#best embroidered piece ever /gen

[nordleuchten]

La Fayette and Emma Willard at the Opera

When Emma Willard was travelling Europe in 1830, she visited General La Fayette in Paris in late 1830. The two were close friends, had already met before and especially Willard had nothing but the purest admiration for La Fayette. In her book Journal and Letters from France and Great-Britain (1833) she re-printed several letters where she told her sister every last detail of her visit. Her letters are unusually engaging in my opinion, because they are so personal. Old letters and journals can sometimes feel very stiff, very old and completely removed from our modern reality – but hers is so lively, so ordinary that I could not help but relate to her during certain passages. Due to Willard’s hero-worship of La Fayette, I was afraid she would put him on a gigantic pedestal – but she paints a very humane picture of the ageing Marquis, one that is actually rather refreshing.

With all of that being said, here is a passage from Emma’s letter to her sister Almira Hart Lincoln Phelps from December 7, 1830:

I must now tell you, how it was that we spent the evening together. It was at the Opera Francais, usually called the Grand Opera. You will remember that he told me he had not been at a theatre since the revolution, and the first time he did go, he would go with me. One evening before had been appointed, and failed from the illness of one of the performers. It was the evening before last that we finally went [December 5]. I expected that the people would have cheered him as he entered. But he was in a citizen's dress, and went with a determination, as it appeared, not to be known.

The two boxes next, and each side the king's, were for the evening taken by the La Fayette family. There are places in each for six persons, two in front, and three deep. The General, Mrs. S-. of Baltimore, (a particular friend of Madame George La Fayette,) two of the General's grand-daughters, Col. C-, an officer of his household, and myself, filled the box to the left of the king's. Mrs. S— and myself were placed in the front seats, notwithstanding our entreaties that the General would take one of them; two of his grand–daughters had the two next, and the General was quite back where it was impossible for any one below to see him. The first piece was an opera, “Le Dieu et la Bayadère.” In this I saw the performance of M’lle Taglioni, the first dancer in the world. Much of this French opera dancing is what it should not be; but of Taglioni, though expected much, yet her performance perfectly astonished me; and I exclaimed in a pas seul, where she seemed divested of terrestrial gravity, and to fly, rather than dance, “this is the sublime of dancing!"

The scenery of the theatre — the splendor of the dresses and decorations — the crowds of actors, all capital in their parts — the perfection of instrumental music displayed by the grand orchestra, who were all so perfect in time, that it was as if one spirit played the numberless instruments — all this was admirable.

After we had been in the theatre about half an hour, an officer entered the box, bowed very low, and presented the General a paper, containing a few lines, written, as I observed, in an elegant hand. He looked rather grave, and perplexed for a moment as he read the paper; then said— “the king has sent for me to come to him. I must go, but I will return.” I begged him not to return on my account, if it would incommode him; but he said he could not consent to lose all the pleasure of the evening. Before he returned, the first piece was over; and those of the La Fayette family, in the other box, came in the interval, to greet us. Their countenances seemed a little shaded, and I though they were uneasy that he had insisted on sitting so far back. Mrs. S-. then took her place behind my chair, and all appeared determined that he should take the front seat, when he returned. Just as they had completed the arrangement, he came in, but he refused to go forward. Mrs. S-. now refused to take the seat, as did the other ladies also, who were in the box with us. Just then the sweet Mathilde La Fayette came from the other box to speak to her grand father. He told her to take the seat; and though she would not for the world have done an impolite thing by voluntarily taking the precedence of older ladies; yet she did not a moment dispute, what she saw was her grand-father's will.

Thus seated and arranged, we went through another dancing piece. It was the ballet pantomime of Manon Lescaut. The scenery and the dresses, represented the court of Louis XV. The stiff bows and curtsies,-- and hoops and trains, and elbow cuffs, -- the frizzed and powdered heads, and enormous head-dresses -- the silk velvet, gold-trimmed, long-skirted coats, and silver embroidered white satin vests,-- the little boys and girls dressed like their fathers and mothers, and curtsying and bowing as stiffly, -- the dancing of minuets -- slow, and graceful, and formal, --it was all pleasing: and the representation was historically true.

Gen. La Fayette was much amused. “Why,” said he, “this is exactly my time!” “Voila ce petit enfant!” exclaimed Mathilde, as a little boy, a sprig of nobility, in a long embroidered coat, and flapped vest, with his hair queued and powdered, appeared upon the stage. Said the General, “I was dressed just so, when I was of that age !” “Just so.”

That piece went off. But I observed that the eyes of the people, were ever and anon, turning towards our box; —and when at another interval, we rose from our seats, as every body did, suddenly there was a shout, “Vive La Fayette! Vive La Fayette!” It resounded again and again, and was echoed and re - echoed by the vaulted roof. In the enthusiasm of the moment, I exclaimed, “you are discovered - you must advance!” – and I handed him over the seats, unconscious at the moment that I was making myself a part of the spectacle. He advanced, bowed thrice, and again retreated — but the cries continued. Then the people called out “la Parisienne! la Parisienne!” You know it is the celebrated national song of the last revolution.

The curtain rose. Nourrit, an actor who, in the former piece had the principal male part, came forward. He was dressed as a Parisian gentleman. His figure was bold, and he bore in his hand an ample standard, which he elevated, waving the tri-colored flag. He had himself, been one of the heroes of the three days. He sung the song in its true spirit, amidst repeated applauses. When he came to the part where it speaks of La Fayette with his white hairs, the hero of both worlds, the air was rent with a sudden shout. I looked at him, and met his eye. There was precisely the same expression as I marked, when we sung to him in Troy; and again I shared the sublime emotions of his soul, and again they overpowered my own. My lips quivered, and irrepressible tears started to my eyes. When the song was over, the actor came and opened the door of the box, and in his enthusiasm embraced him. “You sung charmingly,” said La Fayette. “Ah General, you were here to hear me!” was the reply.

When we descended to leave the theatre, the thronging multitude reminded me of the time, when crowds for a similar purpose assembled in America. The grand opera house is an immense building. In the lower part is a large room, supported by enormous pillars, and used as a vestibule. To this room the crowd had, descended, and here they had arranged themselves on each side of a space, which they had left open for La Fayette, that they might see, and bless him as he passed. There was that in this silent testimonial of their affection, more touching, than the noisy acclaim of their shouts. There was something too, remarkable in the well defined line which bounded the way left open. A dense crowd beyond- not even an intruding foot, within the space, which gratitude and veneration had marked. I can scarcely describe my own feelings. I was with him, whom from my infancy I had venerated as the best of men; whom for a long period of my life I had never hoped even to see in this world. Now I read with him his noble history, in the melting eyes of his ardent nation. And I saw that he was regarded as he is, the father of France- aye, and of America too. America! my own loved land! It was for her sake I was thus honored, and it was for me to feel her share in the common emotion. My spirit seemed to dilate, and for a moment, self- personified as the genius of my country, I enjoyed to the full his triumph, who is at once her father, and her adopted son.

I do not know about you, but her descriptions have drawn me in, just if I had been there at the opera that day. The interactions of the family, the merry entertainment, La Fayette joking about his age and sharing childhood anecdotes, the want for historical accuracy being a think way back in 1830, the people singing their revolutionary song, the people lining up for La Fayette ...

A short clarification, the revolution mentioned in the text is not “the” French Revolution but “a” French Revolution – the July Revolution to be precise (also referred to as the French Revolution of 1830, the Second French Revolution, Trois Glorieuses or Three Glorious Days.) The Revolution saw the forced abdication of Charles X and the ascent of King Louis Philipe I. La Fayette played an important part during these events and many people of the time were of the opinion that King Louis Philipe more or less owned his crown to La Fayette. The revolution was also the reason why this visit with Emma Willard was the first visit to the opera this year for La Fayette. He thought people would think of him as vain were he to seek out a public place where the people would undoubtedly cheer for him (as they did).

[radiantmists]

Title: the good shepherd

Fandom: Wheel of Time

Pairing: pre-Rand/Aviendha

Rating: Gen

Word Count: 1940

Aviendha shoved her way out of the Car’a’carn’s tent, suppressing the urge to curse. Wise Ones did not curse, nor did they approve of their apprentices doing so, but the urge was still strong.

She had arrived at Rand al’Thor’s tent no later than usual that morning, expecting that he would still be asleep for an hour yet. Sitting outside, she had stewed over her interactions with him the previous day, her frustration dawning anew with the sun. As they had made camp at Imre Stand once again, Rand al’Thor had peppered Rhuarc with all manner of questions about the ways of the Aiel. Asked Rhuarc, as if Aviendha were not good enough to answer his questions!

True, she did not know if she could have answered all of the questions he had asked; there were things Aviendha had never paid attention to, having known her whole life that she meant to wed the spear. But in any case, she thought irritably, the Car’a’carn had little need to know about things like the intricacies of the inheritance of flocks.

In any case, half an hour earlier than usual, her impatience had bubbled over and sent her bursting through the flaps of his tent, intent on taking the time to drill as much important information through his head as she could manage—only to find his bedroll empty, clearly vacated hours ago.

Her assignment from the Wise Ones was to teach the Car’a’carn, of course, but also to watch him and report on his movements. Allowing him to wander off alone was not acceptable. Beyond that—however he looked, whatever position he held, Rand al’Thor was still a wetlander, and the Threefold Land held many dangers for wetlanders who wandered it alone.

He would not leave the camp, Aviendha assured herself. Even he is not so stupid as that.

She looked around, trying to decide where to search first. Perhaps he had woken early to practice with his cursed sword before the rest of the camp woke, for once at least showing proper shame for the weapon he chose to use. Or, she thought with an inward shudder, perhaps he was practicing not with the sword, but with the One Power.

While she was contemplating this possibility, a tall Maiden Aviendha did not recognize strode up to her, grinning.

“I see you,” she greeted, barely waiting for Aviendha to respond in kind before continuing. “You are looking for Rand al’Thor, yes?”

“I am,” Aviendha replied gingerly. The other—no, she corrected herself mentally, she was not a Maiden any longer—the Maidens generally treated her with a mix of pity and wariness. This friendliness was disconcerting.

“He has not gone far,” the Maiden said, pointing up the slope towards where the water stood. Aviendha nodded her thanks and set off, trying to ignore the other woman’s amusement. What was he doing?

Or was the woman laughing at Aviendha? The idea infuriated her, but she suspected it might be true. Perhaps the woman knew how Aviendha had been called down by the clan chief the previous night—or how she had been punished by the Wise Ones for taking up the spear the last time they were at Imre Stand, during the Trolloc attack.

It had not even been necessary, she’d been forced to admit—Moiraine Sedai had been the one to defend the Wise Ones, and by the time she had reached Rand al’Thor’s camp, the Trollocs had been driven away.

But for those few moments where she’d held the spear again…

Drawing closer to the spring, Aviendha frowned. Rand al’Thor was nowhere to be seen; instead, a flock of perhaps twenty sheep sat in a pen at the side of the water, chewing at the tough grass that grew at its side.

The sheep, she’d seen yesterday, had been scattered by the first attack by the Trollocs; had they returned here on their own, like a lost dog returning to its master? She had not thought that sheep were smart enough for that. Indeed, on closer inspection, someone had righted the fence posts keeping the sheep penned in. Perhaps Lian had already sent a shepherd from Cold Rocks to gather them?

In any case, Rand al’Thor was not here. Aviendha began to turn to stalk back down the slope, intending to give the Maiden she’d met a piece of her mind. It had not even been a good joke, and if the Car’a’carn had gotten himself lost or hurt, she certainly would not be laughing. Then she froze.

Across the water, climbing up the other side of the slope, was a figure she recognized as Rand al’Thor. He stood out, of course—taller than any wetlander, with the fire-red hair of an Aiel, but even if he had been dressed in cadin’sor and not shirt and trousers, he would not have known how to become part of the Threefold Land. Out of his gaudy red coat, though, he could almost have passed for a true Aiel—not a warrior, not dressed like that, but perhaps a blacksmith. His shoulders were nearly broad enough.

Aviendha started toward him, vaulting over the fence and crossing through the pen in a few quick strides, and was about to ask him what he thought he was doing, when the words fell right out of her mouth.

Rand al’Thor was not looking up, perhaps had not even seen her yet. His attention was fixed on what he held: a lamb, its fur curling silk-soft and pale, bleating faintly in his arms. His sleeves were rolled up to the elbows, and the sun glittered off the dragons that curled around his arms so that they seemed to wrap around the animal like twin serpents, one tucking its nose under the lamb’s ruff where he supported its head with a gentle hand. As he looked down at the animal, there was a fondness in his expression that made him appear softer than Aviendha had ever seen him.

She did not think she made a sound, and yet something must have caught his attention, because he looked up, the tenderness draining away and leaving him… blank.

Bending his knees, he set the lamb gently on the ground inside the pen, the other sheep streaming around Aviendha to greet it with nuzzles and quiet bleating.

“I have been missed, then?” Rand al’Thor said, and when he had straightened again his face was as it often was, haughty and remote despite the grin that twisted his mouth. “My apologies—I thought I had a while more before you lost patience and checked on me.”

If she had not been still smarting from the previous night, he might have, but Aviendha would not have told him that even if she were not still speechless. Instead, she stared at him. He raised an eyebrow in reply, mocking, as though he did not have dirt smudged on his cheek like a child who’d been playing in mud.

“You have been… herding sheep?” she said finally, still dumbstruck.

It was one thing to hear Aan’allein call Rand al’Thor ‘sheepherder,’ or even to listen to Egwene al’Vere’s stories of him rescuing his flocks as a youth. It was entirely another to see him cradle a lamb in his arms like a father with a new babe.

Do not think about him holding your children like that, Aviendha chided herself. And do not think about him looking at you so fondly!

The incredulity in her voice made him blink, and she thought she saw the tips of his ears redden as he ran his hands through his hair, though it was difficult to tell with the way they’d begun to flake. He tanned better than most wetlanders, to be sure, but he still was too soft for the Threefold Land.

“It’s a miracle the Trollocs didn’t kill and eat everything they saw,” he said, going to roll his sleeves down over his forearms. “It seemed a waste to just let them wander off or be stolen.”

He smiled ruefully down at the embroidered cuff of his sleeve, which had a piece missing as though it had been ripped off—or chewed off, Aviendha realized, hurriedly shifting her skirts away from the sheep around her.

“I suppose those who would have needed them are gone, though,” he said softly, his eyes distant.

Aviendha frowned at him.

“The Roofmistress of Cold Rocks will send people to retrieve them.” she said pointedly. “Shepherds.”

Rand al’Thor smiled, that smile that meant he was not happy at all.

“You’re right,” he said, striding through the pen and past her. “It needed to be done, but I suppose this is not an affair of the Car’a’carn.”

Aviendha watched him stride away, her hands fisting in her skirts. Without spears to grip, she had regained the nervous habit already, though it had been years since she had eagerly changed the skirts of her childhood for the cadin’sor. And yet, that too had been the clothing of a child, she realized: one who ran from her duty because it had not suited her dreams.

When he had climbed over the fence, Rand al’Thor turned back to her, perhaps wondering why she did not follow.

“Who would you have been?” she asked. It was the first time she had thought of it like that, somehow; that the man before her had once been a boy, one who could never have dreamed of becoming what he was.

Rand al’Thor studied her, and she wondered how much he saw with those eyes, cold blue-gray and shifting as the mists of Rhuidean had been as they enveloped her.

“I was never the best shepherd,” he said finally, his tone heavy. “It isn’t sensible, leaving the whole flock unguarded to find one lost lamb, however it hurts to let one go.”

He ran the fingers of one hand over the glinting dragon’s head on the other, turning to survey the camps below them, which were beginning to stir with activity.

“I don’t think I ever would have learned that lesson.”

Aviendha had never seen so many of her people in one place, not even when they had first been sent to seek He Who Comes With the Dawn. That had been nearly two years ago, now, when Aviendha had been a new Maiden eager for the chance to prove herself… and the chance to escape the considering looks of the Wise Ones.

“And now,” she said slowly, “you do not have the choice.”

Rand al’Thor inclined his head, a quiet acknowledgement, and he did not look away from the camps. Aviendha felt a chill, watching him watch them and recalling the prophecy of He Who Comes With the Dawn.

He shall spill out the blood of those who call themselves Aiel as water on sand…

Her visions of her own future had been almost as troubling. Was that what it meant to be Wise? To bear such terrible knowledge, and let it guide her rather than break her?

If she had known that, she might have run even harder.

“Duty is heavier than a mountain,” she whispered, echoing the words she had heard him exchange with aan’Allein.

Rand al’Thor blinked at Aviendha, just once, and then he smiled. It was as sad as his strange smiles always were, but where his other grins were mocking and sharp like a spearpoint, this one seemed almost to invite her in.

“So it is,” he replied, and turned away. His shoulders were impossibly broad, and unspeakably narrow.

Aviendha caught her breath.

I’m sorry, Elayne, she whispered in her mind. I did try.

[daniactuallysnuffledthatpopcorn]

Once Upon a Time

Summary: A retelling of Cinderella; an unapologetic fairytale.

Rating: Gen

Word Count: 2.1K

[A/N] Written for the Phandom Writing Challenge 1: the Anti-Trope Challenge. Beta’d by the amazing Jasmine.

Dan barely remembered his mother. She had passed away when Dan was barely six years old, and his father had remarried so quickly that he had completely grown into his new situation. His stepmother brought two children with her: a son and a daughter. Although Dan had tried to befriend them at first, he had soon retired his efforts when he realised that they were not at all interested in being nice to their new, young stepbrother. It had taken years for him to understand why they were so hellbent on picking on him: they were jealous. Jealous of his curls and his dimples and his laugh that made everyone around him smile with him. And it wasn’t just Mark and Erica, his stepmother seemed jealous too. Every other day she came home with presents for everyone but Dan, dressing her children in expensive clothes and putting shiny bracelets around their wrists, while leaving Dan with their hand-me-downs.

Dan’s father died, four years after his remarriage. Dan abruptly gave up complaining about the situation. Now that the only person who seemed to care about him was gone, he was forced to resign his campaign. He grew quieter with every passing year, simply waiting it out until he would be old enough to move far away and start anew for himself.

One day, when Dan was sixteen, spending his days doing chores and being silent, Erika came dancing into their main room. She was holding a beige envelope, and from the corner of his eye Dan could see the red royal mark, stamped on the front. “Mum, Mark, come in here!” She tossed the envelope on their futon and waved a letter at her family. “The prince is looking for a partner. He is holding a royal dance for the most beautiful people in the country to choose from. And we’ve got an invitation.”

“Who is ‘we’?” Mark asked.

Erika waved her hand dismissively, “You and me, of course.”

Dan, who had been paying close attention from the corner of the room before, sighed and returned his attention to the ironing board.

The peace and quiet returned as his stepmother and stepsiblings left to go buy outfits in town. They left the letter on the table, unattended, and Dan couldn’t contain his curiosity. After a quick glance out the window to make sure he really was alone he picked up the piece of paper and read it. At the bottom, in chic and loopy handwriting, were the names of Mark, Erica, and himself. He was on the list. He stood frozen in place for a moment as he thought over his options. Of which there weren’t many, admittedly.

When his family came home he was immediately set to work, sewing sleeves just a bit tighter to show off Mark’s biceps, embroidering flowers onto Erika’s dress, and attaching feathers to his stepmother’s hat. And as they were all sat in the main room of the house, Dan did something he hadn’t done in a very long time: he spoke up. “I was invited too.” It was quiet, but not inaudible. Three pairs of eyes focused on him, confirmation that they had all heard him loud and clear.

“Excuse me?” His stepmother raised her eyebrows almost mockingly.

“My name. It’s on the invitation.”

Erica rolled her eyes, “Probably a mistake. Focus on your sewing, it’s crooked over there.”

“They wouldn’t let you in. Could you imagine? You look like a scarecrow with a bird’s nest on your head.”

They all laughed. A loud cackling that filled Dan’s ears, ensuring he would shut up and never bring it up again. He sewed in silence.

--

On the day of the ball the household was up in arms from the moment they woke up. Dan was busy making last minute amendments to clothes, while Mark and Erika perfected their own and each other’s hairdos and makeup. Their mother was circling around them, perfecting her children’s looks, before going back to her own styling. She insisted on going to ‘make sure all went well’, but Dan knew she secretly hoped the prince’s eye would fall on her. As if an eighteen-year old royal would fall for an angry-looking middle-aged woman. He said nothing.

When they all got in the horse-drawn carriage, Dan was left alone in the cold house. The street was deserted and the other houses around them dark. Everyone was at the ball tonight. Dan retreated to the kitchen, where he knelt next to the small fireplace, crying as he tried to warm himself up. He was trembling, holding his hands over the small flames of a fire no bigger than his hand. Salty tears streaked his cheeks and dropped down into the ashes, shaping into grey steam as they made contact. Suddenly, the tiny wafts of steam started mingling, forming an ever-growing cloud that rose above the fireplace and made Dan fall back onto his butt, crawling away. The cloud started sparkling, becoming a shiny silver rather than grey, and eventually mixing in all the colours of the rainbow until it disappeared and a small old woman appeared in its place.

Dan was dumbfounded, staring with open mouth at the lady with her soft white hair tied back in a bun and her wrinkly but open face. “Don’t cry, sweetheart.” She said, approaching carefully, “I am a fairy and I will make sure you can go to the ball. We’re short on time, so quickly, go to the basement and catch four mice. Then meet me in the garden.”

After being used to following commands pretty much all his life even in his baffled state Dan managed to get to his feet and obey the request. He ran down to the basement and collected four mice in the pockets of his apron.

When he brought them to the woman in the garden, she took them and gave his next order, “Find me two lizards and pick a pumpkin.”

Again, Dan went off to follow the instructions. Catching lizards in a garden proved much harder than catching mice in an enclosed basement, but he still managed, holding the slippery animals tightly as he hurried back to the fairy woman. “Excellent.” She exclaimed, taking these from him, too.

She put all the items on the ground, where for some reason they all stayed in place and made no attempt to escape. With a wave of a thin wooden stick the pumpkin and mice grew first, shaping into a beautiful white carriage and four grey horses with glittering white manes. Dan couldn’t believe his eyes, stepping closer to touch on of the horses, just to make sure it was real.

While he stood there and examined the animals, the fairy waved her wand over the lizards, and out grew two footmen dressed in chic red velvet dress coats and high white boots. They curtsied to Dan, a boy in shabby clothes with dust in his hair from retrieving boxes of jewellery from the attic that morning.

“There, all ready to take you to the best night of your life.” The lady said contently.

“But I can’t go looking like this. They would kick me out.”

“Gosh, I almost forgot. How silly of me.” She stepped closer, and gently tapped his forehead with the wand, sending cool shivers up his spine. When he looked down at himself, he saw a beautiful golden suit, stitched with silver thread, and a pair of shimmering grey dress shoes on his feet.

“It’s beautiful.” He exclaimed breathlessly.

“Now go, and have an amazing evening.” The fairy said, “But remember that you need to be out of the palace by midnight, as my magic loses its power then and all will return to how it was before.”

“I can’t thank you enough for this.” Dan said.

“You don’t need to. Now go.” With a tap of the wand to her own forehead, the lady disappeared.

One of the footmen opened the door of the carriage and Dan stepped inside, sitting down onto the soft red futon.

The palace lit up brightly in the distance and as they approached Dan could make out the candles and lights decorating the imposing building. Outside, servants were taking coats and directing carriages. They curtsied for Dan as he entered through the gates into the ballroom.

The moment his feet touched the wooden floor the orchestra on stage stopped playing and the people stopped dancing. All eyes turned to the new entrant and his radiating looks. The crowd split, forming a path to Prince Philip who was already making his way over.

“May I have this dance?” He offered Dan his hand, and Dan gracefully accepted.

The prince’s first dance was for Dan. So was his second. And his third.

The people around them were murmuring to each other, speculating about the identity of this beautiful boy who had captured the full attention of their royal. In a corner of the room were Mark, Erica and their mother, pouting and complaining. “He should give others a chance. This is so unfair.”

But Dan and Philip had no eye for anyone else. They danced all night and Dan had never felt happier, spinning around light as a feather in the prince’s arms thinking of nothing but him.

Until the clock struck twelve. Dan was roughly awakened from his haze and pulled away from Philip. “I have to go.” He said, and turned around. On the seventh beat of the clock he was out of the palace, tripping down the stairs and losing a shoe along the way. He had no time to come back for it, disappearing into the night.

Prince Philip was left by the gates. “I don’t even know your name!” He shouted into the darkness. Just as he was about to give up and go back inside he noticed the shoe on one of the steps in front of him. He quickly made his way down and picked it up, turning it over in his hands.

As he ran home, Dan’s clothes changed back into his cotton trousers and shirt, but his one shoe remained the same. He took it off and stuffed it in the pocket of his apron. He reached home barefoot and cold, going straight to the kitchen where he curled up in spot by the fireplace and cried himself to sleep.

--

Mark, Erica, and their mother woke Dan up with their shouting upon returning to the house, but he didn’t stir, pretending to still be asleep. He could hear them complaining in the next room about how if Dan had just ironed Erica’s dress better or made the buttons on Mark’s suit shinier, the prince would have chosen one of them. Their mother was trying her best to console them, “He still might choose one of you. After all, that mysterious prince disappeared. Who knows if he’ll come back.”

--

Prince Philip, however, did not seem keen to let it go. The day after the ball the country was plastered with posters, advocating that whoever fit the Silver Shoe, Philip would marry. In an attempt to stay positive Erica proclaimed, “It says ‘whoever’ and doesn’t specify a gender. If it fits me, he’ll have to marry me.”

They waited impatiently for the royal servants to reach their house and offer them the shoe to try on. Dan watched from behind the ironing board as his stepsiblings eagerly grabbed the shoe from a servant’s hands and fought over who could try it on first.

Erica won, sitting down on the futon and shoving her foot into the dress shoe. It was too big, falling off her the moment she lifted her leg. “Wait, let me try again.” She begged as the servant handed the shoe to Mark.

“It clearly does not fit, miss.”

Mark’s foot was too big. He couldn’t even get his heel in there no matter how much he struggled.

“That’s quite enough, sir. You might break it with this aggression.”

The servants turned to Dan, but his stepmother intervened, “He’s just the help. He’s nobody.”

“The prince wants everyone to try it on. That includes him.” He insisted.

Dan avoided everyone’s gazes as he took the shoe and put it on. It fit perfectly, of course. The moment the servants realised this, they all took a knee. “Sir.”

“He didn’t even go to the ball.” Erica shouted. She was pulling on her hair in pure frustration.

“I can’t afford a wedding suit,” Dan said softly, but I do have a pair of shoes.” He pulled the matching silver shoe out of the pocket of his apron and put it on.

“The prince’s fiancé has been found.” They guided him outside, leaving Erica, Mark, and their mother dumbfounded. Erica was screaming something as Dan entered the royal purple carriage, but no one was listening anymore.

That same day Philip bought his groom-to-be a satin suit with a line of diamonds on either shoulder.

The next day, Dan married his prince.

[kentonramsey]

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Happily, H&M – as ever – is on it, bringing us what we reckon is their best pop culture collaboration yet: a varsity collection inspired by the hit show, now available online and in selected stores.

Courtesy of H&M

Riffing on the show’s vintage Americana feel, the collection is the stuff of coming-of-age film dreams. Think classic varsity jackets, sweat pants, shorts and baseball caps in crimson and gold, emblazoned with the Moordale High logo. Mixed among these are graphic tees, button-up polo neck shirts, sweaters, bags and hats, printed and embellished with the show’s leads and some of their best quotes. Our favourite piece is the fluffy shoulder bag (very Gen Z) embroidered with Maeve’s name tag and iconic words: “I don’t do boyfriends.”

Thanks to the Gossip Girl reboot (another high school drama getting us nostalgic right now), you’re bound to see varsity jackets everywhere this autumn. They add a sporty edge to the most basic of outfits, such as the T-shirt and cycling shorts combination favoured by Gossip Girl’s Julien Calloway (Canadian singer Jordan Alexander), and have been given the seal of approval by our style go-to, Bella Hadid.

Courtesy of H&M

To celebrate the collaboration, H&M headed back to campus to recreate some of the show’s most relatable moments of female empowerment, self-love and transparency. Over the last two seasons, Sex Education has sensitively examined everything from vaginismus to estranged parents, abortion and the female orgasm. We’re eager to see this continue in the much-anticipated third season, streaming on Netflix from 17th September.

For many of us, school is a long-distant memory but this collection – just like the next season of Sex Education – is giving us that familiar feeling of back-to-school excitement.

Courtesy of H&M

DashDividers_1_500x100

H&M x Sex Education is available to shop now at hm.com and at selected stores.

Refinery29’s selection is purely editorial and independently chosen – we only feature items we love! As part of our business model we do work with affiliates; if you directly purchase something from a link on this article, we may earn a small amount of commission. Transparency is important to us at Refinery29, if you have any questions please reach out to us.

Like what you see? How about some more R29 goodness, right here?

Our One-Stop Summer Dress Shop

H&M’s Summer 2021 Collection Has The Best Swimwear

The Hidden Gems Of H&M

Shop Now: Sex Education X H&M Is Giving Us Back-To-School Levels Of Excitement published first on https://mariakistler.tumblr.com/

[myselfinserts]

“I’m not clinging to the past. I’m cherishing the memories!”

"Come on…Come on…DAMMIT!"

Atsuko rolled her eyes,watching as her brother tried desperately to put his hat on. It didn't work. Itjust wasn't big enough. And no amount of hair pins were going to keep that oldred cap on.  

"Just give it up,Clem," she sighed. "Just go out there with the new look okay?"

Reluctantly, Clement removedhis hat, revealing the giant gold, silver, and bronze 'U.A.' placards stickingout from his hair in an embarrassing attempt at a crown. "Every damn year…Dopeople really treat this as a holiday?"

"Sadly, yes. A glorifiedOlympics style holiday for both education and entertainment."

"God this sucks!"

She reached over and gave hima pat on the shoulder. "I hear you brother, but it's just something wegotta put up with."

He shook his head, throwinghis hat onto the bed beside a large, decorative wooden box. "Everyonealways makes fun of me because of this stupid crown. 'What are you trying tobe? The Prince of U.A.?' God dammit!" He started to pace, tugging at theletters in an attempt to rip them off. "Why couldn't I have somethinguseful for a quirk?! At least dad's Yearling had uses! I'm just a fucking tablepiece! And why aren't these ever as easily removable as the otherholidays?!"

"Clem-!"

"What's going on in there?"

Both of them froze. The walls in the General Students' dormswere well insulated, but not enough to where you could just blast music on loudwithout some modification. Clearly, they got too loud.

"Hello?" Clement replied slowly.

"Are you going to let me in or are you going to keepclinging to the past and ignore those who are at least trying to keep youheading to the future,petit jongleur émotionnel de guimauve."

Clementsmiled and skipped over to the door, letting Odette in with Sorley and Les notfar behind. "I'm not clinging to the past, I'm cherishing memories!"

"Whatever,"she sighed. "We need to talk before we head out to the festival-" hereyes zeroed in on the box. "What's that?"

"Oh.My support items." He went over and lifted the lid, revealing abeautifully detailed vest that belonged to a complete hero suit, a pair of arm andbracers, and what appeared to be a giant sword with built-in speakers andhardlight lasers where the blade edges would be. "They used to be myfather's and I got permission to use them in the sports festival when it's myclass's turn."

Lestilted his head, perplexed. "But aren't the only students allowed itemsthe Hero and Support classes?"

Atsukoshook her head. "There's exceptions, such as if a person needs an item tohelp regulate their quirk. In this case though, it's a rare exception."

"Itis?" Sorley asked.

Clementnodded. "My entire graduating class is made up of people with quirks thatcould get them hero work. Some joined Gen. Studies to try and get into the Herocourse, others were Heroes in training but got bumped down. But I'm the onlyone without a power that's useful in the field." He pointed to his head."See? I'll probably get hurt otherwise. The past two years I always had tosit out because of it due to 'safety reasons' or some bologna, but I put in theapplications and insisted they play fair this year and let me compete witheveryone."

Odette'slips quivered slightly, tightening into as thin a line as possible."Essentially, this would put you, a glass kitten, on the same playingfield as titanium lions."

"Exactly-"Clement paused, holding back a laugh as he picked up the vest. "Go ahead.You can look at it if you want. It is an Allard Original after all."

Hesitantly,Odette took the vest in her hands, smiling fondly as her fingers traced overthe embroidered detailing. "It's beautiful…"

Sorleystepped closer to the box, his eyes focused on the sword. "That's not anAllard item."

"Nope.That's the 'Renegade Original: Sound Almace'. Or R.O.S.A. for short. See,what'll happen is-"

"Hello?"Atsuko groaned. "You said we needed to talk?"

"Oh!"Les gasped. "Right, sorry! Yes, right. Well-"

"Incalm person please."

"Niniand dad are pissed and it might be best if we all avoid them today." Hefocused on Atsuko and Clement. "You two specifically."

Clement'seyes went wide. "Uncle Regi andNini?"

Atsukoshook her head. "What happened?"

"Eirawent to work with Deku this morning," Sorley explained. "On specialrequest from U.A. alumni and Nezu had gotten someone to approve it withoutconsulting them first."

"ButNezu isn't Eira's trainer or anything. She's in the apprenticeship program for Elspie,right? Isn't that out of his jurisdiction?"

"No,"Les said. "Not exactly. the E.H.A. allows for relatives of the heroes intraining to sign off on it. Nezu asked Vlad if he'd sign off on it."

"Thatsounds like something dad would do," Atsuko relented. "Especiallysince Eira's almost a full Hero now. He'd probably see it as vital learningexperience. And no way mom would sign off on it."

"Whatdid mom say about it?"

"She'spissed off too," Odette said. "I've never seen her so livid. Andthat's saying something because most of the school is scared of her on a normalday. I heard about it from Maijima-sensei, and he was outside the nurse'soffice when he heard her yelling at him."

"They'vefought before," Atsuko said. "Over stuff like this. Mom has a tendencyto be overly protective and dad too lax. They kinda balance each other out inthat sense."

"Iknow." She handed Clement back the vest."I know Vlad meant well, andthat Mither will probably forgive him too. And I know Uncle and Nini wouldnever do anything to hurt you but…" She glanced away, brows pinchedslightly.

Sorleyreached out and took her hand, looking smaller than he ever had before. "Let'sjust say that there's a reason we never want to see a good man go to war."

"Harper'swith Eira now," Les added. "They're saving us seats. Inkwell got aprivate box and invited us all to sit in there while the race is going. Hefigured we'd need a place away from the arguing."

"…That'snot all, is it." Clement looked over them all, his violet eyes narrowed."What aren't you telling me?"

Everyonelooked at each other in hesitation. No one spoke. Slowly, and with greatreluctance, Sorley pulled out his phone and opened up to a video that had beenuploaded earlier that morning.

Dekuand Ground Zero were chasing a girl with dark black hair and silver eyes. Eirawas trailing right behind them. The video caught the image of the girl trippingand shouting. A bright flash of light erupted from her eyes, and when it faded,Ground Zero was passed out on the ground, along with several civilians. As thegirl got up and ran away, the camera panned to the ones on the ground, and thento the mirrors of the shop this had taken place in front of.

Inthe mirrors were the screaming faces of everyone who lay asleep.

Clementstared at it in horror, his entire body shaking in fear.

"That'sthe girl I saw," Atsuko whispered. "B-but she said her quirk couldonly remove people. That only she can see them."

"Ithink her power evolved from the fear," Odette said. "It's been knownto happen. Though Eira had a more…interesting theory."

"Beforewe get into that," Clement croaked. "Can…can I get some water?"

"I'llget it." Les hurried out of the room.

Atsukohelped Clement sit down, while Sorley and Odette took either side to hold himsteady. He was glad Inkwell had offered the private box.

Hewasn't sure he could be around his parents right now.

[fashiontrendin-blog]

The Least Likely Style Influencer Of The Year Is The DILF

https://fashion-trendin.com/the-least-likely-style-influencer-of-the-year-is-the-dilf/

The Least Likely Style Influencer Of The Year Is The DILF

As you’ve probably heard by now, your old man is trending hard this year. Ever since Balenciaga sent real dads with their real kids down the catwalk, there has been a new and unexpected fashion tribe, the DILF.

For those who thought the acronym had another meaning, allow us to correct you. DILF – as far as we’re concerned – stands for ‘Dads In Latest Fashions’. Okay, you might quibble on the term ‘latest’. The fashions we’re talking about are synonymous with styles now a quarter of a century old: relaxed, stonewash denim, sensible jackets, dad caps and more. Which raises a question:

How have fathers, once synonymous with lame fits and sadsack style, become fashionable?

Some commentators have suggested that the DILF look came about from cash-strapped millennials hankering after the stability embodied by the suburban dads of their childhood, with their big houses, sensible cars and retirement savings. What once was boring has become aspirational.

That may be true, but there are other, more prosaic reasons. “Fashion is cyclical,” says Jess Punter, a menswear stylist and writer. “The shapes and styles that the dad trend has resurrected are from the early nineties. It’s also comfortable and practical.”

Dads dress for function, not form; the outdoorsy brands they favour, such as Patagonia and the North Face, tend to be eco-conscious, thereby bestowing wokeness on their wearers. (Patagonia sued the Trump administration for shrinking US national parks.)

Then there’s the simple fact that a DILF’s uncoolness is precisely what makes it cool. If everybody was rocking it then it wouldn’t be a swerve. “It’s pointing the finger at fashion, which has created this anti-fashion phenomenon,” says James Lawrence, head of menswear design at ASOS. “It’s fun and shouldn’t be taken too seriously.”

Finally, the DILF look is chaotically, eye-catchingly eclectic. “It’s created a great way of clashing different styles from different genres together and making them all work,” continues Lawrence. Because if there’s one thing dads don’t have time to think about, it’s putting together coherent outfits. Forget Steve McQueen: it’s dads who have truly effortless style.

Key Pieces From The DILF Trend

Dad Cap

The origins of the dad trend can be traced back a couple of years to the sudden ubiquity of the kind of simple cotton-twill baseball caps that are sported on peewee game touchlines everywhere.

Cheap and logo-friendly, they’ve long been a streetwear mainstay, but became an unlikely fashion must-have when Balenciaga created its own version, embroidered with the house’s name, that retailed for $285. Peak dad style.

Dad Jeans

Loose, pleated trousers are a viable legwear option for giving off dad vibes, but high-waisted, straight-legged jeans are the definitive, combining the robustness of denim with the roominess of joggers (plus the ability to bend over and squat down – crucial with kids).

Look no further than original Levi’s 501s: regular jeans for a regular guy. And none of your raw indigo denim here: if they’re not stonewash then they won’t wash.

Chunky Trainers

“The chunky trainer is definitely the footwear big deal of the season and epitomises ‘dad style’ for its ugliness, and how it’s worn with everything,” says ASOS’ Lawrence.

Again, the likes of Balenciaga have their coveted high-fashion takes, such as the Triple S (which presumably stands for “Sell like Shit off a Shovel”). But for a more authentically dad option that won’t set you back a cool $800, cop something like a New Balance 990.

Technical Jacket

“An oversized tech jacket is also key as it adds an element of ‘trainspotter’ to the anti-fashion look,” continues Lawrence. “Wear it over everything from tailoring to sportswear, just like your dad’s favourite jacket.”

The North Face, maker of the on-point Nuptse, is a frequent collaborator with Supreme. Meanwhile Helly Hansen is coming back, which will make anyone who can remember it from the first time around feel old.

Half-Zip Fleece

It’s a toss-up between this and the mock turtleneck. But few pieces or fabrics are as DILF-friendly as a half-zip fleece. Because of that, it has languished unloved on the racks at hiking stores, which is a shame: it’s warm but not bulky, making it ideal for layering under your technical jacket and doubling as outerwear (albeit not waterproof) for those awkward in-between days. This is one time when getting fleeced is a good thing.

How To Dress Like A DILF

Look To Jerry And The Tastemakers

“Watch reruns of Seinfeld for style inspo,” suggests Punter. (It’s on Amazon Prime.) With his baggy blazers, blousy shirts tucked into stonewashed jeans and chunky Nikes, the eponymous stand-up in his nineties prime could have stepped off the Balenciaga runway – all he needs is a kid.

Don’t sleep on the surprisingly steezy George Costanza or indeed Cosmo Kramer, who has a nice line in floral Cuban collar shirts.

Jerry Seinfeld

Weigh Up The Situation

If you’ve succumbed to middle-age spread or sympathy baby weight then trying to jump on the Balenciaga bandwagon will do you a fat lot of good. “Like all fashion trends, dad style looks best on lean male models,” says Punter. And svelte, selectively casted fathers in fashion shows.

“Sadly you won’t pull it off if you have a dadbod – man boobs and paunches are too real.” Maybe try and fit in a few pull-ups next time you go to the playground.

Don’t Kid Yourself

This brings us to the salient point: the DILF look as modelled on the catwalk is not actually for dads at all. “It’s about ‘elevated’ pieces from labels like Balenciaga that score fashion points, not something that can be picked up in a supermarket,” continues Punter. “If you are an actual dad, I also recommend not spending £700 on a pair of trainers – you have mouths to feed.” ASOS’ Lawrence echoes as much: “Don’t do it if you are a dad.”

What If You’re Not A DILF, Just A Dad?

So what do you do if you are not a fashion-conscious young scenester and just a dad trying to stay stylish? Some recommendations:

A bit of extra room in the thigh is entirely welcome, but denim should taper down to your ankles and hug your hips, not your belly button. Leave the dad jeans to childless Gen Z-ers (who basically are children).

A technical jacket is a watertight outerwear choice, but take a rain check on anything with big logos, bright or oversized. You’re too old to be ‘playing with silhouette’, or indeed anything except your kids.

Sidestep ‘ironic’ chunky trainers in favour of sleeker classics (Stan Smiths, Converse, Vans) or modern, Flyknit-type styles: in short, the middle of the spectrum between ‘sneakerhead’ and ‘Obama’s Asics’.

Excepting obvious fails, what divides good dad style from bad is often effort, or lack thereof. Stay in good shape, get a regular haircut, clean and press your clothes. You want to look crisp, not be covered in bits of one.

[kentonramsey]

Sex Education X H&M Is Giving Us Back-To-School Levels Of Excitement

Is Sex Education the best show on Netflix or is it the best show on Netflix? Duh, of course there’s only one answer, what with its off-kilter humour, every Gillian Anderson scene and the students’ quirky British-American hybrid style. It’s the kind of style we wish we could have had pinned to our back-to-school mood boards all those years ago.

Happily, H&M – as ever – is on it, bringing us what we reckon is their best pop culture collaboration yet: a varsity collection inspired by the hit show, launching online and in selected stores on 5th August.

Courtesy of H&M

Courtesy of H&M

Courtesy of H&M

Riffing on the show’s vintage Americana feel, the collection is the stuff of coming-of-age film dreams. Think classic varsity jackets, sweat pants, shorts and baseball caps in crimson and gold, emblazoned with the Moordale High logo. Mixed among these are graphic tees, button-up polo neck shirts, sweaters, bags and hats, printed and embellished with the show’s leads and some of their best quotes. Our favourite piece is the fluffy shoulder bag (very Gen Z) embroidered with Maeve’s name tag and iconic words: “I don’t do boyfriends.”

Thanks to the Gossip Girl reboot (another high school drama getting us nostalgic right now), you’re bound to see varsity jackets everywhere this autumn. They add a sporty edge to the most basic of outfits, such as the T-shirt and cycling shorts combination favoured by Gossip Girl’s Julien Calloway (Canadian singer Jordan Alexander), and have been given the seal of approval by our style go-to, Bella Hadid.

Courtesy of H&M

To celebrate the collaboration, H&M headed back to campus to recreate some of the show’s most relatable moments of female empowerment, self-love and transparency. Over the last two seasons, Sex Education has sensitively examined everything from vaginismus to estranged parents, abortion and the female orgasm. We’re eager to see this continue in the much-anticipated third season, streaming on Netflix from 17th September.

For many of us, school is a long-distant memory but this collection – just like the next season of Sex Education – is giving us that familiar feeling of back-to-school excitement.

Courtesy of H&M

H&M x Sex Education is available to shop at hm.com and at selected stores from 5th August.

DashDividers_1_500x100

Refinery29’s selection is purely editorial and independently chosen – we only feature items we love! As part of our business model we do work with affiliates; if you directly purchase something from a link on this article, we may earn a small amount of commission. Transparency is important to us at Refinery29, if you have any questions please reach out to us.

Like what you see? How about some more R29 goodness, right here?

Our One-Stop Summer Dress Shop

H&M’s Summer 2021 Collection Has The Best Swimwear

The Hidden Gems Of H&M

Sex Education X H&M Is Giving Us Back-To-School Levels Of Excitement published first on https://mariakistler.tumblr.com/