#you’re looking at the master of unfollowing and let me tell you. nothing feels as good as wiping that shit clean | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

vintageseawitch · 3 years ago

Note

severus snape was not just a bully he was a literal racist and that did not change over the years unlike other characters' attitudes 🙏🙏🙏 what the fuck how are you pro-snape

hmmm. i feel there's an extremely back-handed compliment here. are you a lurker? are we mutuals? do i follow you or do you follow me? whatever the capacity, it feels silly to ask, but: are you new here? my bio, though novella in length because keeping things in a tiny, succinct packages is not my forte, clearly states at some point that Severus Snape is important enough to me to be mentioned a considerable amount. i'll be very sad if i follow you & enjoy the content you post because tbh this anon is super disappointing. the most common types i tend to receive are snaters who are too cowardly to tell me to my face they have nothing better to do than judge people doing the least harmful thing imaginable: loving/liking/appreciating a controversial, FICTIONAL FUCKING CHARACTER.

"he was a literal racist and that did not change over the years unlike the other characters' attitudes" ummm fucking WHAT ARE YOU TALKING ABOUT. what canon evidence do you have for this except your own warped headcanons?? Snape said the word "mudblood" fucking ONCE, as a teenage boy, while getting sexually assaulted by more than one person, in public, with no one there attempting to stop them. then Snape's one friend tries to defend him & Snape snaps something stupid because he was afraid & pissed off & ashamed. don't tell me YOU'VE never said something you're later ashamed of while in a temper or feeling cornered. don't tell me YOU'RE not allowed to make mistakes. that's right, it was a mistake, & he realized immediately so he tried to fix it & in the end his friendship wasn't worth it to her so he was alone, surrounded by people who won't help him, who let some other teenage boys get away with attempted murder, & adults who don't give a shit about him making him ripe for plucking. Snape fucking CRINGES then yells at Phineas Nigellus for calling Hermione that while the trio's on the run & Snape is an unwilling headmaster!!! have you forgotten this???? if anyone is racist it's Molly Weasley for her treatment of Fleur which was never given a legit reason why she behaved the way she did. i don't even want to try to count how many times Draco Malfoy calls Hermione a mudblood; are you harassing people with hateful anons for liking Draco? is he somehow more deserving of a redemption than Severus? if you think that, go fuck yourself.

Severus Snape made a mistake when he was very young. he was alone, traumatized, full of bitterness & anger. he first came over to the side of the light for selfish reasons but then so did Regulus & Narcissa & i never see people attacking THEM. Snape made a mistake & worked to atone for this & for 17 years most take for granted he was the puppet for two megalomaniacal masters, neither of whom gave a damn about his life (Dumbledore was worse in SO many ways). in the end, it seems like snaters feel like no matter what you do, no matter what is in your heart & everything you do to try to make it right, your mistake will always define you & death is all you deserve soduspsjapxjosn FUCK THIS SHIT. FUCK ANYONE WHO BELIEVES THIS.

"Severus Snape was not just a bully" yeah you're right he was also honorable, good-at-heart, brave as fuck, fucking brilliant, & while sharp-edged, was dryly hilarious. also, don't you get tired of this same fucking "argument"?? because Snape wasn't the only bully in canon. Molly Weasley is one. so is Dumbledore. so is Hermione. so is Draco, Crabbe, & Goyle. SO WERE THE MARAUDERS. Peter Pettigrew turned out to be one of the worst; do you ever anonymously bully anyone for liking them if they do? while not counting for taste, if anyone DOES like his character, IT'S NOT. MY FUCKING. BUSINESS. nobody is hurting me for liking that character. i am not hurting YOU for liking a character. it's just easier for you to pull this fucking performative, fake-woke, absolutely repulsive purity-culture enabling bullshit than to speak up about things that fucking ACTUALLY MATTER.

do you want to know some characters i like that are ACTUALLY disturbing/toxic/any negative thing you can think of?? i like Acton from the Doyle & Acton New Scotland Yard book series by Anne Cleeland & he is a LITERAL FUCKING STALKER who plays vigilante & takes advantage of his privilege to get away with his crimes lmao. i like Father Konstantin from the Winternight Trilogy even though (or maybe because of is more accurate) he's a younger, prettier, blonder Frollo from The Hunchback of Notre Dame with his behavior towards Vasya who is very much an Esmeralda parallel. it drew me in immediately, their dynamic in that trilogy; so poisonous & twisted & depraved was his obsession with her but it was so PASSIONATE i couldn't look away. i like Krennic from Rogue One: A Star Wars Story. if you've seen it, he's the smol, angry man who thinks seeing a planet with historical Jedi sites get destroyed by a previously unknown super weapon is BEAUTIFUL. he has no qualms against forcing someone against his will back to helping to build this weapon, even if it meant killing his family.

so there are just a few that i can think of at the moment who are considerably darker than mere shades of grey; do you send hateful anons to people who like Darth Vader? what about Sauron? Morgoth? what if someone likes VOLDEMORT?????? omg (spoiler alert: they exist, & some have created some of the best hp fanart i've seen, but that's not the point right now). do you attack people for liking other morally grey characters like Kylo Ren/Ben Solo or Lestat? snaters are pathetic. if you don't like Snape, that's perfectly fine; it would just be really cool if you can take your toxic, purity culture mentality & if unable to shove it up your ass at least go haunt the places dedicated to bland, rich white boy bully-loving spaces. go on with your horrid belief that all people who are enduring trauma are only allowed to process/handle it in a set way otherwise they are the Worst Person To Exist (or... not, in this instance, seeing as Severus Snape is a FICTIONAL. FUCKING. CHARACTER). do you not realize this says so much to people in your own life who may see some similarities between themselves & a character you believe makes you a superior entity for hating & judging?? do you not give people you care about another chance after making a mistake???

i'd rather continue loving this prickly, snarky asshole than attempt to "earn your good opinion" or some fucking similar codswallop thank you VERY much. cheerio & all that, & i hope you're able to find something to do you enjoy that doesn't involve judging people for things that really don't matter. if you have an issue with what i post you can always unfollow/block me. complicated controversial comfort characters make for better things to think about than fake wokeness. toodles~

76 notes · View notes

alwaysmychoices · 4 years ago

Text

Today, I had this idea for the ending of another project I’m working on, and I couldn’t sleep until I had written it out.

Because I am nowhere near finished with this project and wanted to share it, here it is. It has absolutely nothing to do with Ethan Ramsey (sad), but it is my ending to a story I came up with that mirrors Ethan x MC.

You may not know Ellis and Ben’s story, but here’s their happy ending.

I thought about turning back at least a hundred times.

I imagined running through the airport during my layover, demanding an outrageous ticket back to London. I imagined catching a cab and walking back into his apartment only to find him reaching for his keys to come after me.

That image got me through the eight-hour flight, but when I landed in New York for my layover, I didn’t book another flight. Instead, I bought a cup an overpriced cup of coffee – strong, black, and secretly sprinkled with sugar, just like he liked it – and posted a picture to my Instagram story. For the rest of my layover, I checked to see if he had seen it yet.

He hadn’t.

I don’t know why I was surprised.

I gave him every opportunity for him to ask me to stay, and he never did. Instead, he wished me luck, kissed my cheek, and waved my cab off as we drove to the airport. He made it very clear that he didn’t want me to stay. Instead, he wanted me to go off and have all the adventures I could. He wanted me to remember the last year as one of those great stories you share in crowded bars, when your European escapades feel particularly exotic. He was a stamp in my passport, and I was a pleasant surprise.

Benjamin Clark didn’t mean for me to look back. He gave me no reason to hope, yet I did anyway.

I almost turned back before boarding my flight to Charlotte. I let myself have one last fond daydream of returning to him and spending the fall by his side, but at the end of the daydream, I still knew that winter would be a mystery.

Benjamin Clark wasn’t the kind of person you run out of an airport for. If you did, you would only be disappointed in the end.

We weren’t a grand romance. We were, at best, a humorous coming of age film with an exotic locale.

So, I flew home. For a few months, I lived with my parents and applied to every job I could find. While I waited, I hit up childhood friends and visited my old haunts. Sometimes, I would post photos and watch my notifications to see if he liked it.

He did once or twice.

He even viewed my story a handful of times, but he knew better than to message me.

In October, I got a job in D.C., and with two suitcases and a lively early 2000s playlist, I drove up alone. I rented a small bedroom from a friend of a friend, Jessica, in Alexandria, and as soon as I met Jessica, I decided we would be friends. She helped me unpack, and to celebrate my first night, we went to a nearby bar.

It took me four tequila shots for me to message Ben.

He didn’t reply until my sixth.

I didn’t realize it was five in the morning in his time zone. Even if I had, I don’t think I would have cared.

In the middle of a crowded bar, I told Benjamin that I was going to unfollow him and that I wanted him to unfollow me, too.

I don’t know what he felt when I did that. I like to think he was just as heartbroken as I was. Because I don’t know, I get to tell myself whatever I want. Some days, I need to think that he was devastated and enjoyed the remaining connection as much as I did. Some days, I need to think that he was just being nice.

Whatever it was, he messaged me back that he understood.

After a minute, he added that he would miss me.

I didn’t respond to that.

Instead, I unfollowed him. I deleted our DMs. I unfavorited his contact. I deleted our text thread.

I never thought about flying back to London for him after that.

I still harbored the fantasy that he would come to me, though…

I kept all the pictures. I even put one on display in my room. His back was turned to the camera, so I could tell myself that it didn’t mean anything when I taped it to my corkboard. I said I just liked the view.

Of course, Ben was an integral part of the view. Maybe even better than the view.

I lived in that apartment for a year. I went part-time at my job and started grad school. I wanted an apartment closer to campus, and Jess moved with me. I took special care of packing that photo, but when I got to my new apartment, I never displayed it. It lived at the bottom of my desk drawer, safe but out of sight.

I started dating someone that semester. His name was Daniel. He was a classmate, and everyone in my life loved him. We were together for six months, and in that time, I only posted one photo of him. When I posted it, I watched to see if Ben would like it. He never did. I took that photo down when Daniel and I went our separate ways.

In the year following, I cut four inches off my hair, repainted our kitchen, and made new friends. I started drinking gin, and I changed my coffee order. I was close to finishing my masters, and I was already looking for jobs all over the city. I even flirted with the idea of leaving DC, though I couldn’t bring myself to do it.

I didn’t think about Ben much during that time. I doubt he thought of me either.

If I was a woman who believed in fate, I might think that there was some grand plan that brought me to that dive bar in April.

But I don’t believe in fate. I believe in coincidences, and it was one grand coincidence that I accepted a friend’s offer to meet at a bar downtown. It was also a coincidence that my friend was late and that, while waiting for her, I took a seat at the crowded bar.

It was even bigger coincidence that the man trying to get around me to order a vodka tonic was Benjamin Clark.

Three years after Ben kissed me goodbye in London, he looked exactly the same…

And even more startling, he looked at me just like he had all those nights before in Sarajevo, like he was astounded how much he liked me standing beside him.

“Ellis?” he was so happy to see me that I instantly forgot the last three years I’d devoted to moving on from him. I was happy to see him, too, if just a little more wary than he.

He was thirty now, and I could see the age on his face when he stood close. Experience etched his skin around his eyes, but after years of frowning and scowling, his smile lines hadn’t been touched. He was still infuriatingly handsome, even more so now that his hair was longer.

“Ben?” I couldn’t erase the amazement from my voice, nor could I do anything other than stare at him with wide, disbelieving eyes.

He invited me back to his table, and against my better judgement, I joined him.

There was a woman waiting for him. She couldn’t have been much older than me, but she had a bronze, sultry glow I had always lacked. I immediately worried she was his girlfriend, but she was so friendly to me that I soon let the thought go. Either she wasn’t his girlfriend and didn’t care who he brough to their table, or their relationship was so strong that she wasn’t intimidated by me in the slightest. Either way, there wasn’t much I could do.

He introduced me as an old friend, one that was “one of the best” in our field. It was a complete lie, and I called him on it. He met me when I little more than an intern at an NGO he didn’t even work at. If he wanted to brag on anyone, it was himself, because he was the one who trained me.

He rolled his eyes and ordered a vodka tonic and a mojito for me.

Mojitos had been my favorite drink when we knew each other.

“You’re being too critical,” Ben corrected me with the same voice he used to use when I made a mistake at work.

“You’re being too generous.”

“You were full of potential, even when you couldn’t work a coffee maker to save your life,” Ben scoffed, and not for the first time, I was offended.

“I didn’t burn your fucking coffee,” I asserted forcefully.

The first day we met, he said I burnt his coffee, and I hadn’t.

“Yes, you did,” Ben insisted.

“No, I didn’t!”

We argued for a while.

At some point, my friend arrived, and sensing I didn’t intend to leave this table, she introduced herself and took a seat next to the beautiful tan woman. They talked among themselves as Ben and I disagreed.

He argued that I had been the one who messed up the paperwork for the festival in Belgrade. I called him a liar.

We made peace when he offered me a drink but said we had to stop fighting if I took it.

I seriously considered not accepting that mojito.

But I did.

And he asked what I was doing in D.C.

I told him my story – the job, grad school, my impending graduation, and my tiny apartment at the end of the metro line.

“And you?” I asked, already half-done with my mojito. He had hardly taken a sip of his vodka tonic. Always a slow drinker.

“Moved here a few months ago,” he explained, taking one tiny sip that made me hate him, “I took a job downtown.”

I raised my eyebrows accusatorily, “Downtown?”

“I didn’t sell out,” Benjamin stopped me before I could even suggest it.

I raised my hands innocently, “I didn’t say you did.”

“You were thinking it.”

He was right. I was.

“Well, whatever it is, I hope you’re happy,” I was telling the truth, but I also hoped he would give me every detail so I could finally decide whether or not he had actually sold out.

“I am,” Ben watched me, rightfully suspicious.

“That’s great.”

“You’re judging me,” Ben accused.

“I am,” I boldly confirmed, “I distinctly remember being warned time and time again not to sell out, but look at you…” I shook my head like I was ashamed of him. I wasn’t. I really was happy if he was happy. I just liked to torture him a bit to make up for all the times he had judged me.

As I predicted, Ben was outraged.

He spent the next hour justifying his career and his decisions.

Our friends left us at midnight. I honestly had forgotten they were even still there.

Near one am, I was convinced and gave him my approval. He knew he didn’t need it, but he seemed happy to have it.

It was surprisingly easy to be with him.

I always thought that, if I ran into him again, I would be awkward and pained. I thought that, once you loved someone like I loved Ben, you could never encounter them casually again. I was wrong about that. Sitting and talking with Ben felt like the most natural thing in the world.

I only stumbled once.

That was at 1:30 am, when he checked his watch and told me that he would need to get home soon to check on Porter.

I recognized the name. It was a name we came up with together. It had been a blisteringly cold winter day, and from the comfort of his kitchen, we dreamt up ridiculous, silly names for the dog Ben dreamed of having. At the end of the conversation, we settled on Porter, short for Portobello Mushroom. Ben poured me a second cup of coffee, and I asked him why he didn’t just get a dog if he wanted one.

He told me that he wasn’t ready. As long as he kept moving across the continent every year or so, he couldn’t take care of a dog. His career wasn’t stable enough for a dog, nor was he.

When he got a dog, he was ready to settle down.

Now, he had the dog…

I didn’t mean to, but I did it again.

I dreamed up a future with Ben. I allowed myself to hope for him. I began to long for his attention and affection.

I was scared when I realized it. One night had erased three years of work.

But I didn’t stop doing it.

When we parted that night, I wanted to ask him to come home with me, but I didn’t. He kissed my cheek, helped me in my Uber, and waved me goodbye from the pavement. It was exactly the same scene as when I last saw him in London.

I felt ridiculous for hoping for more.

He followed me on Instagram that night.

He texted me the next morning.

I met him in a coffee shop after class, and I stayed so long that I had to cancel dinner with Jessica.

I would love to say that I never saw the rest coming, but that would be a lie. I knew.

I knew that coffee would turn into dinner, and that would turn into nights in his apartment. Playful texts in the middle of the day would turn into celebrating our first anniversary. My drawer in his apartment turned into dominating half of his closet, and playing with his dog would turn into claiming Porter just as much as Ben did.

Two years after our grand coincidence, I got a job offer in New York, and I walked home slow that day. I didn’t know if our sweet little fairy tale extended beyond the District of Columbia. The first time, he hadn’t asked me to stay. But this time I asked him to come with me.

Three months later, we packed our life into a U-Haul, and from the passenger seat, I looked over at Ben and had the distinct feeling that I might just get to look at him for the rest of my life…

#writing #short story #couple #happy ending #non choices

7 notes · View notes

wangxiansoulmates · 5 years ago

Text

wwx dies on Qiongqi Road

some of you are about to unfollow or block me but i was feeling angsty and here we fucking are with feels

—

jin zixuan has arrived but he had arrived a bit too late. as soon as he neared the road he saw jin zixun pointing and accusing wei wuxian of a curse

he lowered himself and asked what was happening, asking wei wuxian to put his flute down but wei wuxian huffed at him, accusing him of being part of this

jin zixuan turned around for a second, just a second, to confront jin zixun and find out just what the hell was going on when he heard it

an arrow penetrating human’s body

he had heard it countless times during sunshot campaign and jin zixuan was frozen in his place for a moment as he heard a pained groan and he quickly turned around

there was an arrow protruding from wei wuxian’s chest, right where his heart was, and his eyes read the most brutal story of betrayal and pain

“jin zi-xuan” wei wuxian croaked out, breath catching in his throat

one, two, and wei wuxian was on the ground, gasping and jin zixuan didn’t know what to do with himself

and then they heard someone else. the voice rang so high in the air that it could shatter a glass

“wei ying!”

when had lan wangji gotten here?

lan zhan lowered himself, almost stumbling off his sword and approached wei wuxian quickly, collecting him into his arms

lan zhan looked, petrified, into wei wuxian’s eyes and then at the arrow that was struck into his chest and tears rolled down his eyes, his hand grasping wei wuxian’s, passing the spiritual energy he knew woulsnt help now. nevertheless, he rested his forehead across wei wuxian’s and tried to breathe

“lan- zhan” wei wuxian trembled “i’m so cold” lan zhan’s heart shattered into pieces and scattered onto the dirt ground like measly dust

“you’re warm, lan zh-” wei wuxian’s speech stopped and lan zhan felt it all at once. how wei ying’s eyes fluttered close. how the hand that was tightly holding onto lan zhan’s went limp. and how his chest stopped rising and falling, rugged breathes no longer escaping his tortured soul

and then it stopped. wei wuxian died

and then all hell broke lose. lan wangji’s shout of his name resonated into the air as a wail of the one who had lost his soulmate

“wei ying!” lan wangji shouted, his voice breaking

and then he bled. he bled from his eyes and mouth, his heart bled for the one in his arms. he felt his blood rising and slamming against his ribcage as he held onto wei wuxian tighter. as he held him just a bit closer

and then he cried. tears seemed to flow out of him as he kept repeating wei wuxian’s name. it was so out of character for someone like him but they heard it. how broken and pained and absolutely destroyed he sounded as he held onto wei wuxian’s body

lan zhan doesn’t know how long he has been sitting there. he doesn’t know how long he has been holding wei ying’s immobile body but after what he presumes was an hour he hears people approaching. their nervous voices mingling with each other

he sees his brother out of his line of sight and sees jiang wanyin running up to them and then he sees jin guangshan accompanied by jin zixuan

bichen unsheathes itself and flies through the sky to point right at the group that has approached him

“wangji!” lan xichen sounds so worried, the shake in his voice prominent as he calls for his brother “wangji, are you hurt?” he calls out and lan zhan just shakes his head

is he hurt? he’s numb. he doesn’t know

“wangji, is childe wei-” he stops himself as he looks at lan wangji’s lifeless eyes

“wei- ying” lan zhan manages to croak out “wei ying is gone” he whispers, tightening his hold onto the limp hand of wei ying’s that’s still resting on his palm

“wangji, you have to get up, wangji” lan xichen urges and this time bichen points at him, lan xichen is speechless

“don’t come near” lan wangji warns, his eyes brimming with fire and as he glares down at jiang wanyin he sees that the other feels his hatred and resentment

good

“wangji-” lan xichen tried again but lan wangji doesn’t want to listen. he doesn’t let anyone near. the sun sets and he’s still kneeling, still holding, still broken

wei ying’s body is getting colder by the second, his hands getting colder by the second. warmth leaving him and only lan wangji there to hold him

“wei ying” he tries again, rocking him a bit “are you warm?” lan zhan’s words tumble out of his mouth. he’s hysterical in the most calmest way and it’s absolutely terrifying

“wei ying, i’m sorry. i was late” he holds on a bit tighter, cradled wei wuxian a little but closer and looks up at the orange sky

it’s so pretty and vibrant. it reminds him of wei ying, memories of their better days rushing into his vision and hurting him more and more, pouring vinegar into his still bleeding wounds

lan zhan aches. all over. his legs and his arms and his heart and his soul. he aches and he feels so empty

he can see that he’s surrounded, jin clan soldiers all around him. jin guangshan’s voice telling him to let go of wei wuxian

and he ignored them all, stroking wei ying’s hair. bichen still pointed at people who dare cross the line he had drew

he won’t have mercy on anyone. he won’t have mercy on any one of them that had tried to hurt wei ying

he’ll kill jin zixun a bit later but for now he wants to stay with wei ying

he hears a cry of a maiden. a maiden far too familiar as she just approaches the group. jiang yanli

her eyes are swollen, her lips all red and her handkerchief damp. lan zhan maintains eye contact with her and nods

she crosses the line but bichen doesn’t waver. it won’t let anyone else through

jiang yanli dashes over to them and falls on her knees in front of lan zhan and wei ying

“a-xian!” she cries. gritting her teeth and reaching out to stroke his cold cheek “a-xian, oh, i’m so sorry”

she sounds like she’s in so much pain and lan zhan can see jin zixuan fidgeting and sees him planning to step over but that’s when bichen pints at him, warning him to not test lan wangji

lan zhan moves a bit back and let’s jiang yanli get a close look at wei ying. she shakes as she brushes the hair off his shoulder and she whimpers when she sees the arrow. a jin clan arrow. sticking out from her brother’s chest

“a-xian, rest in peace, my little warrior” she whispers as she cries. her tears falling onto her dress and she grabs lan zhan’s shoulder for support and he lets her

some time passes and she looks at him “second master lan, you should get up” and surprisingly he obeys but not before hooking his arms under wei ying’s legs and lifting him up, holding him close

“which way?” his voice is hoarse as he looks at only her. jin clan still surrounding them, swords still drawn but so is bichen

“we need to bury him” jiang yanli forces the words out like a curse and sees lan zhan’s eyes fill with more sadness

“second master lan, it would be disrespectful to leave a-xian’s body like this” and he agrees but it’s so difficult to part with wei ying

lan zhan doesn’t trust jin clan, he doesn’t trust anyone at this moment, except this woman

“i’ll take his body to lotus pier. you can come if you’d like” she offers, her voice gentle as she squeezes wei ying’s hand

and lan zhan agrees but before that he has some business to take care of. so, he gently lies wei ying into jiang yanli’s carriage, bichen still drawn, and nods at her

she goes away, jin zixuan going to follow her but she stops him with a cold look “don’t follow me” it’s not a request, it’s a command and a threat. she’s grieving and god forbid anyone who crosses a path of a strong woman when she grieves her brother’s death

jin zixuan stays back, defeated and follows his father and jin clan soldiers back into their residence

now it’s just him and lan xichen and that’s when lan zhan realizes that he has been kneeling for so long that his feet just give up under him, and he staggers

thankfully lan xichen grabs him before he falls but lan wangji harshly slaps his hand away “don’t touch me” and lan xichen understands. right now lan zhan must think he has been on this since he had a part in suggesting to invite wei wuxian over for a-ling’s celebration

bichen sheathes itself by lan wangji’s side and he straightens up by himself. feeling weak and empty without wei ying to hold onto

“i don’t feel anything” lan wangji utters, numb and so pained at the same time. it reaches deep within his soul and pulls at his heart, as if trying to rip it out

and lan zhan wouldn’t mind. he’d let it happen

because he has nothing else to lose

#wei wuxian #lan wangji #wei ying #lan zhan #wangxian #lan xichen #jin zixuan #jiang yanli #the untamed #mo dao zu shi

115 notes · View notes

amphtaminedreams · 4 years ago

Text

A/W 2020 Fashion Month: Before Vogue Went Blank (Part 2)

Hi to anyone reading,

I was going to start this post by jumping straight into Dion Lee and part 2 in general but there's been a lot going on the past couple of days-although this blog is primarily fashion, it wouldn’t feel right to start talking about designers without acknowledging all the shit that’s been going down.

^Photo Credit to @spiltcoco on Twitter

Yesterday, police footage came out of US police murdering yet another black man in broad daylight-George Floyd. He joins Sandra Bland, Eric Garner, Tamir Rice, Freddie Gray, and Alton Sterling, plus hundreds more named and god knows how many more unnamed African American citizens in the ever-growing list of victims of police brutality.

The majority of these are just people going about their daily lives, a majority of them doing absolutely nothing wrong; even those we know to have committed crimes have been unarmed and non-violent offenders. That being said, their offences are beside the point when we’ve seen the white perpetrators of mass shootings be calmly cuffed and escorted into the backs of police cars as if they were the ones selling cigarettes without permits. American police, given the amount of them that are armed, regularly become judge, jury and executioner trained for 8 weeks by an institution that originated from slave patrols. I cannot imagine how terrifying it is just to walk around as a PoC in America. I cannot imagine the collective trauma that has been suffered because of recent events on top of the intergenerational trauma that most likely exists because of centuries of oppression. I cannot imagine what it’s like to live in a country that was built to suppress you and was by law allowed to do so until very recently, those original structures still in place. I cannot imagine what it’s like to be made to feel like this is your fault. I mean, Boris Johnson is a useless, cold-hearted twat and I won’t defend him or this country for a minute (we have much blood on our own hands, and racial profiling is just as much a thing here as it is in America-I read earlier that you’re 28 times more likely to be stopped and searched in London as a non-white person compared to a white person), but I still can’t imagine him publicly advocating for the mass murder of groups he knows to be primarily made up of black people via Twitter. This whole situation is so unimaginably fucked up; anyone who still sees America as one of the world’s most developed nations needs to take a long, hard look at what is going on and reconsider that opinion.

Whilst we can’t fix everything, we can all speak up and make our voices heard, and it is our duty to do so. It’s not good enough to just “not be racist”, you have to be ANTI-racism, even if that means constantly reflecting on your own privilege and challenging your assumptions. Neutrality is complicity. Signing a petition isn’t going to change the world, but it’s a start:

https://www.change.org/p/mayor-jacob-frey-justice-for-george-floyd?recruiter=false&utm_source=share_petition&utm_medium=twitter&utm_campaign=psf_combo_share_initial&utm_term=psf_combo_share_abi&recruited_by_id=7ba70000-a127-11ea-87fb-d1ff0bf6ea96

As I publish this, there’s less than 50,000 signatures needed to hit the target of 6,000,000 so if you happen to see it, get signing! There are lots of other petitions online but Change.org seems to be the only major one you can sign in the UK as the other are US based and require a zip code. I never thought I’d close a paragraph by quoting Macklemore but the line “no freedom 'til we're equal, damn right I support it” is at the forefront of my mind right now. Again, neutrality is complicity. We’re never going to achieve a fair society by sitting on our asses and hoping things will improve. Let’s all do the best we can.

Sorry if that intro wasn’t what you came here for, but I just think it’s so important to talk about. I know I’ve said in the past that fashion is supposed to be an escape from everyday life but there are some times when real life needs our attention and this is one of them. Feel free to unfollow if you disagree.

Anyway, onto the fashion. If this is the first post you’re reading, welcome! There’s a part 1! But I don’t wanna be pushy so start here if you wish!

If you read part 1, welcome back!

I ended that post by practically falling at the feet of Dilara Findikoglu, and I so wanted to start this post by regaining a sense of dignity and go straight into what-the-fuck-ing at Dior, but I know breaking chronological order would really piss off those “OmG I’m SoOo OCD, tHis BuzZfeEd aRtiCle WiTh DiFfereNt SiZed TiLes ToLd Me!” which is basically me minus claiming liking things to be organised means I have OCD-no, just dermatillomania and the denial that a compulsive skin picking disorder has anything to do with OCD because the neuroses club that is my brain doesn’t have any space left. SO, I have to continue where I left off and star the post with Dion Lee, whose collections I am a big fan of.

I could ramble a bit more but I did enough of that at the beginning of part 1 and am sure I’ll do more than enough in this post anyway, so here it is, Dion Lee:

Considering we ended with the maximalism of Dilara Findikoglu, sliding back over towards the other far end of the scale with a designer that tends to pitch their tent on the borders of the minimalism camp feels correct. Dion Lee, fortunately, seems the perfect collection to open with. There aren’t many other brands who do edge in such an understated and masterful way. If you want to be ready for combat and look like you’d fit right in at Vogue at the same time, look no further. This season’s collection is full of perfectly placed cut outs and immaculate tailoring and subtle street fighter-esque details as ever, and that’s why it pains me to say it:

Not that this is enough in the way of critique to restore my dignity by any means, it’s not a patch on last season.

I don’t think there was a single bad look in that show, and at times it felt like I was weeding through them here. When the looks were good, they were GOOD but a lot I found to be disappointing. Plus I have no idea why you’d put tie-dye in an A/W collection. I appreciate that it’s an Australian brand and that our winter is their summer, but they’re presenting to the rest of the world at fashion week and anyone in Paris, Milan, London and New York is going to be freezing their tits off and looking like a twat in an orange tie-dye sundress. There wasn’t much of a dip in quality for the menswear compared to last season, but honestly womenswear left a lot to be desired. That’s what happens when your expectations are high.

I used to think that if you assume the worst, it’s impossible to feel let down. And then I saw Dior’s A/W 2020 collection. Did a full 180 on that statement.

I suppose it’s a step up from haute couture, but then at least the styling in that was simple, and it just didn’t look like anybody had tried at all; here it’s clear Maria Grazia chucked everything she could at this collection, every headscarf, every gingham print, every shallow feminist undertone, and it was still a fucking mess. At first you think some of the individual pieces are cute but have just been ruined by the styling, and then you begin to look, and realise that even those individual pieces could’ve easily been bought in a New Look Boxing Day sale.

THIS IS CHRISTIAN DIOR, SUPPOSEDLY ONE OF THE MOST LUXURIOUS BRANDS OUT THERE. WHAT IS GOING ON!?

I don’t know, I included as many looks that I didn't mind as I could, but it’s like there always has to be a crappy, unnecessary detail in there. Everything is so literal. Of course the collection based around the divine feminine has the models dressed like basic ass Greek goddesses, so of course the collection based around the modern woman and equality has women walking the runway in ties and ill-fitting shoes too. Maria Grazia, here is a box:

Think outside of it.

Next is, thankfully, Elie Saab:

No, not exactly a trailblazer of a collection, but executed with poise and elegance as always. I mean, the styling is spot on. It looks like each part of the outfit was made for another, to contribute to a whole clearly envisioned look, similar to what we saw in the Alberta Ferretti show. Elie Saab is known for its haute couture shows where all the tiny details, the sequins and the silk and the embroidery come together to make something beautiful, and this is just that on a larger scale, with less “wow”s and more quiet admiration, more wishing you were the one wearing that outfit. If you’re gonna play safe, do it this well. The night dresses are stunning of course, but not even my favourite bit of the show. It’s the casual looks, the pussy bows and the ruffles and the neck scarfs and the private girls school monochrome colour palette with the occasional pop of red or purple, a toned down version of what we saw at haute couture, any of which deserve to be worn whilst eating macarons in front of the Eiffel Tower before trip to Musee D’Orsay. It’s Poppy Moore’s school uniform grown up and made fit for a fashion magazine editor:

Somehow managing to cram an Emma Roberts early 2010s fashion moment into every post is my talent, who knew. Wild Child was really a gem.

Erdem was a mixed bag:

With a lot of the outfits, I can’t tell if I actually like the garments that much or if I just like the look as a whole. I mean, without sounding too gluten-free Callie from the Valley, I like the VIBE, but there was a lot of outfits I almost included before I had to ask myself “LAUREN, do you ACTUALLY like this or do you just like the walking-into-your-sugar-daddy’s-will-reading-to-claim-his-fortune DRAMA of it all!?”

It happened a couple of times, where once I took off my black and white, theatrical violin accompanied entrance filtered sunglasses, I realised that the actual print was ugly. A collection so cohesively ornamental and kitschy is going to lean too far into that at times, and they were a few overly-fussy moments where it seemed less nudge nudge wink wink and more like Erdem Moralıoğlu fell into his grandma’s wardrobe, stole some fabric, and called it a day. I don’t want to sound like I’m not a fan of the collection because overall it’s gorgeous, I just thought it was a bit much at times.

Continuing with the theme of clever seasonal continuity that weaved its way throughout this year’s A/W offerings, Ermanno Scervino kept the core of his summer collection and made it just that little bit darker, added some weight to everything, and this is one of the rare occasions where I like the winter incarnation a lot more. I’m not huge about either but there’s a lot of things I’d love to wear here, the coats especially.

Up next is a reliable favourite of mine:

Etro.

Was it REALLY necessary for you to include ALL those coats I hear you ask?

Alaska Thunderfuck as Gia Gunn voice: Absolutelyyyy.

When it comes to bohemian fashion, Etro is unbeaten. Everything is always exquisitely coordinated and styled. Like I usually fucking hate aztec print but I love the way it’s done here. I’ve never known a brand to make belts seem like such an integral, tasteful part of the outfit in a field where they so often seem like a last minute addition for the sake of accessorising; it pains me to say it, but Elie Saab, I’m looking at you. It’s your only fault.

Yes for bringing back embroidered jeans! Yes for all those high necks! Yes for the tapestry print! Yes for the Afghan waistcoats! Etro will keep fedoras cool forever and I love them for that; I don’t know if she ever actually wore any of their stuff but I just know Stevie Nicks was in her prime would’ve ate this shit UP and she is my style icon for the ages. Plus, I might be way off base here but a lot of the collection seems to be inspired by traditional Romani style and it’s a beautiful direction to take things, a treasure trove of layers upon layers and rich textures and opulent prints.

I can’t wait til the phase of my phase of my life where I can swan around in maxi dresses and ponchos. I just hope those maxi dresses and ponchos are Etro.

Onto another brand which hasn’t had a bad show since I started my reviews: Fendi. This season, they took their late 60s/early 70s wild child aesthetic and gave a millionaire’s high maintenance wife spin on it, and what’s not to like about that?

I mean, Fendi is a brand which is always going to excel in its F/W presentations-the rich, bohemian prints (pro-tip: if you can’t already tell, me mentioning the word bohemian in a review pretty much guarantees I like the collection), the furs, and the warm colour palette all perfectly translate into clothes suited for walks through a city going through a post-summer burnout, where it rains red and orange leaves. You can tell Silvia Fendi is in her element when she’s got texture to play with, something that comes across in the gorgeous coats Fendi consistently puts out, and this season continues that trend. Plus, there’s a lot of adorable details here-shoes that show off the decorative socks underneath, the cube shaped bags and those furry ear muffs which I hope bring about a high street muff renaissance because they’re the equivalent of slipper socks for my ears and THEY’RE ACTUALLY REALLY PRACTICAL. The only thing I’m not in love with is the mirrored glasses, and I can’t help but think how replacing them with a pair of grandad style aviators would be the icing on the cake for the collection. Maybe I just need to see Miss Robyn Rihanna Fenty wearing them and then I’ll get on board. Usually works.

Ah, GCDS. I got so excited for it after last season but this time round, it was a bit of a disappointment. There were a few outfits that semi-matched up to how cutting-edge I saw their last collection, however a lot of the pieces looked pretty low quality. I get that streetwear is in the name, but it’s supposed to be a high fashion take on that, and a lot of the looks were quite pedestrian. Stand outs are the top 2 rows and the leather motocross style jumpsuit on the far right, third row down, but the quality of these pieces wasn’t consistent across the board and I feel like I ended up having to convince myself I liked some of the others just so I had enough photos to justify including the brand. It really sucks when I look back on how ahead of the game last season’s collection was-we’re talking outfits that wouldn’t be out of place on Instagram’s Tokyofashion page and as far as I’m concerned that’s the fashion holy grail. Some of these looks, especially the menswear, could be from a Boohoo TV ad and that makes me sad.

Meanwhile, Giambattista Valli put out a collection that looked like a virtual postcard of Parisian fashion; if a St-Germain-des-Prés streetwear themed Instagram doesn’t exist already, someone should capitalise on that, stat, because if my typical vision of French feminine fashion is correct it would be full of outfits like this. I feel like this is what a fashion novice EXPECTS Chanel to look like. Trust me-these days the reality is much more disappointing.

There’s many things I'm happy to see here besides the tulle and florals and prettiness I expect of the brand. Obviously the berets and the bows and the elbow length gloves are the kind of off-duty ballerina style touches I’ve become accustomed to but there are also some nice surprises here: the military style white jacket, the unexpected snake motif on clothing that’s otherwise overly delicate, and to my delight the return of the boater hat. IDGAF, this is the summer where I’m buying myself one off Ebay and making this happen for me whether they become a “thing” or not. I shouldn’t squander having this little of a double chin; the opportunity may never present itself again.

I haven’t watched Killing Eve in a longggg time since there’s only so much of two women attempting to kill each other and then miraculously avoiding death you can watch but I’d love to see Vilanelle prancing round a city in this kinda shit slitting some necks again. I hope that doesn’t make me sound like too much of a sadist; only in a purely fictional world is this something I want to see, I assure you.

Givenchy was really, really great this season too, imo. Definitely a step up from the last RTW anyway. Aside from the drama of the exaggerated floppy brim hats and the quirky tassle detail dresses a la Schiaparelli, a lot of these outfits kinda remind me of something a Miranda Priestly/Cruella De Vil type would wear, and you know me; I’m all for that kind of intimidating, about-to-either-slap-you-or-fire-your-ass bad bitch energy. The gathered leather gloves with the androgynous subtly checkered power suits feels CORRECT and if Giambattista Valli is the bottom in this relationship, Givenchy is the top. Am I allowed to reinforce sapphic relationship stereotypes as a bi girl? Probably not. I’m sorry. Won’t do it again. Just this once. And you know I’m right really xoxo

And OMFG Gucci. Another impeccable collection for me, honestly. Once again, it’s probably my favourite of the season. How it is that Alessandro Michelle gets it SO right for me despite his vision being so bold and different every time? He has this specific brand of strange, conceptual beauty which blends past and present trends in a way so supreme it should be considered art. It’s not a term to throw around loosely but the man is a genius, and tbh I’m still not over the human head props from the 2018 F/W winter show.

In my Haute Couture week review, I talked about the Viktor and Rolf collection (which I loved, don’t get me wrong!) and said that pretty meets grunge is my fave thing ever-this is that, but much even more substantial and intelligent. The Wes Anderson-esque pieces or that late 60s/early 70s hipster aesthetic that I loved in last season’s show hasn’t been done away with either-be it the level of detail or the colour scheme, it all somehow fits together. Never did I think I’d see dresses fit for porcelain dolls through the lens of Sid Vicious and Nancy Spungen seamlessly slotted in between outfits that could’ve been put together from the clothing rack of Dazed and Confused’s costume department. I want it all-opulent fur-trimmed coats, crucifix jewellery and pilgrim hats I’m sure both Edgar Allan Poe and modern goths would approve of, and the tiered skirts that wouldn’t be out of place in a Westworld saloon. The models were delightfully sad and almost creepy looking and I wouldn’t change that for the world. To say 10/10 doesn’t do it justice, so I’m gonna have to open a reviewer’s can of worms and say 100/100.

Gucci is a tough act to follow, and I’m sorry it has to fall onto the shoulders of Halpern. In the nicest possible way (as if there is any nice way of saying it), I don’t think I any expected anything but a downgrade, so if anything, my standards will be lower so...Michael Halpern, you can thank me I guess?

That was really mean, I’m sorry. It’s not a bad collection, and I definitely like it more than last season’s. It’s a slightly garish colour palette at times but an exciting one in spite of that, which when paired with the animal print dotted throughout makes this collection the perfect fit for a tropical beach party or at the very least, a semi-decent night at the Caribbean themed bar in your local town centre. The sequins and silk, a Halpern trademark, are as tastefully done as ever, and seeing them on the models, I can’t deny these are some power fits-the kind of clothes you are bound to look and feel confident in; if you wanted to play queen of the urban jungle for a night, this is what you need to be wearing.

Ah, Hermes.

Generally not one to stoke a fire inside me. In all fairness, the tailoring here is really, really nice and French biker chic, and the pieces are perfectly crafted-it’s not that I don’t like the outfits because I think that if I saw one of them individually in a natural, messier setting I’d probably be impressed. These are classy, elegant winter looks and what more could you want when you’re looking for outfit inspiration for this season? It’s just that it’s always a little too neat and uniform for me, and on the runway I like my fashion to be risky. This could almost be the sophisticated mother to a Tommy Hilfiger collection and whilst that’s something I would probably wear if I wanted to look put together, it’s not what you get excited to see at fashion week. Primary colours all together aren’t where it’s at for me either, the infamous colour scheme of the cheap plastic playhouses you’d find in the garden of every working/middle class British household back in the day. Yes, I had one. So did the after school club I was forced to attend whilst my mum was at work. Apparently the negative connotations are still too much for me (a boy I went to the after school club with did once fall off the back of one and crack his head open so maybe it’s justified).

Isabel Marant was pretty much exactly what you’d expect from Isabel Marant; if the Etro bohemian woman is one who rolls out of bed and chucks on the first thing she sees, the Isabel Marant bohemian woman is the one who claims she’s done the same thing but who actually planned it all out the night before. She designs for the gluten-free, bikram yoga Kourtney Kardashian style “hippy” who claims to be a free-spirit but would definitely not do acid with you. I was gonna say it was a collection for the Gwyneth Paltrows of the world but then I remembered Gwyneth proudly released a candle she claimed smelled like her vagina and changed my mind-she’d definitely do acid with you.

It’s definitely a cohesive transition from the summer collection; both have that seemingly laid-back, clean-cut vibe, and cater to the rich, impeccably groomed scented candle loving woman everywhere. Obviously the pieces are a tad more suited to an alpine lodge in Switzerland than a beach in Malibu this time round, but that same mild colour palette, pretty, naturalistic patterns, and generally relaxed fit persists. It’s cute enough.

J.W Anderson is a bit of an enigma.

Despite the experimental silhouettes and the kooky details that you think would very “look at me!”, the collections still seem to have a chilled, easy-going feel to them. They toy about with the strange but remain entirely sophisticated whilst doing so-I think it’s because aside from the little quirks that make the garments J.W Anderson, they’re otherwise fairly reserved and simple; even the quirks themselves mostly tend to be exaggerated, more conceptual takes on more typical stylistic motifs anyway. Anderson has a knack for producing statement pieces that don’t look like they’re trying too hard to be statement pieces, a talent he expertly deploys at Loewe as well. Whilst Maison Margiela collections are like the fashion equivalent of that Jughead “I’m weird, I’m a weirdo” speech, J.W Anderson’s refusal to conform is quiet and modest. I like it. It’s not generally my personal style but I can admire the thought behind the work, and there are still some things I’d love to try. I have a few standouts-the shoes with the hoop detailing dancing from the ankle straps, the dress on the bottom right with what appears to be art nouveau typography on, the trench coat with the cape detailing and the gossamer dress to its right are all stunning, especially that dress. If I ever want to dress as the bubble Glinda the Good Witch descends in when she meets Dorothy in the Wizard of Oz, I know where to go, though I don’t suppose there’s going to be an occasion that calls for that any time soon. Can I just have the dress anyway?

Kim Shui is another new designer I found through blessed Twitter screencaps-thanks guys for doing my research for me. Much appreciated.

But anyways! Like Charlotte Knowles, it’s clear she’s still establishing her aesthetic as a designer, and thus far I love it. The whimsical, throwback prints on urban silhouettes that range from the androgynous suits of city dwelling cool girls to the amped-up sex appeal of nightclub dresses is gorgeous, especially twinned with dainty headscarfs and opera gloves-all in all I think this a very cool and wearable collection and I’m looking forward to the next collection she puts out.

Next up is Lacoste, and IDK why I always include their collections to be honest, considering they’re not really known for “high fashion”. I guess it’s because my dad has collected Lacoste shirts since I was little so I kinda have a soft spot for it and feel obligated to include it every time presentation season comes around. Yes, the outfits are unbearably preppy and the colours are garish but I feel like that’s kind of the appeal? So what if some of the tracksuits look like they could’ve been pulled out of a bad mafia movie? I see the argyle jumpers, with a bit of wear and tear, as a charity shop gem my sister would come across (she has the #Y2K Depop girl knack for finding old designer pieces in the shittiest charity shops without the audacity to try and sell them at a 70% markup) that I would then steal from her wardrobe to wear myself, contrasted with a ripped mini skirt, chains and and docs. I see the POTENTIAL of a look that is very fuck you to the rich middle age tory styling we see here. It’s punk, okay?

Lanvin was STUNNING this time around. Maybe it’s because I’ve been watching Mad Men recently and it reminds me of the fashion on that-which I hope somebody won an award for at the time BTW, it is SO fucking good-but I just adore every look here. I can’t even remember if I reviewed Lanvin’s SS20 show, and so clearly if I did it wasn’t that memorable (no shade intended), however this collection is a different story. Every single one of these outfits is iconic movie moment worthy, a 60s Cher Horowitz plaid two piece equivalent that would get screencapped and replicated ad-nauseam, all the best looks of Betty Draper and Peggy Olsen and Joan Holloway and Megan Calvet brought together and refined for the modern day woman. I might even consider sacrificing my anti-royalist principles if it meant I could transport myself back in time and switch bodies with Grace Kelly so I could make this collection my princess-off-duty wardrobe and drive around Monaco in that Bella Hadid look, roof down, all the drama of the fur trim and the gloves and hair whipping about in the wind (but in this unrealistic vision I can actually see what I’m doing and I’m not choking on random strands and swearing at Mother Nature as if she is a real entity with a personal vendetta against me).

Loewe! More J.W Anderson! I’m gonna try not to repeat myself by arsekissing too much all over again and get the good points out of the way quickly! So rapid fire: elegant! Delicious colour palette! Interesting shapes! I think I’m seeing a Victorian/Edwardian influence there! Correct me if I’m wrong! I like it! The coats are strong! Remind me of the suffragettes! But lets pretend in this case these Loewe style coat wearing suffragettes are not raging classists!

AH. Apart from that, it was a bit too austere for me. I definitely preferred Anderson’s eponymous collection; there were a fair few recurring details in this show that I couldn’t get behind that I didn’t include, in particular this bib-like black panel that just kept popping up on everything. Sorry J.W Anderson. But a 50% success rate is still good! And at the end of the day, having 2 collections on Vogue Runway at once is more prestigious than the accumulative total of every accomplishment I’ll probably ever have achieved in my life by the time I’m on my deathbed so what do I know anyway? Sigh:( At least I’ll always have the honour of having the largest head by circumference of my class in year 4, right *sweats nervously*!?!?!

Louis Vuitton was definitely a downgrade on last season for me. There were for sure elements I liked-the Vera Wang-esuqe mixing of the tulle bustle skirts with the rougher, more masculine biker inspired vests and jackets was a cool choice, reminiscent of Gucci’s mixing of the lace dresses with harnesses. I enjoyed the baroque jackets and subtle nods to steampunk style too. Though we’ve already seen it a lot this season, the wet look coat with fur trim I can’t help falling in love with, and I’m immune to the potential ugliness of the muted blue monotone look purely on the basis I can picture Ripley from Alien in it. So like I said-it’s not as if I hated it. I guess when it comes down to it, the collection wasn’t bad so much as I just had higher hopes. I will say though, the staging was INCREDIBLE. As a history nerd, I never thought I’d see the day when a Henry the 8th lookalike actor was part of the backdrop of a Paris fashion week show-and I always thought there was no interesting career path for me in the subject!

And another big name I don’t tend to be so partial to, Maison Margiela. IDK, I did like last season but I wasn’t a fan of haute couture and it took me a while to warm to this. Call it deconstructed, experimental, whatever, but you know when you can’t decide what to wear and you’re in a rush so you kinda just throw all the shit you decided against into a pile? Well, my initial thought was that this season Margiela is kinda that, on the runway.

I will say, once I let go of my need to see a clear shape, a lot of the individual pieces were stunning (NOT the puffed up tabis though, I still can’t even get behind the regular ones). I guess I just wish they’d go for less is more with the styling because as it currently stands, it makes it hard to actually take the clothes in.

Ultimately, one thing you can always say about Margiela, like their clothes or not, is that it has a monopoly on being effortlessly bold.

Marc Jacobs I really liked again, though I will say it doesn’t stand out quite like the S/S collection did. That was absolutely STUNNING-I can’t remember specifically where I ranked it in my top ten but I know it was at least in the top 5. This, on the other hand, is...pretty. It’s very pretty, and very put together, so I’m not saying at all that I don’t rate it. I suppose it’s just a lot simpler than I expected it to be-I don’t have a problem with simplicity, at all, especially if it’s what a brand is known for but I feel like part of the appeal with Marc Jacobs is that it’s pretty kooky. I mean, not Thom Browne or Margiela kooky, but commercial kooky at least. I feel like the kookiness is lacking here? And that’s where this feeling is coming from? And also, the fact that Lanvin tackled the same era and did it a lot better? So there’s that, too. Plus, I adore Miley Cyrus but...why? Random celebrities waking the runway just doesn’t do it for me-it always comes across as a publicity grab, as if the designer isn’t confident enough in their collection’s ability to get people talking on its own, and I suppose in this case that says it all really.

Margaret Howell was...well, Margaret Howell. She’s known for her basics, and they’re always pretty non-offensive “regulation hottie” in the words of the icon that is Damian from Mean Girls. It’s been, what, four years? More? Since I last watched that film but I’m pretty sure watching it about twenty times between the ages of 9 and 15 tattooed it on my brain. I include her because even though they don’t get my pulse racing, I like these pieces; considering the fact that expecting straight white men to ever have style on the level of barbiedrugz (his instagram is my favourite thing ever) or Rickey Thompson is ludicrous, Margaret Howell’s menswear looks are probably are the best, realistic goal for any future partner. Because I like my men dressed like Paddington bear/a depressed Brown University English lit lecturer, okay? Or in other words, Will Graham from Hannibal.

Marine Serre had a few good moments-the looks that I liked were the ones that stayed within her lane of blending the weird with the visually appealing. There were a lot of cool things going on, and I like the utility vibe (the boot with the pouch detailing and the mask are perfect examples of this done well), but outside the fits I picked out a lot of it went over my head tbh.

Marques Almeida is a show I was looking forward to-it has such a youthful, experimental quality to its collections (it’s no surprise the designers said they were influenced by the HBO show Euphoria this year!), similar to Central Saint Martins, and you can tell the designers (Marta Marques and Paulo Almeida) are based in London too; we are talking about the birthplace of the punk fashion movement, and as a designer it’s probably almost a rite of passage that you incorporate elements of that into your work. Marques Almeida does that with a flair and consistency you can count on. Their clothes don’t have the wildest silhouettes or anything like that but the fun they have playing around with print and colour and the ease and confidence with which they settle on those combinations always comes through-the black and white coat with the yellow furs trim is one of my favourite pieces from the entirety of this season’s offerings.

I wasn’t so fond of Max Mara’s SS20 collection and I'm not gonna lie, this isn’t THAT much of a step up for me personally. It’s just one of those brands I feel obligated to include because it’s talked about quite a bit but I’m not totally sure if it’s for me. Too monotone, but I’ll give it another season! And I mean, there is a slight improvement here-this collection is a lot more laid back than the stiff, austere feel of the last, and there are some very well fitted and structured pieces. A lot of the looks kinda remind me of a 2020, fashion take on The Breakfast Club’s “Basket Case”, which is kinda cool, and just from looking at the clothes, the high price tag is palpable. Also, scruffy hair club unite! Though obviously it’s intentional here! That’ll be my excuse for the next time I turn up at work looking like I’ve been dragged through a hedge backwards-Max Mara made me do it.

Ending on those words of wisdom, I’m gonna bring this post to a close, because I can’t fit any more photos in! I’m desperately hoping that I can fit this all into 3 parts like I did with my last RTW review but even if I do have to make 4 posts, I still include my top 10 shows as I did before. I hope to get that post up within the next couple of weeks! After that, I’ve shot a Lana Del Rey inspired by each of her different albums and “era”s though given last week’s events I’m on the fence about whether to post it or not, especially given her silence over the last couple of days. I’m really proud of what I’ve put together and I’ll always love her art and music (I have 2 bloody tattoos, for fuck’s sake!), so I’m trying to think how I can reconcile that with those awfully worded posts and just the general lack of awareness of bigger issues that she’s displayed the last week. JFC, being a Lana stan has always been so chilled up until now. All the very valid and important takes aside, that “Lana pls delete that post and apologise, we can’t fight the barbz all your stans are depressed” tweet is the only good thing to come out of this shitshow. He got a point. Breathing feels like effort lately:( IDK, if you’re also a Lana stan and you have any opinions on the matter, feel free to DM me, because I’m feeling pretty conflicted rn.

Most importantly though, are the issues I opened this post by talking about, and I thought I’d finish by including the thread of petitions I saw on Twitter. Like I said, a lot of them aren’t available to sign in the UK but to anyone who read up until this point (thank you!) idk where you’re reading from so maybe some of them will apply to you:

https://twitter.com/yericvIt/status/1265801832930045953

Also, while we’re at it, because every tory voting twat seems to treat our country as if it’s some beacon of hope where racism is non-existent and love to tell PoC to stop moaning about their experiences, here’s a thread of black British men and women who have lost their lives to police violence:

https://twitter.com/illh0eminati/status/1266441604170223617

Thank you for reading until the end. I hope that you enjoyed the fashion part of the post but also that if you did read this far, you read the other bits too if you didn’t know what was going on already. It seems like everyone does but you forget that Twitter’s a bit of an echo chamber and that outside of it, there’s a lot of ignorance, whether intentional or not. I know Tumblr has a similar audience to Twitter so I imagine there’s loads on here about everything going on too, but ya know. I wanted to talk about it just incase.

Stay safe, keep fighting the good fight, and again, thank you for reading!<3

Lauren x

5 notes · View notes

once-upon-a-spemily · 5 years ago

Text

What You Really Need (2/2)

Summary: Hanna is sure (she’s sure!) that Spencer and Emily have slept together. Now she just needs them to admit it. And, preferably, fall deeply in love, while they’re at it.

Part 2 of the Hanna-POV-spemily-au. Part one is here

So Hanna like. Knows now. She knows Spencer and Emily have slept together. And she is, frankly, a little offended that neither of them have told her yet. She’s known Spencer since they were seven years old and she’s known Emily since they were both like eighteen so what the hell?

They’re two of her best friends, and if they had sex, they should’ve told her.

She decides to try and get it out of Spencer.

Emily is surprisingly stubborn. With Spencer, she can leverage their years of friendship.

She meets Spencer for coffee on one Sunday and waits approximately five minutes before asking, “so, any cute guys or girls lately?”

Spencer chokes on her coffee. “What?”

Hanna shrugs. “You stopped seeing Alex like, ages ago, and you haven’t told me anything about your current love life. So. What gives? Are you a nun, are you trying to friend-break-up with me? What’s going on?”

Spencer laughs. “Not a nun,” she says, and licks the excess coffee off of her stirrer. “Also not breaking up with you, sorry Han. You’re my forever friend.”

It makes Hanna’s heart so happy she almost forgets she’s supposed to be pissed that Spencer is keeping secrets.

“Okay, good,” she says. “But seriously, nothing?”

Spencer chews on the stick a moment before making a noncommittal noise. Hanna quirks an eyebrow. It works. Spencer lets out a long-suffering sigh. “Hanna, seriously? Do you need me to set up cameras in my bedroom?”

“Ew, no that’s sick,” Hanna says. “Just...keep me in the loop, okay?”

“You got it.”

So. That was a bust.

She doesn’t see Spencer and Emily together for a while. She doesn’t see them apart that much more.

Spencer’s got some big case, and lord knows Hanna’s client list only seems to grow each day. They’re all adults now, which blows, mostly, but hey, she gets to live alone with the love of her life and legally drink alcohol and eat cake whenever so. Perks?

When she does see them, apart of course, she can tell they’re both stressed. Emily’s patience is basically nonexistent and Spencer’s focus is never fully there. She’s always in her head, solving problems she can’t work on at the moment. Aria’s got deadlines upon deadlines, and is basically off the grid entirely.

Hanna’s casually looking at rental houses in the tropics because lord knows they all need to get away.

Her computer makes a small ping noise and a calendar notification pops up. They haven’t had a game night in months. They’re very overdue. She decides then and there that game night, next week, is the perfect remedy for all of their stress.

Emily brings someone to game night.

Hanna is short-circuiting.

Emily. Brings. Someone. To. Game. Night.

Someone named Sara Harvey who’s pretty but also looks a little feral and Hanna thought Emily meant bring a friend not bring a...whatever the fuck Sara is to her.

Hanna tries to be subtle about it but the first thing she does when Emily introduces the girl is to shoot Spencer a glance.

Spencer looks ten times more shocked than Hanna feels. She looks.

Shit. She looks like someone just kicked her in the chest.

Oh no.

Spencer recovers faster than Hanna does. She goes about the evening like. Fine. Hanna guesses.

She seems fine.

“Hey, Spence!” Emily calls from where she’s standing by the alcohol. “What’s your poison?”

Spencer casts a disinterested look at Emily. “I’m good, thanks.” And she goes back to talking to Aria.

Okay. Maybe ‘fine’ is a generous term.

For a second, Emily falters. She looks half-confused, half-sad, but she seems to brush it off and pours herself a drink.

It takes Hanna all of five minutes to realize that this game night is not going to relieve her stress. Aria is doing great, because she is utterly oblivious. Caleb is now on edge because he knows Hanna is. Spencer is being petty and, frankly, kind of bitchy, but in a way where you don’t realize she’s being a bitch until like a minute after she’s done talking.

Sara is. Weird. And Emily is visibly confused and frustrated by the whole thing.

She clearly has no idea why Spencer is so pissed off.

The room is full of tension, and maybe jealousy, and Hanna is trying to enjoy playing Hungry Hungry Hippos but it’s really, really hard.

They take a pause after Aria wins. Caleb goes to pick out the next game, and Hanna pretends she doesn’t see Spencer pour her next drink with a very liberal hand.

Hanna’s torn. She’s a little mortified, she’s a little angry at Spencer for being so careless, and she’s also a little heartbroken for her.

Caleb pulls out the scrabble box.

“No,” Hanna says quickly. “Hell no. I hate that game.”

She does. She always loses.

She also refuses to play with a tipsy, jealous Spencer. That’s a bad combination.

“What about Would You Rather?” Aria asks from her spot on the couch.

“No,” Hanna says firmly.

Aria lets out a sigh of impatience.

The next thing Caleb pulls out is Twister. Hanna’s heart catches in her throat. Jesus, they can’t really catch a break tonight, can they? Hanna can feel everyone getting impatient so she just swallows and nods.

“Sure.” She says. “Fine.”

Hanna sits the first round out to order pizzas, even though it’s a little late, but she still watches carefully.

It takes about a minute before everyone’s straining on the mat, Emily and Sara tangled around each other as they try to stay upright.

“Sorry,” Sara says.

“Don’t be,” Emily replies, in a tone that’s more than a little flirtatious and Hanna wants to gag.

Spencer tumbles not a second later. She gets up without a word and goes to pour herself another drink. She skips the wine and goes right for the tequila this time.

“Sit with me,” Hanna says, waving her over. Spencer does and Hanna rests her head on Spencer’s shoulder as they watch.

She wishes she could say something to comfort her. But she doesn’t want to make things more awkward than they already are.

The pizza arrives twenty minutes later and they stop playing for a little while. Sara leaves after they eat, claiming she has some work to do, and Hanna doesn’t really care, she’s just fine with the girl leaving. She’s weird.

They start playing twister again after dinner, and it’s way easier with four people than with five. That doesn’t stop Aria from falling in the first minute.

She’s short. She never does well at twister.

Hanna’s the next one out and it’s because Caleb tickles her, the cheater, even if he denies it. She knows she felt him tickling the back of her thigh.

Spencer gets right-foot-yellow on the next spin and that positions her...well. It positions her practically on all fours, face to face with Emily, mere inches a part as they try and retain their balance.

“Hi,” Spencer says. It’s the first word she’s said to Emily directly in over an hour.

Emily cocks her head and she smiles of all things. “Hi.”

Spencer blinks, slow and lazy, as she stares at Emily.

Hanna cannot believe they went from jealousy to this in like...three hours. What the hell?

Emily gets left-hand-blue and she’s trying to stretch past Spencer, but she can’t quite reach and she lets out this little noise and Spencer wobbles and then falls, and Emily falls immediately after.

“Dang it!” Emily says.

Spencer’s laughing, and Aria’s laughing, and Emily’s laughing, and fine, Hanna joins in too, because that was cute and also funny.

They wrap up twister and move onto pictionary.

At the end of the night, when everyone’s getting ready to go, Hanna notices Spencer and Emily standing together as they get on their coats.

“We’re good?” Spencer asks, ever so quietly.

Emily says something Hanna can’t hear, but based on the answering smile on Spencer’s face, they’re on their way to being okay

Thank god. Hanna doesn’t think she could survive another night like tonight.

Two weeks later, Hanna notices that Emily has unfollowed Sara on all social media.

Hanna scoffs. Yeah, there was no way that was ever going to be a serious thing.

Spring time means girls trip.

Spring time has always meant girls’ trip, and now, for the first time, Hanna gets to go with Aria, Emily, and Spencer all together.

She’d be worried about having Spencer and Emily in the same room, but the two of them shockingly behaved at Hanna’s birthday dinner so she thinks they’ll be fine. Probably. There’s still some weird tension but they’re like...civil now. So it’s fine.

Anyway. The place they booked is stunning. It’s this gorgeous house on the shore, overlooking white sand and clear blue water. It has it’s own private pool that has amazing views of the water, and everything is lush and green and sunny and tropical.

It’s already stocked with food and liquor and Hanna is already in love.

She claims the master bedroom, which opens right to a private balcony where you can jump right into the pool, basically, and no one argues with her.

“Okay!” Hanna calls once the others have claimed their bedrooms and put their suitcases away. “Everyone change into swimsuits now, and let’s start drinking!”

They’re all laughing at her, but they do as she says, at least.

Hanna takes a little bit longer because once she’s in her white bikini, with her sunglasses on, so what if she throws open the balcony doors and snaps a few pictures to send to Caleb. She’s hot, he’s her boyfriend, it’s like...practically her job to let him know!

“Hanna!” Emily calls her name from somewhere in the house. “Can you put sunscreen on my back?”

Hanna like. Really doesn’t want to do that. She’s busy. She gets an idea, and grins to herself. “Sorry, Em, my hands are full. Spencer, will get Emily’s back?”

There’s a beat of silence, and Hanna wonders if Spencer even heard her but then, out of nowhere, comes Spencer’s voice. “Yeah, I got it.”

Hanna smirks.

Hanna takes one more picture for Caleb and then goes back inside, winding her way through the house and outside to the pool. It’s an infinity pool, too. God she loves luxury.

She tries not to feel smug when she turns to see Emily sitting on one of the lounge chairs, with Spencer behind her, rubbing sunscreen into her back.

“Make sure it’s all soaked in!” Hanna practically sings.

Spencer shoots her a glare.

What? It’s not Hanna’s fault that Emily cares about her skin.

Hanna gets in the water - which is divine - and Emily and Spencer switch after a minute. Emily is trying very, very hard not to stare at Spencer, Hanna can tell.

Aria comes out a minute later, carrying a tray of gin and tonics, and finally. Vacation has begun.

They spend most of the day by the pool or in the pool, drinking gin and tonics and soaking up the sun. Once it starts to set, Emily towels off and ties a little wrap into a makeshift skirt around her waist before going into the kitchen to start prepping dinner.

Spencer floats around the water for a minute longer, makes a good show of it, and then towels off as well. Hanna tries not to grin as she watches Spencer go into the kitchen.

They’re actually tolerable on this trip. It’s amazing what a little bit of R&R will do.

“How’d you even find this place?” Aria asks.

Hanna shrugs and pushes herself up onto her elbows. She’s been out of the pool for a while, working on her tan. “Caleb,” she says simply. “He did some work on the resort’s site. They loved him. He even got us a discount.”

“Jesus, Hanna, you sure know how to pick em!”

Hanna grins.

Yeah, her boyfriend is great.

There’s a crashing sound from the kitchen, but instead of hearing Spencer cursing or anything, all Hanna hears is giggling and Emily shouting, “we’re fine! Keep relaxing!”

“I can’t believe you thought they slept together,” Aria says with a snort.

Hanna turns to stare at her, half-offended. “Excuse you.” She has half a mind to counter Aria’s argument but Spencer and Emily are right inside and they’re just starting to get back to normal and Hanna’s not going to be the one to ruin that. No way.

They finally get up to go inside when they can smell food, and Spencer and Emily are both moving around the kitchen in almost perfect sync, assembling dinner.

If nothing else, Hanna’s just really happy that all of her friends are such good friends. It’s her dream come true, really.

Their second day, they have a private surf lesson. It’s one of only a few scheduled activities they have, because Hanna prefers doing nothing on vacation.

Also, she really wanted to see her friends fall off the surfboard. Everyone knows it’s going to happen. And it’s going to be hilarious.

Their instructor is cute and Hanna is like 90% sure he and Aria will hook up before the vacation is over.

They start with their boards flat on the sand, learning the motions and the positions.

Emily’s done this before, because of course she has. Emily takes to water like...well, like a fish takes to water.

Hanna’s sitting on her ass at one point, watching the others, and Spencer’s got it, mostly, but her foot’s in the wrong position or something, so Emily hops off of her board and walks over, standing behind Spencer.

“Looking good,” Emily says. “But it’s a little more...here.” She reaches down, wrapping her fingers around Spencer’s ankle and pulling back. Then she stands up again and settles her hands on Spencer’s hips, shifting them so they’re parallel.

“Okay?” Spencer asks and yeah, her voice is a little strangled, Hanna notices.

“Yeah, you got it,” Emily says, and she does not, actually, take her hands off of Spencer’s hips yet. “You’ve got good form. Have you ever done this before?”

Spencer shakes her head. “No. I do tennis, and used to play field hockey and that’s about it.”

Emily hums a little and then shrugs, and then she releases Spencer, walking back to her board.

Hanna can’t believe Aria isn’t seeing this shit.

She can’t really dwell on it, though, because now they’re taking their boards down to the water to try this for real this time.

Aria wipes out first. The instructor helps her up out of the water, fetching her board for her. Hanna, unfortunately, is next.

People were not meant to stand on objects that aren’t attached to solid ground, she decides. This whole sport is stupid.

She comes up out of the water, and Spencer’s down too. Only Emily is left and Emily is like, good. Hanna reaches out for Spencer, grabbing her hand as they make their way to shore, but they both just kind of. Stop. And they stand in the shallows, boards under their arms and just watch Emily for a minute.

“Wow,” Spencer says. Hanna looks at her, looks at how bright Spencer looks, and how breathless she is and she smiles to herself.

“Yeah,” she says. “Wow.”

Emily finishes riding the wave, and starts paddling back to shore. She’s the only one of them that actually did something. Hanna starts clapping, and Emily blushes, tucking a strand of wet hair behind her ear.

“Seriously, Han?”

“You did great!”

“I almost fell off like, four times,” Emily says, rolling her eyes.

“Uh, hello, did you see us? You were amazing,” Hanna says.

“She’s right,” Spencer says, but she’s dead serious. “You looked great out there.”

“Oh,” Emily says, looking at Spencer now. She blinks and she smiles, then, all slow and surprised and content. “Thanks.”

Their third day is rainy. So they spend it inside drinking Tequila Sunrises and playing board games.

They have like, four days left, so Hanna isn’t too bothered, even if she’d rather rip out her hair than play scrabble again.

She drinks, she calls Caleb, she listens to the sound of the rain against the pool, against the roof, against the palm trees. It’s a good day.

Spencer wins at poker, again, and they order some food from the hotel to be brought to their guest house. One of the perks of staying on site.

They watch movies that night, still drinking, and when they all go to bed, Hanna cracks her bedroom door open so she can listen to the rain.

Hanna wakes up at midnight, and it’s still raining. The wind has picked up, too. It’s not enough to rattle the house, or anything, but it is enough to spray some rain onto her bed. She yawns, and debates putting up with it, but she gets another spray of rain in the face and untangles her legs from the sheets.

She pads across the floor, and closes the door to the balcony. Then, she turns around to go back to bed. Except. You know. Now she’s awake, and her head’s kind of killing her from all the tequila. It’s not quite a hangover, but it has the makings of a future hangover and Hanna so does not have time for that.

She decides to get some water before going back to bed.

She slides open her bedroom door and she. Well.

She hears it before she sees it.

“Spencer.”

Hanna’s mind is still half-asleep, so it takes a while to catch up to her eyes, which have adjusted to the light just enough to see that Spencer has Emily pressed against the kitchen counter and oh my god, they’re kissing.

They’re kissing and it’s...shit, it’s a lot, there are hands everywhere, and Spencer is trying (somewhat successfully) to tug Emily’s shirt down.

“Spencer, please,” and then there’s a moan, and Hanna yelps before she can help it because she does not need to see this!

They both freeze up and, thank god, detach from one another. They have the decency to look at least a little embarrassed and Hanna can’t help it. She can’t. She just can’t!

“Are you fucking kidding me?” she blurts.

Emily and Spencer trade a sheepish, and confused, look. “What?”

“You two!” Hanna huffs. She throws her hands in the air. “God, it took you two long enough!”

“Hanna–” Spencer starts, but Hanna holds up her hand, stopping her.

She crosses the kitchen, gets a glass. Pours water in it, and then she looks pointedly at both of them. “Carry on,” she says, and then she starts off towards the bedroom again.

Before she gets there, though, she pauses and she turns around, shooting them a glare. “I’m so fucking sick of this back and forth between the two of you and I know this isn’t the first time that this is happened so listen to me very, very carefully.”

“Okay?” Emily asks.

“When we get home, you two are going on a date, already. Okay? Just like,” she gestures vaguely at both of them. “Fucking suck it up and go on a real date. Jesus.”

She walks into her room, kicks the door closed, downs the water, and then she puts in earbuds before going to bed. She really doesn’t need to hear whatever happens next.

She really only half-expects them to listen to her, because they’ve been frustratingly stubborn up to this point.

She’s back at home, sketching out a new design for a client, and eating one of the ice cream bars that Caleb bought her as a concession for the fact that she was right about Spencer and Emily (thank you very much) when her phone beeps.

She looks down at the screen and nearly squeals.

Spencer has texted her a picture. Of her and Emily. All dressed up. At a fancy restaurant.

A real date.

She’s so happy she could die.

Instead, she just gets back to work.

They all get together at Aria’s place, for once, and Hanna actually doesn’t hate the fact that she doesn’t have to host. It’s a nice change of pace. Hanna doesn’t even have to worry about cleaning. She can’t remember the last time that happened.

She and Caleb get there a little late (definitely not Hanna’s fault or anything) but they’re still there before Emily or Spencer, so she figures they’re fine.

Hanna feels pretty fucking smug when Spencer and Emily have the nerve to show up together and don’t even try to hide it.

She loves winning.

“Hey!” Aria calls from her perch on the couch. “Welcome! There’s alcohol on the counter, feel free to help yourselves!”

Emily is saying hi to Caleb, and Spencer goes over to the alcohol, looking over the selection. “Babe!” she calls. “Whiskey?”

The entire world slows for a minute, and Hanna can feel her jaw dropping. Caleb is staring. Aria is staring.

Emily just nods. “Yeah. Thanks!” she says, as if nothing just happened.

Well. That’s one way to announce you’re dating.

Aria is at Emily’s side in a minute, demanding answers, demanding the whole story, and Hanna has never felt so vindicated in her entire life, thank you very much.

They do tell a version of the story (clearly with some missing details), but Hanna can at least piece together that she was right, and they definitely slept together before New Years. She has enough tact to not blurt it out in front of the whole room, but she is definitely going to tell both Caleb and Aria “I told you so” like a million times later.

A million. Exactly.

For the first time in ages, Hanna is able to enjoy a party without like, checking to see if Emily and Spencer are still glued to each other. She doesn’t have to. She knows they are. She drinks, and she chats to people, and she snuggles up against Caleb and just kind of...goes with the flow.

It’s pretty perfect.

As usual, everyone trickles out except for Hanna, Caleb, Spencer, and Emily. No, they stay to help Aria clean up.

Hanna is walking the living room with a trashbag, picking up crumpled napkins. Caleb is scrubbing some something that spilled on the floor hours ago and left a sticky residue.

Spencer is loading the dishwasher. Emily is cleaning up the bar area.

Or at least that’s what they’re supposed to be doing.

And Emily is, ostensibly, stacking cups and wiping down the counter. But Spencer is behind her, whispering in her ear and Emily is pressing back against her, smiling to herself. Hanna rolls her eyes and goes back to picking up trash.

Then she hears Emily’s breath hitch (like...all the way across the room. What the hell) and when she looks up again, Spencer’s hands are on Emily’s hips, one slipped under the hem of her shirt, rubbing small circles on the skin there, and Emily’s eyes are all dark. She says something that has Spencer squeezing her hips and okay, Hanna’s seen enough now.

“Yo!” she shouts, snapping to get their attention. “Get to work or get a room, just cause you two are official now doesn’t mean you can feel each other up in front of us, yeah?”

They both stare at her for a moment, and then they burst out laughing, Spencer removes her hands, but they still stay pressed together.

“Right,” Emily says. “Cause you and Caleb have never packed on the PDA.”

Hanna rolls her eyes. “PDA is one thing, foreplay is another!”

She’s just walking into a trap really, because Emily gets this slow, lazy grin on her face and she says, “oh, that’s not the foreplay.”

“Gross,” Hanna says, sticking out her tongue. She throws a wadded-up napkin at them. “Spence, take your girl home.”

Spencer quirks an eyebrow and takes Emily’s hand, pulling her away from the counter, towards the door. “Gladly.”

Hanna didn’t even realize they were done. They both call goodbye to Aria before disappearing out the front door.

She feels Caleb come up behind her, and he picks up the napkin that she threw.

“You were right,” he says. He kisses her temple quickly. “As usual.”

“Let’s be gross like them,” Hanna says, turning to face him so she can kiss him for real. “And let’s go home.”

Caleb laughs, but he takes her hand and she deposits the trash bag down the chute as they make their way out of the building.

Hanna gets the stomach flu. She gets the fucking stomach flu the day after her busiest week at work and she’s been dying emotionally week and now she’s dying physically.

She got it from Aria, too, so thanks for that.

In all fairness, she was the one who insisted on taking care of Aria so it’s probably her fault but still.

She’s driving home after her last, and biggest, meeting, and in the rearview mirror she can see that she’s white as a sheet. She’s sweating, but cold, and she feels like she’s about to pass out so she pulls off the interstate early.

Spencer’s place is closer than her own, so she pulls into Spencer’s parking lot and bangs on the door as loud as she can.

She really, really hopes Spencer’s home.

The door swings open, thank god, and Spencer’s there, her brows knit together.

“Hanna?”

“Hi,” she says, offering a weak smile. “Need to lay down. Maybe puke. Got a bucket?”

She stumbles into the house and Spencer grabs her arm, guiding her to the couch. Hanna squeezes her eyes shut and hears Spencer moving around the kitchen.

When she opens her eyes again there was an empty trashcan in front of her and a glass of water on the table. Spencer presses a hot washcloth to Hanna’s forehead and rubs circles on her back.

Hanna lets her eyes flutter closed and wraps her arms around herself.

She hears some feet shuffling and then, softly, someone says, “Is she okay?”

Hanna opens her eyes and sees Emily standing in the door to Spencer’s bedroom. She’s wearing one of Spencer’s old Stanford hoodies.

“I think she has whatever Aria had last week,” Spencer says. “Can you call Caleb? He should come get her. I don’t think she can get home.”

Emily nods and Hanna goes to lie down on the couch, Spencer still rubbing circles onto her back.

“Sorry,” she mumbles. “Didn’t realize Em was here.”

She feels Spencer shrug. “It’s fine. She’s here more often than not. No big.”

Hanna hums to herself. It is big, she wants to say. Love is always big. But she feels like crap and neither of them have even said the l word yet so she just closes her eyes and hopes Caleb comes to get her soon.

She and Caleb are having a picnic when she gets the text. From Spencer. She feels bad. Caleb’s brought her out to this gorgeous mountainside, and they’re overlooking this lake and he brought all of this fancy supplies so she doesn’t even have to sit in the dirt, and made like, real food, and she’s drinking wine and it’s perfect. But she can’t stop squirming with anticipation, wondering what the text says.

He nudges her. “Just look.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yeah, Han.”

She does, and nearly squeals.

“They moved in!”

There’s a picture there of Emily carrying boxes into Spencer’s house.

They’ve been together about seven months now, and it’s honestly a little overdue if you ask Hanna, because they started doing this dance almost a year ago.

She texts a quick little reply, mostly exclamation points, and then puts her phone away again, leaning into Caleb. She put her phone on silent, too.

It’s a good thing, because her attention is completely on him when, twenty minutes later, he pulls a box out of his pocket and presents her with the most gorgeous ring of all time.

Two years after Spencer moved to town, she proposes to Emily.

It’s not quite the “wedding in two years” estimation that Hanna had put out there, but it’s pretty damn close and she’ll take it.

She still takes the opportunity to tell Caleb, her husband, “I told you so” when it happens.

She still cries.

She still is the undisputed queen of matchmaking.

#spemily #spencer hastings #emily fields #pll #fics #hannas pov

52 notes · View notes

captainhuggermuggerus · 5 years ago

Text

The Awkward Introduction

You know that part where you go to a new school, or a new school year, or your first job and it's orientation and whoever is in charge says "Stand up and tell us your name and a fact about yourself!" and you're just trying not to die from embarrassment? That's this post.

It never helps that the person asking for all of this is standing there expectantly, usually smiling, usually not seeing anything wrong with this. And they are technically right-there's nothing wrong with it unless you're socially awkward and you call it 'human interaction',

So as far as I'm concerned, this is after the official humiliation, and now you and I are chatting in a corner, or maybe at a table in the cafeteria under the florescent lights that make everything seven shades whiter and doesn't give a real sense of how anyone looks. But we were both awkward, so we decided to hang together. And you're asking me questions, because for you it's easier to ask then to share your business, and I like that you're giving me a lead as to what it's okay to talk about.

You ask if I have pets, and then I get to tell you about my dogs. The big one is Emily, she's a Black Lab/blue heeler that we got at seven weeks because her owner couldn't deal with her, and Fraiser is my little boy, a Beagle/Chihuahua mix. I have two goats in the back yard, twin sisters, Sadie and Sookie. They are our lawn mowers lol. My sibling has a cat, and our mom has finches.

I'm trying to be an English teacher at VIPKID, even though I already failed the test once, and I'm going to take it again later this week. They let you take it multiple times, like a driving test. I was getting my TPR-Total Physical Response-mixed up. You tap your mouth to say 'listen' and cup your ear for 'repeat', and I didn't use enough props. If I write about that it will be under #VIPKID

The reason for that is that I've worked retail for 14+ years and when our governor issued a stay-at-home order for the Plague, I went on leave. I'm not going back there. I'll figure it out. Everyone thinks I'm balmy. I've been a manager for 4 years, so I make 16.05 an hour. I could move up, easily. Those people though, they don't care if I lie or die or kill my family as long as they get their blood money. I have a feeling working for a crime syndicate would not only be more profitable, but more humane. It also means I am intimately aware of how to steal from retail stores, since I was at the frontline of theft prevention (I ran the electronics departments). I will, at some point, make a master list of how to relieve retail establishments of their inventory without getting caught, a good skill in these times (under the tag #how2stealamillion), as well explaining how it works there for an employee. It's nuts. I may file it under the tag #horror. Not sure yet.

Lord of the Rings and the other works of Tolkien are a special interest of mine, and I reblog a lot of #lotr and #silm, but I will be sharing my opinions and eventually, some fic. I used to be a fanfic author for Criminal Minds on ff.net but I had a really bad depressive episode and never went back. The Silmarillion especially is a mess, and I have a special place in my heart for Rohan.

I'm also, like everyone else, working on original fiction projects, which I cycle between whenever I get bored with one. I may post excerpts. I will be putting it-whichever it I finish first-up on Betabooks for critique. Anything pertaining to them will be under #project followed by a number, such as 1 or 3,

I'm a writer, but like everyone else I'm a reader first and foremost, and I have sadly a lack of access to books. The Most recent thing I've been able to read is Wicked Saints by Emily A. Duncan, which I did enjoy because it was based more on Slavic fantasy than standard European fantasy. I bought it when it first came out because it jumped off the shelf and yelled "BUY ME" and I have no regrets. If I blog about books, it will be under #books, followed by #titleofwork and #nameofauthor.

Another not-so-fun-fact-I suffer from chronic pain and endometriosis. Exercising is hard. Work is hard. Everything is hard. When I blog about that, it will be under #spoonie and possibly #endo if that applies.

I am not 'out' to my mother, a very strict Christian woman of the Protestant persuasion, as bisexual. That is the label with which I have the most comfort, although I have been informed that pansexual is more accurate. I prefer bisexual. If I do talk about it, it will be tagged #bi, whereas issues of gender and sexuality will be #LGBTQA+.

For another fun fact, I've recently become involved in Catholicism, another thing our Protestant mother doesn't approve of and therefore has no idea that I'm involved with. Those posts will be tagged #catholic.

In pursuit of never ever going back to my retail job, I'm also trying to get my chronically pained behind into homesteading. We live on 1.5 acres in north Florida, and I want to grow food. And have chicken. And ducks. I'll tag those disasters as #homesteading.

I cannot cook without causing a problem, which is all fun and games until your sibling the cook comes in and goes "What the actual fuck" and "why did you move all my stuff" and "Please stop." On the rare occasions when I do cook, I will be sharing it under #cooking.

I've taken Norwegian as my language of choice during these times of being cooped up, and will tag those adventures and resources as #langblr

There will be other things, I'm sure, and I've been on Tumblr straight reblogging for years, but I'm going to try to share more of 'me' on here.

Also, I will not tolerate pedophiles, rapists, rape apologists, or other predators of the human race, TERFS, Nazis, or whatever else exclusionary to minorities happens on here. If any of my topics squick you out, just block them! I've had to do the same, many times, and unfollow people for their opinions on, for example, the exclusion of asexuals from LGBTQA+ spaces.

Nice to meet you!

1 note · View note

k-fiction-therapy · 5 years ago

Text

Into The Night (Version 5 - Hyungwon)

Moodboard by Admin Scar

Starring: Chae Hyungwon & Reader

Includes: Vampire!AU, Night Life & Vague TB References

Rating: 18+

~*.*..*“It was just supposed to be a night out, but this...this was a night in hell--and how beautiful the devil was.”*..*.*~

A/N: Hello, all! This is the fifth installment of “Into the Night”, a series that highlights seven very different Vampire!AU stories, each involving a different member of Monsta X as the main male lead. <3 I hope you enjoy them. I have been obsessed with Vampires since I was a child, and my attraction to them only grows the older I get~ I do hope that my take on these different vampire tropes tickles your fancy as it has mine.

Version 1 - Shownu

Version 2 - Wonho

Version 3 - Minhyuk

Version 4 - Kihyun

Version 5 - Hyungwon

Version 6 - Jooheon

Version 7 - Changkyun

Asks Open for Feedback, Comments, Kudos and Thoughts. <3

Dust settled in your bones as you unpacked boxes in the living area of your new house, the layout open, making the home look far bigger than it actually was. Eyes traveling over the furnishings, you found yourself with a bittersweet taste in your mouth. You remembered that moving out on your own represented independence and new opportunities, it also shed light on the things that life had ripped from you—the very things that pushed you to move in the first place. In the dust and peeking sun rays that dotted the tops of marked boxes your memories were written; forcing you to take a moment’s pause.

He had run into the arms of someone else as if he had loved them all his life, crushing your heart beneath his heel. You could have strangled him to death for what he had done to you, but despite the pain he caused you and the knife he put in your back, you still kept his clothes and smelled them while you sobbed as if you were in grief of a wondrous love lost. He was poison, but damn did the apple taste so sweet. He had another heart to mangle, and you were left with no one. You felt utterly alone, and regardless of your best friend telling you that you were a ‘catch’ and that they would help you ‘get back out there’, you still felt the pangs of hopelessness tug on your broken heart.

Sighing, you dropped down into your floor and leaned against the couch, your legs crisscrossing comfortably. The wind pushed from you, and particles burst from the vintage cushions, the sofa groaning as if it were commiserating with you. You couldn’t allow yourself to wallow. What good did it do? None. What would it heal? Nothing. Perhaps you should take your friend’s advice and get back out there—but where would you go?

A club had been suggested, only about a half hour train ride from where you lived, but the notion made you laugh. It wasn’t that you were against clubs, it’s just that you weren’t exactly up to the task of being thrust into such a physical environment. Truth be told, you weren’t exactly the club-goer, and when you thought of awkwardly gyrating on the dance floor, you wanted to facepalm. If you were already embarrassed of yourself, how did you expect to manage actually doing it?

Your phone chiming broke your concentration, and you quickly picked it up, secretly hoping it was a Snap from your bestie, goading you into attending tonight—but what you got was a social media notification…for him. You had forgotten that you had tapped that bell, that every time he posted, you were going to see it—and there they were, arm in arm, lips close and eyes lovingly focused on one another. You could have crushed your phone, a tear rolling down your cheek. Anger became you, and you quickly unfollowed him, closing your phone before dropping it onto the couch behind you. Forcing air from your nose, you cracked—

“You know what? Fuck it. Let’s go.”

***************

The night was cold, and with you scantily dressed, the warm color of the pink neon was doing nothing to stop the chill of your exposed skin. You walked down the sidewalk towards the blacked-out doors of club ₩onder, your best friend by your side, stumbling a bit as they fixed their makeup in a compact; and you found yourself curious of where they were going to stash it, sure it would leave an odd shape in those spandex hot-pants. Honestly, the thought of it gave you a much-needed laugh.

Prodding you because you were laughing, they knocked against your arm and smiled wide, locking fingers with you to pull you along, quickly moving into the line. Glancing to the other patrons, you felt immediately out of place. Black leather, lace, and chokers galore, you swore you had stumbled onto the Gothic underground. Honestly, you weren’t dressed badly, but you felt like you should have been warned so that you could have worn black and blended in—no one likes to stick out because they’re one blue smudge in a sea of ash.

“You should have told me it was a bondage club, I would have dressed the part.” You whispered to your companion, leaning close to them, your ass perked and back arched, catching the attention of the bouncer, who did his part to move the line along.

“₩onder is not a bondage club, it’s…artistic.” Your friend said, waving a hand.

“There’s literally someone in a leather puppy mask, and another with a horse tail butt plug.” You gestured towards a few people not far up in the line from where you stood. Honestly, the horse tail had you mesmerized, but you found yourself wondering if they straightened, or brushed it. It looked so soft as it moved, perfectly contrasting the rubber tail of the puppy a few spots further up the line. Said puppy was on all fours, moving their hips back and forth obediently, making their tail wag, as their master gripped a leather leash and gently pet their snout, making cute little sounds pour from their lips. A part of you found it oddly cute, and you might have smiled, but you couldn’t shake the scene.

“Come on. Keep an open mind!” Your bestie said, swatting at your arm playfully, before winking, “—or would you rather go home to your vibrator?”

“Hey, don’t bring Kai into this!” You could have put them in a headlock, but someone here might have taken it the wrong way. They just deserved a punch for saying something like that out loud. So embarrassing–you might have been blushing, but your layers of makeup saw to it that it didn’t see the light of day.

“I can’t believe you named it that.” They rolled their eyes so dramatically that you swore you heart them turn in their head, “You’re so sad.”

You wrinkled your brows and shook your head, gesturing to the line and towards the club, though the volume of your voice didn’t raise. You didn’t want to call attention to yourself, “You are the one that is looking for love in a place like this—”

“Oh, I’m not looking for love. Unless it’s thick, and deep…Mmf.” They said, running a hand down their front, giving a half-hearted, trashy body roll. You laughed behind your hand, but they didn’t stop there, moving their ass like a bitch scorned, “You should stop thinking about ‘marriage’ and ‘eternity’, and all that shit. Focus on the here and now.” Their fingers pointed to the ground before they made an obscene gesture, tongue in their cheek, “You need to get laid.”

“Well, that’s your opinion—” Crossing your arms, you looked away, pretending to scan the place, mostly because you didn’t want to talk about it anymore. It wasn’t that you were sensitive about your lack of recent carnal vocation, but rather because you felt like the odd one out for not jumping on the first cock you saw.

“Mhm. The right one. Fill up your empty hole.” They twitched a finger back and forth, grinning from ear to ear.

“Why are we friends?” You huffed.

“Shut up, you love me.”

The bouncer moved a hand from side to side, gesturing for you both to move forward. He was a tall man, and quite dense in muscle. His shirt was rather tight, and he seemed perpetually flexed, waiting for someone to pick a fight with him. There was a real masculinity that radiated from him that made you feel both safe and terribly insecure at the same time. Checking your IDs, he waved you in, taking a moment to roll his eyes down the line of your spines—and it sent uncomfortable shivers across your bare shoulders as you pushed into the place.

Pulsing with rhythmic pop and dance music, ₩onder truly looked like an undulating mass of Gothic intrigue, the mass of people making it hard to tell where one ended and the other began. Trying to get into the swing of the place, you wound through people, keeping as close to your friend as you could, heading for the bar. Looking over the drink list, you wrinkled your brows—they were all named after blood types and the like.

Glancing to your companion, who had already ordered and was smelling their drink curiously, you assumed it was just witty word play, and ordered a “O+ Passion”, which was handed to you in a crystal glass, and was as deep red as the night was black. You sniffed at the rim of the glass, the copper bloom of the liquor filling your nose, making your eyes water. What the hell. Taking a drink, you immediately spit it back into the glass, trying to do so behind your hand so as not to offend anyone, especially the bartender.

You felt as if the liquid had stained your teeth, so you licked furiously at them, feeling as if a film had been permanently placed atop your canines. What an odd drink. Turning to the dance floor, you glanced up to make sure no one had seen you—and over the crowd, from the front of the room, eyes like pale-blue, lavender ice gripped you, cutting straight to your heart. Plush tiers of rose down, and porcelain skin held your gaze, making you shake where you stood—you were lucky you hadn’t dropped your drink in awe.

He must have been many meters from you, across the dance floor, but he felt like he was standing right in front of you. Seated in a baroque style throne atop a pedestal, white yet reflecting pink from the lights of the club, he exuded power and dominant sensuality. His legs were as long as you could see, and his arms matched, hands resting delicately, and fingers flexed. He was somehow the most dominantly severe and beautifully soft thing you had ever seen in your entire life. A fire lit within you, and suddenly, you needed to know him at the deepest parts of your soul—to have him fill you with all that he was, and use you as he liked; twist you into a gorgeous pretzel.

***************

On your knees in front of him, like King and peasant, your back arched, chest heaving as it begged for him, his energy having taken you over, as if his power was wrapping around your nerves and guiding them to act. You didn’t know how you got here—you didn’t remember walking to him, and you certainly couldn’t recall kneeling as if he were your king. You didn’t feel in control of your faculties, much less your own limbs, and when your lips peeled open, your primal desires dripped from your tongue.

“Tell me…why are you here, mortal?” The male didn’t speak, not one word, but his voice was so loud in your mind that it made your ears ring. His eyes never left you, their intent obvious in the shift of color within their spreading iris.

“I want you to take me…” You said aloud, and no one in the room seemed the wiser. Your friend, lost to the crowd, was bleeding from major pulse points, being fed on by multiple patrons who had ensnared them, their body shaking in orgasmic death, clawing for release on the dance floor, the sound of the music drowning out the sound of their voice.

“You want to be mine? Hm?” His hand lifted, grazing the long earring in his left ear before trailing down over the layered lace choker he wore, the top a glinting silver that read “Appelle-Moi”, the necklaces beneath it falling down his chest, accentuating perfect skin as it dipped into a low shirt. The veining of his skin was like a sensual road map, and each time your eye caught sight of a new shade of blue, it trembled. Soaked.

“Take me.” You whimpered, your lips remaining open as if held by strong fingers.

“Obedient slave, I like that.” He nodded, and smiled, but his lips formed no shape, “…Call me ‘Master Hyungwon’. Say it.” He commanded, his mental tone deeper and quite a bit more even than before. You shook as you remained still, his lips peeling apart slowly, showing long fangs, making you quake with pleasure at just the sight. How had this happened to you? Kneeling and wet, you begged for him.

“Master…Hyungwon…” You croaked.

“Mmnn…Good…” He lifted his chin and raised an arm, pointing off towards a velvet covered doorway to the left of where his throne sat, “Go. Through there. Crawl.”

“Yes, Master Hyungwon.”

***************

Hand fisted in what he could grip of your hair, bare hips forced against your tear-streaked face, your throat taking his cock as deep as it would as he face-fucked you, your nose hitting soft pubic hair with each strike of that thickened head to the depths of your slender esophagus. The glide made your throat bulge visibly, but he only pushed deeper, breathing heavily through his nose, thrusting himself harshly, the welcoming muscles enveloping him, making your eyes roll back in your head and your gag reflex act up.

Snarling, he kept himself controlled, but his hips jerked back and forth several times vigorously before he pulled from your throat, saliva stringing from your mouth to his girth, the thick of the veined member bobbing in the dense air of the room. Staring down at you, he brought your face forward once more, rubbing the mushroomed, red head against the shape of your lips, swirling the glistening precum against your mouth.

Your lids fluttered open at the feeling of that cock against your lips, a submissive expression taking you as you stared up at him, opening your mouth slowly, your tongue slipping forward to press to the thick underbelly of that girth, the tip flicking, silently begging for more. Hyungwon licked the expansive curvatures of his lips, bringing the hand that had once been in your hair forward, gently petting over your crown, “…Mm…so hungry…” He finally spoke aloud, though it was no more than a whisper, and as he watched you, his lean abdominal muscles flexed visibly, making you feel weak. Your hands ran down your thighs and you moved your head forward, that thick tip popping into your mouth, and he gave a moment’s pause just to watch you before gripping the back of your skull a second time, slamming his cock into your mouth once more, arching to keep it deep, “A-ahh…suck…harder.”

You found yourself unable to defy him, even with the painful stretch of your throat nearly taking over your ability to breathe. His hips moving again, he would roll them, starting a slow, hard rhythm, grunting deeply from how you stimulated him. Picking up the pace, he snarled, gripping your hair a second time, this time harder than prior, fucking your throat as if he was a man starved. Your nails dug into your thighs and you tried to keep yourself stable, tears rolling over your cheekbones, the stretch nearly too much.

“A-ah, I’m close. Yeah, just like that.” He groaned lewdly, his head tipping back and body tensing hard as he chased his orgasm, “Fuck…” Jerking his hips forward a handful more times until he slammed himself deep and stilled, shooting thick, immense, cum into that throat, against your nasal passage and second gag reflex, the white fluid forced from your nose, your throat spasming around his throbbing girth, which pulsed hard against your tongue.

You closed your eyes tightly until he pulled back, popping free of your lips once more, cum flooding from your bottom lip, dripping from your chin and covering the bottom half of your face. You stared up at him, messy and broken in the most beautiful of ways, used by the vampire for his more carnal needs, you had somehow found yourself feeling far more alive. Staring up at him again, you knew that your pants were soaked from your own arousal, and you wiggled in your spot a bit, whining needily.

Dropping a hand down, he would tip your chin up, staring at you, his fingers slicking with his own seed, though he kept your face level, staring down at you, “Mm…You listen so well. I’ll keep you around for a while…use you for blood…and sex…” He bit his lip slowly, letting his teeth drag from the plush of his bottom tier, “…you’d like that wouldn’t you?”

You couldn’t help but nod, the sound of the club outside the curtains still pulsing with music, the other patrons none the wiser that your face had just been fucked senseless. Drowned in his power, you wanted him, and you wouldn’t dare think of leaving his side, or disobeying, so you merely answered, “Yes, Master Hyungwon. I would very much like that.”

Dropping a hand, he would hook a finger in the choker you wore, pulling you up as if you were leashed. Staring into your eyes, he bore his teeth at you, and you could feel your blood pulse as if it were begging for him to drain you, and in many ways, it was. You knew he could so easily kill you—and one day, he just might. You swallowed hard, your throat moving against the finger that pressed against it. You had never felt more alive than with this undead King, never more full in heart and mind. He hissed through his teeth, hungry for more of you—every inch.

“Alright…then together we shall become entwined, deep…

…Into the night.”

Admin Death

27 notes · View notes

azeher · 6 years ago

Text

On Queerbaiting, Bad Voltron Bad, and Adashi

I finally found the time and patience to bring you this post. Take it however you want. Unfollow me, love me, fall in love with Ryan Renolds... Just take your pick.

The only disclaimer I’ll make is that the Voltron crew and the marketing team of DreamWorks are very capable of queerbaiting. I’ve accused them of doing exactly that before, but I was just getting ahead of myself. I just don’t think they’re queerbaiting us after all, not on purpose (the voltron crew at least. The marketing team can go eat a spoiled banana). But at the end this is like the Schrödinger’s Cat, we won’t know until we get to see the very last episode of the final season. I mean, korrasami was queerbait until the very last seconds before the credits rolled.

BUT, the crew has made quite the mistakes along the years, and I’m gonna make a list of them:

1- Opening their mouths. Just really, they should have stayed quiet, taken the initial praising and shown gratitude and that’s it. The very first and biggest mistake they made was thinking it was a good idea to talk about the show to the fandom. Not only they never knew how to handle it, sometimes they forced themselves to lie. By creating such an narrow relationship with the fandom they allowed them to ask them for things they wanted into the show. They allowed them to ask them questions they didn’t know how to answer and sometimes they had to be purposely misleading to avoid spoilers.

2- Believing their own misleading answers. And this is how I know they’re not queerbaiting on purpose. Because they tend to get passionate when promoting the show, they’ve said things in ways that could be misinterpreted by the audience. They think they’re saying something harmless, that the small difference between what they say would happen and what actually happens will translate well, but it’s never the case.

3- Not trying to know their fandom. This isn’t entirely their fault. It’s obvious the fandom they got wasn’t the fandom they were supposed to get. I.e., the fandom should be made up of grown ups that loved the 80s Voltron and came back out of nostalgia, and of little kids looking for cool space battles, and of teens that like action and humor mixed together. Because that was their target audience. Rather they got a fandom pertaining to an entirely different genre. They got people who don’t really care for the plot (don’t even try to argue with this. The hundreds of posts I’ve seen the last three years claiming smt along the lines of “Voltron would have to pay me to watch the show for the plot” prove me right) because it bores them, and are only focused on the one thing the show openly isn’t about: Romance.

4- The writing. Legend of Korra didn’t have perfect writing. Voltron doesn’t either. This studio puts all of its effort and talent out there, you can tell, but they still have a long way to go. Still, what they do is not bad, despite what spiteful people want to make others believe. This studio has some of the most beautiful animation out there and their strengths rely on art, humor, fight sequences, music and very dramatic scenes. Those are the five things they’ve mastered. But their writing and character focus are lacking. This is not something they can’t fix. Instead of trying to drag them down and boycott these amazing and talented artists and writers who are also human beings, we could give them the support they need to improve and keep delivering stories and characters we can fall in love with. I mean, we fell in love with these characters even when the writing wasn’t perfect. This season, whether some of you want to admit it or not, had the best writing they’ve offered so far but to dissect this statement would mean making yet another long post and just no.

5- The characters’ arcs. We’ve already established they don’t know how to write characters or romance. They’re good with other sorts of relationships but romance is the thing they’re worst at. And they also suck at being constant with characters’ arcs. The biggest proof? I didn’t know the fucking protagonist of Voltron was indeed Keith until like season 4, and I only found out cuz I watched some episodes of 80’s Voltron around that time and was struck with the realization. It was impossible to tell because so far all the focus of the story had gone back and forth between Shiro and Pidge. Then Keith and eventually Allura got their own arcs. So, how about Pidge makes that math cuz it doesn’t add up? How was acceptable for them to be unclear about who the central figure in the show was? Keith was introduced as the fourth character. And they even formatted the first half of the first episode so it looked like Lance was the protagonist. The second half they were already giving up on him and turning him into a joke and Shiro finally emerged as the central figure.

6- Romance. So they completely suck at romance and they made a good decision about leaving it out. But did they really? Cuz the show says yes, but the crew’s comments and awkward writing say otherwise. And this is what takes us to the next and saddest mistake:

7- ADASHI. I know you all read this far only to get to this point. I’m gonna include Ezor and Zethrid here as well because they’re also consequence from the previous point. Shiro is an amazing character and him being gay IS indeed a big triumph. We will forever know such a great and important Asian character is canonly gay. But the writers made all the rookie mistakes they could make surrounding his sexuality, AND Ezor and Zethrid’s relationship. Don’t get me wrong, I for once don’t mind these lesbians being on the dark side because they were still pretty badass and cool even though they were villains, but they took their ambiguous villainess too far, which wouldn’t have been a bad thing wasn’t it because they were the only lesbian couple in the show. So rookie mistake number one: Picking the wrong characters to be your representation when you’re gonna be so limited with representation. They also killed them off, which, well, they kinda deserved, but again, they were the ONLY lesbian couple, so how about give them the chance to redeem themselves (and your own writers)?

They introduced Adam and established he and Shiro simply didn’t work together but then killed off Adam without allowing us to get to know him, and without allowing him and Shiro to get some kinda closure. But the crew, again, didn’t know how to handle the way to go about hyping the show, and were yet again misleading by letting us believe we’d spend some time with Adam. They genuinely thought there was nothing wrong with killing him because he was no longer part of Shiro’s life and because war’s like that. So rookie mistake number two: Not being honest about the fate of one of the two confirmed queer characters in the show. When you have so few queer characters, and you really think you had to kill one of them, don’t treat it like a spoiler, BE honest, so the public knows what to expect. Soften the blow. Maybe they could have said he wouldn’t be in the show too long, and we would have made our guesses. Rookie mistake number three: Pick him as one of the casualties. I understand the intention of this was to make Shiro lose someone because of the war, but did it really need to happen? Did Shiro really need to lose someone? I’m sure no big plot point in the story would have changed if Adam had lived. Rookie mistake number four: Kill him before we got to know him and before he talked to Shiro again. If the purpose of his death was to impact Shiro or us, it would have had a much bigger effect if they had had time to interact again.

Now, could Voltron as a whole fix all of these mistakes? Yes. Yes they could. For starters, they should start talking with the truth. That would actually help to heal the fandom a lot. At this point, being quiet won’t serve of any purpose. Now it’s their real time to talk, but honestly.

Second, it all depends on how they wrap season eight. If they’re really planning on making a healthy queer relationship canon and explicit, that could be their salvation. They’d have to do it right, and it is possible, but fairly hard, especially with romance not being their strength.

Third. Adashi. Yes. Again Adashi. Remember when I said I had complicated feelings about what they did to it? Well, aside from what I already said, there’s this extra bit. And it is that they truly could have had a good reason to kill off Adam. I know that it makes you angry, but this is a possibility. Maybe the point is to let Shiro move on, find love again. He’s healthy now, not fearing about dying anytime soon and he’s matured. He wouldn’t make the same mistakes. And there are not reasons to believe Adam won’t be featured in another future flashback that could deliver that sense of closure we and Shiro need. So, in short, the reason I’m not as angry as I should be, is because this can still be addressed in the show.

It’s easy to be pessimistic and not to trust the ending. For all we know, eighth season might be just 13 episodes of quiznak writing and the mice founding their own theme park, but until the box gets opened we won’t know if the cat is dead.

#adashi #queerbaiting #voltron #vld spoilers s7 #and these are my final thoughts #this is what i think and this is what i feel #so don't bother me anymore

142 notes · View notes

unnaturalcuriosity · 6 years ago

Text

UnnaturalCuriousity’s Rules Post {For Mobile Users}

{icon art by @stoplickingthingsweird}

B A S I C ✪ R U L E S

Things to Know

🔬 Please respect my rules and boundaries. I will give polite warnings if someone breaks a minor rule, but if it's obvious that you're blatantly disregarding what I've said here and/or are breaking serious rules, then that shows a lack of respect. Therefore I reserve the right to take action by directly confronting you and/or ending further interactions IC and/or OOC.

🔬 Since Dr. Kantalo’s job is to know a lot about other alien species, and she is meant to be a highly intelligent character, she will know in depth information about canon alien races from Universe 7. (Saiyans, Namekians etc.) This will include things like what makes them weak in combat. (For Saiyans it’s having their tail pulled unless it’s been trained. For Namekians it’s whistling.) If your muse is an OC whose backstory includes any contact with the Planet Trade Organization/Frieza Force, it would make sense for her to learn/know moderate to advanced information about your OC’s alien race when we interact. However, in order to avoid making you feel like I’m godmodding/metagaming I will ask permission OOC to mention such details and plot with you before using such information in a response. If having my muse know things about your OC muse’s race that comes from your about page and headcanon posts bothers you, please let me know and we can come up with reasons for why she wouldn’t know them in that great of depth. Know that having Dr. Kantalo possessing knowledge about your muse’s race isn’t the same as knowing their personal history/background. Not unless we plot for them to have some existing relationship prior to the start of our first thread. 🔬 If you are a personal blog following me because you are interested in my original characters and the content I publish here, all I ask is that you don't reblog asks that involve my RP partners and don't reblog our roleplay threads. That's considered rude in the RPC as it can interfere with our activity feed and our ability to track threads. I would also prefer if people didn't reblog my headcanon posts that are specific to my roleplay portrayal of my muses. Reblogging posts of artwork done of my OC is fine, so long as you don't erase the credits of who drew it and you don't try to claim credit for making my OCs. 🔬 If you'd like to draw my OC/s I would be thrilled to see it! You can submit it or post the artwork and tag this blog (and if you want to my personal blog, @raxceni). Make sure to credit me as the person who owns/made the OC/s you drew. 🔬 I am 18+ and so is my muse. Topics that are Safe for Tumblr but are still better suited for a mature audience from the past and present are tagged as #lemon goodness or #touch of citrus if it's questionably mature. Past and present content that I believe needs a trigger warning are tagged with #tw; _____ for possible triggering content. If you have specific triggers let me know and I’ll do my best to remember and accommodate. {Trigger Warning Tags Master Post link} 🔬 I will never hold it against a person if they want to unfollow me or drop me as a roleplay partner for any reason. If you wish to speak to me about the reasons why, you may do so but please be civil. 🔬 I consider myself a Continuity Queen™ which means I remember things and want to keep relationships and serious rp threads consistent. The little things are important to me, but not to the point where it interferes with enjoyment of roleplaying. If your muse is struggling to interact with mine, you can talk to me about do-overs and re-plotting. I may discuss ways we can salvage the relationship with what we’ve already done, but if that doesn’t work out doing things over is fine. (But it must be communicated to me!!!) A do-over that won't guarantee that they'll get along the way you or I want though. If I see you trying and putting in effort, I'll return that effort on my end. Likewise, if you notice any inconsistencies in our thread on my end, let me know and we can correct the issue together.

Mun Activity & Selectivity

🔬 I am selective for this roleplay blog due to time. That means I’m not going to roleplay with anyone I’m not following/mutuals with. I’m a busy/easy to tire tired person that tires easily due to some health issues I’ve been dealing with since 2018. I also run two other rp blogs. I won’t force myself to roleplay with people I don’t feel a strong enough interest with in terms of their muse, roleplay writing style, etc. I will always encourage people to talk to me, but know that it won’t guarantee anything. It’s nothing personal if I choose not to roleplay with you. Not everyone is a good roleplay partner for each other, and it’s not about being “better” or “worse” than someone else. I don’t mind telling you why I’m not interested, but don’t be rude or try to force interactions. 🔬 I ask that nobody tags me in serious roleplay or IC interaction threads without speaking with me first and getting my consent so we can plot things out. (Unless I reach out to you first IC or OOC.) Especially if we aren't following each other. Mutuals can send IC interaction asks if I reblog memes. If non-mutuals ignore this rule I will not respond to the starter and I may even block you because you haven't taken the time to read my rules or notice my header information that clearly states that this blog is selective. 🔬 If we start to/continue to roleplay together please be patient with me and keep in mind that I will be slow to respond to our threads. As you probably know I run two other canon muse blogs, and they are fairly active. You can always come talk with me about our thread/s and plot with me to give direction to our thread/s that engages both our muses mutually. If you feel like a thread got lost and/or it's been awhile since we last spoke or I last responded come talk to me. You can check if I'm keeping track of a thread by visiting my {Thread Tracker link.}

Unacceptable Roleplay Etiquette:

🔬 Various types of powerplay, godmoding, force shipping, etc. 🔬 Toxic behaviors and attitudes (like jealousy) that cause problems for yourself and others. 🔬 Muns projecting themselves into their character so much that muse = mun. 🔬 Muses and/or muns who are under 18 approaching me and my muse for shipping and/or smut. 🔬 Using me and my muse for any reason that isn’t for IC plot that’s planned. 🔬 Muns assuming that muse = mun and treating me poorly because of it. 🔬 Genuine lack of respect for muns as people who come first before our hobby. 🔬 Muns who create rp blogs on a whim and delete/abandon them with little to no notice frequently once they lose interest in that muse, and not because the mun is just busy IRL or having health issues. Depending on the offense, I will first speak with you about the issue. However, if the bad behavior doesn’t stop or I don’t like how you respond, I am well within my right to drop threads and not interact with you. I have a zero tolerance policy for toxic people and their abusive antics. If I find out you are guilty of being malicious towards anyone in the rp community presently or have in the past and continue to be toxic, I am not obligated to give you a second chance. I came here to have fun, not instruct adults on how to be decent human beings.

Writing Fight Threads With Me

🔬 I am selective with who I write fight scenes with. Some people make it awkward because of what they consider to be godmodding etc. and because of that I often lose interest in those threads. 🔬 You MUST SPEAK TO ME OOC if you're interested in doing a thread where our muses fight or spar.

How to Treat the Muse

🔬 DO NOT treat my muse like she's here to dote on and worship your muse, regardless of any connections/alliances she might have to other canon DBZ characters. She follows her orders, and respects her superiors and co-workers, but she's not here a push-over. 🔬 Dr. Kantalo may be a female OC, but she's not here for romance and smut. She's not that kind of woman. If you treat her like she's a sexual prize to own or win over, you're proving to me that you have no idea what she's really like, and that you haven't read my rules. 🔬 If you approach my muse with insults and an attitude, expect that she'll remember the things you say and do. While she's got a friendly disposition and she's not easily offended, Dr. Kantalo can be quite opportunistic. Even vindictive. Give her a reason not to like you, and your muse may regret it.

Stance on Shipping

🔬 In general, I am not interested in shipping with my OCs. Moya is a NPC kind of OC and Dr. Kantalo is Aro-Ace (meaning she doesn't experience either romantic attraction or sexual attraction to other people) and she’s physically unable to reproduce. Pursuing a ship with her seems pointless from my perspective. Emotionally she'd be weird to ship with too. In general I'm not interested in shipping with my OCs. 🔬 I have written her in a domestic partnership that lacked typical romantic dynamics and was not sexual with a friend of mine in the past. Neither labeled themselves as a "couple" either. While I doubt she'll be open to another domestic partnership, I wouldn't want to rule out the possibility of it happening either. 🔬 REMINDER: If there is any shipping stuff going on it won’t happen with muses or muns under 18 years of age.

Adult Themes

🔬 As of 12/17/18, it is supposedly alright to write erotica based on Tumblr’s guidelines, but I have no interest in writing smut on Tumblr. Nor am I keen about writing it with my OCs. 🔬 Dr. Kantalo isn't sex repulsed and she will speak of sex in a straightforward manner from a scientific point of view. If sex comes up as a topic in her posts, I will tag it with #lemon goodness or #touch of citrus. 🔬 While she's not repulsed by sex, Dr. Kantalo doesn’t feel sexual desires/urges. She may get curious about it and discuss it analytically. I would prefer it if you don't approach me and my muse for adult situations where she takes an active part in them. If you want to do so for the sake of comedy to get your muse rejected that's fine. But if I feel like you're getting pushy/forceful I will end things in a manner that makes you and your muse look foolish for not understanding that "no means no" along with ending communication and IC interactions with you.

If you've read these rules up to this point and want me to know, send me an ask saying, "I love science!" This isn't a password or requirement for me to interact with you. I just like knowing that people read my rules.

#Mobile Rules #long post

3 notes · View notes