#hillwood
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hillwoodhouse · 6 months ago
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@onetangosierra, the only thing missing is dock space for the Wagon or the Kodiak.
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theunabashedepicurean · 2 years ago
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Splendid Sèvres porcelain, Beauvais tapestries and Gobelin tapestry-upholstered chairs are just some of the many beautiful jewels that can be found in the French Drawing Room at Marjorie Merryweather Post’s glorious Hillwood. The Bleu Céleste is calling my name! Photograph via Hillwood Museum #hillwood #hillwoodmuseum #hillwoodestate #marjoriemerriweatherpost #washingtondc #unitedstates #museum #frenchdrawingroom #beauvais #tapestries #tapestry #gobeline #sevres #sevresporcelain #frenchdecor #frenchdecorativearts #frenchdecorativeantiques #18thcenturyfrance #interiordesign #interiordesigner #decor #interior #interiors #interiordecor #interiordecorating #interiordecoration #interiordecorator #decorativearts #decorativeantiques #art (at Washington D.C.) https://www.instagram.com/p/CnNISpkIxGP/?igshid=NGJjMDIxMWI=
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klutzymaiden123 · 7 months ago
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I just wrote such a great confession scene, I’m so mad at how far away it is.
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megahorous · 1 year ago
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Arnold, Helga and Gerald !
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embervoices · 1 year ago
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*falls over giggling*
Ok, now I really want to see @thehillywoodshow re-do these iconic scenes. Don't get me wrong, I look forward to seeing Michael Sheen wringing his hands and exclaiming "Oh heck, it's the wife!" but I really want to see Hanna Hindi doing it!
Hi Neil! You’ve answered a few asks now referencing Crowley’s wife (I’m still not sure if she’s Dottie or Sadie…). I was wondering: were there any bits of awkwardness during filming the scenes between her and Crowley, or were the fennec foxes all well behaved?
Obviously, somebody got bitten. I'm not at liberty to tell you who, but you'll laugh like a drain when you see Michael Sheen clutching the toilet-plunger and shouting his news Season Two Catchphrase, "Ooh-heck, it's the wife!"
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cheezy-str33t · 9 months ago
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malbecmusings · 1 year ago
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@onetangosierra Facing the back channel?
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lechantdesmorts · 1 year ago
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klutzymaiden123 · 6 months ago
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I legit get so mad when my word doc refuses to update even though I haven't clicked on it in weeks.
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hillwoodhouse · 1 year ago
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everybodylieslieslies · 4 months ago
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tag drop.
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subatomicblip · 5 months ago
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tag drop.
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klutzymaiden123 · 6 months ago
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Writing a Magical Girl AU of Hey Arnold! and currently obsessed with how Arnold unknowingly wants to chase both sides of Helga.
The door that he had unknowingly began watching, suddenly was thrown open and a familiar girl marched out. Arnold recognised her dirty blonde hair immediately; the way she swung her fists and her face had set itself into its signature frown.
He hadn’t even noticed that he had begun staring at the Pataki house. Micah lived close to Arnold, so it was only required that he walk down the block.
Arnold narrowed his eyes when Helga held the door open and a small body followed her from the gap.
It was . . . was that a cat? He stopped. When had Helga gotten a cat? As far as he knew, she hated cats. And—he blinked—did it have purple eyes? Was that even possible?
He was brought from his internal questioning when Helga slammed the door shut in a huff. Arnold figured that she was, once again, in one of her moods, no doubt from another argument with her dad. But . . . something about her appearance was off. He didn’t know what it was . . . he scanned her form—she was no longer wearing her school uniform. She had adorned her usual baggy jeans and worn hoodie. That wasn’t out of the usual, Helga preferred to wear clothes that kept her from being noticed. His eyes jumped to her face and he then realised why she seemed so different—Helga wasn’t angry. She was serious.
Her complexion was smooth and steady like glass. She had her jaw clenched, lips pressed into a line. She looked at her cat, who he swore he could see nodding, before she pulled her hood over her face. Her eyes moved upwards and for a moment, Arnold’s heart jumped into his throat as he thought she caught him looking. Her eyes had always had that electric look, the type that either zapped you in their zest, or pulled you along for the ride. But then, Helga dropped her gaze, her stare melting into a ghostly wisp, before she and the cat dashed down the street, rounding the corner out of his sight. 
He sighed in slight relief. She hadn’t noticed his staring. Her eyes had barely seemed to even register that there was a window across from her, let alone that that someone could be watching her from it. She seemed much too tired for the thought to even occur to her.
But then, he frowned. Why had she seemed so tired?
Not that it was his business, but something about Helga seemed . . . off. Different. He couldn’t put his finger on it, but it seemed like Helga from last week and Helga today were two totally different people. When Arnold had knocked her over today, he had expected her to jump up with smoke pouring from her ears. He expected for her face to be red, for her to threaten to hit him, maybe even spit on him.
But she hadn’t.
Instead, she had looked at him—somehow, it seeming like she wasn’t actually seeing him—and apologised. Her, Helga Pataki, had apologised to him.
Even Gerald had thought it strange. In fact, his best friend was convinced that that wasn’t even Helga, but actually, an alien in disguise who had disposed of the real Helga Pataki but hadn’t been smart enough to study up on her character.
‘Helga Pataki—that girl never apologises,’ Gerald had stated as he stuffed chips into his mouth. ‘She probably doesn’t even know what an apology is! It’s totally an alien, I tell you! An alien that wants to eat our brains then take us over! And it’s starting by disguising itself as Pataki, although why they would wanna pretend to be her, I do not understand.’
Arnold frowned, thinking on it.
He hadn’t liked how Gerald had talked about her. He knew Helga could be rough, but she wasn’t bad. And even if she were, she had never been as bad as Gerald often described her. How their grade would describe her. He knew that technically, Helga had never been his friend, but he remembered those times from their childhood, when she would reveal to him that side to her. The side that wasn’t what everyone thought of her, what she thought of herself. The side that dreamed, the side that was gentle. The side of her that loved, loved so ferociously that she would race to the ends of the earth to protect. The side of her that cared so much that she had to pretend that she didn’t and had learned to keep her cards tight to her chest.
That side. The side that Arnold—truthfully—still thought about.
He wanted to brush off Gerald’s theories, but given what had transpired, Arnold was embarrassed to admit that perhaps there was some truth to his best friend’s words. Because apparently, monsters and girls with superpowers existed. Were aliens even that far–fetched anymore?
Arnold couldn’t get that look out from his head.
The one that she had given him on the bus. It had been so chilling. For as long as he had known Helga, she always had this intensity. It burned from her gaze like a force. She had begun dressing as she did, so she could sink back into the crowd. But Helga Pataki had always had an edge to her and regardless of what she wore, Arnold thought she would always stand out from the crowd. She couldn’t help herself. And that was something he had always admired about her.
That’s why the look that she had given him, it scared him. Her gaze lacked their usual intensity. They no longer were burning with her passion, that inner light that she had kept trapped behind glass. When her eyes had moved to his, it felt like her mind was elsewhere and she wasn’t really seeing him, even as she apologised.
It had made him curious and throughout the day, he couldn’t stop peeking in her direction. He wasn’t sure what he was specifically looking for, other than some understanding. Something that maybe he would find that would make everything click. But she had remained like that for the remainder of the day—lifeless. Empty. She had gotten in trouble for wearing pants rather than the mandatory skirt, but even that didn’t seem to get a reaction out of her. She had that blank look as she had simply muttered, “Must’ve forgot.”
Even Lila had seemed curious about it. She had shot him a look from where they were all sat at the back of the class.
Come to think of it, why had she worn pants today? Helga didn’t much care for rules, but she also didn’t like calling attention to herself. Surely, she’d know that if she disobeyed the rules like that, then attention was exactly what she would receive.
Arnold watched that corner. She had long disappeared, but he couldn’t tear his eyes away from it. He almost wanted to follow her. He had watched as Lila had been brave enough to approach her, even chasing after her when she had walked away. He had remained behind, because as curious as he had become about her, he also knew that she was adamant about her boundaries. That she had created a small space for herself and she didn’t want people walking into it. She hadn’t said anything to him this morning, but that didn’t mean she wouldn’t eventually break from her silence to yell at him if he crossed those boundaries. Although, he pondered whether it would be worth it, because at least then she would be feeling something rather than nothing.
He wanted to follow her, but he didn’t. Because they weren’t friends—nor had they ever been. Arnold liked Helga and didn’t mind the thought of pursuing a friendship with her, but given what had happened years ago, he doubted she would ever be interested in starting anything with him. So, as his not–friend, it really wasn’t his business what Helga did. He didn’t—and shouldn’t—care.
So, why did he?
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But Blue Jay . . .
Arnold wasn’t sure why he hung back like he had. It was obvious that she wasn’t going to turn up. She had disappeared and so should he. But something twisted in his chest when he thought about that. Because what if she came back? He wanted to see her again. She was a colour he had never experienced before. A sound he wanted to keep hearing. She had a tall and electrifying presence that stung the air and everything around him. She was beautiful and dazzling and . . .
And her eyes . . .
He couldn’t shake them from his mind. They had been carved into his head, something he could wash away from his memories. When she looked at you, it felt like shooting stars had you pinned to the spot. Electricity shot through you, but it didn’t hurt. It excited you. It excited him.
They stirred something in him. He didn’t know what. He wanted to chase after her to find out what.
He knew that he wasn’t different from anyone else. Everyone stared at her in awe. Of course they did, she was magnificent. Her presence enticed enchantment and beckoned everyone towards her. He couldn’t get that image out of his head when she had been walking towards them. It had felt like a scene from a movie that had been caught in slow motion. Light had rolled down her back and fanned out beneath her neck and shoulders like she was an angel. The wind had whipped her hair around her face, making it dance beneath her chin and over her chest. Her hair was a cascade of golden curls but when the light caught it, her strands were turned into gilded ringlets. She had looked like a goddess.
But then, she had looked at him and he felt like he had been struck with lightning.
Because her eyes—they were beautiful, but . . . there was something about them. Something that made him feel like he was taking part in a scene he had already experienced. That her presence, as beautiful and hazy as it made things, it wasn’t as foreign to him as it had felt before.
But why? What was making him feel like this?
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If you're a Sailor Moon, Buffy, Winx Club, Miraculous Ladybug, Wonder Woman girlie, or just a Shortaki fanatic, this is for y'all (because I am literally all of you)!
To read it, check it out here!
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zivakrealtygroup · 1 year ago
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denlojahund · 1 year ago
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klutzymaiden123 · 2 months ago
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Dude, my fanfiction is basically nothing but this trope so I could not agree anymore.
Gosh I love emotionally dysregulated disaster women in media. Even if they're incredibly capable otherwise, I love it when they just Can't in the feelings department. Women who are disgruntled wet cats. Women who don't smile when they're supposed to. Women who break stuff when they're angry. Women who cannot ever talk about the thing that happened to them. Women who care deeply but don't know how to be nurturing. Women who are rough and sharp and always too loud or too quiet and don't know the right things to say. Women with ugly, ungraceful feelings that come out in ways they don't mean. Women who wipe blood from their mouths and say something rude and keep getting up.
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