

The stand outs for me are all on the bottom row: I would buy the utility vest, leather blazer and the all mesh turtleneck under washed-out tie-dye on the spot if I saw them in a high street store. Unfortunately, I feel like that’s kinda where they belong. You just expect collections to be a bit more conceptual, and this one is a little watered down, as much as it’s my style.

Oscar de la Renta was beautiful, of course. Not like I’m shook by how beautiful it is but kinda just what you’d expect from a brand with a name as poetic and fun to say as Oscar de la Renta. The silhouettes are dreamy and the details are as fit for a fairy princess (lmao) as ever. Plus can I just say how happy I am to see butterflies on dresses for adult women again!? And dresses worn by Blanca Padilla nonetheless!? Very here for it.

Next up is another on one of my fashion month highlights: Paco Rabanne.

LOOK AT THIS SHIT!

I mean, don’t get me wrong, something about this collection (I’m pretty sure it’s the knee high coloured socks) is giving me primary school teacher vibes, but I'm not mad about it. It’d be the kind of teacher who’s actually really good at their job and has loads of cool hobbies and a really hot boyfriend or girlfriend or wife or husband who you secretly want to be then you grow up/and or have a huge crush on.

Like with Marc Jacobs, there’s obvious flower child elements here, and whilst on the whole the former took my breath away slightly more, this is a lot more wearable. My favourites are the paisley print dress and cape on the left in the very bottom row and all the chainmail pieces (which remind me of the dress Naomi Smalls wore in that whole club ninety-sixxxxx skit on drag race), plus that floral cut out dress with the trailing flute sleeves, which is absolute PERFECTION.

The 70s influence was clear in Peter Pilotto’s S/S 2020 collection too from the abundance of tie-dye to the knit v-neck dress, zany colour and print being the very on-brand focus. That being said, this is definitely more of a street-style inspired collection than usual and whilst the floral suits and dresses on the 3rd row down are very typical Peter Pilotto, the tie-dye corset and combat trousers on the far right, second row from the bottom, are very Jaded London. As for the reoccurrence of the bucket hat, I’ve remained steadfastly against them for several years now (even when our Lord and Saviour Miss Robyn Rihanna Fenty started wearing them) but the way they’re done in this collection even I could definitely get behind; all in all, the show surpassed my expectations.

The same goes for Ports 1961, which was a lot more eccentric than I gathered is the norm from a few google searches. Honestly, I hadn’t really heard of the brand which, upon reading up on it, I feel very dumb for considering it has been around since (in the shock twist of the century) 1961.

Yes, I know how that sounds! But forgive me, I’m still learning:)

Anyway, the fishnet detailing alone pretty much sold the looks I picked out. Seriously, I got a pair of those bloody tights, like, 2 years ago when they became a thing again and now any outfit where I have my legs out feels incomplete without them.

Next is Prabal Gurung, which, as far as presentation goes, was fucking STUNNING:

I mean, you could say that I’m easily impressed and that the presence of the bouquets won me over (and you’d definitely have a point there), but it’s also this year’s Givenchy haute couture-esque feathers, the trailing pearl necklaces, the exaggerated shoulders, the dreamy colouring, the everything looking like it could’ve grown off a very fashionably-inclined tree. Like, there’s a lot to love here, from the naturalistic elements, to the context behind the show, an ode to American fashion history and those cast out of it (and the notion of “being American” in general) for so long.

Going from a high to a (personal) low, however, next we have Prada:

I don’t know, I get that it’s supposed to be simple and stripped back and dignified and whatever and I like the looks I picked but it’s just a bit blah for me. The bonnets that kept cropping up just didn’t do it for me and almost ruined what is an otherwise nice skirt suit (top right). Nonetheless, I like the silhouette of the sheer black dress and the the brocade print suit is really luxurious looking, even if the pattern is a *little* Wetherspoons carpet.

Anyways, here’s a quick overview of Rag and Bone:

So that I can stop moaning and get onto a collection I REALLY liked:

I am of course talking about Ralph and Russo. See, this is kinda what I expected from, like, Chanel and yet it’s Ralph and Russo that delivered. Also, it gives me Alessandra Rich vibes which is very much a compliment considering how much I love her designs. I mean, if Valley of the Dolls were to get another film remake in 2019, this is exactly what I’d like to see the female leads wearing, from the pastel suits to the satin kaftan style dresses. The yellow feather trimmed dress is practically a copy of something Marchesa has already done but it’s cute all the same. In my top 10 collections of the season, for sure.

Rick Owens was another strong collection; it goes without saying that it’s not the most wearable but that’s not really what Rick Owens is known for, so I wouldn’t expect anything else. If you want fashion on an alien planet, or something Lady Gaga would’ve worn in 2010, he's your man.

Next, Rodarte:

Obviously the dresses are beautiful and the set is magnificent, BUT...I’m really not a fan of the whole celebrities filling in for high fashion models thing. I like Lili Reinhart and I adore Kirsten Dunst, she’s been in a load of my favourite films, but in a similar vein to Dolce and Gabbana’s influencer show, it’s just distracting from the actual garments, if even worse because I don’t WANT to be distracted here (the same can’t be said for the D&G show, lol). If anybody has read this far, let me know your thoughts!

Roland Mouret was nice, and I always like a coed show, especially when a designer isn’t afraid to blur the lines of masculine and feminine. It’s fresh, lightweight and luxurious looking, Cannes film festival street style eat your heart out, and I love the colour palette.

Similarly, colour was my favourite thing about Sally LaPointe’s S/S 2020 collection.

I would never think that teal and burnt orange would work together, let alone in some kind of faux leather, and yet here we are. Orange is in itself always an interesting colour choice, perfect for the summer with a tan, and I really love monochrome outfits, even though they’re something that ends up being quite pricey to put together; slight differences in tone are okay but if you just randomly throw together a few things and they’re too off, it really doesn’t work and you’d have been better off wearing contrasting colours. For that reason, I’m just gonna admire that all-pink outfit from a distance.

As for Schiaparelli, it’s one I always look forwards to for the sheer weirdness. RTW isn’t quite as kooky as haute couture but still, the interesting choices are still there; what at first glance appears to be flame print is actually coils of hair, and paired with a water print suit is a sequinned jacket emblazoned with a paradisiacal mirage. Ornament-like facial decorations as seen in the over-exaggerated glasses worn with the pony hair suit are also one of my favourite new things to happen in the high fashion scene in the past couple of months and I can’t wait to see how they get watered down to become more approachable for us...regular, non-structurally blessed folks who can’t pull off anything and everything.

Simone Rocha was STUNNING. Romantic and ethereal, it’s druid goddess crossed with upper class Victorian woman of leisure, equal parts delicate and grungy, like a modern, fashion version of Lady Gaga’s Scathach in the Roanoke season of American Horror Story. You know, in the flashbacks, not in present day when she was all gross and like...scalping people and shit. Each dress is so ornate and has such an interesting structure, and the fabric choices give off an organic kinda vibe that create a handmade feel; the collection is, imo, really worthy of being shown under a haute couture heading. When it comes to my favourite element of the show, I’m torn between the petticoats and the hair accessories. I’m just gonna give a cop-out answer and say both.

Stella McCartney on the other hand, is very much a clear ready-to-wear collection.

It’s pretty, for sure. The pastel blazers paired with delicate white mesh tops underneath are a gorgeous combination for spring and I like the reoccurrence of the chain glasses (Gucci, right?). But I mean, when you go from Simone Rocha to this, it’s a bit anticlimactic. Plus, if I’m honest, kaftans are always going to remind me of Honey Mahogany from season 5 of Drag Race. Don’t get me wrong, I’m sure she’s a lovely person but her runway looks aren’t really ones I look back fondly on, and you’re lying if you say you enjoyed them for anything other than meme purposes.

Temperley is equally meh, though the return of the Erdem-style boating hats is getting me excited that high street retailers might actually pick up on the trend and bring out some cheap ones for me to embarrass myself by wearing.

I also love a good 70s suit, the neckerchiefs are cute and there are some really delightful prints here that are a more unique approach to florals for spring.

Coming towards the end now, next is Thom Browne:

I LOVE this. Like, don’t get me wrong Rick Owens was cool but I adore how on the nose the concept is here; time to bring back all the Marie Antoinette puns I didn’t get to use in my Versailles Instagram post. I don’t know if it’s the history buff in me or the Sofia Coppola Stan but I will always be willing to sign any kind of treaty for anything related to the excesses of the 18th century French monarchy, and this is that turned up to 1000 infused with a dash of the Teletubbies, which sounds like a nightmarish concept, I know, but as high fashion it WORKS.

Tory Burch was very commercial, seemingly half inspired by Monterey yoga moms and the other half by Hamptons socialites.

And then there was Valentino, which was fucking exquisite, imo. LIKE, CALLING DOCLE & GABBANA: THIS IS HOW YOU MAKE TROPICAL PRINT INTERESTING. YOU MAKE THE VELVET MONKEY’S ARM THE FRICKEN WAISTBAND.

Seriously, though, I am enamoured with this colour palette; all the whites and golds are angelic and fr, I didn’t know until now that you could make neons this elegant. I’m also getting an almost clerical feel from a lot of these looks, with the plaited waistband on the black dress that’s 7th row down in the middle, the stunning red cape and the multitude of exaggerated neck ruffs. I think I’ve mentioned before but I always love religious references in clothing-I don’t think I’ll ever get over the 2018 Met Gala-and so whether I’m reading too much into it or not, this collection really did it for me.

Whilst it’s probably as far removed a collection from Valentino’s S/S 2020 contribution you can get, I also loved Vera Wang this season. It might purely (I PROMISE THIS IS MY LAST GOSSIP GIRL REFERENCE) be because it gives me Jenny Humphrey vibes and *controversial* she did have my favourite style of any of the main characters, but sue me, this is just the right amount of late 90s/early 2000s grunge. Deconstructed trashy goth it girl is an interesting concept to see on the runway and I completely support it.

Versace on the other hand was very hit or miss. The looks I picked out I really loved but ultimately, for one of the household name brands, a lot of the actual garments were a bit pedestrian. I will say though that for me, it’s a case of the whole being greater than the sum of its parts. The slicked back mermaid hair and the pops of colour in the makeup and the interesting necklines meant that when it was good, it was GOOD. However, overall, still a bit too 80s Miami businesswoman, and please GOD, can we leave that hideous J-Lo dress in the past, it should really not be the climax of the show in 20-fucking-19!

As for Victoria Beckham, I liked it, but it’s a bit of a Gucci copy, no? And no way near as interesting?

And on that note, I’m gonna have to cut this off. Super annoying but with only 5 collections left that I want to talk about, Tumblr is being a little bitch and will not let me add anything more to this post. So, see you in 5 for the final post!

Lauren x

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