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kingstylesdaily · 4 years

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Playtime With Harry Styles

via vogue.com

THE MEN’S BATHING POND in London’s Hampstead Heath at daybreak on a gloomy September morning seemed such an unlikely locale for my first meeting with Harry Styles, music’s legendarily charm-heavy style czar, that I wondered perhaps if something had been lost in translation.

But then there is Styles, cheerily gung ho, hidden behind a festive yellow bandana mask and a sweatshirt of his own design, surprisingly printed with three portraits of his intellectual pinup, the author Alain de Botton. “I love his writing,” says Styles. “I just think he’s brilliant. I saw him give a talk about the keys to happiness, and how one of the keys is living among friends, and how real friendship stems from being vulnerable with someone.”

In turn, de Botton’s 2016 novel The Course of Love taught Styles that “when it comes to relationships, you just expect yourself to be good at it…[but] being in a real relationship with someone is a skill,” one that Styles himself has often had to hone in the unforgiving klieg light of public attention, and in the company of such high-profile paramours as Taylor Swift and—well, Styles is too much of a gentleman to name names.

That sweatshirt and the Columbia Records tracksuit bottoms are removed in the quaint wooden open-air changing room, with its Swallows and Amazons vibe. A handful of intrepid fellow patrons in various states of undress are blissfully unaware of the 26-year-old supernova in their midst, although I must admit I’m finding it rather difficult to take my eyes off him, try as I might. Styles has been on a six-day juice cleanse in readiness for Vogue’s photographer Tyler Mitchell. He practices Pilates (“I’ve got very tight hamstrings—trying to get those open”) and meditates twice a day. “It has changed my life,” he avers, “but it’s so subtle. It’s helped me just be more present. I feel like I’m able to enjoy the things that are happening right in front of me, even if it’s food or it’s coffee or it’s being with a friend—or a swim in a really cold pond!” Styles also feels that his meditation practices have helped him through the tumult of 2020: “Meditation just brings a stillness that has been really beneficial, I think, for my mental health.”

Styles has been a pescatarian for three years, inspired by the vegan food that several members of his current band prepared on tour. “My body definitely feels better for it,” he says. His shapely torso is prettily inscribed with the tattoos of a Victorian sailor—a rose, a galleon, a mermaid, an anchor, and a palm tree among them, and, straddling his clavicle, the dates 1967 and 1957 (the respective birth years of his mother and father). Frankly, I rather wish I’d packed a beach muumuu.

We take the piratical gangplank that juts into the water and dive in. Let me tell you, this is not the Aegean. The glacial water is a cloudy phlegm green beneath the surface, and clammy reeds slap one’s ankles. Styles, who admits he will try any fad, has recently had a couple of cryotherapy sessions and is evidently less susceptible to the cold. By the time we have swum a full circuit, however, body temperatures have adjusted, and the ice, you might say, has been broken. Duly invigorated, we are ready to face the day. Styles has thoughtfully brought a canister of coffee and some bottles of water in his backpack, and we sit at either end of a park bench for a socially distanced chat.

It seems that he has had a productive year. At the onset of lockdown, Styles found himself in his second home, in the canyons of Los Angeles. After a few days on his own, however, he moved in with a pod of three friends (and subsequently with two band members, Mitch Rowland and Sarah Jones). They “would put names in a hat and plan the week out,” Styles explains. “If you were Monday, you would choose the movie, dinner, and the activity for that day. I like to make soups, and there was a big array of movies; we went all over the board,” from Goodfellas to Clueless. The experience, says Styles, “has been a really good lesson in what makes me happy now. It’s such a good example of living in the moment. I honestly just like being around my friends,” he adds. “That’s been my biggest takeaway. Just being on my own the whole time, I would have been miserable.”

Styles is big on friendship groups and considers his former and legendarily hysteria-inducing boy band, One Direction, to have been one of them. “I think the typical thing is to come out of a band like that and almost feel like you have to apologize for being in it,” says Styles. “But I loved my time in it. It was all new to me, and I was trying to learn as much as I could. I wanted to soak it in…. I think that’s probably why I like traveling now—soaking stuff up.” In a post-COVID future, he is contemplating a temporary move to Tokyo, explaining that “there’s a respect and a stillness, a quietness that I really loved every time I’ve been there.”

In 1D, Styles was making music whenever he could. “After a show you’d go in a hotel room and put down some vocals,” he recalls. As a result, his first solo album, 2017’s Harry Styles, “was when I really fell in love with being in the studio,” he says. “I loved it as much as touring.” Today he favors isolating with his core group of collaborators, “our little bubble”—Rowland, Kid Harpoon (né Tom Hull), and Tyler Johnson. “A safe space,” as he describes it.

In the music he has been working on in 2020, Styles wants to capture the experimental spirit that informed his second album, last year’s Fine Line. With his debut album, “I was very much finding out what my sound was as a solo artist,” he says. “I can see all the places where it almost felt like I was bowling with the bumpers up. I think with the second album I let go of the fear of getting it wrong and…it was really joyous and really free. I think with music it’s so important to evolve—and that extends to clothes and videos and all that stuff. That’s why you look back at David Bowie with Ziggy Stardust or the Beatles and their different eras—that fearlessness is super inspiring.”

The seismic changes of 2020—including the Black Lives Matter uprising around racial justice—has also provided Styles with an opportunity for personal growth. “I think it’s a time for opening up and learning and listening,” he says. “I’ve been trying to read and educate myself so that in 20 years I’m still doing the right things and taking the right steps. I believe in karma, and I think it’s just a time right now where we could use a little more kindness and empathy and patience with people, be a little more prepared to listen and grow.”

Meanwhile, Styles’s euphoric single “Watermelon Sugar” became something of an escapist anthem for this dystopian summer of 2020. The video, featuring Styles (dressed in ’70s-flavored Gucci and Bode) cavorting with a pack of beach-babe girls and boys, was shot in January, before lockdown rules came into play. By the time it was ready to be released in May, a poignant epigraph had been added: “This video is dedicated to touching.”

Styles is looking forward to touring again, when “it’s safe for everyone,” because, as he notes, “being up against people is part of the whole thing. You can’t really re-create it in any way.” But it hasn’t always been so. Early in his career, Styles was so stricken with stage fright that he regularly threw up preperformance. “I just always thought I was going to mess up or something,” he remembers. “But I’ve felt really lucky to have a group of incredibly generous fans. They’re generous emotionally—and when they come to the show, they give so much that it creates this atmosphere that I’ve always found so loving and accepting.”

THIS SUMMER, when it was safe enough to travel, Styles returned to his London home, which is where he suggests we head now, setting off in his modish Primrose Yellow ’73 Jaguar that smells of gasoline and leatherette. “Me and my dad have always bonded over cars,” Styles explains. “I never thought I’d be someone who just went out for a leisurely drive, purely for enjoyment.” On sleepless jet-lagged nights he’ll drive through London’s quiet streets, seeing neighborhoods in a new way. “I find it quite relaxing,” he says.

Over the summer Styles took a road trip with his artist friend Tomo Campbell through France and Italy, setting off at four in the morning and spending the night in Geneva, where they jumped in the lake “to wake ourselves up.” (I see a pattern emerging.) At the end of the trip Styles drove home alone, accompanied by an upbeat playlist that included “Aretha Franklin, Parliament, and a lot of Stevie Wonder. It was really fun for me,” he says. “I don’t travel like that a lot. I’m usually in such a rush, but there was a stillness to it. I love the feeling of nobody knowing where I am, that kind of escape...and freedom.”

GROWING UP in a village in the North of England, Styles thought of London as a world apart: “It truly felt like a different country.” At a wide-eyed 16, he came down to the teeming metropolis after his mother entered him on the U.K. talent-search show The X Factor. “I went to the audition to find out if I could sing,” Styles recalls, “or if my mum was just being nice to me.” Styles was eliminated but subsequently brought back with other contestants—Niall Horan, Liam Payne, Louis Tomlinson, and Zayn Malik—to form a boy band that was named (on Styles’s suggestion) One Direction. The wily X Factor creator and judge, Simon Cowell, soon signed them to his label Syco Records, and the rest is history: 1D’s first four albums, supported by four world tours from 2011 to 2015, debuted at number one on the U.S. Billboard charts, and the band has sold 70 million records to date. At 18, Styles bought the London house he now calls home. “I was going to do two weeks’ work to it,” he remembers, “but when I came back there was no second floor,” so he moved in with adult friends who lived nearby till the renovation was complete. “Eighteen months,” he deadpans. “I’ve always seen that period as pretty pivotal for me, as there’s that moment at the party where it’s getting late, and half of the people would go upstairs to do drugs, and the other people go home. I was like, ‘I don’t really know this friend’s wife, so I’m not going to get all messy and then go home.’ I had to behave a bit, at a time where everything else about my life felt I didn’t have to behave really. I’ve been lucky to always feel I have this family unit somewhere.”

When Styles’s London renovation was finally done, “I went in for the first time and I cried,” he recalls. “Because I just felt like I had somewhere. L.A. feels like holiday, but this feels like home.”

Behind its pink door, Styles’s house has all the trappings of rock stardom—there’s a man cave filled with guitars, a Sex Pistols Never Mind the Bollocks poster (a moving-in gift from his decorator), a Stevie Nicks album cover. Fleetwood Mac’s “Dreams” was one of the first songs he knew the words to—“My parents were big fans”—and he and Nicks have formed something of a mutual-admiration society. At the beginning of lockdown, Nicks tweeted to her fans that she was taking inspiration from Fine Line: “Way to go, H,” she wrote. “It is your Rumours.” “She’s always there for you,” said Styles when he inducted Nicks into the Rock & Roll Hall of Fame in 2019. “She knows what you need—advice, a little wisdom, a blouse, a shawl; she’s got you covered.”

Styles makes us some tea in the light-filled kitchen and then wanders into the convivial living room, where he strikes an insouciant pose on the chesterfield sofa, upholstered in a turquoise velvet that perhaps not entirely coincidentally sets off his eyes. Styles admits that his lockdown lewk was “sweatpants, constantly,” and he is relishing the opportunity to dress up again. He doesn’t have to wait long: The following day, under the eaves of a Victorian mansion in Notting Hill, I arrive in the middle of fittings for Vogue’s shoot and discover Styles in his Y-fronts, patiently waiting to try on looks for fashion editor Camilla Nickerson and photographer Tyler Mitchell. Styles’s personal stylist, Harry Lambert, wearing a pearl necklace and his nails colored in various shades of green varnish, à la Sally Bowles, is providing helpful backup (Britain’s Rule of Six hasn’t yet been imposed).

Styles, who has thoughtfully brought me a copy of de Botton’s 2006 book The Architecture of Happiness, is instinctively and almost quaintly polite, in an old-fashioned, holding-open-doors and not-mentioning-lovers-by-name sort of way. He is astounded to discover that the Atlanta-born Mitchell has yet to experience a traditional British Sunday roast dinner. Assuring him that “it’s basically like Thanksgiving every Sunday,” Styles gives Mitchell the details of his favorite London restaurants in which to enjoy one. “It’s a good thing to be nice,” Mitchell tells me after a morning in Styles’s company.

MITCHELL has Lionel Wendt’s languorously homoerotic 1930s portraits of young Sri Lankan men on his mood board. Nickerson is thinking of Irving Penn’s legendary fall 1950 Paris haute couture collections sitting, where he photographed midcentury supermodels, including his wife, Lisa Fonssagrives, in high-style Dior and Balenciaga creations. Styles is up for all of it, and so, it would seem, is the menswear landscape of 2020: Jonathan Anderson has produced a trapeze coat anchored with a chunky gold martingale; John Galliano at Maison Margiela has fashioned a khaki trench with a portrait neckline in layers of colored tulle; and Harris Reed—a Saint Martins fashion student sleuthed by Lambert who ended up making some looks for Styles’s last tour—has spent a week making a broad-shouldered Smoking jacket with high-waisted, wide-leg pants that have become a Styles signature since he posed for Tim Walker for the cover of Fine Line wearing a Gucci pair—a silhouette that was repeated in the tour wardrobe. (“I liked the idea of having that uniform,” says Styles.) Reed’s version is worn with a hoopskirt draped in festoons of hot-pink satin that somehow suggests Deborah Kerr asking Yul Brynner’s King of Siam, “Shall we dance?”

Styles introduces me to the writer and eyewear designer Gemma Styles, “my sister from the same womb,” he says. She is also here for the fitting: The siblings plan to surprise their mother with the double portrait on these pages.

I ask her whether her brother had always been interested in clothes.

“My mum loved to dress us up,” she remembers. “I always hated it, and Harry was always quite into it. She did some really elaborate papier-mâché outfits: She made a giant mug and then painted an atlas on it, and that was Harry being ‘The World Cup.’ Harry also had a little dalmatian-dog outfit,” she adds, “a hand-me-down from our closest family friends. He would just spend an inordinate amount of time wearing that outfit. But then Mum dressed me up as Cruella de Vil. She was always looking for any opportunity!”

“As a kid I definitely liked fancy dress,” Styles says. There were school plays, the first of which cast him as Barney, a church mouse. “I was really young, and I wore tights for that,” he recalls. “I remember it was crazy to me that I was wearing a pair of tights. And that was maybe where it all kicked off!”

Acting has also remained a fundamental form of expression for Styles. His sister recalls that even on the eve of his life-changing X Factor audition, Styles could sing in public only in an assumed voice. “He used to do quite a good sort of Elvis warble,” she remembers. During the rehearsals in the family home, “he would sing in the bathroom because if it was him singing as himself, he just couldn’t have anyone looking at him! I love his voice now,” she adds. “I’m so glad that he makes music that I actually enjoy listening to.”

Styles’s role-playing continued soon after 1D went on permanent hiatus in 2016, and he was cast in Christopher Nolan’s Dunkirk, beating out dozens of professional actors for the role. “The good part was my character was a young soldier who didn’t really know what he was doing,” says Styles modestly. “The scale of the movie was so big that I was a tiny piece of the puzzle. It was definitely humbling. I just loved being outside of my comfort zone.”

His performance caught the eye of Olivia Wilde, who remembers that it “blew me away—the openness and commitment.” In turn, Styles loved Wilde’s directorial debut, Booksmart, and is “very honored” that she cast him in a leading role for her second feature, a thriller titled Don’t Worry Darling, which went into production this fall. Styles will play the husband to Florence Pugh in what Styles describes as “a 1950s utopia in the California desert.”

Wilde’s movie is costumed by Academy Award nominee Arianne Phillips. “She and I did a little victory dance when we heard that we officially had Harry in the film,” notes Wilde, “because we knew that he has a real appreciation for fashion and style. And this movie is incredibly stylistic. It’s very heightened and opulent, and I’m really grateful that he is so enthusiastic about that element of the process—some actors just don’t care.”

“I like playing dress-up in general,” Styles concurs, in a masterpiece of understatement: This is the man, after all, who cohosted the Met’s 2019 “Notes on Camp” gala attired in a nipple-freeing black organza blouse with a lace jabot, and pants so high-waisted that they cupped his pectorals. The ensemble, accessorized with the pearl-drop earring of a dandified Elizabethan courtier, was created for Styles by Gucci’s Alessandro Michele, whom he befriended in 2014. Styles, who has subsequently personified the brand as the face of the Gucci fragrance, finds Michele “fearless with his work and his imagination. It’s really inspiring to be around someone who works like that.”

The two first met in London over a cappuccino. “It was just a kind of PR appointment,” says Michele, “but something magical happened, and Harry is now a friend. He has the aura of an English rock-and-roll star—like a young Greek god with the attitude of James Dean and a little bit of Mick Jagger—but no one is sweeter. He is the image of a new era, of the way that a man can look.”

Styles credits his style transformation—from Jack Wills tracksuit-clad boy-band heartthrob to nonpareil fashionisto—to his meeting the droll young stylist Harry Lambert seven years ago. They hit it off at once and have conspired ever since, enjoying a playfully campy rapport and calling each other Sue and Susan as they parse the niceties of the scarlet lace Gucci man-bra that Michele has made for Vogue’s shoot, for instance, or a pair of Bode pants hand-painted with biographical images (Styles sent Emily Adams Bode images of his family, and a photograph he had found of David Hockney and Joni Mitchell. “The idea of those two being friends, to me, was really beautiful,” Styles explains).

“He just has fun with clothing, and that’s kind of where I’ve got it from,” says Styles of Lambert. “He doesn’t take it too seriously, which means I don’t take it too seriously.” The process has been evolutionary. At his first meeting with Lambert, the stylist proposed “a pair of flares, and I was like, ‘Flares? That’s fucking crazy,’ ” Styles remembers. Now he declares that “you can never be overdressed. There’s no such thing. The people that I looked up to in music—Prince and David Bowie and Elvis and Freddie Mercury and Elton John—they’re such showmen. As a kid it was completely mind-blowing. Now I’ll put on something that feels really flamboyant, and I don’t feel crazy wearing it. I think if you get something that you feel amazing in, it’s like a superhero outfit. Clothes are there to have fun with and experiment with and play with. What’s really exciting is that all of these lines are just kind of crumbling away. When you take away ‘There’s clothes for men and there’s clothes for women,’ once you remove any barriers, obviously you open up the arena in which you can play. I’ll go in shops sometimes, and I just find myself looking at the women’s clothes thinking they’re amazing. It’s like anything—anytime you’re putting barriers up in your own life, you’re just limiting yourself. There’s so much joy to be had in playing with clothes. I’ve never really thought too much about what it means—it just becomes this extended part of creating something.”

“He’s up for it,” confirms Lambert, who earlier this year, for instance, found a JW Anderson cardigan with the look of a Rubik’s Cube (“on sale at matches.com!”). Styles wore it, accessorized with his own pearl necklace, for a Today rehearsal in February and it went viral: His fans were soon knitting their own versions and posting the results on TikTok. Jonathan Anderson declared himself “so impressed and incredibly humbled by this trend” that he nimbly made the pattern available (complete with a YouTube tutorial) so that Styles’s fans could copy it for free. Meanwhile, London’s storied Victoria & Albert Museum has requested Styles’s original: an emblematic document of how people got creative during the COVID era. “It’s going to be in their permanent collection,” says Lambert exultantly. “Is that not sick? Is that not the most epic thing?”

“To me, he’s very modern,” says Wilde of Styles, “and I hope that this brand of confidence as a male that Harry has—truly devoid of any traces of toxic masculinity—is indicative of his generation and therefore the future of the world. I think he is in many ways championing that, spearheading that. It’s pretty powerful and kind of extraordinary to see someone in his position redefining what it can mean to be a man with confidence.”

“He’s really in touch with his feminine side because it’s something natural,” notes Michele. “And he’s a big inspiration to a younger generation—about how you can be in a totally free playground when you feel comfortable. I think that he’s a revolutionary.”

STYLES’S confidence is on full display the day after the fitting, which finds us all on the beautiful Sussex dales. Over the summit of the hill, with its trees blown horizontal by the fierce winds, lies the English Channel. Even though it’s a two-hour drive from London, the fresh-faced Styles, who went to bed at 9 p.m., has arrived on set early: He is famously early for everything. The team is installed in a traditional flint-stone barn. The giant doors have been replaced by glass and frame a bucolic view of distant grazing sheep. “Look at that field!” says Styles. “How lucky are we? This is our office! Smell the roses!” Lambert starts to sing “Kumbaya, my Lord.”

Hairdresser Malcolm Edwards is setting Styles’s hair in a Victory roll with silver clips, and until it is combed out he resembles Kathryn Grayson with stubble. His fingers are freighted with rings, and “he has a new army of mini purses,” says Lambert, gesturing to an accessory table heaving with examples including a mini sky-blue Gucci Diana bag discreetly monogrammed HS. Michele has also made Styles a dress for the shoot that Tissot might have liked to paint—acres of ice-blue ruffles, black Valenciennes lace, and suivez-moi, jeune homme ribbons. Erelong, Styles is gamely racing up a hill in it, dodging sheep scat, thistles, and shards of chalk, and striking a pose for Mitchell that manages to make ruffles a compelling new masculine proposition, just as Mr. Fish’s frothy white cotton dress—equal parts Romantic poet and Greek presidential guard—did for Mick Jagger when he wore it for The Rolling Stones’ free performance in Hyde Park in 1969, or as the suburban-mom floral housedress did for Kurt Cobain as he defined the iconoclastic grunge aesthetic. Styles is mischievously singing ABBA’s “Gimme! Gimme! Gimme! (A Man After Midnight)” to himself when Mitchell calls him outside to jump up and down on a trampoline in a Comme des Garçons buttoned wool kilt. “How did it look?” asks his sister when he comes in from the cold. “Divine,” says her brother in playful Lambert-speak.

As the wide sky is washed in pink, orange, and gray, like a Turner sunset, and Mitchell calls it a successful day, Styles is playing “Cherry” from Fine Line on his Fender acoustic on the hilltop. “He does his own stunts,” says his sister, laughing. The impromptu set is greeted with applause. “Thank you, Antwerp!” says Styles playfully, bowing to the crowd. “Thank you, fashion!”

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wehatejulietsimms · 3 years

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Oh, my god. Hi Ted talk anon, thanks for the compliment about my analysis. Thank YOU however for this new analysis because I’m gathering more information on these new posts. I also wanted to clarify that when you thought “bottle smash, I raise my hands” was about the plane incident,

This is all hypothetical and theoretical. None of this is proof or evidence unless Andy Biersack himself admits to theoretical situations.

TW: ABUSE, pictures of black eyes

WDHTD was released beforehand.

It has been documented in the past on this page (I believe) and other tumblr accounts that Juliet would scratch and punch him because in the past there were unexplained punch bruises on his face that weren’t cat scratches.

Pictures coming in three, two, one…

The first three are from the same incident. No Andy did not comment, nor provide explanation.

Before people come with the conclusion that a cat did this, look at his inner eyes and the circles around his eyelids, not the scratch. I’ve gotten into multiple fights with abusive people and I’ve had the same black eyes with nails punctured my eye corners like Andy’s.

Now the last two pictures merged, I will be calling them LEFT and RIGHT.

As someone who’s lived and witnessed people beating down on each other in extreme “love” relationships, I can confirm not with Andy but with other situations that there are busted lips and scratched eyes like him. Yes it was a woman beating on a man whom ive witnessed and she would not stop beating on his face and looked exactly like Andy’s on THE LEFT and RIGHT. To Juliet saying “I’m 5’6, I can’t beat a 6’2 man in the face”

And before anyone comments that Andy is 6’4, he himself on video said he’s 6’2.

I’ve seen 5’2 women beat 6’0 foot men in the face, the same 8 inch difference with all the force and damage and looked EXACTLY like Andy’s. Don’t try that shit with us.

“How would a woman beat on a man? What would it look like?”

These next few images are NOT MINE and I DO NOT OWN THE RIGHTS TO THESE PHOTOS. I only searched up “black eye after fight”

Forgive me if anyone owns these images, I’m using them as an example of what black eyes and busted lips look like and I cropped out the majority of face to conceal identity.

And notice they all look like Andy’s. I didn’t have the heart to post what busted lips look like because it was more graphic.

If anyone is wondering where the busted lip of Andy’s is, it’s on THE LEFT bottom, in black and white. It’s on his right lip line.

THE LEFT and THE RIGHT pictures were taken on two different occasions circa the hair differences.

So, those lyrics saying “bottles smashed, I raise my hand” are indirectly saying someone threatened him with a broken glass alcohol bottle aka abuse and physical assault, and he raised his hands in survivor mode trying to calm the attacker down.

Recently, Juliet did a black eye filter on Instagram and it was indirectly suggested that She was either going to do it to Andy or something that is either untrue in all..

He’s a survivor and there is so much theoretical proof that he is a survivor.

Also, forgot to mention THE RIGHT shows indented bruises on his forehead and those are like punch bruises.

If hypothetically, this was someone close to him putting their hands on him, it would make sense why he were to be silent and silenced. It would make sense that after the plane incident when he buzzed his hair off that he was physically assaulted. It would make sense that he would, HIMSELF, take pictures of his black eye as proof he was being domestically abused.

Dear new fans, the first three photos are THREE years after he fell down and broke his nose.

The last pictures are a month/two after the plane incident and around 2017 while he was still doing Andy black THE SHADOW SIDE TOURING.

By the way, the shadow side means all the things left in the dark that you have to heal from.. and most of the songs are suggested about Juliet and the love songs were him hypothetically being guilted to write them about Juliet while he was at his weakest begging for mercy and a saviour and hence, the name, the shadow side album.

Also the hypothetical reason why Andy had to publically say Juliet was his hero. She’s not his hero, he didn’t want to get hurt in any way when he got near her.

Also… new caption on Lilith’s Czar’s photo has a threatening aura around it. Everyone wish Andy protection because things are not looking good for the couple and we’ve seen very aggressive online behavior from Juliet the past three days while Andy was in California. Very threatening attitude.

A/N: i'll never forget when he said he got a cut from hitting himself in the face with a car door. like??? especially knowing the car he drives. plus i'm 6'1 so around Andy's height and my face is not even close to the car door when i get in so idk how that's possible.

#submission

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hldailyupdate · 4 years

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Playtime With Harry Styles

“There’s so much joy to be had in playing with clothes. I’ve never thought too much about what it means—it just becomes this extended part of creating something”

I ask her whether her brother had always been interested in clothes.

Styles cuts a cool figure in this black-white-and-red-all-over checked coat by JW Anderson.

Wilde’s movie is costumed by Academy Award nominee Arianne Phillips. “She and I did a little victory dance when we heard that we officially had Harry in the film,” notes Wilde, “because we knew that he has a real appreciation for fashion and style. And this movie is incredibly stylistic. It��s very heightened and opulent, and I’m really grateful that he is so enthusiastic about that element of the process—some actors just don’t care.”

“It’s pretty powerful and kind of extraordinary to see someone in his position redefining what it can mean to be a man with confidence,” says Olivia Wilde

There are references aplenty in this look by Harris Reed, which features a Victoriana crinoline, 1980s shoulders, and pants of zoot-suit proportions.

#harry styles #harry update #article #vogue #november 2020

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hlupdate · 4 years

Link

Over the summer Styles took a road trip with his artist friend Tomo Campbell through France and Italy,setting off at four in the morning and spending the night in Geneva, where they jumped in the lake “to wake ourselves up.” (I see a pattern emerging.) At the end of the trip Styles drove home alone, accompanied by an upbeat playlist that included “Aretha Franklin, Parliament, and a lot of Stevie Wonder. It was really fun for me,” he says. “I don’t travel like that a lot. I’m usually in such a rush, but there was a stillness to it. I love the feeling of nobody knowing where I am, that kind of escape...and freedom.”

GROWING UP in a village in the North of England, Styles thought of London as a world apart: “It truly felt like a different country.” At a wide-eyed 16, he came down to the teeming metropolis after his mother entered him on the U.K. talent-search show The X Factor. “I went to the audition to find out if I could sing,” Styles recalls, “or if my mum was just being nice to me.” Styles was eliminated but subsequently brought back with other contestants—Niall Horan, Liam Payne, Louis Tomlinson, and Zayn Malik—to form a boy band that was named (on Styles’s suggestion) One Direction. The wily X Factor creator and judge, Simon Cowell, soon signed them to his label Syco Records, and the rest is history: 1D’s first four albums, supported by four world tours from 2011 to 2015, debuted at number one on the U.S. Billboardcharts, and the band has sold 70 million records to date. At 18, Styles bought the London house he now calls home. “I was going to do two weeks’ work to it,” he remembers, “but when I came back there was no second floor,” so he moved in with adult friends who lived nearby till the renovation was complete. “Eighteen months,” he deadpans. “I’ve always seen that period as pretty pivotal for me, as there’s that moment at the party where it’s getting late, and half of the people would go upstairs to do drugs, and the other people go home. I was like, ‘I don’t really know this friend’s wife, so I’m not going to get all messy and then go home.’ I had to behave a bit, at a time where everything else about my life felt I didn’t have to behave really. I’ve been lucky to always feel I have this family unit somewhere.”

“There’s so much joy to be had in playing with clothes. I’ve never thought too much about what it means—it just becomes this extended part of creating something”

Behind its pink door, Styles’s house has all the trappings of rock stardom—there’s a man cave filled with guitars, a Sex Pistols Never Mind the Bollocks poster (a moving-in gift from his decorator), a Stevie Nicksalbum cover. Fleetwood Mac’s “Dreams” was one of the first songs he knew the words to—“My parents were big fans”—and he and Nicks have formed something of a mutual-admiration society. At the beginning of lockdown, Nicks tweeted to her fans that she was taking inspiration from Fine Line: “Way to go, H,” she wrote. “It is your Rumours.” “She’s always there for you,” said Styles when he inducted Nicks into the Rock & Roll Hall of Fame in 2019. “She knows what you need—advice, a little wisdom, a blouse, a shawl; she’s got you covered.”

Styles, who has thoughtfully brought me a copy of de Botton’s 2006 book The Architecture of Happiness,is instinctively and almost quaintly polite, in an old-fashioned, holding-open-doors and not-mentioning-lovers-by-name sort of way. He is astounded to discover that the Atlanta-born Mitchell has yet to experience a traditional British Sunday roast dinner. Assuring him that “it’s basically like Thanksgiving every Sunday,” Styles gives Mitchell the details of his favorite London restaurants in which to enjoy one. “It’s a good thing to be nice,” Mitchell tells me after a morning in Styles’s company.

I ask her whether her brother had always been interested in clothes.

“It’s pretty powerful and kind of extraordinary to see someone in his position redefining what it can mean to be a man with confidence,” says Olivia Wilde

#harry styles #vogue #131120

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ohpsshaw · 4 years

Text

~DFS Christmas Special~

No desire to draw lately, so I’ve been doing little prose sketches instead.

Just in time for December, here’s what turned out to be Uncle Jack taking Al Christmas shopping. This would be circa 199X B.G. (Before Glenn), making Al in his early 20s.

(Watch out if you have high blood sugar, cos this gets KINDA SACCHARINE.)

It had finally stopped snowing, thank goodness. The fresh white blanket reflected crisp light in through the windows, making him feel chilled inside. Luckily Pop was a comfort creature who kept a stock of hot chocolate mix in the pantry. Al never seemed to reach for it back at his apartment, but something about visiting home in the winter months made a warm mug feel as essential as a limb.

Uncle Jack had asked Al to accompany him for some holiday shopping later, and a chocolate briquette would be good to have heating his gut. He took it to the couch in the living room. Someone had dug up the old photo books and left them on the coffee table a few days ago. Flipping through, he noticed that half the pages were completely empty— photography had never been a popular concept in the Czar household. The preserved moments were of family trips and landmarks, rambunctious sepia-washed office parties, Al’s school portraits. Rarer was anything taken inside the house. One shot of himself at four or five years old, standing on the yellow-sunlit staircase and showing the camera a toy car, surfaced a memory of being coached to keep his mouth closed so as not to alarm a 1-hour photo developer. Thinking on it, it may have been more than coincidence that most of these were instant Polaroids.

Through the window, he heard the muffled sound of a car door, then: “What the fuck are you doing!?” Hey, Pop’s home. Al pulled back the curtain to watch the drama unfolding at the end of the driveway, where Uncle Jack had been chipping at the wall of powder the afternoon snowplow had left. Xav had just returned from morning errands and parked in the street, storming over the slush to stop his brother from working.

Cold air blasted from the foyer. Snow crunched as Xav shook out the snow shovel behind him. “Why was he doing this by himself? Did you become a quadriplegic when I wasn’t looking?”

Al flipped through the Rolodex in his head for the answer that would earn him the least amount of grief. He shrugged, as if confused by the absurdity of the question. “He didn’t ask.”

“I didn’t ask, Max.” Jack took the shovel back. “But you’re right, I should have. Reckon it was my vanity what did me in— I can’t stand to be upstaged by some young buck doing the same job in half the time.” He winked at his nephew. “Well, three-quarters.”

“Oh, fuck off,” Xav spat, the corners of his mouth curling up against his will. “You both know I’m not being unreasonable. You’re not a guest, Alan Henry. As far as I’m concerned, you still live here. You earn your keep during the day, and MAYBE I’ll consider putting on my robe and letting you suckle dinner from my left tit.”

Al choked on his hot chocolate.

“Shit. Careful on the carpet. I’ll get you a paper towel.” Xav left for the kitchen, grumble-exorcising demons as he walked. “If Papa caught one of us sitting on our ass while the other did chores...”

Why did Pop have to save his best lines for when people were eating? Bent over and lapping chocolate out of the crevices of his palm, Al thought he saw a piece of marshmallow among the bubbles. Heh... hope that didn’t come out of his nose.

“You still need me to shovel?” he asked Jack.

“Son, I would be honored,” Jack nodded, holding the shovel on the doormat like a knight leaning on an orange sword. “Gitcher boots on and you can finish the job before we head out. I’ll make sure your Pop watches the show from inside.”

Xav returned with the towels and a smirk. “Talking shit about me, Jack?”

“I was just sayin’ how you’ll hate to see us go, but you’ll love to watch us walk away.”

“Got that fucking right.” Al cleaned his face while Xav dabbed each of his fingers individually. An oddly tender gesture. “What are you two going out for, exactly?”

“Juuust... shoppin’. I need Alan’s opinion on somethin’.”

“Uh-huh.” Secrets being a rare and dangerous thing in this family, there wasn’t much question as to what this was really about. Especially between brothers who were as close as twins. But the holidays were about giving, after all, so Xav seemed to decide to give them the benefit of the doubt. A game is more fun when everybody plays along.

Truthfully, even Al wasn’t sure what they were going to get for his father. A successful family man hitting his sixties doesn’t want for much. By this point, Xav had enough neckties and “#1 Dad” mugs to be buried surrounded by them like a pharaoh. Jack could always steal the show by reaching into his deep D.D.S. pockets or by making a new piece of furniture, but the son was held to no such standards. Xav had simple hobbies, and he seemed to have the house exactly how he wanted it. Was Al too old to make a coupon book, redeemable for hugs and remembering to use a coaster?

Or maybe his gift to Pop could be giving college another shot. Dropping out had caused some... friction, a flint-strikes-wood situation that had led to Al moving out of the house, and eventually out-of-state. He had to admit, the independence felt good. Putting his shoes on the coffee table, not having to tell anyone where he was going... he’d definitely become more promiscuous. No independent murders, though, which was starting to grate on him. He’d realized lately that he had always expected to be allowed to do more, without his father and uncle. Maybe if he did what Pop wanted, things would calm down so he could move back to Michigan and use the cabin. But the idea of sitting in another classroom, taking notes on a subject he didn’t care about, all for the promise of 50 years chained to a desk... It made him want to sleep forever.

When the car pulled up to the mall, Al was not surprised at all by the entrance his uncle had chosen. “Mind if I peek in Sears?” Jack asked, as if wild horses could stop him.

Home improvement and appliance stores were another phenomenon Al only seemed to experience at home. The dusty, unvarnished smell and high ceilings had been a frequent backdrop during his childhood— for Jack, they seemed to be akin to a candy store. He was talented as a carpenter and repairman, and sincerely relished something going wrong with the house if it meant he could pull out his toolkit. He also liked to make things go wrong with human bodies on occasion, but there was a separate box for those tools waiting up at the cabin.

Two steps in the door, and a weary-looking holiday hire hit them up with a canned pitch: “...and I’m happy to help you find whatever’s on your list!“ Aggressive customer service, the bane of the paranoid shopper. Jack was the front line for shaking off overly helpful greeters, which Xav had called “the second-worst thing to come out of the 80s after Iran-Contra.”

“Just lookin’, God willing— I brought my conscience with me to make me behave,” Jack looked to his nephew. “Don’t let me buy a single screw, y’hear?”

“Got it. Bulk purchases only.” That earned Al a shove.

Salesperson successfully deflected, Jack ducked toward his usual corner: the big ticket carpentry goods. When Al caught up, he was running his hand over a table saw. As much as he loved his uncle, Al wasn’t particularly interested in watching him fantasize about cutting wood, or even bone. “You have a project in mind?”

“A bit of a science experiment, next time we play cards,” Jack’s pupils darted along the equipment, still in reverie. “I’ve been readin’ a book about crucifixions, and how they affect the body.”

“Oh, that’s seasonal.”

“‘Course, I won’t be able to try it ‘til next year. You think your Pop would let me pick out a rabbit by April?” Jack chuckled. He was not talking about the Easter bunny. “We can see if she comes back to life after three days.”

Al snorted. “Jesus.”

“Precisely. Y’know, Christ is usually depicted with holes in his hands, but in actuality, the Romans would have put the nails through his wrists.” Jack picked up Al’s arm to demonstrate, dancing fingers across his palm. “Ain’t much to take hold of in here. It’s too fragile and open-ended. But if you move up the arm,”— he pressed his thumb into the straightened portion of Al’s median nerve— “You can hook the radius and the ulna. Much better support.” Jack’s eyes flickered with glee. “And it hurts like a bitch!”

“Wait, are you going to go first, or last?” Playing cards was usually a once-a-year affair, and the night Al looked forward to the most. If Jack snuffed her out before he had his turn...

“Oh, don’t worry, son. Done right, she could last for days.” Not that she would, since Pop would probably have something to say about that. “I just want to try, er... doin’ as the Romans do. And who knows, maybe you’ll like it. Every bachelor eventually needs to have a girl nailed down!”

They cackled and then shushed each other, wincing like sneaky little boys at the idea that someone would hear them over the store’s ambient shopping muzak. They really shouldn’t talk like this in public, even with code words and euphemisms. Though over the years they’d learned that people can be experts at ignoring what’s right under their noses. Certainly none of the men had ever overheard anyone else planning a murder.

“It’s just a pipe dream, I’m still in the plannin’ stages,” Jack added. “Ain’t even got the lumber yet. So if you wanna put some packages under the tree that are, say, 4-by-6 and 72 inches long... I promise to be shocked when I unwrap ‘em.”

Al’s attention shifted over his uncle’s shoulder, to a shelf of handheld orbital sanders. Al was more of a hands-on kind of guy— he still got a little queasy thinking about Jack’s experiment to see which sandpaper grit was the best at removing skin.

“So what was it you wanted me to look at? I don’t think Pop needs a crucifix for Christmas.”

“Oh, I’m just killin’ time before our appointment.”

“Appointment?”

“At the photo studio. I want you to give your Pop a picture.”

“...of us?”

“Naw, just you.”

Al loved that. “Yeah, that’d be hilarious. Merry Christmas, Pop, I got you me!”

A pause. “Oh, you’re serious.”

“As a heart attack, son. It’s just what he needs.”

“Do you have, I don’t know, a backup plan?” Al faltered. “Something less self-centered? I’m not exactly his favorite person right now. He kind of thinks I’m a failure.”

“Alan, you are not a failure. You are...” Jack patted his nephew’s cheek. “An unbroken mustang who has not yet found his ranch. And your father is just tryna keep you from bein’ sold as horse meat.” He slid them into a far aisle for more privacy. “He worries about you a lot, and he misses you somethin’ fierce.”

Al chewed his cheek. “Well, talk to him about showing it sometime.”

“No, son,” Jack took him by the shoulder, looking around to make sure they were alone. “Your father cries. At night when he talks about you, he starts wellin’ up like a waif. He doesn’t need to hear that you know about it, but it’s the God’s honest truth. All he talks about is wantin’ you back home.”

“I think movin’ out has been good for you, and I’m happy you did it. But it wounded him to his core. You’re his heart, kid.”

Al wasn’t sure how he was taking this information, but he knew how he was supposed to. He scrunched his eyes closed and took a deep breath.

“Okay... If you’re completely sure he won’t think it’s stupid.”

“Are you kiddin’? He’ll put it on the nightstand.” Jack grinned. “And if you smile for it real nice, I’ll take you to that steakhouse in the plaza after.”

Al cocked an eyebrow. “You were gonna go there anyway.”

“Yes. Yes, I was. But won’t you enjoy your ribeye that much more knowin’ you’ve earned it?” Mmn, maybe. “Besides... did you have any better ideas?”

⬥ ⬥ ⬥

Come Christmas Day, Xav had unwrapped the waist-up portrait and just said “thank you”— which was worrying because he was usually much more verbose than that— and gone silent in his chair. At least he wasn’t mad. Al looked to Jack, who smiled knowingly and handed him a package to keep the gift exchange going.

Al figured it was because Jack had given him something funny, but then he heard his father breathe in sharply.

“Maudit tabarnak... you fucking assholes,” Xav’s voice sounded high and squeaky, like it was being squeezed through slabs of rock. He ducked his chin into his bedshirt collar to hide his face.

“You, fucking... why’d you have to...” He shook his hand at the framed photo. Oh boy, he really did hate it. The whole idea was idiotic. Al had sat in front of that artfully-mottled green backdrop and squinted for a man with a bow tie and no indoor voice for nothing, except for the sheer discomfort of it. And a ribeye steak with a baked potato.

Xav blinked up at the ceiling and gulped, his Adam’s apple fluctuating grotesquely. Eventually he seemed to find his voice again. “Why didn’t you tell me you were having pictures taken, so I could make sure he had his fucking hair combed?” He showed them the photo. “Look at his bangs— they’re all over the fucking place.”

Al had to admit, they did look a little wild. “Aw, shoot. Sorry, Pop,” he laughed.

Jack tutted. “I think it looks nice. Rugged.”

“That’s because you don’t know how to comb your hair either, Jack.” Xav brought the photo back into his lap, looking it over. “Looks like he fought a bear before sitting down. But don’t worry, I still like it. You look handsome, kid. Maybe I can find some space on my nightstand.” Al and Jack exchanged victory grins, and didn’t catch Xav wiping tears from both eyes.

#writing #DFS #Alan Czar #Jack Czar #Xavier Czar #old men being evil and shmoopy #hopefully this helps solidify their voices/family dynamic for people #and why Al tends to be so passive in social situations haha #don't ask me why Jack talks like that because I will not tell you

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inky-duchess · 4 years

Note

So I watched a lot of Top Gear as a kid (the UK version during the Clarkson era) and this just popped into my head; you are hosting a show called Top Royals and because of your fascination with the Romanovs, one segment is 'Czar in a Reasonably Priced Car'

*pats Nicholas II's head* one can fit so much bad decisions in this bad boy

#Ask answered #I love it

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purkinje-effect · 3 years

Text

The Anatomy of Melancholy, (20)77: Caught Up in the Moment

Table of Contents. Third Instar, Chapter 8. Go to Previous. Go to Next. TWs: Food/meat, implied digestive trouble, unapologetic medical fetishization, brief grievous memory association, smoking. Seventy-seven is a sentimental number for me.

“...[C]lothes do not merely make the man, the clothes are the man; that without them he is a cipher, a vacancy, a nobody, a nothing.” -- Mark Twain’s “Czar’s Soliloquy”

Likes, reblogs, comments, and follows all mean a great deal to me! You can do so here and/or on AO3, if you'd like.

_________________

‘Choly and Angel walked next door to rejoin Sticks in the junk vendor’s stall. He found it peculiar, that trash did not comprise a majority of the dealer’s wares, despite the store’s categorization as a junk vendor. Much of it had been restored or repaired in some capacity, if not marginally more presentable polished or cleaned up some. A distant, crooked smile tugged at him, delighted by his ability to identify the most mundane of ancient things which had not graced his sight in some time. Ceramic figurine egg timer. Cake breaker. Dusting bellows. Pewter powder box. No, perhaps the entire mall could be called a large scale antiques dealer of sorts--with a healthy mix of contemporary crafts for sale as well, of course.

While ‘Choly had taken Liam’s suggestion to try some local fashion choices for something more compatible with the cervical collar, Sticks had decided to test his suggestion this type of merchant might yield their hunt better results. Sticks hadn’t wanted to wait around while ‘Choly clothing shopped, no matter how brief the errand with their appointment at the Gate City Clinic at eleven. When he found him, Sticks had just given up digging in a bin of various sacks.

The ghoul eyed him with pleasant surprise, hands stiff in his pockets.

“Didn’t expect you to be done first. Take it from your good spirits you found stuff you’re happy with.” He squinted at the new garments ‘Choly wore. “...I know you wear it well, but Ant lace? I thought we were pinching caps here.”

‘Choly smiled. First the cervical collar and a genuine direction to procuring the rest, and now brand new clothing. He now wore a collarless mesh chemisette, over his corset but tucked under the edge of the cervical collar, with a ribbon tie in the back and to either side. The corset still peeked out under the cropped hem. Atop this he’d put his cardigan back on. Draped around his neck was the article with which Sticks had exception: a long Irish lace shawl, with its tails drawn into a loose knot in the front. Several hundred dollars lighter for it, his heart felt even lighter still. In his day went the phrase, the clothes make the man, but it persisted even now that new clothes could do wonders.

“Up until now,” he finally replied, “all my clothes have either been prewar salvage or military issue. But now, I own some clothes handmade this year. I need to stop feeling like the relic I am. To stop feeling like I’m still stuck in 2077. I’d imagine it’s well enough time to finally celebrate something.”

“I figured last night was a to-do, but I guess you’ve earned something fancy. Appearances sure matter a lot to you.”

“Have to make up for my personality somehow, don’t I?” He shrugged off his own glib self-deprecation. “Before we get going, did you want to try something new, too? The apparel clerk was incredibly helpful.”

Sticks’s attention fell elsewhere as they walked out of the junk vendor’s stall.

“Mm, no offense, but I prefer the way duds used to be made.”

“That’s fair. The display windows of the boutiques that specialize in prewar fashion have caught my attention every time we pass them. Right now, though, I feel more like trying to blend in a bit. To feel present.”

Something about yesterday’s conversation with Liam had ‘Choly’s mind abuzz with a confusion he nearly welcomed. His interaction with the apparel clerk repeated in his mind. With the utter unisex nature of garments, he couldn’t not ask her, with some trepidation, And how might a man go about wearing this one? And this? She’d let him into the fitting room stall so she could show him, making adjustments once he reemerged with the new clothes on his person. He smiled into himself as he mounted Angel.

“The clerk showed me how Laners wear things. I thought I could tell at a glance that wealth and status were demonstrated with wearing as many individual garments as possible, with wearing as much of a given fabric as possible, with the greatest intricacy to a fabric possible. But it’s more complicated than that? Really, it shocks me that you wouldn’t take a shine to this kind of place. She lamented that my orthotic corset has no detail work, and is made from such an uninteresting fabric. All function, with none of the form, she says. Clothing here is designed to show off the undergarments! Socks included, for example--hence all the golf trousers.” His eyes wilded, focused on nothing, as he reared up on his grip on Angel’s car-door handles. “I can’t imagine literally airing my unmentionables to the whole neighborhood, no matter what I paid for them.”

“...What’s that supposed to mean? Me not taking a shine to Ant.”

“Your... interest in corsets,” fumbled from him.

“Tch! Believe it or not, I don’t blow my top every time I see one.” He twisted taking exception to it into flirtation, and smirked up at ‘Choly. “Depends a lot on who’s wearing it.”

‘Choly crinkled his nose to hide his flustering.

“--Well! Hopefully we’ll find more to outfit me with. I know you didn’t find anything at the one merchant, but there’s dozens of vendors here with junk for sale. Which, speaking of leather scraps... You know, I’ve been noticing lots of leather and fur here, too. I know the Clark sisters dress the Laners’ kills, but I haven’t noticed anyplace that’s been permitted leather tools. It’s been driving my curiosity wild. Everyplace with clothes has had sturdy fur-lined leather overcoats for sale.” He waved a declaration through the air one-handed, before returning to an even grip. “A must-have for any body with business out-doors. Sufficient winterized rad-resistant gear and all that.”

“You really must be feeling better, to be so chatty. God bless that neck thing.” Sticks chuckled, warmed. “By curiosity, I’m assuming you’re asking where they get it all. You’re right, if you think the Furriers had anything to do with it. Well, had. No idea how Ant will react to the Unfolded. They used to caravan up here every so often, with the Riverhawk. They’d trade leather, fur, salvaged prewar fabric bolts, dressed meat. The Laners never much liked them, but the commerce was too good to turn ‘em shy. I traveled with them up here a few times, but even the times I’ve come up here on my own I’ve never really taken a shine to living here.”

“Fuck-me-in-the-mouth, I hope they don’t show up here.”

The last thing any of them needed was a continuation of what had transpired in Lowell. Surely, they hadn’t been followed.

“Gen’s got all their hands too full to bother with trade route upkeep, I imagine.”

“...You don’t suppose my coat lining came from here, do you?”

It took some time to grasp what ‘Choly was on about.

“That Franken-monster of a thing Bones gave you? I guess so, maybe. Both cities had a lot of textiles. There’s no telling where she got it.”

They entered the Gate City Clinic and sat in the mostly empty waiting area. One of the other medics noticed them and approached.

“Do you need help with something?”

“We’re waiting for Liam,” ‘Choly said.

“He’s about to take his lunch soon. You’ll be waiting at least an hour, if you’re intent to see him and not one of the other staff. What brings you in?”

“Just on time.” Sticks winked. “We’re waiting for his lunch hour. We’re here on business. Not doctor stuff.”

The medic shrugged and walked off to a desk to contend with some papers.

Liam walked up shortly after, this time in a velvet-trimmed sheer mesh shirt, and golf pants again. His deep eyes brightened in an otherwise indifferent face.

“You’re awfully stuffed up. You know that right?” His cigarette bobbed limply as he spoke. “But this, it’s an improvement. Really, I don’t get the preoccupation with salvaged prewar clothes. Most of it’s garbage these days. Deteriorating, stained, doesn’t breathe...”

“It only wears out if not properly cared for,” Angel said.

They couldn’t tell if Liam’s silence came more on account of his consideration of the Mister Handy’s comment, or more of their speechlessness that it had sassed a prospective business partner they’d only met the night before.

“Anyway.” Liam lipped at his smoke, then walked away. He wagged his head for them to follow him to the back. “I’m taking lunch now. Allow me to give you a tour of the place.”

The Gate City Clinic, the best ‘Choly could tell, utilized the original shop’s two offices for an office and storage space. He presumed the stock room at one end of the hall made up Liam and Orqueida’s living quarters, though Liam didn’t show them. He took them finally to the kitchen at the opposite end of the hall, once a break room. The makings of a rudimentary chemistry setup occupied a small kitchen hutch.

“Neither of us cooks,” Liam said, “but we also prefer to eat in privacy. Orqueida got us food before she headed to the Inn for the day. Have you eaten?”

“We haven’t!” Sticks eyed the sizable sack on the table. “You shouldn’t have. Thank you.”

“Orqueida insisted. You’re welcome, though.”

‘Choly’s mouth watered at the lingering aroma of hot pickled meat. He swallowed and did his best not to frown.

“...I appreciate it, but no thanks.”

“Oh,” Angel worried, “breakfast must be disagreeing with you already.”

“You’re out of your smoothies.” Sticks gave him an assertive glare. “Eat with us.”

Sooner than argue, ‘Choly took it upon himself to scrutinize the hot plate and various glassware Liam had collected.

Liam smushed his cigarette in the ashtray on the kitchen table, then produced from the oiled canvas sack beside it a series of lidded tins, ranging from bread box to tea tin, but mostly an average of them. Much like the sewing kits of yesteryear, ‘Choly knew better than to think Liam intended to serve them two hundred year old butter cookies.

“I thought the food court didn’t include the dishes,” ‘Choly said.

“They charge you for not having your own. But we can sell back the tins.” Liam shrugged. He opened the tin in his hand then, to demonstrate some shredded juicy pale stuff, only to glance down with a disappointed frown and replace the lid. “Ugh, sauerkraut. ...Breaks even if we clean it before returning it. You have tins, you find tins, you sell them to the food court.”

Sticks helped him remove the lids to reveal shaved corned brahmin, toasted bread slices, sauerkraut, thin fragments of a rindy cheese, a pepper tin of some sort of sauce, and what resembled pickled garlic cloves or mozzarella balls. The not-gold lighting blanched any visual appeal the foods may have had, but the savory piquant aromas more than made up for it. Liam produced utensils from a counter drawer and set them down on a clean dishrag.

“At least she didn’t forget the morsels.” Liam sighed as he popped one of the globules in his mouth, then one more. He held the tin out to the two of them. Sticks took two. ‘Choly picked up a fork to take just the one, almost uncertain they could be stabbed without breaking. “Digestive issues? Really, we should make time to sit and discuss all this. Maybe I could help.”

‘Choly watched the two men cobbling together sandwiches to either side of the table. He stuck the morsel in his mouth. Coated in a tart oil, its flesh had a firm bite but still a tenderness. Chewing on it for some time, it dawned on him these were some sort of mushroom.

“What would help... is more... Stimpaks.” As ‘Choly said it, his voice garbled into a self-conscious hush. “I’ve got everything else.”

Liam sat to dig in, his befuddlement on his sunken brow.

“I don’t figure you’ll be able to get started today. We’re just talking things over. Knowing the equipment you’ve got at your disposal should help draft what to send your ‘acquisition expert’ on errands for.” He unfolded a piece of paper from his shirt pocket one-handed and gave it to Sticks, who was much more nettled by the whole thing than he let on. “I’ve got a few things I’ll pay you for as well. Provided it wasn’t some fancy way of saying you’re a scavver, it should be a cakewalk.”

“The hell do you need so much-- You know what. Don’t worry about it, and I won’t, either.”

“You deal with him, so I don’t have to. I pay very well for it.”

Stress snagged up in ‘Choly’s throat.

“You mentioned last night that you’re looking for first aid basics. You traded a cervical brace for my handful of Addictol and Med-X.” His voice cracked. “What-- about Stimpaks?”

Liam sat up, and set down his hand on the table, still holding his sandwich in it. He scowled at his food instead of his guests.

“Stimpaks aren’t the end all for first aid. I really don’t have much use for them. A medic once had to know how to work without them, in the chance they ran out on the battlefield. I got my training in similar circumstances. I do rarely have them, but as far as I know, making them is a lost prewar science--”

“--But why not use advanced tools, where available?” ‘Choly reeled back the accidental sarcastic shock, clasping his chin. “Do you not see many severe injuries here?”

“We’re a cautious bunch. Most of what I oversee is illness, not injury. While I can handle injuries when they happen, I’m definitely grateful it’s not my job. It means the Lane’s safe.”

‘Choly steadied himself a bit by beginning to craft his own serving.

“What... if I told you that I knew how to make them?”

“I’d tell you not to bother.”

The chemist’s ears rang. He dropped it for now.

Over the next few days, ‘Choly got to work on chems, Sticks went on Liam and ‘Choly’s errands, and Angel assisted Liam in the clinic where he’d permit. He disliked that a majority of his trouble amounted to isolating the alkaloid salts from pounds of dried Hubflower petals, but he reminded himself that he was synthesizing Med-X with it. At least it came easily for him. He even got plucky and decided he’d throw something together with his stash of dried melon blossoms, to test his theory its compounds could steady one’s alertness. For the time being, he stifled the compulsion to up the level of difficulty and complexity, and did not propose anything off Liam’s work order more grandiose than an herbal remedy. They all had to prove their reliability to Liam, and sprawling out his efforts when his lab equipment was one step above kitchenware was the opposite of a sound idea. Besides, the man had requested medicine and nothing more.

One afternoon, Sticks burst into the kitchen. He flung down a mess of something in the tile floor with a semi-muffled clatter, only to dash back out with a huge grin. ‘Choly eyed the pile breathlessly from where he sat at work. Recognizing the same canvas and leather he had around his neck, he did his best to make sure the soaking pale purple-blue petals didn’t over-process.

Sticks stomped back in some time later, dragging along an exhausted Liam.

“These are the legs right?” He had the catalogue open, pointing at it eagerly. “Right???”

“It appears so. But I can’t tell from this jumbled mess, if it’s complete.”

“Then let’s see! ‘Choly! Stop messing with that smelly junk and let us at your legs.”

“You’re lucky the start you gave me didn’t make me break something. I was handling acid. ...I don’t have to remove my pants, do I?”

“I’d rather you didn’t.” Amending the snark, Liam added, “We can see how they fit over the trousers first.”

Sticks chuckled, wringing his hands.

With some effort, Liam pieced together the components, eyeing the catalogue for reference. Each segment was reinforced with metal boning and fastened shut on the outer parts with busks and fan lacing for ease. Sticks had the luck that the waistband which secured each hip hinge had come attached to one of the legs. Otherwise, he probably wouldn’t have known the piece was necessary.

“Aren’t you glad you turned me loose to go hunting on my own?” the ghoul delighted. “It’s funny. I remember fewer merchants being okay with anything less than cold hard cash. I’ve been getting run ragged obtaining the right stuff for the right people. But it’s all a drop in the bucket for you, Mindy.”

“Two pieces in one week. Three, if you count each separate leg. In tact. Yes, of course I’m amazed.“

Having followed Liam and Sticks back in, Angel entered to supervise.

Liam lowered himself into the floor and chewed at his cigarette filter while he worked at getting one of ‘Choly’s legs slipped into the thing. ‘Choly did his best to balance, and let out an anxious laugh when Sticks all to eagerly joined Liam in the floor to mirror the effort with ‘Choly’s other leg.

“Gotta practice,” Sticks insisted with a crooked grin, despite meeting no protest.

The two helped ‘Choly stand, so he could fasten the waistband. Liam gestured where the circular hinges needed to align, and the two steadied the leg pieces at the height needed to achieve this, so that the padded belt could be adjusted accordingly. Once they got him into the device, he took a few testing steps. His heart fluttered. Unsurprisingly, they gave a great deal of protest with each step.

“I brought a tool kit with me,” Sticks offered. “We can adjust how tight the hinges are, to stop all that squeaking and creaking. I’m sure I can find some oil, too.”

“Forget how they sound.” Liam put out his cigarette. “Do they help?”

‘Choly kept testing them out, pacing slowly and deliberately from one end of the kitchen to the other. He couldn’t help but snivel and smile with awe.

“I feel like a toy soldier... but that isn’t necessarily a negative. My hips are lined up to where I don’t have to think so hard about the steps I take. I do think they could stand a little tightening up, but the alignment’s still good despite being as old and beat up as I am.”

“The oldest thing in this room is probably the ghoul--” Liam elbowed Sticks beside him, “--but the braces come in a close second.”

‘Choly turned, deadpan.

“I’m older than he is.”

“By seven years or so, if memory serves,” Angel said. “Twenty-eighth of November, 2034.”

Liam’s humor didn’t falter, though he stood with a vague discerning squint. ‘Choly ambled over to the table to sit with a grunt.

“If I can bum a smoke and sit back down, I’ll explain why I might be one of your weirder patients.”

He himself sat backward in the metal diner chair wordlessly. He produced his pack of Clipper Ships from his rolled sleeve, tapped out two cigarettes to place in his lips, and lit them. And he offered one across the kitchen table between genteel thumb and forefinger, his eyes bright with eager skepticism.

____________

Fun facts: Russian dressing (often substituted with Thousand Island) is credited to have been created in Nashua, NH, by one James E. Colburn.

Go to Next »»»

#fallout #fallout 4 #fallout fanfic #fallout 4 fanfic #sole survivor #the anatomy of melancholy #melancholy #sticks #angel #liam bledsoe #trans sole survivor #transmasc sole survivor #disabled sole survivor #let's have fun in new hampshire

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riseofthecommonwoodpile · 4 years

Text

Warehouse of Prayers by Laura Kasischke

It’s dark in here. Please, let me out.

No, I hear him say. I want to show you. And to see it, you have to stay.

And, O, I saw it then. So many prayers. Who could answer them all? And yet

what god would have the heart to toss them out?

Yes, he says, I know. It terrifies. The silence, and the din. The tremendous weight of them. It defies

anything you might think or say

about sound about size.

But, yes, of course. Of course I’ve kept them all.

“We had gone for a walk in the dark.

Of all things, I was deeply in love with my husband! Then

something silent I couldn’t see crept out of the darkness, and bit his hand.”

The beauty of it. The great

beauty. The true beauty of it. The beauty beyond—

It’s

bitten me. I’m bleeding.

In the dark one night you felt around for your blue scarf. Its blue diffusion. Its shameless would-be sky. But it was gone.

Gone, with your watch, and your wallet, and those cheap beads. How

strange to understand, so suddenly

that none of it was yours. Not

a snippet, not a glimpse, not a bit, not

even the dust that had gathered

Amishly on it for years.

And the green lawn rolls, and the green lawn rolls to the foot of it all, to the foot of it all

telling the story of a world created by a god, who wanted to be loved but did not like to talk.

“We predicted this. Something

strapped to the chest of a child. Light pouring up from holes in the ground. A fountain

run dry, and a mild-mannered man on a rampage in July.

Still, we were confused. We

thought we’d looked for this trouble everywhere, and

never found a thing. We

believed there’d be more warning, despite the many warnings. We

deeply believed a mistake had been made.”

10.

Then, in the morning, a mannequin sitting in the rain on the neighbor’s porch. The rain on the mannequin, like so many kisses bestowed upon a corpse.

11.

No. (He takes my hand. He opens a door.)

12.

Wow, I say. So this is all—

and this is the vault in which they’ve hoarded it.

All:

What is, what was, what will be—

added to in increments. (A skyful, a pocketful, a teaspoonful, a pinch.)

13.

And still, mostly vault.

14.

The blood and the bed. The basement full of blankets. The

freezer full of meat. We

all will rise again, and all be dignified.

The vein straight through the center

of the leaf. The woody stem of a rose. The dark suburban fruit of mulberries on the lawn.

We will rise over it all, and all of it will still be here when we are gone.

15.

Hello. It’s me, Eurydice. I want to tell you about his eyes: Stupid

hopeful windows. You

idiot, I said. All this resurrection business just to have your dumb love-glance sideswipe me dead.

16.

Her boy, in the war, the gate, left open, the field full of flowers, the day, so cloudless, she couldn’t help but see the mysterious sense and emptiness of it: As a child, he was so quiet, you could have drawn a circle

around it with a piece of chalk.

You could have taken a bus to the edge of that silence, and stepped off

onto a sidewalk, made of time, and walked

for years and years, all through his childhood and still kept walking.

17.

This is the illegible scroll

on which Orpheus’ reply was written.

This

is the book, thrown from the window.

A cough.

A broken telephone.

A few notes of a song.

18.

And a woman sobbing in a hospital gown, Not fair. Just this one body, and not even the body I wanted, and still it clings to me weeping when I have to leave. Not fair.

19.

“Eurydice? Eurydice? Are you there?”

20.

RSVP: She

will not be arriving by ship of by plane. No car door slamming. No

driver to be paid. She will not be walking. Neither shall she run. Thank you for asking, but she can’t come.

21.

Please, please, please, sweetheart,

pick up the fucking phone if you’re there

22.

“The Czar was killed on the spot, as

were the Empress and the Grand Duchess Olga, neither of whom could finish making the sign of the cross.

But the daughters

wore corsets

lined with jewels. For long moments the bullets, fired at their chests,

ricocheted around the room.”

23.

Please?

24.

One day I saw the divorcée take a letter from her ex-husband. Briefly, his fingertips touched hers, and then she slipped the letter into her purse:

But, O, that purse, full of old pleasure, and that letter. Memory, like a dark hole full of feathers.

25.

“Lust, that goat in violets. Those violets like so much tenderness

scattered in the grass. Love,

that rusty chain dragging you home through your past.”

26.

A woman turns at church in her pew and tell me before the organ starts up, “I know a story about your house.”

27.

Oh? Yes?

28.

“In the forties, a farmer named Elmer Barow, in your kitchen, shot himself.”

29.

Oh, I thought, I know. I know. Time,

passing, all along— the hum of the cobwebs in the corners crocheting their intricate shrouds. The

dripping of the faucet. The blackened toast. Of

course, when we sat down at the table with our heads bowed, that

was him listening in on our prayers— Elmer

Barow with a rifle in his mouth.

30.

Always that

flash of desire, always

in the way (that

gray cat sleeping in the driveway, those

teenage girls bathing in a pond of bees)— that’s

what’s left of the freedom God had to make us, or remain free.

31.

Eurydice?

32.

In winter a woman I work with gets the idea that her hands are poisoned. She can’t touch anything anymore. She wears

gloves to bed, in case, in her sleep—

33.

No, E., of course, your hands aren’t poisoned. You cannot kill your children if you stroke their hair. You

know this, you know it.

34.

But, suddenly, gradually, myself—

everything I touch, there’s—

35.

There’s something wrong. (Not that. But something.) I

spend hours trying not to think about the something, but it’s

always there

in the shadowy tissue, in the silvery microscopic gloom, the lazy fluid slip of it, which,

released by love, billows loosely around the cerebral cortex—

a poisoned flume.

36.

Then—?

37.

“And then the day is over, and the—”

38.

And the day is over.

And in the dark I hear God say,

Laura, go ahead and pray.

39.

Okay.

40.

Okay. I— Okay. I—

Dear God, I—

offer up this prayer of dryer lint and hair.

41.

Orpheus here in a cellar made of glass. In it, with me, a blizzard of small black words. I

am sending this message to you from the world, but “This is a message from the world” is all it says.

42.

“Oh, to the teeth, sweetness is the medium, but the message is decay. Like

the soul, a hunch, wrapped in disintegration. Sweater

wool, skin cells, carpet fibers, ash, a gray

breeze: Virus,

and pollen, and ourselves

blown to breathing pieces.”

43.

And then at the petting zoo I knew

animal terror for the first time. Animal

despair: The trembling of the lamb under my trembling hand.

44.

Suddenly, God answers me!

I am made of the same thing you are, after all, and you

are made of me:

Some darkness, a supplication, a moral silence breezing

over the glassy stubble in a vacant field.

45.

“And let us not forget the petty prayers. The insatiable hunger of seagulls. The sunset

in the blood, and those

birds turning

in on themselves. Crying, reeling, happiest hungry. Let us be

you amphetamines! they scream. The market

full of fruit out of season. The locked

door of the embassy. The high

gate surrounding spring:

Please, God, I want all of it for me.”

46.

To: Orpheus Fr: Eurydice Re: Death

The babble. The cold, teeming, intangible hotel.

47.

God, do your hear that? That

bit of stitching in the wind? It unravels when you listen. Listen.

48.

The Debt Birds screeching, Insufficient! Someone shoveling snow onto a fire. A figure in a black suit swinging a lantern through the dark

in arcs, coming closer, and closer.

And my mother standing by the lilac

(the lilac, which is the suburb’s lyric poem

about death) talking

to a man she never met. I

overhear him say, Whatever

crazy sorrow saith.

49.

“No one was crying, no one was bleeding, but the mail had been dumped in the street, and

someone’s husband a few blocks over was shouting loudly about accountability.

Shadows stuffed into envelopes— as when the forest creeps to the edge of the freeway, perfectly tamed, finally revealed,

and the wild illegal animals people keep as pets,

escape, are seen.”

50.

Jesus Christ, this stuff is everywhere!

51.

Excuse me.

I couldn’t help but overhear your prayer...

52.

“What the bloody hell is this? Someone must have written down every word ever said, then

shredded every word ever written.”

53.

O, honey, O, lovely, O, please. It’s me,

Orpheaus, again, Eurydice.

54.

“Okay, now what we need here is a warehouse, or an abyss. Which one of you guys can get on this—

ASAP?”

55.

trying to hold fire. Like

trying to hold perfume. Like

wearing fog to work. Like

stoppering a bottleful of light—

trying to talk to God.

56.

“Hello. Yeah. It’s me. Is he in? We’ve got a major mess on our hands.”

57.

“Shit. Shit. Is he ever in?”

58.

Like stoppering a bottleful of light. Like wearing fog to work. Like trying to hold perfume. Like

trying to hold fire—

to make the simplest goddamned contact with—

59.

O, wait, look after all— that

warehouse, that

abyss, and

a beautiful naked stranger diligently trying

to ladle the oceans into it.

#laura kasischke #i typed this whole thing out on my old blog so #here it is #my favorite poem

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transparenttriumphzombie · 3 years

Photo

Harry Styles On Vogue

Source:

https://www.vogue.com/article/harry-styles-cover-december-2020/amp?__twitter_impression=true

From Vogue MAGAZINE

Playtime With Harry Styles

“There’s so much joy to be had in playing with clothes. I’ve never thought too much about what it means—it just becomes this extended part of creating something”

I ask her whether her brother had always been interested in clothes.

“He’s up for it,” confirms Lambert, who earlier this year, for instance, found a JW Anderson cardigan with the look of a Rubik’s Cube (“on sale at matchesfashion.com!”). Styles wore it, accessorized with his own pearl necklace, for a Today rehearsal in February and it went viral: His fans were soon knitting their own versions and posting the results on TikTok. Jonathan Anderson declared himself “so impressed and incredibly humbled by this trend” that he nimbly made the pattern available (complete with a YouTube tutorial) so that Styles’s fans could copy it for free. Meanwhile, London’s storied Victoria & Albert Museum has requested Styles’s original: an emblematic document of how people got creative during the COVID era. “It’s going to be in their permanent collection,” says Lambert exultantly. “Is that not sick? Is that not the most epic thing?”

“It’s pretty powerful and kind of extraordinary to see someone in his position redefining what it can mean to be a man with confidence,” says Olivia Wilde

Hairdresser Malcolm Edwards is setting Styles’s hair in a Victory roll with silver clips, and until it is combed out he resembles Kathryn Grayson with stubble. His fingers are freighted with rings, and “he has a new army of mini purses,” says Lambert, gesturing to an accessory table heaving with examples including a mini sky-blue Gucci Jackie bag discreetly monogrammed HS. Michele has also made Styles a dress for the shoot that Tissot might have liked to paint—acres of ice-blue ruffles, black Valenciennes lace, and suivez-moi, jeune homme ribbons. Erelong, Styles is gamely racing up a hill in it, dodging sheep scat, thistles, and shards of chalk, and striking a pose for Mitchell that manages to make ruffles a compelling new masculine proposition, just as Mr. Fish’s frothy white cotton dress—equal parts Romantic poet and Greek presidential guard—did for Mick Jagger when he wore it for The Rolling Stones’ free performance in Hyde Park in 1969, or as the suburban-mom floral housedress did for Kurt Cobain as he defined the iconoclastic grunge aesthetic. Styles is mischievously singing ABBA’s “Gimme! Gimme! Gimme! (A Man After Midnight)” to himself when Mitchell calls him outside to jump up and down on a trampoline in a Comme des Garçons buttoned wool kilt. “How did it look?” asks his sister when he comes in from the cold. “Divine,” says her brother in playful Lambert-speak.

#harry styles #non binary #men wearing dress #harry styles in dress #transgender #trans pride #transgender woman #dresses #men in dresses #dress

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blackevermore · 4 years

Text

🌻 Random Headcanons pt 2🌻

[ Ivan x Mel ]

x Mel makes its her job to correctly pronounce people’s names how they are pronounced in their language. Alfred thinks she’s doing too much and she tells him that he is jealous he has a basic old english white man name. Ivan finds it alluring and does his best to say her name how it’s pronounced in Greek. She tells him there is no need but really she enjoys it. This also starts Mel correcting others when they say Ivan’s human name in public.

x Mel only addresses the countries by their human names unless they get under her skin then she calls them by their whole name. I mean official government name, Republic (United ) and all. She might even get fancy and say it in their language so they will know she’s serious.

x With the assistants being around the countries interact a lot more than they normally do. A lot more hanging out outside of work, stronger friendships, Canada had the biggest impact with everyone in the meeting knowing who he was because his assistant is very much a hot head and will cuss you out if you call him anything other than Canada.

x Ivan didn’t have an assistant for a while but eventually he got one and it was a rather strict slightly older than the rest male. Alfred made a joke that Putin sent a minime and Mel had to shut him up before anyone else heard him. Luckily the strictness slowly faded away and Mel found out Ivan’s assistant was actually a old soul dork who was a dancer on the side.

x Mel and Ivan play matchmaker with other nations and sometimes their assistants. This is how Mel found out that half the world has already slept with each other. She really can’t look at England the same. This is how Ivan found out he has two admirers that are Germany and France’s assistants. Since Ivan and Me’s relationship is still private she finds it cute the others fond over Ivan. She even joins in on letting them talk about him as if they have a chance. She keeps her victory to herself.

x Mel found out Ivan can sing his fucking heart out (literally), but he keeps it to himself so she has to catch him around his house when she comes over. This is rather difficult since she doesn’t know the lay out of his big ass house very well and he moves around a lot when he is busy. He can even throat sing as well, he learned from China and Mongolia when he was a child. At first it scared the shit out of Mel.

x Mel has stumbled upon Ivan’s wide collection of pipe that he keeps in his normally locked artillery. When she asked him about it he looked pale and admitted that during wars with other countries when his people destroyed towns he would collect them as trophy. When Mel looked closer on the sides Ivan had carved in the sides the name of the county and towns. When Mel asked him about the pipe he used to carry in his trench coat. He told her it was actually a pipe from his old capital/home.

x Ivan was the one to teach Mel how to shoot different types of guns. She told him it wasn’t necessary but he kinda tricked her into learning with a bribe. Now she knows how to aim and fire machine guns. What was the bribe you may be asking? Ivan keeps his april fools dress and other dress like costumes and told her he would model them for her. Mel couldn’t resist after she overheard how cute Ivan looked from Francis.

x Some of the countries have some supernatural element besides being immortal. Ivan falls into the list despite not being fully aware he can do it. He is aware that he can teleport and be summoned, he can see and very rarely control Gentral Winter, but he isn’t aware that he has full control over his scarf like extra hands. He isn’t fully aware that he can control anything winter related outside of the season. Many times Mel has woken up to Ivan’s body being completely frozen and the bedroom being iced over. She’s had to wake him so she wouldn’t die.

x With that being said Mel is kinda terrified of spending some winters with Ivan because he does this thing were he shuts down completely and “freezes to death” and can be sleep for days before waking up fully energized. When this happens tho his whole house turns into a tundra and no matter how many times Mel turns up the heat its still cold. She’s had to call Tolys to come help her either make it through Ivan’s snow hibernations or take her somewhere else to stay.

x Ivan always feels bad when he wakes up to find a note and blanket draped over him. When Mel finally asked why that happens it was a very touchy topic and she understood if he didn’t want to talk about it. He admitted months later while they were in the countryside enjoying the summer that he has actually died and been reborn twice, everytime he died he did so outside in the snow from freezing to death. Both times he was reborn he had woken up in sunflower fields because it was the warmest part of his country. But when he is home his powers try to replicate the harsh winters inside which causes him to freeze for a few days then wake back up.

x Ivan doesn’t want Mel’s pity from his time growing up and his time as a country. He just wishes for her to listen to him when he speaks even if she doesn’t understand it all. Ivan has a lot of baggage he carries and he is aware of his outstandish behaviors and interactions. He is better than what he was but he still has his moments were he relapse back into his dark days. But he never takes it out on Mel or anyone around him, he always locks himself away until he feel able to come out. Those are the days Mel feels that Ivan is most human and she stays by his side.

x Ivan loves spontaneous vacations and he offers them to Mel every chance he gets. But Mel being Alfred’s assistant and a public affairs member has to work long hours. Ivan takes pity on humans for having to work so hard but he understand it (I mean this IS Russia we are talking about...) But when she turns in her vacation days she is quick to pack her bags to go to somewhere random. Yao has welcomed them many times his his home.

x Yao was the first person Ivan told about his relationship. Although Yao scold him about how dangerous and stupid falling in love with a human was he still supports him. To Yao Ivan is still a child looking for someone to love him more than anything. Yao wont take that away but he will pay attention to Ivan in future dates when the time comes when Mel is no longer with him.

x Ivan has taken Mel snow drifting and nearly gave the girl a heart attack. Matthew has offered to join them and she has never seen two grown as men nearly flip a car so easily from having fun. Alfred likes the rush when he is driving but he panics when anyone else takes the wheels. IVan and Matthew purposefully shove Alfred in the back with Mel.

x Mel really loves museums and Ivan makes it his duty to take her his when she comes over. They have a lot of dates at the museums and Opera Houses. Ivan finally gets to express his love for the arts unlike before when Mel is around. He admits he’s favorite culture besides is own is Francis’s and it’s noticeable.

x Ivan keeps many historical items in his house that even historians know nothing about. He thought it was the only way to keep them safe and away from the public so they wouldn’t be stolen. Though he admits some of the items he took because he liked them. Ivan told Mel that even though he didn’t like Nicholas II (more like he really didn’t like the fact he was in charge) he was very fond of his wife and children. They used to call him uncle Ivan. Ivan owns a few dresses and crowns that belonged to the girls. He even owns a crown and a gown from his favorite queen, Catherine The Great. He has allowed Mel to wear the crowns before and has even commissioned a republica of a few of the dresses for Mel. Though she prefers to wear Ivan’s traditional clothing when she can. But playing royalty is a wonder touch.

x ^^^ Ivan has even joined her in dressing up and they’ve done countless Beauty and the Beast like dances in Ivan’s living room.

x Ivan doesn’t like the movie Anastasia but he will admit the song Once Upon a December is a really good song. Mel had caught him singing it a few times.

x Ivan can grow body hair, Mel really wanted to see him with a fancy bread and mustache he used to wear back in time. Ivan has a lot of portraits of himself scattered across his country that other humans are unaware are all the same person. She noticed a rather famous painting of Ivan hanging in his international museum during one of their dates and it was one of him with a full beard. So in the time he was growing a beard everyone at the meetings were confused. Until one day He showed up with an icon russian beard and Author nearly choked on his tea thinking he saw a ghost of a czar. Francis loved it. Alfred was high key jealous because he could never grow good facial hair.

x Ivan is the Justice Dance master, he doesn’t care how silly he looks he wins everytime. Nation sleep overs are fucking wide.

#🌻Optimistic Tragedy🌻#oc x canon #s/i x canon #self ship #self shipping #self shipping community #Hetalia

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hms-chill · 5 years

Text

RWRB Study Guide: Chapter 2

Hi y’all! I’m going through Casey McQuiston’s Red, White & Royal Blue and defining/explaining references! Feel free to follow along, or block the tag #rwrbStudyGuide if you’re not interested!

Cakegate (21): Reference to Watergate, a political controversy from the 1970s; the Watergate Scandal still holds quite a bit of prevalence in American culture. (More)

Situation Room (22): the John F. Kennedy Conference Room, AKA “the Situation Room”, is a secure conference room in the basement of the West Wing. (More)

The Sun (22): A British tabloid.

Deputy Chief of Staff (Zahra’s position, 23): The Deputy Chief of Staff is the top aide to the president’s top aide, and is responsible for ensuring that everything runs smoothly within the bureaucracy of the White House.

Howard (24): Howard University is a historically Black university just outside of Washington DC. It opened in 1867, just after the end of the American Civil War and is known for its STEM programs and law school. (More)

Equerry (24): A personal attendant to a member of the royal family (historically, someone who was in charge of their horses).

ITV This Morning (26): A British daytime cable show

SNL (26): Saturday Night Live, an American sketch comedy TV show that brings in a new celebrity host every week.

People (27): An American magazine that covers celebrity gossip.

Clintons (27): Bill Clinton has one child, Chelsea Clinton, and her parents worked to shield her from the press during his presidency.

Sasha and Malia (27): President Obama’s daughters, who were pre-teens and teenagers during his White House years and have faced rather invasive press coverage since.

Patsy Cline (28): An American singer from the 1950s, considered one of the most influential vocalists of the 20th century and one of the firsts artists to cross from country music to pop, (Listen here and here)

Op-Ed (28): “Opposite the Editorial”; a one-page piece of writing for a magazine or other news piece that is not associated with the views of the publication.

Essential Oils, Cabin in the Vermont Wilderness, LLB Vests, Patchouli (29): These are all markers that Nora’s parents are outdoorsy, maybe to the extent of being a bit detached from the “real world”.

Essential Oils: These are oils that can help people relax or create a positive atmosphere, but have little to no health benefits beyond that. Many people believe they can help cure serious or chronic illnesses.

Cabin in the Vermont Wilderness: Vermont’s wooded areas would be a very nice place for a cabin

LLBean vests: LLBean is a brand that sells high-end outdoors clothes

Patchouli: A type of essential oil

Mutton Pie (30): A small, double-crust meat pie native to Scotland but common throughout the UK

Oxford (30): Oxford University is the oldest university in the English-speaking world, and with a 17% acceptance rate in 2017, it is an incredibly difficult school to get into. For American applicants, they require a 3.7 GPA (based on a 4.0 system) and a 32/36 on the ACT. (More)

Eton (31): A posh boarding school for boys 13-18, founded in 1440. It is one of the most prestigious schools in the world.

Great Expectations (31): a 1860-61 novel by Charles Dickens, where a young boy rises above a lowly birth to be “worthy of” a rich girl he falls in love with, (More)

Khakis vs. Chinos (32): Chinos are tighter than khakis and tend to be a bit more dressy. (More)

Gap vs. J. Crew (32): Gap is a relatively inexpensive brand; J. Crew is a more expensive alternative.

SeaWorld San Antonio (32): SeaWorld is a theme park/aquarium known in the past ten years or so for inhumane treatment of its animals.

Walrus Mustache (32): A thick, bushy mustache that falls over the wearer’s mouth. (More)

Land Rover (33): A British brand of car that offers only premium and luxury sport vehicles.

Shaan (33): Hindi name meaning “Pride”.

Aston Martin (33): A sports car favored by James Bond.

Kensington Palace (33): A relatively modest palace surrounded by Kensington Gardens, the traditional home of royal children.

Millionaire who wants to hunt you... (35): A reference to the short story “The Most Dangerous Game”, in which a rich man lures the protagonist to his private island and hunts him for sport.

Texas Panhandle (35): A rural area of northern Texas.

Waterboarded (36): Tortured; this is a reference to America’s history of torturing people in Guantanamo Bay.

Helados (37): Fruit-flavored ice cream bars from Mexico.

Nate Silver (38): American statistician and writer who created an algorithm to predict baseball players’ future success. He has more recently switched to highly accurate political predictions.

GW (38): George Washington University, a college in Washington DC where Alex goes to school.

Data Czar (39): A position in a company where the person who holds it manages that company’s data and reports directly to its top management.

PPOs (39): Private Patrol Officers or bodyguards

Cornettos (39): A British ice cream cone with nuts and chocolate, similar to an American drumstick.

Signet ring (40): A ring with the king’s seal; traditionally that seal would be pressed into wax and would serve as a substitute for the king’s signature. It signifies royal power

Beans and white toast (41): This is... a genuine British breakfast. Just plain beans and white toast. Beans are a staple in both Mexican and Texan/Tex-Mex foods, but they are typically heavily seasoned.

Yellow pill (41): From what I could find, this could be a pill used to deal with anxiety/symptoms of anxiety, such as Clonazepam.

Jolly old England (41): A very English way to refer to England.

Royal Marsden NHS Foundation Trust (44): A specialist cancer treatment hospital in London.

Alliance Starbird (44): The symbol of the Rebel Alliance in the Star Wars movies.

Caipirinhas (50): Brazil’s national cocktail; it is made in large batches and contains a sugar-based hard liquor, sugar, and lime.

Pancreatic cancer (51): A type of cancer that is typically not caught until it has progressed to the point of being incurable. (More)

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If there’s anything I missed or that you’d like more on, please let me know! And if you’d like to/are able, please consider buying me a ko-fi? I know not everyone can, and that’s fine, but these things take a lot of time/work and I’d really appreciate it!

Chapter 1 // Chapter 3

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