#not sure how barb and cynthia fit in yet

[honeydewmelan]

"Captain Curt Mega, at your service" Spies are Forever - Pirate AU

[the-insomniac-emporium]

Chasing Providence {Dimitrescu/OC} Pt 1

Fandom: Resident Evil: Village Pairings: TBA, at minimum platonic House Dimitrescu/OC, with some wlw side characters (also original, but not the focus of the story) Rating: T for mild violence and possibly triggering content Warnings: A character briefly threatens suicide as a means of prolonging a conversation (i.e. saying "if you don't listen, I'll ___") Additionally, this contains spoilers for Resident Evil 8. Summary: Months after being infected with a mysterious virus, investigative journalist Avaskian Caldwell is left with no choice: Xe has to get help, one way or another, from whatever remains of the Umbrella Corporation could be trusted. Or, perhaps, from the very person who started it all... Along the way xe'll have to get along with vampires, fight off would be hunters, befriend a hoard of cultists, all while performing the duties of an everyday servant. There's nothing xe won't try as xe's forced to chase providence. Notes: While this chapter features a somewhat talkative Ava, xe's normally selectively mute, and will be for the entire rest of the story.

1: Blood Runs Thick

“This can’t be it. No fucking way, bruv, are you sure you got the address right?” The journalist asked, eyes narrowed as xe stared out into the distant hills. One hand held a phone, currently without any signal, while the other kept a tentative grip on the van’s door handle. To their side was the driver, a middle-aged man with relatively little patience. When he replied, it was in a language the journalist didn’t speak, but could clearly understand as a swirl of profanity. “Alright, alright, I get it. Not like I could afford to pay you to take me back, anyway… I’ll just, uh, be going then. Try to have a nice day, eh, you old chap?” With that said xe opened the door, hopping out rather eagerly. After tucking xer phone into xer pocket, xe quickly gathered xer bags from the trunk, half expecting the man to drive off before xe had a chance.

Surprisingly, he stayed all the way until the journalist gave two hard pats to the van’s side. Then he practically slammed the gas pedal, speeding off in a whirling cloud of dust and kicked up rocks, promptly sending xer into a coughing fit. Curse these feeble lungs, xe thought, scowling. Absent-mindedly xe put a hand to xer throat, silently checking if xer, ahem, ‘wounds’ were still covered. Once satisfied, xe turned to the long, winding path into the village. Was this truly where the ever-elusive “Miranda” could be found? What in the blazes of hell was a scientist like herself doing here, in a mostly empty stretch of Romania? The thought sent a rush of anxiety to the journalist’s chest, as xe wondered if this “Miranda” would even consider helping xer. Xe hoped that, at the least, xer unique case would get her attention.

In the end, it took xer twice as long as expected to reach the village proper. There were no signs along the path, nor signs of life, other than countless dead birds, hung like falling leaves from every tree. Once, a display this gnarly would have made bile rise up in xer throat. But these days? After everything xe had researched? This was no hell, not when compared to the bombed ruin that was Raccoon City. Yet xe still cut xer hand when hopping the barbed wire fence, as if once again a rookie, too desperate for the truth to see the proper world. Fresh blood dropped onto the snow, but xe allowed xerself no wince nor complaint, instead focused on the figures moving in the distance. Strangers. Nay, sources. Someone would know something about the mysterious Miranda, even if they didn’t realize it.

So the journalist made haste, approaching as casually as xe could, considering the heavy traveler’s bag on xer shoulders, and the sturdy cane xe walked with. It was the latter that caught people’s attention first, as it click click clicked against the stone path. Before long there were several pairs of eyes on the journalist, some of them bearing thinly veiled hostility, others filled with nervousness.

“Who are you?” A man growls, stepping in front of a woman (his daughter, based on similar features, age difference) as he does. One of his fingers jabs into xer chest, daring them to take another move, carrying an unspoken threat within it. For a few seconds xe simply smiles at the man. Somewhat amused, xe hoped that xer natural charm would win the day, despite a quick glance telling them that most of these strangers were armed.

“I’m a journalist-” xe started to say, until the others moved their hands towards their holsters- “or at least I was, once. But I come asking for assistance, kindness from my fellow humans,” xe said, gesturing widely with xer arms. This made the others present pause, though the journalist wasn’t immediately sure that xe hadn’t just misspoken. Romanian was not xer first language. Or xer second, come to think of it. Oddly enough, however, it had clicked rather quickly in xer brain, as if xe had always been meant to speak it. “You may call me Avaskian Caldwell. Or just Ava, or just Kian, or just Vas, depending on your mood. Ah, but that hardly matters. I am here… to find a woman. Someone I have heard much about, a, how do you say… ‘marvel’ of science? They tell me she is called ‘Miranda’. Have I come to the-” xe do not get to finish that sentence. Before xe can understand what’s happening, someone has grabbed xer by the throat, attempting to life xer into the air.

For once in xer life, xe’s glad for the ‘extra insulation’.

“Fuck you, outsider, you don’t deserve to taint her name with your foul tongue!” The man shouts, squeezing xer throat, urged on by the jeering crowd. A smarter person would have been rather concerned at that point. But the journalist- Ava, as xe said- was not known for xer cleverness. That did not, however, stop xer from exhibiting cleverness. Taking advantage of xer ridiculous arm joints (which may or may not be doubled, possibly merely weird as fuck), xe reached into xer bag, ignoring the crowd’s scared reaction, retrieving an evidence bag. Inside of it: several broken vials, each marked with a symbol of terror. This is not a place of honor the symbol screamed. To the villagers, it meant something else, something older. To Ava? It meant the prophet of death, it meant Umbrella.

“I come bearing the sign of your village. I come bearing the scars of your Goddess,” Ava proclaims, raising the bag into the air. As soon as xe does, xe is released, the man scrambling backwards. Others turn away, some leaving, a handful gathering to pray. ‘Twas an odd display, but one that Ava preferred over a public execution. Only one person dares to approach: A woman, likely mid thirties, with dark eyes and darker hair. There’s a clear caution in her movements, as if it was taking all of her courage to not flee. “Do you perhaps know how I may reach Miranda? I am in dire need of her knowledge.” At this, the woman flinches, though her gaze lingers on Ava’s throat. It’s then that the journalist realizes xer collar was undone, exposing xer strange, ever-bleeding wound. The stranger does not speak until xe has covered the deformity.

“One does not simply reach Mother Miranda. But there are ways to get her attention, to ask for a, hmm, blessing,” she explains. With a sigh of relief, Ava starts to celebrate, eager to find a cure for what ailed xer. But the woman wasn’t done speaking, and her next words cut a thick line through xer hope. “It may take a few weeks, maybe less, but we can ensure your prayers are heard. Mother Miranda always rewards the faithful. Even those who start out as outsiders. In the end, all are welcome here, if they keep the faith in our Mother.”

“No, no, that won’t do!” Ava snaps, far harsher than intended. The woman flinches again, and xe starts to pace back and forth, trying to release xer pent up energy. “There has to be another way. Faster, more direct. I don’t-... I might not have time to wait. Please, please, anything you can do to help, even if it’s just pointing me in the right direction…” A gulp, eyes shining with unshed tears, a quiver of the lower lip. Falsehoods alike, directed for an honest purpose. Miranda was xer only hope for information- and, perhaps, for salvation. But the latter had never been Ava’s true priority.

“There might be one way, but it is dangerous. You’d be more likely to die on the path than reach your goal, if I am honest. Yet… if there is anyone in all the village who can grant you the audience you seek, it would be one of the four lords. If you are certain-” the woman could only watch as Ava nodded furiously, silently begging- “so be it. Follow me, but do not say I did not warn you. I do not want your spirit coming to haunt me for my act of pity.”

—————————

“An unexpected guest? How… delightful. Do tell me why you even bothered to drag this miscreant before me, Cynthia?” Lady Alcina Dimitrescu asked, with a scowl, staring down at the fragile human in question. Of all the things she had expected to find, once her head servant called her, this was not one of them. An intruder would have been more likely. Perhaps even more fun, if Alcina felt like letting her daughters join in the resulting feast. But this ‘thing’ was hardly worth her time. They were short, although admittedly somewhat plump, with a scent that implied illness. For once, she could not pinpoint the exact disease by smell alone. Not that she cared, really. ‘Twas simply… interesting.

“Please, allow me to introduce myself. You may call me Avaskian Caldwell, and I come with an… offer. With mutual benefits, I assure you, Lady Dimitrescu,” the journalist answered, giving a deep bow. Despite xer manners, Alcina seemed unimpressed, even irritated by the display. Still, she gestured with her right hand, encouraging xer to get on with it. “I am in need of a meeting, specifically one with the much beloved, dearly respected Mother Miranda. In exchange, I offer two things: The sweat of my brow, and the blood in my veins.” Much to xer displeasure, Alcina replied with loud laughter before fixing xer with a hard stare.

“Pray tell, little thing, what makes you think I won’t simply take your blood now, hmm?” She muses, cackling again, ignoring the way her servant flinched at the sound. But Ava did not waiver, instead simply reaching into xer sleeve. Slowly xe pulled out something metallic, speaking firmly as xe did.

“For one, Mother Miranda would certainly dislike losing out on this opportunity,” xe started to say, unable to stop xerself from smirking. Then the knife fully exited xer sleeve, dancing in the light, before pressing against xer own throat. It was certainly a unique threat. Instantly Alcina rises to her feet, only pausing when she realizes that she wasn’t the one in danger. “Secondly, my blood is worth more if I am alive. You see, I have a wretched ‘condition’, which does a handful of lovely, lovely, life-threatening things to this poor vessel of mine. But someone as intelligent as yourself could find plenty of use for my so-called ‘illness’. If you give me a chance to explain, that is.” Though she does not sit back down, or even nod, it quickly becomes clear that Alcina did not intend to interrupt. Yet. “Grand, grand! I do appreciate it, my Lady. Now, let me just grab the research I brought with me…”

Never once lowering the knife from xer throat, Ava digs into xer bag, forced to briefly clip xer cane to xer belt. Then xe retrieves a closed manilla folder, carefully handing it to the giantess in front of xer. Wordlessly Alcina accepts the item, opening it to peruse its contents, only pausing to put on a pair of reading glasses. A minute of quiet passes before Ava continues xer explanation.

“I heal faster than anyone else on your staff, guaranteed. Hell, I cut my hand down in the village, on some damned wire, and the wound has already closed back up, good as new. That means, of course, that if someone were to let’s say… remove some of my blood, well, it wouldn’t take too long for me to get more, now would it? Obviously there has to be some biological counter, some form of payment for my ability. The rule of equivalent exchange, and all that, yes? As it stands… I eat an extra slice of bread a day. That’s it. Nothing bad enough to cancel out the boon of my blood. My… extensive reservoir of blood. Interesting, yes?” Ava says, still as charming as ever, despite the indescribable terror in xer chest. If there was one thing that xe had learned as a journalist, it was how to hide xer fear. Which was plenty useful, in the current situation, especially when Alcina flips a page to reveal the one downside to xer condition.

“Don’t tell me you came all this way to try and deceive me. Here I was, beginning to think something of you, and you hand me a sheet that says it clear as candlelight: Your blood is dirty. Infected. I won’t be drinking it anytime soon, nor would I even consider allowing it to be used for my family’s wine!” Alcina is essentially yelling at this point. But Ava only takes a step forward, smile present but trembling, and gestures for her to turn the page. With narrowed eyes she does, quickly reading through the notes. Once, then a pause, then once more. Finally she closes the folder, setting it down upon her desk. “Fascinating. You are indeed a… unique case. I cannot guarantee you a meeting with Mother Miranda, and even if I do, it will be because of your condition. She will use you, as is her divine right to do, likely without ever once considering attempting to cure you. But if you are determined to meet her, well,” Alcina leans in with her own grin, sending chills down Ava’s spine, “I will not stop you. Here’s hoping you manage to give me plenty of blood before you ‘expire’. Cynthia, show her to the servants’ quarters. I expect her to be working by tomorrow morning. Dismissed.”

Although Ava could not help but twitch at the Lady’s choice of pronouns, xe had expected this. Eventually xe would explain the indefinite nature of xer gender. Or perhaps xe was doomed to die a horrific, tragic death long before xe ever had the opportunity. Either way, xe could not help but feel a small sense of elation, pleased to have made some progress towards xer goal. Three steps forward and two steps back was still, cumulatively, a step forward. In time, xe would likely come to regret this series of choices. But who among us could say they held no regrets at all? And if, in the end, this storyteller came away with one hell of a story… wouldn’t that outweigh the regret? Even if Ava did not know it, xe would one day learn a valuable lesson from the strange family xe now worked for: Blood of the covenant is thicker than water of the womb. Oh, and what a lovely covenant it would be.

[atty-goldstein]

feeling a lot of deja vu again

A/N: I have been haunted for months by parallels, so here’s an ambitious Spies are Forever and TGWDLM crossover where Curt Mega is reincarnated as Ted and Owen Carvour is reincarnated as Paul Matthews. Whether this will have more parts, is subject to reception (and my time or motivation to actually write more). 

tagging: @showstoppingnumbrr @sweetsmalldog @prismartist @moonblimpie

tw: angst, mentions of death, swearing, mentions of alcoholism

It was the same old haunting memories, Ted wished they’d stop, he remembered having been Agent Curt Mega already, he didn’t need to stay chained to the ghost that was long gone. Hell, he didn’t even want to remember. He just wanted to wake up one day, knowing Ted is all he was and all he’ll ever be. Just once, he wanted to wake up able to look at his damn reflection without seeing the face he put a bullet in all those decades ago. Not even the cracks in the glass, which he caused in a fit of angst, let him unsee the sight that plagued him for years. It was disconcerting listening to himself speak and not recall the venom that once tainted his voice, God, at least he wasn’t reincarnated British, how maddening would that be? 

Abandoning his vice turned out to be for nothing if this was how he was meant to live in this lifetime, so he returned to the bittersweet arms and throat-burning sensation of alcohol. It didn’t really matter, there was nothing and no one to try being a good person for anyway. Agent Curt Mega had his mother, Tatiana, Barb, the Informant, even Cynthia. And Ted? Well, Ted had no one. It wasn’t that he never tried looking for them in the people he interacted in now, but they simply weren’t there. Charlotte, Bill, Melissa, Mr. Davidson, Paul, and literally everyone else in Hatchetfield were their own persons. Except maybe that crabby barista that very much reminded him of that equally crabby waitress at Richman’s Casino, but that information wouldn’t do much for him even if it were true.

There were days when he’d be grateful he never saw Owen in anyone, but then he’d pass by a mirror and- oh, that’s right. Ugh, why couldn’t the universe just let him be? Why did the universe have to take “spies are forever” literally? It wasn’t even amusing the first time around with Owen. And, he’s back in the depths of the memories that broke his heart beyond repair. Yeah, Curt Mega’s pretty sure he’s cursed beyond reasonable doubt.

Paul jolted awake in bed. It was that feeling of his soul being dropped back into his body after dreaming of falling. Falling was the most familiar feeling in the world to him. This wouldn’t be the first time it happened, but it still knocked the wind out of his lungs and made his heart race. He hated waking up like this. These weren’t even dreams, these were memories. Half the time he kept expecting he’d wake up in that Russian Weapons Facility turned inferno or yet another Russian Weapons Facility but expecting cold concrete instead of fire and brimstone. Still, he’s still just in his bed in good ol’ Hatchetfield. 

Hatchetfield was supposed to be a decent change of pace, much more mundane than a life of espionage, treason, and other crimes against national security. Owen Carvour was alright with settling into the persona of a completely average person. Sure, “the guy who didn’t like musicals” isn’t as colorful a moniker as “the deadliest man alive” but it’s not the worst. He wasn’t too fond of being reborn American, but there was nothing to be done about that. It was fine, he’d made friends- well, mostly acquaintances, gotten a lot more time to himself, and got himself a pretty stable job. This life was safer, even if it meant he could no longer flex about being the best spy there ever was. It was okay, because he no longer had to be a subordinate to a group dedicated to causing the world to fall apart.

That was, until… he met the reincarnation of his past downfall. He cursed the moment he’d seen him. Apparently, he couldn’t have his face back but sure, give it to Curt fucking Mega. The rage and betrayal threatened to bubble over the surface, but he was going to hold back. He was not going to expose his past life to Curt. No more impulses, no more reveals, play the long game again. So Owen forced out a smile, held out a hand to his new co-worker, Ted, and introduced himself as Paul Matthews.

[amazingmsme]

Preventing Apotheosis Part 1

This is the first chapter of my Spies Are Forever/The Guy Who Didn’t Like Musicals AU/crossover where the events of SAF took place in modern day and Curt gets sent on a mission to gather information on a strange meteor that fell in Hatchetfield and report back to HQ. But will Curt and his new partner be able to make it out alive?

Curt finally felt alive for the first time in four years. After getting back in the field, he swore he would never let himself slump so far into a depression like that ever again, even if he had to see Owen die before his eyes for a second time. Especially since the Owen he shot wasn't the Owen he had once known. No, his Owen was a lighthearted suave spy who always got the job done. He was sarcastic, funny, brilliant, there weren't enough words to describe how great he was. But the Owen he had faced wasn't that same man, not anymore at least. The Owen he knew had died when he fell off those stairs all those years ago. His eyes were cold and harsh and held none of the lively warmth they once did, and he was a complete sadist. He was going to torture him until he died, and he wore a sadistic grin the whole time. Not to mention the countless number of people he had killed. God, he had slaughtered so many young girls... Curt had no choice when he pulled the trigger. 

He felt his work phone buzz in his pocket and pulled it out, looking at the screen. One new text from Cynthia that read, "Get your ass to my office now." He knew she probably wasn't mad at him, that's just the way she talks. Plus if she was angry, she would've used way more curse words. So he didn't feel too nervous when he walked into her office. 

"Sit." He did as he was told, much like an obedient dog. "I have a new mission for you. Just came in this morning, and we still don't have a lot of information, but that's where you come in. Late last night a large meteor fell in the town of Hatchetfield, Michigan and there've been a few reports of some of the residents breaking out into singing and dancing. Apparently this isn't the first time something like this has happened, so you're gonna be teaming up with someone who's dealt with this before." She handed him a file to flip through as she continued talking, "His name is General John McNamera and he works in a special division of the military known as P.E.I.P. Basically what they do is they go to these meteor crash sites and stop whatever the fuck is going on from spreading, and make sure no one else hears about it." She leaned back in her chair to prop her feet up on the table and took a drag from her cigarette. "I want you to get some samples from that damn space rock so Barb can run some tests on it. And anything else that seems like weird alien shit or whatever."

Curt blinked a couple of times, "Excuse me, did you say aliens?" He fought off his laughter because he knew from experience that laughing during a briefing would end in an ass kicking. She narrowed her eyes and took another puff, blowing the smoke in his face, "Or whatever. We still don't know yet, but based on the other events that have happened, it seems like it might be the case. Now I've been to Area 51 and I know that there's different kinds of these space bastards, so I need you to help me figure out what the fuck we're dealing with."

"Wait you've been to Area 51?"

"Yes."

"So aliens are... real?"

"Jesus Curt you're supposed to be smart! Do you honestly believe that we're the only planet with intelligent lifeforms? Give me a fucking break," she rolled her eyes, bringing the cigarette up to her lips and inhaling deeply, "Honestly I thought your clearance level would've meant you were informed about the existence of extra terrestrials, but clearly I was wrong. Although I'm sure your little "early retirement" brought that to a screeching halt, so no wonder you're out of the loop," she couldn't help but chuckle to herself. Curt looked down at his lap, feeling embarrassed. Cynthia noticed and stopped laughing and gave him a gentle smile, "But to answer your question, yes aliens are real. You're gonna need to fly out as soon as you stop by and get the necessary gear from Barb and not a second later. If you can't manage to get a sample from the meteor, get some air samples and if you can, try to get DNA from the affected citizens. General McNamera will meet you at the Clivesdale airport and you'll take a boat to Hatchetfield since the bridge will probably be closed and going by water will be your best bet. " 

"Alright, and you said that people were... singing and dancing? What, like a musical?" 

"If we knew we wouldn't be sending you, that's kinda the point of this mission."

"Sorry, I'm just trying to understand this."

"We all are Curt, so get the hell out of my office and head down to the lab, Barb's waiting." Curt followed her orders and headed straight for the lab, smiling widely when he saw Barb.

"There's my favorite little scientist! What cool stuff do you have for me?"

Barb looked up at him dreamily before shaking herself out of her love induced state, "So I have some foldable collection tubes that fit in your pocket, a taser phone, a couple of poison dart rings, a pen that's actually an extendable grabbing arm for gathering samples without having to touch them, cufflinks that turn into a shield, a keychain that shoots acid, a few extra guns because you can never have too many guns, especially in our line of work, and I made a special gas mask bowtie just for you 'cause I heard the air might me toxic!" She finished her rambling and shoved a duffle bag into Curt's hands. 

He ruffled through, examining some of the gadgets, "Wow, thanks Barb! You never cease to amaze me," he said. She practically swooned, but he was too busy to notice. Even if he had she doubted that he would've done anything other than pat her shoulder at the most. He looked back at her then at his watch, "Well, if that's all then I better get going. Cynthia said I had to leave as soon as I got my things."

"Oh! W-well be careful!" 

"I'm always careful, how do you think I got to be the world's greatest spy?" She just shook her head as she watched him leave. Curt Mega sure was something else.

He went to the hanger where the jets were kept and after checking that it was ready for flight, he climbed into the cockpit and took off down the runway. He had the coordinates set and followed the path until he reached his destination.

[crockettmarcel]

Call the Midwife Thoughts 8x01

Lucille, Val and Trixie getting excited over the Queen having a baby is so cute

Sister Monica Joan hating change is a Big Autism Mood

I’m still not sure about this new receptionist she annoys me a little bit

Sister Frances is so precious :) her face is sweet and I love her already

“I’ve only had Sister Frances for a day but if anything happened to her I would kill everyone in this room and then myself”

Fred showing Vi how cold his hands are then kissing her face is relationship goals everyone needs a man like Fred

These outfits are SO SIXTIES they’re really going all out and I am LIVING for it

“You can read them one page of statistics” Shelagh how dare you deprive those poor children of their statistics

“63 caught dysentery! Ugh!”

On god if they kill off Sister Monica Joan I’ll go with her

I LOVE Trixie’s earrings

Lucille and Val drinking hot chocolate together in the bedroom? that’s gay

Sister Hilda has a smug face but Sister Frances has a cheery face and that’s why I prefer her

Those flats are like 20 minutes from my house what a small world

Why is Nurse Crane saying bad things about my new adopted baby :( leave Sister Frances alone

“I’ve never been in a tower block before. It’s quite exciting.” BABY GIRL

Wait if the weird old lady is at the baby clinic then who’s at the surgery

“I think you’ll find the Blitz had that effect” Val?? Legend also I feel the same about Sister Hilda

“Kiddies toys. They wouldn’t fit under T. Or K.”

You know what? I miss Barb and Jenny and Cynthia and Patsy and Delia and Sister Winifred :(( like don’t get me wrong I love Val and Lucille and Nurse Crane but I also miss the others as well

Poor Sister Monica Joan I hope she gets better bc I will die if anything happens to her

Anyone remember that uh thing between Nurse Crane and the police officer that was awful

I love Val helping this woman I wish someone cared for me like that

The tension between the sergeant and Nurse Crane is killing me oh my lord

Why do they have Sister Frances cleaning the floor :(( poor baby girl

“I’m stepping outside for a moment” that is,, never a good thing to hear

“She’ll be giving us the runaround for quite a few years yet” cool so she’s going to die

they took her womb out what the actual fuck ugh love women’s rights in the 60s 😍😍😍

“The old lady at the desk” seriously though what is her name but also do I care enough to know

That is SUCH a small baby

Angela and May are so so cute

“You’re a big girl and you should know better” omg I don’t think I’ve ever seen Shelagh tell Angela off

Why is Shelagh dressed like Umbridge

Val looks SO GOOD in that green jumper and I am gay

“I need someone to tell my husband. He might need to take the gas and air.” Can you imagine finding that out omg

Why does Trixie bother looking at herself in the mirror when we all know she’s the most beautiful woman in the world and couldn’t look bad if she tried

“Distress. Was she scared?” Why is that so funny

Love how call the midwife only has like three sets because I’m like 99% sure that’s the room Barb died in

“I crave your indulgence” me @ everyone I ever see in my life

That was a pure and good episode I love this show

[canadajoke5-blog]

No One Threw a Shoe at the Christian Siriano Show and Honestly I’m Hurt

Getty ImagesNicholas Hunt

This has been the most dramatic week in fashion since the 2014 Met Gala party, when Solange drop kicked Jay-Z in his lemonade. At Harper’s Bazaar’s now infamous ICONS party, the Barbs and the Carbs got into a scuffle that led to security escorting Cardi B out of the event, shoeless and swollen, and Nicki Minaj…well, nothing bad really happened to Nicki except that she was trending on Twitter after Cardi, making it her second #2 of the summer…But I digress.

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With this all going down on the eve of my first New York Fashion Week, I went to the Christian Siriano show hoping to see a catfight on the catwalk. Instead, there was nary a physical altercation, a stiletto thrown, a drunken tirade. No, there was just a beautiful marriage of art and commerce and politics centerstage at Gotham Hall.

As someone that frequently shops at Madewell, I’m used to being surrounded by attractive people. It doesn’t rattle me like it used to, even though I personally brush my hair about once a year. But part of being a good writer is blending in with your surroundings, so I wore a wrap dress with a gaping leg slit that showed more leg than a table—because Tyra taught me to act like a hoe, but make it fashion™.

I sat in the second row, which is like the first row if you don’t understand how numbers work. There was a collection of good-looking ingenues formulating in the center of the room but I did not mingle, because I did not know anyone. Instead I chatted with my seat buddy, Justine, who encouraged me to take photos during the show. Bless her soul. I’m sure she did not realize I’d be using my iPad to take photos like a Nigerian immigrant at the Lincoln Memorial because I broke my phone weeks ago, and I enjoy the inconvenience of having a clunky device with no one’s contact info on it. My iPad meant that I was not inconspicuous when taking photos of the arriving celebrities, like woman of the hour, Cynthia Nixon. But we were all there to people watch, and much like Cardi getting buck at a work event, I would not change myself to fit in, because that’s not high fashion at all.

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Speaking of fashion, as far as the garments were concerned, Christian Siriano’s show was a far cry from cutting a hole into a trash bag because Tim Gunn said to “Make it work!™” It should come as no surprise that the reality contestant-turned-fashion juggernaut responsible for dressing Michelle Obama, Kelly Ripa, and Whoopi Goldberg had striking pieces perfect for every occasion. His show featured women of all sizes and races, and like Siriano’s inclusion of real women on the runway, his collection felt surprising yet classic at the same time. (I should note that including a diverse array of women in a fashion show should be the standard, not the outlier, but thank goodness for designers like Siriano for setting the bar on what is deemed acceptable.)

Everything, from an embellished white pantsuit to a highlighter-yellow silk jacket, felt like an essential accent to any woman’s wardrobe. There was something there for every consumer, be it the ladies that lunch, women that work, or the girls that gala™. Siriano’s talent is pulling from a vocabulary we know to make looks that feel new and chic, much like I’m pulling from decades of watching America’s Next Top Model, Project Runway, and yes, even The Face, to write this piece.

Christian Siriano listens to women. This is evident in his designs. Heidi Klum always said that, in fashion, one day you’re in and the next day you’re out, but it’s clear that he is not going anywhere.

And while no one threw a shoe at this show, I felt uppercut by Siriano’s bold colors, real-women reality check, and steadfast support of Cynthia Nixon. It was a great first New York Fashion Week; I can’t wait to return.

Source: https://www.elle.com/fashion/a23053509/christian-siriano-front-row-show-review-2018/