#kitschy ads

[sohannabarberaesque]

Imagine Yogi wearing this particular tie evenings in Jellystone Park's picnic and camping areas, mainly out of concern for potential mates being put off by its message:

[oohshinystuffpdx]

The coolest vintage kitchens.

[thegroovyarchives]

Rock Clocks advertisement From the November 30, 1980 issue of CIRCUS Magazine

[jockpoetry]

I did finally buy some Minotaur prints for my Minotaur corner by my desk. Thrilling time.

[bruceshideout]

Coverghoul makes mourning look easy!

[hongkongtaxi]

stooped this set of gastone rinaldi chairs for my apt anyone have any ideas for cute cushions?

[trungles]

Cross-posting an essay I wrote for my Patreon since the post is free and open to the public.

Hello everyone! I hope you're relaxing as best you can this holiday season. I recently went to see Miyazaki's latest Ghibli movie, The Boy and the Heron, and I had some thoughts about it. If you're into art historical allusions and gently cranky opinions, please enjoy. I've attached a downloadable PDF in the Patreon post if you'd prefer to read it that way. Apologies for the formatting of the endnotes! Patreon's text posting does not allow for superscripts, which means all my notations are in awkward parentheses. Please note that this writing contains some mild spoilers for The Boy and the Heron.

Hayao Miyazaki’s 2023 feature animated film The Boy and the Heron reads as an extended meditation on grief and legacy. The Master of a grand tower seeks a descendant to carry on his maddening duty, balancing toy blocks of magical stone upon which the entire fabric of his little pocket of reality rests. The world’s foundations are frail and fleeting, and can pass away into the cold void of space should he neglect to maintain this task. The Master’s desire to pass the torch undergirds much of the film’s narrative.

(Isle of the Dead. Arnold Böcklin. 1880. Oil on Canvas. Kunstmuseum. Basel, Switzerland.)

Arnold Böcklin, a Swiss Symbolist(1) painter, was born on October 16 in 1827, the same year the Swiss Evangelical Reformed Church bought a plot of land in Florence from the Grand Duke of Tuscany, Leopold II, that had long been used for the burials of Protestants around Florence. It is colloquially known as The English Cemetery, so called because it was the resting place of many Anglophones and Protestants around Tuscany, and Böcklin frequented this cemetery—his workshop was adjacent and his infant daughter Maria was buried there. In 1880, he drew inspiration from the cemetery, a lone plot of Protestant land among a sea of Catholic graveyards, and began to paint what would be the first of six images entitled Isle of the Dead. An oil on canvas piece, it depicts a moody little island mausoleum crowned with a gently swaying grove of cypresses, a type of tree common in European cemeteries and some of which are referred to as arborvitae. A figure on a boat, presumably Charon, ferries a soul toward the island and away from the viewer.

(Photo of The English Cemetery in Florence. Samuli Lintula. 2006.)

The Isle of the Dead paintings varied slightly from version to version, with figures and names added and removed to suit the needs of the time or the commissioner. The painting was glowingly referenced and remained fairly popular throughout the late 19th and early 20th centuries. The painting used to be inescapable in much of European popular culture. Professor Okulicz-Kozaryn, a philologist (someone with a deep interest in the ways language and cultural canons evolve)(2) observed that the painting, like many other works in its time, was itself iterative and became widely reiterated and referenced among its contemporaries. It became something like Romantic kitsch in the eyes of modern art critics, overwrought and excessively Byronic. I imagine Miyazaki might also resent a work of that level of manufactured ubiquity, as Miyazaki famously held Disney animated films in contempt (3). Miyazaki’s films are popularly aspirational to young animators and cartoonists, but gestures at imitation typically fall well short, often reducing Miyazaki’s weighty films to kitschy images of saccharine vibes and a lazy indulgence in a sort of empty magical domestic coziness. Being trapped in a realm of rote sentiment by an uncritical, unthoughtful viewership is its own Isle of Death.

(Still from The Boy and the Heron, 2023. Studio Ghibli.)

The Boy and the Heron follows a familiar narrative arc to many of Miyazaki’s other films: a child must journey through a magical and quietly menacing world in order to rescue their loved ones. This arc is an echo of Satsuki’s journey to find Mei in My Neighbor Totoro (1988) and Chihiro’s journey to rescue her parents Spirited Away (2001). To better understand Miyazaki’s fixation with this particular character journey, it can be instructive to watch Lev Atamanov’s 1957 animated film, The Snow Queen (4)(5), a beautifully realized take on Hans Christian Andersen’s 1844 children’s story (6)(7). Mahito’s journey continues in this tradition, as the boy travels into a painted world to rescue his new stepmother from a mysterious tower.

Throughout the film, Miyazaki visually references Isle of the Dead. Transported to a surreal world, Mahito initially awakens on a little green island with a gated mausoleum crowned with cypress trees. He is accosted by hungry pelicans before being rescued by a fisherwoman named Kiriko. After a day of catching and gutting fish, Mahito wakes up under the fisherwoman’s dining table, surrounded by kokeshi—little wooden dolls—in the shapes of the old women who run Mahito’s family’s rural household. Mahito is told they must not be touched, as the kokeshi are wards set up for his protection. There is a popular urban legend associated with the kokeshi wherein they act as stand-ins for victims of infanticide, though there seems to be very little available writing to support this legend. Still, it’s a neat little trick that Miyazaki pulls, placing a stray reference to a local legend of unverifiable provenance that persists in the popular imagination, like the effect of fairy stories passed on through oral retellings, continually remolded each new iteration.

(Still from The Boy and the Heron, 2023. Studio Ghibli.)

Kiriko’s job in this strange landscape is to catch fish to nourish unborn spirits, the adorable floating warawara, before they can attempt to ascend on a journey into the world of the living. Their journey is thwarted by flocks of supernatural pelicans, who swarm the warawara and devour them. This seems to nod to the association of pelicans with death in mythologies around the world, especially in relationship to children (8). Miyazaki’s pelicans contemplate the passing of their generations as each successive generation seems to regress, their capacity to fulfill their roles steadily diminishing.

(Still from The Boy and the Heron, 2023. Studio Ghibli.)

As Mahito’s adventure continues, we find the landscapes changing away from Böcklin’s Isle of the Dead into more familiar Ghibli territories as we start to see spaces inspired by one of Studio Ghibli’s aesthetic mainstays, Naohisa Inoue and his explorations of the fantasy realms of Iblard. He might be most familiar to Ghibli enthusiasts as the background artists for the more fantastical elements of Whisper of the Heart (1995).

(Naohisa Inoue, for Iblard Jikan, 2007. Studio Ghibli.)

By the time we arrive at the climax of The Boy and the Heron, the fantasy island environment starts to resemble English takes on Italian gardens, the likes of which captivated illustrators and commercial artists of the early 20th century such as Maxfield Parrish. This appears to be a return to one of Böcklin’s later paintings, The Island of Life (1888), a somewhat tongue-in-cheek reaction to the overwhelming presence of Isle of the Dead in his life and career. The Island of Life depicts a little spot of land amid an ocean very like the one on which Isle of the Dead’s somber mausoleum is depicted, except this time the figures are lively and engaged with each other, the vegetation lush and colorful, replete with pink flowers and palm fronds.

(Island of Life. Arnold Böcklin. Oil on canvas. 1888. Kunstmuseum. Basel, Switzerland.)

In 2022, Russia’s State Hermitage Museum in Saint Petersburg acquired the sixth and final Isle of the Dead painting. In the last year of his life, Arnold Böcklin would paint this image in collaboration with his son Carlo Böcklin, himself an artist and an architect. Arnold Böcklin spent three years painting the same image three times over at the site of his infant daughter’s grave, trapped on the Isle of the Dead. By the time of his death in 1901 at age 74, Böcklin would be survived by only five of his fourteen children. That the final Isle of the Dead painting would be a collaboration between father and son seemed a little ironic considering Hayao Miyazaki’s reticence in passing on his own legacy. Like the old Master in The Boy and the Heron, Miyazaki finds himself with no true successors.

The Master of the Tower's beautiful islands of painted glass fade into nothing as Mahito, his only worthy descendant, departs to live his own life, fulfilling the thesis of Genzaburo Yoshino’s 1937 book How Do You Live?, published three years after Carlo Böcklin’s death. In evoking Yoshino and Böcklin’s works, Hayao Miyazaki’s The Boy and the Heron suggests that, like his character the Master, Miyazaki himself must make peace with the notion that he has no heirs to his legacy, and that those whom he wished to follow in his footsteps might be best served by finding their own paths.

(Isle of the Dead. Arnold and Carlo Böcklin. Oil on canvas. 1901. The State Hermitage Museum. Saint Petersburg, Russia.)

INFORMAL ENDNOTES

1 - Symbolists are sort of tough to nail down. They were started as a literary movement to 1 distinguish themselves from the Decadents, but their manifesto was so vague that critics and academics fight about it to this day. The long and the short of it is that the Symbolists made generous use of a lot of metaphorical imagery in their work. They borrow a lot of icons from antiquity, echo the moody aesthetics from the Romantics, maintained an emphasis on figurative imagery more so than the Surrealists, and were only slightly more technically married to the trappings of traditionalist academic painters than Modernists and Impressionists. They're extremely vibes-forward.

2 - Okulicz-Kozaryn, Radosław. Predilection of Modernism for Variations. Ciulionis' Serenity among Different Developments of the Theme of Toteninsel. ACTA Academiae Artium Vilnensis 59. 2010. The article is incredibly cranky and very funny to read in parts. Contains a lot of observations I found to be helpful in placing Isle of the Dead within its context.

3 - "From my perspective, even if they are lightweight in nature, the more popular and common films still must be filled with a purity of emotion. There are few barriers to entry into these films-they will invite anyone in but the barriers to exit must be high and purifying. Films must also not be produced out of idle nervousness or boredom, or be used to recognise, emphasise, or amplify vulgarity. And in that context, I must say that I hate Disney's works. The barrier to both the entry and exit of Disney films is too low and too wide. To me, they show nothing but contempt for the audience." from Miyazaki's own writing in his collection of essays, Starting Point, published in 2014 from VIZ Media.

4 - You can watch the movie here in its original Russian with English closed captions here.

5 If you want to learn more about the making of Atamanoy's The Snow Queen, Animation Obsessive wrote a neat little article about it. It's a good overview, though I have to gently disagree with some of its conclusions about the irony of Miyazaki hating Disney and loving Snow Queen, which draws inspiration from Bambi. Feature film animation as we know it hadonly been around a few decades by 1957, and I find it specious, particularly as a comic artistand author, to see someone conflating an entire form with the character of its content, especially in the relative infancy of the form. But that's just one hot take. The rest of the essay is lovely.

6 - Miyazaki loves this movie. He blurbed it in a Japanese re-release of it in 2007.

7 - Julia Alekseyeva interprets Princess Mononoke as an iteration of Atamanov's The Snow Queen, arguing that San, the wolf princess, is Miyazaki's homage to Atamanoy's little robber girl character.

8 - Hart, George. The Routledge Dictionary of Egyptian Gods And Goddesses. Routledge Dictionaries. Abingdon, United Kingdom: Routledge. 2005.

[da-birb-writes-sometimes]

Nights Spent In; Azul Ashengrotto

Content; Fluff, gender-neutral reader, established relationship

Word Count; 700+

Author's Note; This is for one of my first mutuals @azulashengrottospiano! I hope you enjoy this, and some domestic Azul! [and I'm keeping a screenshot of your ask ^v^]

As a reminder, do not put my work — or others for that matter — into AI as it steals. Link to Masterlist

Safe to say your social battery was pretty much at zero. You had fun, yes, but all you wanted to do was stay at home in some ridiculously comfortable pyjamas, eat leftovers from lunch, cuddle a bit, and maybe look through the storage container labelled Games! :D since there could be some hidden gems in there. And right now you were cuddled up under a super chunky knit blanket, snug as a bug in a rug.

You were content just putting the leftovers from lunch in the microwave, but Azul had insisted that he made the both of you dinner. You didn’t mind, since you had a nice view of him working away in the kitchen, muttering the recipe of tonight’s dinner to himself. He was even wearing the frilly apron and kitschy oven mitts.

What a dork. I love him so much. You giggled to yourself, watching Azul go about the kitchen, off in his own little world. 

Sighing, you got up — the blanket draped over your shoulders so you were still in your nice blanket burrito — and shuffled over to the Games! :D container, seeing if there was anything interesting that Azul wouldn’t just automatically win. You loved him, but if he made you go bankrupt again in this world’s version of Monopoly one more time you swore that you weren’t going to give him any kisses. You may love him, but he was not a humble winner. 

So any strategy games were completely out the window, luck based games were more on your side… hopefully luck just decided to favour you tonight. At least you had a cute chef at the least.

Hmm? What’s this? Blowing off the dust you pulled out an old edition of Snakes and Ladders. It relied only on luck, so it was perfect!

“Hey, sweetie,” you called to the kitchen.

Azul was just placing your dinner in the oven, it would take about thirty minutes to bake, so he had time to spare… and for you? He could spare all the time in the world for you. “What is it, darling?”

You held up the game under your chin and gave him your biggest smile. “Wanna play?” You waggled eyebrows for some added flair, and it made Azul chuckle.

“Fine, one round, but I won’t go easy on you,” he said, sitting down at the coffee table. He eyed the game, and squinted his eyes at the dice. A luck-based game? Playing your cards right I see.

“You never do,” you shot him a wink and rolled the dice. You moved your piece forward, not hitting any ladders.

Azul rolled his eyes, but took his turn, overtaking you by two spaces, also not hitting any ladders. “Would you rather that I did?” He looked up at you through his lashes, a small smug smile on his face. 

You hummed as you took your turn, getting a ladder and going up a row. “No, it’s more fun like this, plus you’re extra cute when you get fired up.”

Azul pushed up his glasses, trying to ignore the warmth that had seeped into his cheeks. “Flattery won’t help you, my dear, when I win.”

“We’ll see about that.~”

The rest of the game was spent in silence, the occasional tch escaping when either of you hit a snake, but the game was neck in neck. You had to roll a perfect six to win, and Azul a four, and it was his turn. The both of you had your fingers crossed.

He rolled a two, the exact number that he didn’t want. He moved his piece forward and gritted his teeth as he moved it down two rows. He sighed, handing over the die. He knew that he had most likely lost this game.

You gently took it, and rolled a six. You had won. “Looks like luck was on my side tonight,” you grinned.

Azul grumbled, but he couldn’t stay mad at you. “Would you like a prize for that?” It was part sarcasm, but also part genuine question.

You placed a kiss on his cheek. “Just spending time with you is a prize in its own right… but I won’t say no to your cooking either!”

It wasn’t really a prize, as you were already getting his cooking for dinner, but it nonetheless made Azul feel soft and warm. The two of you really should spend more nights in if they were going to be like this.

~~~~~~~

Tags: @eynnwwyjth, @hydra-sea, @inkybloom-luv, @identity-theft-101, @krenenbaker, @officialdaydreamer00, @twistwonderlanddevotee, @xxoomiii

[magnoliasandarson]

hot take: Dick Grayson would never be a cop

Dick Grayson was commiting grand theft auto at age nine. There is no way the demon child that beat people up dressed in a leotard and boots would ever put on a starched blue uniform and badge. I buy that he got a day job, cuz he doesn't want Bruce's handouts or whatever, but I firmly believe he would be a barista at a kitschy coffee shop before joining the police. Dick Grayson has a list of crimes a mile long (more like Geneva suggestions) and no desire to stop adding to it.

[sohannabarberaesque]

Hardly to be imagined as Granny Sweets' brand of choice for knitting wool, considering the subtle double-entendre herein:

[poemsfor-her]

A GUIDE TO FINDING YOUR OWN STYLE: PART. I Y2K ୨୧ ׅ ۫ 𖹭

The Y2K Era became well-defined by 1997, replacing the Core '90s Era which had been known for its grittier aesthetics such as Grunge. The Spice Girls' single "Wannabe" was released in the U.S. and gained international popularity, leading to a new era in teen pop. Y2K fashion calls back to the biggest trends of the late 90s and early 2000s. It blends the pop culture of the millennium with bright colors and kitschy aesthetics to create an unapologetically maximalist look. One of the key fashion points of the y2k wave are: low raised jeans, crop tops, small handbags and mini skirts. POC POPULARIZED THE STYLE. The fashion icons of the y2k era were Destiny's child, Britney Spears, Paris Hilton and Christina Aguillera.

I. TYPES OF THE Y2K STYLE ୨୧ ׅ ۫ 𖹭

1. CYBERCORE

Y2K (also known as Kaybug or Cybercore) is an aesthetic that was prevalent in popular culture from roughly 1997 to 2004, succeeding the Memphis Design and Grunge eras and overlapping with the McBling, UrBling, Surf Crush, and 2K1 aesthetics. Named after the Year 2000 problem, it is characterized by a distinct aesthetic period, encapsulating fashion, hardware design, music, and furnishings shining with tech optimism—sometimes literally. Some of its aspects include tight leather pants, shiny clothing, silver eye shadow, spiky up-dos, Oakleys, gradients, translucence, and Blobitecture. Most Y2K aesthetics rely on the use of technology and slick futuristic looks, signaling the optimism for the 3rd Millennium or 21st Century. The Y2K Era ended around 2004 and was succeeded by the Frutiger Aero era. This style is full of mostly gray, blue, green and black colors. One artist that i think perfectly describes the cybercore concept are XG in their newest concept photos alongside with AESPA that can sometime miss the concept they mainly do.

2. MCBLING

The McBling aesthetic went into full swing around late 2004 with the release of the movie Mean Girls, the popularization of Myspace, the popularization of emo via Green Day's American Idiot, the phasing-out of 2K1, the iPod becoming a huge status symbol via Apple's silhouette ad campaign, the premieres of Laguna Beach and Lost, and Gwen Stefani starting her solo career, further hastening the end of the Y2K era. McBling was concurrent or overlapped with a number of other 2000s aesthetics, such as UrBling, Surf Crush, 2K7, and Frutiger Aero.This led into the ElectroPop 08/Hipster/Jersey Shore Era, which lasted from about 2008 to 2013. On social media in recent years, the McBling aesthetic has grown in popularity, albeit it is often lumped with or mistaken for the Y2K aesthetic. The colors of this style are: pink, white, silver and gold.

3. DARK Y2K

Instead of lighter and brighter colors, like pinks and pastels, the Dark Y2K aesthetic heavily revolves around colors like black, grey, deep blue, dark purple, and dark green. However, hot pinks are also seen in Dark Y2K fashion. The Dark Y2K visual focuses on freedom and youth, and rebelling. Visuals that are typically seen in the aesthetic are low-rise jeans and belts, with lipgloss and sometimes even glitter eyeshadow. Some of the styles worn could even be viewed as provocative.The 2003 film Thirteen can be seen as an influence to Dark Y2K fashion and visuals, with its main characters wearing cropped tops, low-rise jeans with a noticeable thong, and studded belts. The main characters are also seen rebelling and sneaking out, and getting tongue and bellybutton piercings.

II. MOVIES AND TV SHOWS TO WATCH

1. Y2K

— bratz: the movie

— fast and furious

— clueless

— any bratz content

2. CYBERCORE

— men in black

— the matrix

— charlie's angels

— x-men

— any superhero movie

3. MCBLING

— mean girls

— white chicks

— wild child

— the house bunny

— legally blonde

4. DARK Y2K

— twilight

— jennifers body

— skims

— thirteen

— girl, interrupted

III. SONGS TO LISTEN TO

1. Y2K

— devil - slayyyter

— gimme more - britney spears

— summertime - flo

— sugarcoat - natty

— attention - newjeans

— tokyo drift - teriyaki boyz

2. CYBERCORE

— stereo love - edward maya

— lovefool - the cardigans

— hello kitty - slayyyter

— any hyperpop song

3. MCBLING

— rumors - lindsay lohan

— faboulous - sharpay evans

— he said she said - ashley tisdale

— queencard - gidle

4. DARK Y2K

— all the things she said - t.A.T.u

— bang, bang, bang - soho dolls

— take me away - avril lavinge

— brutal - olivia rodrigo

— no celestial - le sserafim

— teen idle - marina and the diamonds

information provided by aesthethics.wiki

with love, 𝒯

[oohshinystuffpdx]

My favorite vintage shoe ad.

[penvisions]

garnish {chapter 2}

Pairing: Head Chef! Joel Miller x Bartender! Reader

Summary: Joel can't seem to make up his mind when it comes to you: one minute he's kind and thoughtful, the next he's cruel and cutting off your every word. You're just trying to keep your head above water, work becoming something that is not so simple anymore.

Word Count: 4.5k

Warnings: pining, mutual pining, masturbation, mention of sex toys, use of sex toys, use of recreational drugs, marijauna, joel is a meanie in this, power dynamics, degrading talk, age gap (reader is late 20's, Joel in his 40s)

A/N: diving full force into this story while i'm trying to navigate finding jobs to apply to and calls to places i'm interested it. hopefully this chapter is received as well as the first! please let me know what y'all think!

ao3 link || series masterlist || main masterlist

It had been a hectic two weeks of prepping before your normal bartending shifts.

There had been application posted to fill the position of the sandwich station worker who had called out all those days ago and then just never returned. But in the meantime you had been given the opportunity to prep the station for whoever would be manning it while Joel took over the main hot station that did a majority of the heavier cooking for the entrees as well as the garnishing before plates were deemed ready to go out onto the floor.

Everyone in the kitchen seemed to be under the impression that without a dishwasher until the service began and that it would be a collective effort to keep them in line and working through the washer and then added to the drying rack.

Except for yours.

The items you used and transferred out in the station were left in the bus tubs lining the intake area of the dish pit. You didn’t let it get to you, used to having to keep up with glasses and garnish cambros with the steady if not hectic business of the place. You were in the middle of rinsing out a giant bane when someone placed their own beside you directly in the dish pit and it knocked the ones in your hand enough to cause the spray of the nozzle to wash over you.

You cursed under your breath as it doused you from head to waist. It was a cold shock and you frowned as you continued to get the dishes from your prep cleaned and dried. As soon as it was all set and you double checked everything for the station’s workers for the night, you walked over to where the employee lockers were.

Thoughts of how things had been going overall swirling in your mind as you made your way over to the shared space at the back of the kitchen. Eyes followed you sometimes, people aware of the weird dynamic of someone working both front of house and in the kitchen. But people were outwardly friendly with you still, no animosity other than the business with the dishes. Joel’s eyes often caught your own as he handled his own prep and went about his supervision of things going the way they need to for him to run his kitchen. He would tackle the dishes every so often as well, telling people to line them up if he was able to spend time in the dish pit. Casual conversation were still an occurrence, more so now that you were in the kitchen with people you often talked to through the expo line and the width of the bar top. It was something that just wasn’t worth bringing up and potentially change the easy going dynamic that had been set.

You untied your apron, a black thing with a simple floral pattern that wasn’t really allowed as it didn’t match the uniform of the kitchen staff. But it had been allowed as it was a custom with your name stitched on the front pocket and the one you used to set up the bar. You tossed it into your locker, also labeled with your name, and moved to peel the wet black long sleeve you had worn for the day. Underneath it was a dark heather gray tank top that was lined with lace on the neckline, paired with black denim pants. Your belt was a little kitschy, the buckle a silver metal heart.

You were too preoccupied digging around in your locker for replacement to notice that someone else had come into the locker room. When you made a triumphant sound at finding another shirt, you pulled it out quickly only to come face to face with Joel.

“Oh!” You startled, feet taking you a few quick steps back, or they would’ve if you hadn’t been jammed in the middle of your back by the open locker door. The fabric fell from your hands as you exclaimed again in pain. “Oh, fuck!”

Expletives rained down from your mouth, some in English and some in Spanish, your mind getting tangled as you tried to deal with the pain.

You braced your hands on your knees and leaned down a little, trying to stretch the sharp pain out of your throbbing back before it could cramp and get worse. It was the wrong move as Joel had just leaned down himself to pick up the dropped shirt and your chest was practically in his face. The cleavage from your tank top allowed him an eyeful and he caught sight of the rose-colored bra that you had picked out that morning. He quickly stood back up and shoved the shirt back into your open locker and left the room as quickly as he had come in.

You straightened back up as well and felt the heat rush to your face as you realized what had just happened.

The rest of the shift went by well enough, though you had to be careful with twisting and maneuvering a little more than normal to avoid twinging your sore back. You were sure there was a large bruise that had bloomed to life on the skin but wouldn’t be able to tell for sure until you were home. The restaurant had closed, the last customers were walking out as you began to break down the bar.

You had all the mats in the washer and had started to replace bottles you had grabbed from the shelves lining the back of the bar above the small counter. A particularly full bottle of pomegranate liquor was a hard reach for you and your back spasmed with the effort to reach the middle shelf. Losing your grip on the bottle, you braced yourself for it to fall but a large hand was catching it by the middle before it could lose too much air and placed it atop the shelf for you.

You turned to see Joel standing unnervingly close, his body was a warm line beside you, his chest practically pressing up against your side as he had swooped in to save you from dropping the bottle completely.

“Would hate for it to have gone to waste.” Was all he said as he stood back, his hands resting atop both counters that made up your area, effectively blocking the entrance as he took up the space with his broad form. He watched you as you continued to put bottles away and placing stoppers the ones in the well, wiping them all down with a clean sanitizer rag as you did so. When you got to a good scotch that you had taken weeks picking out, you picked up two rocks classes and filled them with two fingers of the amber liquor each, you slid one over to him. He regarded you as he took a drink from it. His plush lips pressing against the glass in a tantalizing way despite the casualness of the action. “You didn’t eat anythin’ tonight.”

“No, I didn’t have much time. My barback called out and it was just me mixin’ and runnin’.” You explained as you took a sip from your own glass. His eyes traced the movement of the glass much like you had done with his own as he took a drink. Your fingers were adorned with a new coat of dip, having allowed them to grow out a bit and treat yourself to the splurge. The dark green of them adorned with small golden stars must’ve caught his eye as they glinted in the soft lighting of the dining room.

“Could’ve put in a takeout order to have something sent over. I woulda comped it for ya.”

“I’ll just have something when I get home.” You set your glass down on the back shelf, by the register and out of reaching hands should another employee come looking for a post shift treat. You had already made a last call for everyone, some people taking you up on it.

“It’s late.”

“Yeah, but I need to study anyway, so it’ll be okay.”

“Study?”

“I’ve got a midterm tomorrow. I’ll be up for a bit.”

“Didn’t know you were in school.” Behind the casual curiosity you could see a worry about your age, as did everyone when you mentioned school. But the reality was that you had taken a few years off to focus on family and get some personal things straightened out before returning.

“Hmm,” You absently responded as you wrapped up the tops of the squeeze bottles with cling wrap and gathered them in a large storage basin to put in one of the many coolers beneath the bar. “Only part time, graduate this fall.”

“Lemme make you somethin’ to take home.”

It wasn’t a question, but a statement. You looked up from where you were now loading the guards for the drains that lined the bar top. Pausing as you had moved to put something into the washer on the other side of the space. Taken aback by the shift in his tone from casual to one he would adapt on the line.

“Oh, no, it’s okay, chef. Really.”

“Chicken or beef?”

“Chef, really, it’s okay.”

“Joel’s fine, darlin’. Chicken or beef?”

“You know, this is the most we’ve ever talked.” He didn’t take the bait, the comment a distraction from his attempt. The last sip of your own drink was quickly downed, and you turned to face away from him as you placed your own glass in the washer. When you turned back around, his eyes were still on you. There was a slight glint to them, something you couldn’t quite make out, but it had you crumbling all the same.

“…beef, please.” You sighed, rubbing your hand over the small of your back. A shy smile taking over your lips as you tried to avoid meeting his eyes with your own. The glass he still held in his hand was knocked back, the remaining liquor downed in a single swig and he was stepping into your space to load it into the open dishwasher. His arm brushed against yours and you felt your face heat up at the proximity.

“Comin’ right up.”

“Lemme know what you think,” He placed one hand on the hood of your truck, the other on the side of the open door and leaned inside the cab a bit. The scent of him filled the space, winning out over the dying air freshener you had yet to replace out of sheer laziness. His cologne was faint after a long shift but the cedar undertones of it were heady as they filled your nose. His lips were suddenly brushing the apple of your cheek, the contact brief. “Good luck on that midterm, see ya tomorrow.”

He took your shocked stillness as a sign to close the door, a smug grin taking over his features as he did so. You watched him through the glass of your window as he walked back to the building, turning to look at you once more with a wink before he disappeared inside.

You sat there for far too long, willing your heartrate back down before you turned the engine and took off toward home. For most of the drive, you found yourself pressing a hand to the skin his lips had touched and glancing over at the two takeout boxes he had secured in a tied-up plastic bag.

The campus was crowded, so incredibly crowded. You had to circle the various parking lots three times over before you were able to snag a spot. The sound of the truck door was loud as you pushed it closed and locked it up before rushing towards the main buildings. You were nearly late, but had just made it down the hall and could see the open door as the time for the beginning of class displayed on the small watch you had adorned today. You had actually been able to dress like normal, only going into the bar later to do inventory and place an order before your day off tomorrow and next. A little break, the manager had said, to help you relax after summer midterms.

Fall was around the corner in a few months and you needed to get things lined up and ready for the menu change that staff meeting had been about a few weeks ago. The skirt of your sundress, black patterned with sunflowers, swirled up as you rushed through the door and turned to take the first seat that was open. Your short sleeves not allowing you much warmth in the colder air of the classroom. As you sat, you pulled out a mustard cardigan and shrugged it on. You felt eyes track your figure as you had walked the entire length of the classroom to the back and took a seat in the back row and plopped down. The shift to the air of the building wasn’t the only reason you decided to don your little sweater, fingers shaking slightly as you buttoned it up completely.

“Alright, now that everyone is here,” The professor offered you a kind smile as they spoke, shutting the door and locking it to prevent anyone from entering from the outside. “Let’s tackle the exciting world of biological evolution.”

An hour and a half later, your hand cramping from writing so fast to catch your thoughts and theories down into tangible words, you turned in your small, stapled packet. You were one of the last ones in the class, everyone else rushing off to enjoy the rest of their day, thankful that class wasn’t running the typical three hours and taking advantage of the early hour before noon. Fingers brushed against your own as the professor reached out to take the paper from you. You felt a jolt of anxiety race up your spine and you offered a weak smile before taking your leave.

Your smaller sized backpack was placed in the heightened bar seat beside you. The laptop you bought for school last year open and glowing in front of you with the white blankness that was the ordering screen for the company the restaurant preferred to use. It was early, only Joel in the kitchen for early prep due to a lot of reservations and the manager doing the same as you, taking inventory before placing orders.

You looked over your notes, unsure of what you had scrawled down on one page, but it didn’t seem to matter. It was about the lamb special, something that Joel was still working on. Uncrossing your legs, you hopped down from the stool you had been sat it for far too long. The tingling of blood flow returning to your legs had you walking stiffly toward the kitchen, the thump of your healed boots louder than normal on the floor of the dining room as you crossed the space. Your hair was down, the scent of your shampoo calming you as you approached the door.

Thoughts of the man just on the other side of the door had plagued you all night. You tried to fight a heat that threatened to rise as you recalled the way you had called out his name in a loud whimper when you had come undone with the help of your vibrator. It had been all encompassing, recalling the heat of him as he had stood close to you and roped you into allowing him to cook for you after close, the brush of his warm skin along your arm, the plush give of his lips as he had leaned in to touch them to your cheek. The care he had put into the food he prepared for you, enough for dinner and lunch today if you hadn’t gotten so high and gave into the desires of your stomach and cunt so easily.

Taking a deep breath to settle your nerves, you pushed open the swing door, your nails clinking softly on the dark metal. As you crossed the threshold, Joel’s eyes snapped up from where he was on the line. You were suddenly self-conscious of the dress you were wearing, cardigan laid over the back of your stool at the bar.

“Chef, I had a few questions about the special. I know we went over it at the meeting but-“ The words cut off in your throat as you looked up to see his eyes hard and heavy on you. He had only glanced at you before looking back down at what he was doing but it seemed his attention was focused solely on you now and it made you squirm after the awkward morning you had had.  Maybe he was upset about food safety, your hair was down, and the dress had rather short sleeves and low cut. “Oh, I have a sweater I can put on and a hair tie if you’re worried about food safety.”

“No.” It was quick, the word flying from his lips and followed by the sound of him clearing his throat rather harshly. You could practically feel the heat of his gaze in the metal of the necklace around your neck, the simple chain reacting to his eyes on you much like your skin was. His next words weren’t as harsh as that first one. “No, don’t worry about that, should be fine.”

“Um, okay.” Fingers wringing around each other, you took another couple of steps into the kitchen, closer to the expo line you were peering at him through. “Did-did you decide on the balsamic for the fall special?

“Testing it out today, want to help?”

“Oh, oh no, I couldn’t!” You put a hand on the empty space of the expo line, nails clinking as you did so, and the sound drew his attention to it. You worried he was going to tell you to remove them before your next shift. But he had seen them yesterday and not said anything. “It’s your kitchen, I don’t want to intrude on prep time when I’m not even on schedule.”

“You’re here off the clock?”

“No, I clocked in, but it was…supposed to be my day off. Mary- she gave me the weekend off to relax after midterms.”

He didn’t say anything, his eyes going over your attire again in a sweeping gaze. The way your chest was slightly pushed up as you leaned against the slightly higher counter. His gaze moved back to what he was doing, out of your line of sight.

“Hop back here and we can figure it out together.”

“I-I can’t, really, I’m just here to do the order.” You didn’t want to turn down the offer, something he wasn’t keen to hand out to people in the kitchen let alone anyone else. But his close proximity was a heady thought and your body hummed with the prospect of being behind the line with him. It was dangerous, a line that shouldn’t be crossed and he was sending you such inviting signals. You didn’t need gossip to start, focused on you and how you seemed to soften the man in charge of the kitchen though you hadn’t really done anything.

“C’mon, it’ll be fun.”

“Chef-“

“Joel, thought I told you to cut that chef crap out?” His lips twitched up slightly, the hint of a dimple appearing in his right cheek through the scruff along his face. You closed your eyes in a long blink as you felt a pulse of desire underneath your dress. He was so enamoring, the hint of his true personality peeking through the work persona he took on, or maybe just another facet of the man who you couldn’t seem to get out of your head.

“Joel, I can’t. I have stuff to do today after the order. I’m sorry, I’m not trying to offend you but it’s-“

The openness of his expression and the light behind his eyes dulled, slipping back to the normal emotionless one he wore when service started.

“Got it,” His hands became rough with what he was doing, and you realized he had been chopping up the brussels and sweet potatoes you were asking after. The knife was making a fast-snicking sound as his eyes focused on the cutting board in front of him, his focus on the task at hand. His voice had lost the jovial tone he had taken up, now rough and no nonsense. “Balsamic will most likely be a glaze thrown on before they roast.”

“Heard, chef.” You found yourself pushing off the expo line, feeling small, and made your way back into the dining room. Quickly shutting the laptop, not bothering to wait for it to save anything or power down, you shoved it into your bag along with your cardigan. You swiped your keys off of the counter beside the glass of water you had poured for yourself and took hurried steps toward the entrance. You scrambled for the handle of the door and pushed it harder than necessary, tears springing up in your eyes at the thought of confrontation as you heard the kitchen door swing open.

Heavy, even footsteps through the dining room had you forgetting to lock the door back up and you were throwing your bag into the passenger seat of your truck parked on the curb, having been told you could do so since the place wasn’t due to open until regular hours. The sound of your driver’s side door slamming was loud even to you as you jammed the keys into the ignition and the engine roared to life.

You didn’t spare a glance up at the outline of Joel standing on the curb you could see out of your peripheral, jerking the gear shift into drive and taking off with a sob bubbling up from your chest. His signals were so confusing, making it hard to figure out how to act around him. Work was supposed to be work, easy. Clock in, prep, make drinks, clean, clock out. Not this mental game of gymnastics with a man who seemed to warm up to you one second and then ice you out the next.

You were called early Sunday morning by an apologetic Mary. Saying that the bartender on shift for the brunch service had called out. You calmed her down, knowing it would be good to get the hours and tips and said you would be there in time to open the bar. Brunch was an earlier ordeal, the only day that the restaurant wasn’t open for dinner service. An easy shift, only a few hours between nine and three. A baby shift, and you would have the opportunity to order something sweet to go. A treat to enjoy on the couch with a dumb comedy playing on the screen of your living room.

The service went by quickly, jugs of orange juice and bottles of champagne piling up in your trash bin in a whirlwind of orders. Mimosas were easy money, strawberry syrup an easy upcharge to get people excited about. You had spilled tomato juice on your apron earlier and the cloying acidity was making waves of nausea roll in your stomach every time you caught a whiff of it. Things were winding down with only an hour and a half left of service. Another forty-five for kitchen orders, but you would be pouring until about ten minutes to close. You rang in a to go order of French toast and a side of scrambled eggs.

You had forgotten all about it until you were wrapping up the takeout order of someone at the bar, realizing yours had never made it over to you at the bar. It wasn’t as if you were about to eat it during service but still, it would’ve been nice to close everything down and have it ready to grab on your way out the front door.

You locked the door for the customer as you followed them to the front door. The last of the day and turned the lock after they safely across the public parking lot. With a sigh you turned toward the kitchen and braced yourself to interact with the man who had weaved his way into every one of your thoughts.

He had been professional throughout the shift, allowing you to pass clearance on dishes that needed to be run when you had come back to check on the lag created by servers flooding the sparse kitchen with orders. Allowing you the ability to do so as he always had done.

“Um, chef?” His eyes snapped to you for barely a second before he went back to gathering the stuff he needed to clean the grill. He made a grunt of acknowledgement to show he heard you. “I was wondering if my ticket was ready? I put it in before the cut off but-“

“We sold the par for what you ordered. Didn’t have enough for it.” His back tensed as he raised a hand to pour a good drizzle of oil over the entirety of the grill, grill brick ready in his other hand. The black gloves looked tight over his knuckles, like he was tense.

“Oh, um, okay.” You shuffled on your feet, aware of the two other cooks glancing between you both at the interaction. They were busy wrapping things and storing them into their respective stations, gathering dishes and things that needed to be washed. A grumble from your stomach urged your next question, too tired to attempt grocery shopping or cooking yourself. “Is-is there anything I can swap it out for?”

“We’re already shut down, can’t you see me cleaning the grill?” He turned around, items still in his grip as he finally faced you head on. “Shoulda come and checked before service closed. It ain’t my job to look after mistakes made by the front of house.”

The heat climbing up your face startled you, shame bubbling up alongside embarrassment. But you ignored it as your teeth ground against each other with the pressure of your jaw clenching. Eyes flicking over the items on the line in front of you. There was plenty he could throw together for you; he just didn’t want to. You nodded once before speaking in an even, professional tone. Your own mask falling into place.

“Apologies chef, it won’t happen again.”

You tried not to let the whispered words of the other two cooks hurt too much as you moved through the door. The two of them followed slightly as they came out from the line and made their way over to the dish pit.

“I thought I saw a second tray prepped in the walk in.”

“Me too, she must’ve done something to piss him off.”

You wallowed on the couch until late, the brightness of the screen playing across your blank face, eyes not really seeing the movie playing across the screen.

previous chapter || next chapter

[aiaesthetics]

グース系 (Goose-kei) (Taken from the English phrase ‘mother goose’)

Goose-kei is a feminine and motherly aesthetic subculture that draws inspiration from vintage children’s book illustrations, nostalgia and the whimsical world of nursery rhymes. The fashion style emphasizes soft, pastel colors, with a color palette that includes primary childish colors like bright red, blue, and yellow, mixed with muted pinks and oranges.

Clothing items often feature playful patterns and prints inspired by nursery rhymes, such as polka dots, stripes, and gingham, combined with frilly and feminine details like lace and ruffles. Dresses with pinafores, oversized bows,babydoll collars and peter pan collars are popular choices within the Goose-kei fashion style. Layering is also a key aspect of this style, with dresses, skirts, and blouses often worn together in contrasting patterns and colors.

Accessories are an essential part of the Goose-kei style, with items like ankle socks with ruffled trim, colourful tights and retro-inspired Mary Jane shoes being popular choices. Bags in the shape of animals or storybook characters are also common, adding to the playful and whimsical vibe of the subculture. You could also wear wearing playful jewelry such as beaded bracelets and necklaces, or wearing vintage-style hair clips and hair bows.

Hairstyles within Goose-kei tend to be simple and girly, with loose waves, pigtails and braids being popular choices. Some members of the subculture also incorporate playful hair accessories like bows, scrunchies, and hair clips into their hairstyles. Makeup tends to be natural and understated, with a focus on creating a youthful, innocent look. Soft blush, natural-looking lip gloss, and a hint of colour and shimmer on the eyelids are common makeup choices.

Overall, the Goose-kei aesthetic is all about embracing the playful and kitschy elements of childhood nostalgia, creating a fun and lighthearted style that is perfect for those who want to inject some whimsy and joy into their everyday fashion.

[emilybeemartin]

I just watched 'Stormy Monday ' and I wanted to thank you for the recommendation, hoping you're having a tremendous day❤️

Also, for me, a Polish woman, the scene where Sean Bean goes to a Polish Club in Newcastle, surrounded by the most stereotypical, yet oddly accurate, the most 80s looking men with thick moustaches and even thicker English accent added 5,7 years to my life

Oh yeah, that was a Scene for sure. Did the whole movie feel like a Sean Bean origin story to you? I felt like I was watching him go from shy art nerd off the street to gritty action hero in real time. And holy cow I did not expect Sting to be so compelling in that role. Like I went into this movie thinking "heh, kitschy 80s thriller with obligatory nudity and a famous musician dabbling in acting, and also Tommy Lee Jones" but it was SO GOOD.

[saint-ambrosef]

okay guys my dad is looking for Christmas ideas for my mom, help me brainstorm? every listicle i can find for ideas is zero help, and you'll see why:

extremely picky about clothing and is anti-leisure-wear

hobbies: she's an advanced sewer (has machine/serger) and advanced gardener (ornamental and produce)

she's kind of gotten into vintage leather restoration; bags, coats, that sort of thing

pretty good cook but it's not necessarily a hobby? she already has really nice kitchen basics like pots/pans/knives/etc.

doesn't really drink alcohol

generally hates scent-y things (candles, strong soaps, perfumes, etc.)

she has dietary restrictions from intolerance of dairy, gluten, and added sugars

doesn't enjoy spas/spa-related items and is very minimalist with beauty products. we got her a massage chair one time and she never used it.

leans tomboy and practical

not a big jewelry person - she already has enough

very Catholic

not into exercising, so no running shoes/peloton/etc

they do not have pets

HATES kitschy things like knick-knacks, monogrammed towels, mugs that say "mom", astrology, etc etc

reads on occasion but not like a big bookworm

drinks black coffee (my dad brews jet-fuel level strength so its not worth it to get them really nice beans)

my parents are wealthy, so cost isn't really an issue. but that also means that when my mom wants something she can just buy it, so there's often not much on her mind that she'd like and doesn't have.

ideas?