#Chic Over 60
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Classy and Elegant Fashion Inspiration for Women Over 60
Discover chic fashion inspiration that celebrates ageless beauty. Dive into the world of sophistication now. #FashionOver60 #StyleInspirat
If you think that fashion is only for the young, think again. Women over 60 can be just as stylish and fabulous as any other age group, if not more. In fact, some of the most iconic and influential fashion icons are over 60, such as Helen Mirren, Diane Keaton, Meryl Streep, and Oprah Winfrey. These women prove that age is just a number, and that style is timeless.
But how can you achieve that…
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#Ageless Beauty#Chic Over 60#Classy Fashion#Elegant Style#Fashion Inspiration#Mature Women&039;s Fashion#Sophisticated Dressing#Stylish Aging#Timeless Elegance#Women Over 60
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#lana del rey#aesthetic#lizzy grant#born to die#ultraviolence#blue banisters#chemtrails over the country club#lust for life#norman fucking rockwell#honeymoon#coquette#elizabeth woolridge grant#lana del ray aka lizzy grant#sparkle jump rope queen#french girl#jane birkin#60’s aesthetic#60’s fashion#parisian chic
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In-hair-atence
When they pass, some give money, others give land, and even a few are able to part with important mementos or family heirlooms. Me? I give people the honor of becoming my next vessel.
One a peaceful Sunday morning, I awoke with my little boytoy next to me. "Good morning, Hunter," I whispered sweetly as I gave him a tiny peck on his lips. Though the day had only just begun, I could feel my weary bones protest as I stirred.
This body was in its 60s, and I was beginning to reach the end of my rope with it. It had treated me well the past few decades, but it was time to move on.
"Good morning," said Hunter, smiling back. He always tried his hardest to reciprocate the love I showered him with, but we both knew he was merely faking. I had already paid his new luxurious apartment and had him placed in my will. As long as he played the part, his financial future was practically guaranteed. Once I croaked, he was free to spend my fortune however he wished.
That was fine for me as well. I wasn't ready to part with the money I had accrued during the centuries I had been alive. And his youthful, stupid vigor was exactly what I needed after spending so long inside this older body.
"I've got a little gift for you," I told him, chuckling when his eyes lit up as they always did. So predictable, so stupid. Digging into my nightstand, I pulled out a little box barely the size of my hand. "I want to see you wear it," I whispered as I handed it to him.
Hunter didn't pay much attention. He opened the tiny box and pulled out a tiny necklace. "Is this it?" he said, unable to hide the disappointment in his voice. He probably thought it was something more chic. His mood shifted when he noticed my incredulous look. "I didn't think it'd be so small is all. I love it!" he said, beaming at me with forced enthusiasm. I just smiled back and nodded, encouraging him to put it on.
The fool put i on without hesitation, and his fate was sealed.
As soon as the necklace was around his neck, the spell began to take form. "Huh, what the--?" was all Hunter was able to say before he collapsed on the bed, flat on his back. His body seized up as a tidal wave of magic crashed over the apartment bedroom.
I breathed out a sigh of relief as all sensations failed me. My body, nostalgic yet well-worn out, faded into nothing but dust as my essence was freed once more. Hunter could do nothing but look on in horror as his sugar daddy faded away and a body-stealing specter now hovered above him.
"Enjoy your gift," I whispered before plunging into him. He of course struggled, but his weak and vain soul was no match for my experienced self. I swiftly engulfed his essence into my own, feeling a lifetime of memories in the span of a few seconds, and rapidly expanded into his convulsing body.
"Ahh...! Aurgh... right there!" I gasped as I felt the sensation of filling a new vessel. His youthful vigor, the rug of hair all over him, and his bottomless libido... all of these came together as my hips thrust into the air, releasing a shower of cum all over my new form.
I opened my eyes and took my first breath. I was like a newborn. The world was so intense, so sharp, and so full of possibilities.
"So long, Mr. Grayson," I muttered. My old vessel used to be a dear friend before I stole his body. Now he was gone, and a new life was mine. "And hello to a sexy new me."
And the cycle began anew.
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Propaganda
Norma Shearer (Marie Antoinette, The Women)— First Jewish woman to win an Oscar for her acting!! She pioneered stronger, more independent and complicated roles for women onscreen. One film historian described her as "the exemplar of sophisticated modern womanhood and ... the first American film actress to make it chic and acceptable to be single and not a virgin on screen."
Hazel Scott (Broadway Rhythm, Rhapsody in Blue)—ok ok let me tell you about Hazel Scott. She was a Trinidadian piano genius. By the age of 3 she could play the piano by ear. She would play jazzed-up versions of classics in nightclubs and could sing too! She appeared in five movies, and used her influence as a piano prodigy to improve Black representation in film—she turned down offensive parts, demanded equal pay, and always wore her own costumes to ensure she was portrayed as glamorous and beautiful. She was the first African-American woman to host her own television show, The Hazel Scott Show. She stood up for civil rights and was an overall icon! If you want to watch her being a genius, here she is playing two pianos at once. And here's this one that shows off her consummate glamor! [videos beneath the cut]
This is round 3 of the tournament. All other polls in this bracket can be found here. Please reblog with further support of your beloved hot sexy vintage woman.
[additional propaganda submitted under the cut.]
Norma Shearer:
She got into showbiz on a technicality, there was a line of 60 girls to pick from, the studio needed 8 and she was second from last. She coughed loudly and then stood up and grinned when the casting director looked over at her, and he let her in because it made him laugh. After that there was several years of hard work before she landed her first movie. Where she had been repeatedly put down for her face in silent film, he was praised for her voice when the talkies first came about. She was most in her element in the pre-code era, when she played the strong, graceful, self-sufficient type of woman and she won the academy award for best actress in The Divorcee in 1930. She directly competed with greats like Greta Garbo and Joan Crawford for the rest of the 30s.
She just epitomizes Old Hollywood to me and seems criminally underrated these days
Short-haired, modern woman, pre-code queen
someone call the fire department because this woman is H-O-T HOT!! Three chilis and a warning label hot!! Ever-burning passion HOT!!! But also glam and elegant and gorgeous (the side profile portrait is the most beautiful picture of any person ever)... she has the range
Hazel Scott:
youtube
youtube
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According to the description, the current owner loves and cherishes this 1968 mid-century modern home in Fairmont, West Virginia, and it shows. Wonder why he's selling it. 4bds, 4ba, $729K.
Very different entrance. It has wide, gray, plank flooring and stick walls, which you never see in MCMs. Also, look at the simulated worn finish on the doors.
The home is very chic. On the exterior wall is a sign that says "Lava House," so I'm assuming that the fireplace is made from lava rock. Note the white board that says, "Welcome to our Beautiful Home."
Love the black & white kitchen, especially the blacksplash, counters, and ceiling. I'm so bored with the HGTV designers choosing basick pure white counters. This is stunning.
Here's a little bar in the corner with a rock wall and artsy ceiling. The window wall looks like a gold mesh and the colorful drapes really set it off.
The dining area has the same ceiling as the kitchen's but it's painted white. There's a nice MCM colored glass panel in the wall, also. So many touches, like the herring bone wall and shelving.
This is amazing- a wall of old books, moss and flowers. That looks so lovely. I've seen this before, but never with plants.
The walls in the primary bedroom are so interesting. Every one is different.
This home is a work of art. It even has a gray toilet.
Huge secondary bedroom with 3 stripes on the walls and ceilings.
Now, there's a very 60s mod mural.
Look at the shower in this bath. HGTV would shit.
The rooms in this home are so big. The family room floor looks like it's cement. The walls look like they have a bamboo or straw paper, and how cool are those pocket doors?
I don't think I've ever seen this much texture in any other home.
Look at how fun and bright the 2nd kitchen is.
These owners were not afraid to experiment and go bold, and it paid off.
The lot is a little over an acre, but the yard is private and fenced in.
https://www.zillow.com/homedetails/1662-Fairmont-Ave-Fairmont-WV-26554/22729697_zpid/
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🍓 style analysis: nana komatsu / hachi (NANA)
welcome to the first entry in my style analysis series- where i take a different fictional character for each entry and take a look at their fashion sense, as an exploration on how fashion plays a role in forming a character's personality & overall identity. in other words, it's a deep dive into the intersection of story & style. today we're starting off with nana komatsu (who we'll be affectionately referring to as hachi from here on out) from NANA, my favourite character from my favourite manga of all time.
NANA is a manga very near and dear to my heart. i could spend all day talking about why, but i'd say one of the biggest reasons is for how ai yazawa (the creator of NANA) uses fashion as a means of storytelling. in NANA, clothes are not just a typical character design element, but are instead a visual narrative tool used to convey a characters' personality, as well as to express their traits and feelings. today i've chosen hachi for the style analysis because i'm fascinated by the subtle changes to her style syncing with her character development over the course of the story. also, i think her style is just super cute. so let's get into it! (⚠ anime & manga spoilers ahead)
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overview
if i only had one word to describe hachi's style, i'd say feminine- think frills and lace details. she's all about babydoll silhouettes, pleated skirts, knit cardigans, ballet flats, and generally embodying shoujo fashion from the early 2000s with a good balance of cute and classy. hachi's fashion sensibilities lean more towards the modest side, as her dresses and skirts are usually around midi-length, and mini skirts are often paired with extra layers like tights or leggings underneath. it's a very good girl chic look, which fittingly leans in to her innocent personality. hachi is very stylish and clearly puts a lot of thought into picking her outfits everyday, as she's not afraid to occasionally experiment with different styles every & to use fashion as a key means of expressing herself.
in terms of colour palettes, hachi's wardrobe has a bit of everything- warm hues, earth tones, soft pastels, which all work together to capture the warmth and sweetness of her character. she's definitely more attuned to light colours than dark. this suits her personality better too, as light coloured clothing is said to convey feelings of friendship, fun, compassion, and approachability. fabric-wise, hachi likes to keep it light and airy with materials like chiffon and tulle; switching to warmer fabrics like cashmere and wool for cold weather, giving her outfits a vintage feel.
we can see that hachi pulls fashion inspiration from various aesthetics and fashion trends across different decades. she definitely incorporates her love for vintage fashion in her style, particularly with elements we've seen her wear before like mod dresses, neckerchiefs, pearl necklaces, long fleece trim coats, and brown platform boots. you can also see it in how some of the pieces she wears feels so unique, like a surprise gem you would find in a vintage boutique while thrifting. in dressier looks, hachi's girlish charm and allure is slightly reminiscient of 1960s it girls, like twiggy and sharon tate. she draws from a lot of 60s-inspired elements- the romantic parisienne style, and a bit of vintage preppy chic.
scarves and bandanas are a vintage essential as well as one of hachi's signature accessories. they have tons of versatile styling options, plus the potential to be dressed up or down. we've seen her wearing one scarf (exhibit A) multiple times over the series. the babushka scarf version has to be my favourite, it's very hepburn-esque, who i 100% i could picture hachi having a poster of in her childhood bedroom. i also think that having characters re-wear pieces we've seen before is generally just a cool subtle styling detail, which adds to the realism of NANA's 10/10 worldbuilding. the scarf's many appearances styled in different ways also goes to show how hachi enjoys being creative with her outfits, loves the pieces she owns and wants to get as much use out of them as possible.
hachi's style also incorporates a touch of influence from the kawaii lolita subculture, particularly modern offshoots like larme-kei. lolita is french rococco-inspired with a focus on cuteness, and has its origins in early 2000s harajuku street style- which is also where mori/kogyaru fashion originates from; hachi's go-to style during her high school years (see: her modified school uniform, miniskirts, fuzzy legwarmers). both of these movements were heavily pioneered by j-fashion magazines of the time like FRUITS, Olive, Larme & CUTiE, which were mainly popular with teenage girls and young women, and hachi is no exception. her fashion sense is also heavily inspired by famous japanese celebrities and style icons like risa nakamura.
if we had to really narrow it down, i think hachi's style can be best described by otome (lit: maiden) fashion. known as one of the predecessors of lolita fashion, this style was very popular among young girls in the 70s-80s and is heavily centered around embodying all things traditionally feminine. sweet, cute, girly, and romantic are all common descriptors of the style, which pulls influence from 60s mod fashion (which, as we've seen, has prevalent elements in hachi's style). think tons of layering, pattern mixing, longer hemlines, and mary janes/flats, all of which we frequently see in hachi's outfits. we also see that she takes elements from modern lolita fashion like frills, bows, ribbons, lace, tights & stockings, and incorporates them into her own personal style as more understated outfit details; making it more wearable on a daily basis while still being a tribute to one of her sources of style inspiration.
now that we've explored what makes hachi's personal style unique to her character, let's dig into how her style is influenced in relation to how the story progresses and how her character develops. and just for funsies, i'll also be styling a casual everyday outfit that i could picture hachi wearing for each story arc. let's go!
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i. art school
i'd describe hachi's style here as the most youthful, which makes sense considering she's freshly moved to tokyo to study at an art school. we see her sporting a face-framing pixie cut, which gives her look a bit of edge, but not too much as she still retains her signature soft girl style to balance it out. also, can i just say: super farmer's daughter vibes when paired with a bandana! jeans were having a moment too- during this era, hachi was often seen wearing a pair of bellbottom flares or baggy jeans, creating a casual and easygoing look which really leaned into the artsy college student fashion. this would also mesh well with her then-best friend junko's more bohemian/indie, woodstock-inspired hippie style. the short hair paired with her experimentation on androgynous silhouettes definitely accentuates her gamine facial features, lending to a cute boyish look.
all these style elements are in direct contrast with the hyperfeminine looks of her high school years, back when she'd opt for skirts over jeans and long, styled hair; showing how hachi underwent a pretty drastic style change whilst adapting to the new environment in tokyo. at the same time, it could also hint at hachi's approach to self-expression & using fashion as a coping mechanism to deal with major life changes. dressing more casually to blend in with the college crowd is one of many indicators on how easily influenced hachi can get, which is pretty on-brand behaviour for someone with a tendency to seek validation from others instead of oneself.
so let's get into the first look i've picked out for her: layers on layers on layers baby! for this outfit, i took a lot of inspiration from hachi's first day of class outfit. i tried to be consistent with her theme of 70s-inspired prints and silhouettes during this phase, but also wanted to incorporate a modern y2k touch since we know that younger hachi (before fully developing her unique & personal sense of style) is more of a trend chaser, and what could be more early 2000s than a blouse + dress + jeans combo? accessories-wise, i wanted to pick out unique-looking pieces that had a lot of charm, as i was really going for that 'flea market finds' vibe since she obviously wouldn't have been able to afford any designer yet on a college student budget. also please notice the gorgeous vintage floral print ballet flats- i was so excited when i found it, i thought it screamed hachi!! they look so comfortable to walk in on top of being cute, it's the perfect shoe to slip on for a long day of classes without sacrificing style.
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ii. apartment 707
during this time, we see hachi start to embrace feminine styles again. she lets her hair grow out and we see her back in skirts, dresses, and all things girly, which is why her otome fashion influences shine through most here. she wears tons of pieces in floral and polkadot print, as well as flowy babydoll tops which are very y2k-girl-next-door-reminiscient. we also see her starting to wear vivienne jewelry (the pearl choker, the dainty silver orb earrings), likely as a result of nana's influence (who she heavily admires and looks up to) & wanting to emulate her style. hachi's outfits here seem to have more colour and print, which i believe is reflective of her mental state here; happy, confident, and surrounded by support. good vibes all around, her environment at this time encourages her to take more risks in not just decision-making but also in her fashion choices.
in general, this era is where hachi seems to be getting a better hold on growing into her own personal style. she's still open to trying out different styles every now and then, but we can see there are some style elements that really stick and appear most often in her outfits. she's also seen here experimenting with all kinds of different hairstyles- french braids, pigtails, twin buns, the half-updo. to me, i think all of this signifies how hachi's style development runs parallel to her identity formation and how she grows as a person. at this point of the story, hachi believes she's finally found a place where she fits- within this ragtag but loving cast of unique characters.
so the second look was a little more of a challenge to work with- that's because hachi's style during this era doesn't subscribe to any one specific aesthetic or subculture, but more like a bit of everything, and her outfits can differ a lot between episodes. the goal here was to go for a casual daytime outfit, and i ended up super proud of the colour coordination in this one! i've styled hachi in a frilly vintage floral print chiffon slip dress that's almost reminiscent of the strawberry dress of 2020, but with unique details that give it much more character. i gave hachi a cream-toned vivienne crossbody purse, a scarf to balance out the salmon pink of the dress accents, styled as a neckerchief, some strawberry hair clips to match, and of course i had to include her much-spotted pearl orb necklace too. the highlight of this look are definitely the shoes, which are maison margiela tabi ballet flats- something i could 100% picture hachi wearing if NANA were set in the context of modern day fashion trends.
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iii. motherhood
as time passes, we also see how hachi's fashion sense has slightly evolved into a classier, more refined version. more adult, if you will. this occurs when hachi decides to move out from apartment 707 and starts getting serious with takumi. not only did her living situation change, but as did her lifestyle, and with that, her fashion sense too. her style here simplified and took on a more mature look. she started prioritizing function over form as she cut down on layering and accessorizing. she would also opt for longer, flowier silhouettes and comfortable styles, often wearing simple dresses or aprons over a basic shirt-skirt combo. i really like how the change in style here - which pulls a lot from the 50s-suburbia housewife trope (think frilly aprons, puffy dresses, flared skirts, modest hemlines) - feels like a sublte detail to show how hachi settles into her new role of motherhood, expressed via clothing choices.
as a whole, this period of her life signifies the drastic 180° change from spending carefree days of young adulthood, to taking on the role of mother/wife in a nuclear family unit. it's the most major life change she's ever had to experience at this point, and it's expected that her style evolves alongside this. she's seen wearing noticeably less patterns or colour during this time, which could hint at possibly representing her inner feelings- the bleakness of spending her days in a mostly-empty home, and the isolation of being separated from the friendships she once surrounded herself with daily. thankfully, we do eventually see her return to dressing fashionably again after the timeskip. however, it's extremely important not to gloss over this period of her life as it portrays how she must have felt having most of her agency taken away overnight, with her style being all she had left as a form of control.
so last but not least is the final outfit, which was tough styling as there was comparably less material to go off, but i based it on the few going-out looks we get to see hachi wear post-takumi. rolling with the 50s-inspired looks, i've styled her in a coral short-sleeve button down dress. for the outerwear i picked a long checkered overcoat, which nicely complements the dress in addition to being a going-out staple for classy ladies everywhere. since the outfit is mostly harsher silhouettes, i decided to keep the colour scheme light to balance it out. while i was going for 'stylish mature woman', i still wanted some youthful elements in there to maintain hachi's signature girlish look. i balanced it out by accessorizing with a headband (a prep chic essential) and dior saddle bag, both lime green for a pop of colour and contrast. and of course, i had to incorporate the iconic neckerchief too as it doesn't get any more vintage-looking than this. the final piece to tie it all together are a pair of classic miu miu ballet flats- chic and comfortable!
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final thoughts
all in all, hachi's fashion sense is super girly and sweet, which i'd say directly reflects on her character's personality. hachi is an outgoing girl who wears her heart on her sleeve and has a lot of love to give. she's warm and approachable, which she expresses through her clothing choices by embodying the cheerful, down-to-earth girl next door look. her bubbly style is youthful and fresh, which personality-wise is in character with hachi's innocence and willingness to trust others. this is shown through how much hachi cares deeply about her loved ones & often (unhealthily) prioritizes their feelings over her own. however, this naïveté unfortunately leaves her a lot more vulnerable to others seeking to exploit her emotional attention.
hachi's fashion evolution over the series shows how she uses fashion as a coping tool to help adjust to life changes, capturing her emotional growth and how she matures over the course of the story. the way that hachi's sense of style develops alongside her character is so realistic. her style development tells the story of a girl who finds herself and loses herself over and over again, frequently changing jobs and wardrobes in a constant struggle to find an identity to latch onto- until she does. hachi's style story is one of self-expression & identity formation; a story that speaks to all the young, unsure girls out there who see a bit of themselves in her, trying to figure out their place in a world in a world that often decides for them.
#oc#nana#nana manga#nana anime#nana komatsu#nana hachi#ai yazawa#collage#collage art#digital collage#fashion collage#fashion moodboard#style analysis#fashion analysis#character analysis#anime style analysis#essay#fashion essay#coquette#jfashion#harajuku#kawaii#pastel
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🕷 Don’t Need Telling Twice 🕷
Eddie Munson x Reader
10.4k words
Summary: Movie Night at Eddie’s place. All the little things that sneak into the cracks in between new love and affection. So I was intending to get a lot filthier with this but somehow it turned out sweet enough to rot your teeth- Eddie being insecure. Wayne being parental, Pencils being nervous. Let’s see how they iron it out man. (It’s really just me waffling about insight into these two lovebirds)
Saturday morning in your scruffy yet clean kitchen. Stereo cranked high. Melded into your happy place.
The bright slip and drip of the opening guitar licks to ‘Should I stay or should I go.’ Joe’s condescending spitting voice begins. You twirl around with the greased baking sheets in hand.
The kitchen is warm, it’s got this odd glow about it, from the slanted sun gushing in through the cream drapes that have yellow flowers on them. The shabby wood cupboards and the creamy tiles of the breakfast counter with its little peach-pink roses, which is now cluttered with baking trays.
Entirely rose tinted in your view. But you’re blasting the Clash. Loud enough to wake the neighbours.
You’re making cookies for your date tonight. Moms tattered pink apron hanging limp off your body from too many washes. Really it’s a scratchy old thing.
This morning did come around quick. Sunrise like a copper-red wound knifing slashes across the sky. Burning the whole horizon to that fantastic blood orange. You’re too squirmy to sleep. Too excited.
Seeings as you were up early, you put it to use and ran to the store. And now you were knee deep in cookie batter. Chocolate chip. Little starbursts of Cocoa powder and flour dusted everywhere. Head banging, head shaking and hair flicking along to Joe Strummer and his ridiculing tone.
You kick the walnut stained cupboard door closed. It’s wonky and juts out like a stubby tooth snapped off a jaw. It’s always been like that.
Every door in your kitchen creaks. Whines all aged. The appliances have their knacks and sticky tricks that come with years and years worn behind them. Temperamental.
Sure even your whole house is nothing fancy. You’ve never had that much money to scrape together, or give a shit that the whole place is dated. One thing wins favour over all that; your place is cosy.
It’s stuffed with life. Scored deep with it. Consumed. It’s not some ultra chic monotone black-red wasteland. It’s got posters and art on the walls, the crazy bohemian touches that come from your entirely whacky mother.
Sure this house wasn’t all that. But she made it great, and celebrated it in it’s own uniqueness.
Same goes for the best kind of people too. She’d say that to you with a wink.
Handfuls of pennies and some imagination went a long way. Clicking her tongue and shooting you her fierce brand of optimism that seeps out her every pore: eternally unflinching.
A lot of it, this house, echoed its funky warm pattern after the musical, magical, mental, woman who birthed you.
Forever hunting thrift stores for funky things. Weird shaped clocks. The Who posters. 60’s pop art. French Impressionism posters. Stupid cartoon lamps with Bugs Bunny and Daffy Duck on the shade. Broken and chipped from the Goodwill but she liked that it wasn’t perfect or level.
She bought prints of famous artworks. Degas. Van Gogh. Millet. Flower drawings, or pressed leaves and flowers behind a sheet of glass. Not one piece of furniture matches in your living room. Or any room. The rugs are old and squishy soft, worn to death. It’s whacky to say the least. But you’d take it over any home they’re always flashing from the interior pages of a magazine.
She has blue daisy pillows on the couches. Always buys godawful cheap lemon candles that are all sugar acidic when they burn. But it cements that scent of home to you now.
There’s no inch of wall space not covered by frames or colour. One day she got up and impulsively painted your kitchen a bright buttery yellow. Just because. Flowers stamped everywhere cause she saw the idea in some hippy book.
And she filled this house with second hand books, too many, spilling over with them. She crammed your home with laughter, and literature, arts, and so many idols of your taste in music came from her.
You wouldn’t trade her for the entire world.
Flighty and bonkers as she is. You hate her being away so often, and with Charlie gone off now with her serious boyfriend, it does chip at you on the sadder days. Being here alone. It gouges just that little bit more when she’s not around.
The days when Linda says something particularly cutting, or times when jocks insults jab just that little too deep. You do miss her then. You can’t hate her for it. her job is a real earner and it makes her so happy. She brings you back souvenirs from every little corner of the globe she’s seen. Postcards. Snow globes.
She trusts you. She always says you’re her favourite kid in the world. That she knows of.
She’s not like some of the other Hawkins Moms you’ve seen. Not at all. The ones who all go to the same lousy hairdresser for the ruler straight highlighted bob. Go to Jazzercise on Thursdays. Hate their ignorant husbands. Wear beige cardigans and chunky gold jewellery and are the queen of boring casseroles and insist their kids be in bed by nine.
Then there’s her. Jagged and wound down and much looser. Etched in coolness. Less controlled - more quirky. Crazy hair even on a good day. Cherry ice cream smile. Young by their standards. Berkeley dropout. Strolling around in her suede fringed jacket and a Patti Smith t-shirt and boot cut jeans.
You’ve always seen the way other moms raised their brows at her appearance. They think she’s trashy. A single mom who dresses and eats and acts the way she does.
Scoffing behind her back at the rhinestone jacket or her vintage cowboy boots. She’s punchy. She doesn’t give two shits. She loves both her kids passionately and would be the first to swing a punch, split her knuckles open for you. Always in your corner. No matter what.
She had you both so young and braved through your dad walking out. Good riddance. He never did have the balls to do the important shit.
She told you that once you were just on the cusp of being old enough to understand why he wasn’t around.
Told you as she wrapped her arms around you and engulfed you in a hug. Smelling like Yves Saint Laurent Paris and gold Newports. She kissed the top of your head.
He couldn’t hack responsibility babe. He had his chance. Too bad he blew it. Cause I happen to think you’re the coolest pair of kids in the world.
She bucked up and scraped money together and it stung a bit sure. Pinched the corners of life at times. But she turned the back of her Brooke Shields shiny hair to the stares she gets in this town. Flipped the bird to those Carol’s and Susan’s who dared to judge her.
Somehow they thought she was a deadbeat mom. But she’s now raised two honour roll kids. First Charlie. Now you.
You’re on track for Indie State. Charlie went to Purdue. She said she’d love you even if you wanted to flip burgers or fix greasy old clunker cars for a living.
The phone shrills out loud as you’re scooping sticky chocolate chip dough into the greased sheets. It clumped between your fingers.
“Hang on.” You call out with no patience to the ringing, as you lean over to pluck it from the wall. Cradle it between your shoulder and ear. Trying to locate a dish rag for your smeared messy hands.
“Yeah.” Figured it would be someone for Mom, or a telemarketer.
“How’s it hangin, Pencils.”
Immediately a grin bursts on your lips. It’s Pavlovian. He smiles. You echo it.
You hear his voice? Ok then. Your stomach flew to bits. All fluttery like confetti.
“Well well well. If it isn’t my favourite metal head.” You say as you balance your trays down. Bumping the counter with your hip.
He chuckles through the phone. You hear the crackle of his exhale. You can picture his smile and it’s doing something to your guts that is just, crazy.
“Hey, c’mon now. Play fair. You never told me you were seeing other metal heads? I bet it’s that lanky haired bastard from the pizza place on Beechwood Drive, in his Slayer tees.” He twirled the old green phone cord around his finger. It clacks around that chunky silver ring of his.
He’s so quick to step up and play around and you love it. You can hear the jokiness layered on his voice. Hear him moving around cause staying still is his worst nightmare. Typical Eddie.
God. Look at you. You’re both twirling the phone cords around your fingers like middle school girls. Crushes thick in your throats and smiles. Choking your hearts fully. Paper airplanes tossed with love notes folded inside. Initials crossed together in a pink love-heart.
“Yeah.” You tease. “But his hair isn’t as great as yours. And don’t you know by now that I’ve got guys lined up around the block. I’ve had to have a ticket booth installed.” You pick up your wooden spoon to mix.
“Oh I’m so sorry, Linda. I thought I rang my pencils.” You hear the soft scuff of his laugh.
“Hang on one second, my lipgloss needs refreshing.” You pout. “And I feel like I should be singing ‘If I only had a brain’.”
He beams and it’s so wide his cheeks hurt.
“That’s not the Wizard of Oz I’m hearing over there pencils, right?” He deciphers.
“Saint Joe of Strummer. Our lord and saviour.” You tell him proudly. Cursing when you splodge a little of the sticky dough on the countertop. Looking around for the dish rag.
“I’m of the Anti-Christ church myself. Ozzy is my devil and I’m bound to obey.” He leers. His voice drops and it slithers between your legs to hear it get deep.
“Mmm. Sounds kinky.” You flirt. Trying your hardest not to drop dough on your bare toes where you’re scooping it to the tray. He’s a great distraction to your focus.
“If you’re into blood play and satanic practices baby, I got some great news for ya.” He fiddles with the empty microwave packets on the kitchen counter.
Chicken pot pie from two nights ago. The Kraft mac n’ cheese that he shovels down like air. Usually scraping it out the pan, eating it with a too big wooden spoon. As he reads a rock magazine at the kitchen counter.
“Sadly no. Dungeon stuff only. Oh and leather. Face masks. Lots of whipping too. And biting.” You tease.
“Hang on. Lemme get a pen and some paper… I’ll make a note…” He rustles around like he’s actually searching for it. Wiry body with the twisted phone cord wrapped around his torso.
You smile at his eagerness to please you.
“I don’t think you need to take notes, Munson. Last time was pretty sensational.” You blush. Mixing your batter and flirt is creeping onto your lips.
“Yeah?” He asks. “Jesus. You’ve no idea. It’s been driving me crazy. I should be committed. Look, I couldn’t even wait til tonight to hear your voice. I-“ He sighs in wanting. His tongue was tripping away from him. He drew back. Worried he was being too much.
He couldn’t wait. He had to call you.
“Munson. You never have to be sorry for calling me.”
Cause, I fucking like you.
“You know, you can call me Eddie. Pencils.”
“First name basis? How brazen.” You rib.
“Yeah, later on I was planning to show you my ankles. Risqué or what?” He flirts. You chuckle.
He’s wandering over to the window and flicking the curtain aside with his fingertips to see the same old drab and murky Forest Hills staring back at him.
“What would the village elders say-“ You gasp. “My reputation will be in tatters.”
“Not possible. Your name isn’t Linda.”
“I may have to kiss you for that one.” You warn.
“I’m very open to that.” He says very quickly. Twirling a packet of reds around the shiny surface of the table. Considering lighting one up. The rush of your voice is his nicotine until he hangs up.
You close a cupboard door and Eddie’s ears perk at the sound. “Learning drums over there?” He seeks.
“I’m baking.” You offer up.
Phone at your shoulder and between your ear still as you mix the dough with your other hand to fold in the chocolate chips. Shaking the packet and watching the chips fall. Plinking into the thick batter. It’s very messy and clumsily done.
“Tell me you’re wearing a tiny pink Betty Crocker apron?” He all but purrs down the phone. Licking his lips.
“It’s pink and frilly.” You drawl.
“Mmm. More-“ He rasps down directly down the phone. Grinning. Holds it right to his mouth to talk louder into the receiver.
“Pretty heels too. Lacquered hair like Donna Reed. Whole shebang.”
“Fuck.” He twirls hair around his finger. Almost bites down on his skull ring.
“The images in my head are so unmatched right now. You’ve no idea.” He charms.
“Damn.” He moans again. It’s low and it strikes a direct chord with your pussy.
Shit. You’ve had delicious filthy dreams about those moans. Your hands on that hard dick of his.
“Yeah and don’t forget my strand of pearls.” You grin.
He splutters. Oh he could give you pearls if you wanted them. It’s what he’s been dreaming of.
Such a horny boy.
“You’re the perfect date you know. Kinky as fuck, into whipping and leather. But pearls and baking.”
“You don’t even know what I’m baking-“
“You say pot brownies pencils, I’m gonna go out right this second and buy a goddamned ring.”
“Remember the four C’s. Colour. Clarity. Carat. Cut.”
“Shit. You want a diamond? Hmm I was thinking more along the lines of a pop ring. More in my budget. Or maybe something out the claw machine in the arcade.” He bargains.
“I like a man who puts in the effort. And, hey I’m not picky. I’ll take it. Diamonds are way overrated anyhow.” You decide.
“And just to lay your mind at rest I’m making Extra Chocolate, chocolate chip cookies.”
He cradled his aching throbbing heart. Hand splayed over his chest. Made a groaning noise like he was mortally wounded. A crackle of the sigh rattled the phone.
“Alright. You’re officially too good for me. I’m gonna have to hang up.” He jokes. You laugh.
You really hope he doesn’t.
“Don’t do that.” You ask quietly. “I need to talk to someone sensate. I beg of you.” You urge. “I had to listen to Linda bitch all the way home on Friday about how low fat ice cream sucks, and how much she wants to bang James Spader in Pretty in Pink.”
“Wow that really says a lot about her taste in guys.” He commented. She really was Tiffany-twisted, that girl. Wrapped up in her own over groomed looks, bouncy blonde curls, and sex life. Lived by rules out of Cosmo magazine and fad diets.
“My ears wanted to commit suicide by the time I got home. Thank god cause as I got out the car she started to mention the words sleepover and boyfriend and I just about had the sanity to slam the car door, before anymore came out.”
“Wise move baby.” He beamed.
You preened at the nickname that did dirty things. Finally you now had the cookies ready for the oven.
“Alright...” You clunked the wooden mixing spoon down. “First wave of troops going in. I’ll you know their condition after battle. Hopefully they make a worthy addition to our night as I am trying to impress you with my passably mediocre baking skills.” You charm.
“Hey don’t practice too hard now. You know us guys like em stoopid.” He puts on a southern-belle twang.
“If you can navigate yawself round a tree girlie. Keep on walkin. Them slick city fellers can have ya.” He drawls.
Your laugh makes his whole mood hop into giddy.
“You’re such a goof.” You smile. He couldn’t wait to see that grin of yours in person again. In a mere handful of hours-
“I didn’t need another incentive to be impressed by you, pencils...” He smiles. Tone slipping back into genuine. “Already there.” He offers.
Before you can respond. Hurricane Munson struck elsewhere.
“And uh, Whatever condition those troops are in. I’ll take it. I’m not picky either. Charlie. Tango. Bravo.”
“Good.” You answer. Twiddling with the corner of the dish cloth. Fondness settled like warm oozy mush on your chest. Inescapable.
You could spend hours down the phone listening to Eddie crack his jokes. Twirl around. Get distracted. Put on stupid drama club voices like he was at Hellfire
“There aren’t trees in the way of your trailer are there? Cause I won’t be able to navigate round them all on my own.” You joke in reference to his earlier remark.
“You’re the perfect lady.” He sighs in a sweet hum.
“Oh and uh, I picked the movies for tonight.” He suddenly announced. Sounding cheeky. Brimming with it.
“Yeah?” You asked with inflection. “Yeah.” He answered. With none.
“You’re not gonna tell me are you?” You clued up.
“Leave me to have my wicked wicked fun.”
“VHS tease.” You complained all snarky.
“Scoot your pretty ass over here and come see for yourself you coward.” He dares. Tongue tipped out between his smiling teeth.
“Six still good?” You check. Up on your tiptoes and swirling around the tiled floor. Stomach swooping with anticipation.
“Golden.” He answers.
“Guess I’ll see you then. I’ll be the one in the skirt.”
He sucks air through his teeth. “Ah same here. I hope we don’t clash.”
“Bye, Edward.” You joke. He gasps.
“Mm. Definitely gonna have to let you see my ankles now.” Comes his voice. Smile traced on it. You could tell.
“I’m counting the minutes.” You dip your voice low.
“See ya.” He parts. Slinging the phone back into it’s cradle on the wall. Smile charged to megawatt from your conversation. He wants to twirl and flip his hair. Goddamnit. He couldn’t keep still.
Then he drags his eyes to his surroundings. The crushed beer cans crumpled up on the kitchen counter, and the coffee table. The overflowing ashtrays. Trash in the kitchen. The dishes. The laundry strewn sofa. The dust- he chews his lip.
It was like he was seeing this place through fresh eyes. And it needed rectifying. He rolled up his sleeves.
Shit. He needed to hustle.
~
It was fair to say Wayne and Eddie had to grow used to living with each other.
The veil of constancy was Eddie’s safety blanket when it came to the gruff and earnestly stoic man, that was Wayne Munson; he pretty much remained himself. Didn’t change much.
Liked his bacon crispy. Made a peach cobbler that would blow your socks off til next Tuesd ay, but couldn’t assemble a sandwich neatly at all. Used to drive big semi trucks across the states. Did the crossword in the Hawkins Gazette. Adored Billie Holiday. Collected comical mugs. Liked strong coffee with cinnamon and had a dislike for cilantro. Loved old spaghetti westerns and that twanging soft country music he always hums too, which had carved space out of his soft-soppy Tennessee heart.
He had hatred for people with nasty gossiping sniping souls. Ugliness born inside, he thinks people don’t ever shift it on or lose that. He worked his fingers to the bone for the modest home and the little money they raked by on. He was unfailingly honest and generous. He had few words to give. He was Eddie’s weather-beaten yet reliable rock.
Eddie can imagine that Wayne getting to know him was more of a challenge; tricky to navigate; herding cats, walking on-knives-and-eggshells kind of difficult. How do you get to know someone when their character is set on shifting sand?
Thing is. Eddie never really changed that much.
He’s still the starry-eyed kid leaping on the couch, shredding air guitar to Metallica in filthy sneakers cause the moment just ran away with him. He’s the one making a huge show of not stepping on cracks in the pavement cause he’s down enough as it is. Not breaking mirrors, ever, and picking up sidewalk spilt pennies. And apologising and stepping over weeds in the trailer lot. Not trampling them underfoot.
Eddie was still the boy inside that felt bad for struggling weeds. The one to feel sorry for a squashed little dandelion.
Wayne wrenched open this home to this kid as a stranger. Barbs and shame-wrapped guilt set in his heart that he didn’t know his brothers own kid better than he did. He kept to his lane. He stayed out the way of his brothers numerous convictions. Remained a stranger to trouble.
But then, when need came knocking; he offered up, no questions asked. The way a bird offered the gentle lift of their wing, to something foreign needing shelter, in a warm bramble nest, from the raging storm.
Eddie will never forget the first words he heard out of Wayne’s mouth. Around the corner of some bland police precinct. Warm. Firm. Dependable.
“He’s my family. He’s blood. That’s enough. Kindly let me see him.”
He didn’t regret stepping up to bat for one minute. Maybe he’s grouchy and he’d never fully ‘get’ or approve of everything his nephew did, or enjoyed. But he didn’t chew him out, or pick at him for it.
He learned what flavour pop tarts Eddie liked best for breakfast. When he needed sleep or help. When he needed space. When to warn him to watch his attitude, or his mouth, or manners, and when to back off. Parental things.
Eddie was a stale eyed kid when he first met Wayne. Perhaps innocent and maybe just jaded enough to see beyond the rose-tinted prism of childhood. He was jaggedy-rough round the edges and not worn into himself yet. Caught up in the hard knocks of social care and down-and-out on his luck, as a mostly unwanted eight year old. That stuck some nasty pins in his ego pretty early on.
Wayne could see how Eddie kept expecting to be shuffled on elsewhere. Big shining eyes that a puppy would envy under a scruff mop of hair. Clutching all he had for dear life. His scruffy collection of tattered comics and stubby pencils and half broken toys.
Kept looking around the trailer like he shouldn’t get too attached. Sat gingerly on the edge of the sagging bed. Shouldn’t make mess or get comfy. Cause soon, he’ll have to pack his scrappy things into that sad cardboard box and eek out a wobbling lipped goodbye. Sad that home hadn’t stuck, again.
Eddie kept that empty scruffy little box sat in the bottom of his closet for six months. Just in case.
Wayne threw that box right in the trash.
Bought him a beat up old turntable. Put a shelf up in his room and a stood a few second hand fantasy paperback books on it. Bought him a few new things that didn’t belong to someone else first.
Wayne watched Eddie fall into stability. To learn how to put roots down. Grow steady and then in quick spurts, into who he was. In that way kids do. The way they grow into clothes that were too big. Shoes that would eventually fill out to fit their steps.
He watched the love of music come blasting in. Middle school. Rolling Stones magazines. Catching Black Sabbath on the radio one day. The appreciation for that loud thrashing dirty-steel rock he now loves. The one that ran vein deep. His idols with the crazy scruffy long hair. He discovered Ozzy and Axl, Judas Priest and Lemmy.
Watched him sew on badges that he bought for pennies at dime stores, and get bloody fingertips cause he really was useless at needlework. Found his signature rings at a cool vintage place outta state. Watched him saw off the arms of his denim jacket and come home with a swing in his step and a DIO shirt from the goodwill - a twinkle in his eye. Determination threaded in this burgeoning passion. Tip of the iceberg.
A plan Wayne. I have a well executed, thorough plan. Foolproof.
Mmmhmm. Is this gonna end up exactly like the last plan you had, kid?
Let’s find out.
Gone from the sweet boy who was too scared of everything, and everyone boring, and being judged, and now he’s turned inside out, full circle, to become this genuinely sweet young man, who turned against that boring tide of beige normalcy.
Eccentric and whirly with the unfocused energy that never burned out. Dynamite blaze kid. Even when he tried to hide scrapes on his knees, and raw knuckles. A shiner that he let his shaggy fringe cover, from an attempt to fight and claw back.
He still gave Wayne that shocking toothy grin with a fat lip and a busted nose, cause he was actually stupid proud of himself - and the way he stuck up for some freshman. The tiny nerdy one who had a carton of milk poured over his head by the meat head jocks. Having pages ripped out his science textbooks by them and spread to the wind like leaves.
Eddie sat beside the newbie with bleeding raw knuckles, cracked jokes, sellotaped those torn pages back together - wonky. Just to show that someone out there, cared.
The smiles became armour, devil horns and Gene Simmons tongue. The hair started to grow out into rioting curls. Doe eyes glinted promiscuity; to those who didn’t know him well enough to know there was no shred of malice anywhere in him.
Eddie collected parts of himself, the way someone would laundry plucked off the line- like the badges and pins he secured on his chest and flashed around for fun.
He found his first DND board and his dice at a yard sale. And then came that sweet head-muzzy strain of Colombia gold, and Reefer Rick and light frothy cans of beer on an empty stomach. He found acceptance. Ripped jeans and scuffed knees. The exquisite pin pricks of a scratchy tattoo the day he turned 18. Asked if he could wear the old sagging leather jacket he found hung in the back of the closet, from Wayne’s younger and more hip days.
The way he went full bonkers-gaga over seeing his 24 fret NJ warlock in the window of a music store in town. Bursting big heart eyes over it and saving up for months. Awfully tempted by the idea of some piercing, somewhere, but nearly fainted when he got in the shop. So that was the end of that. He founded Hellfire and he protected his fellow freaks. Scraped together his high school band.
Collected the little lost sheepies in armfuls, in bunches, so that no one within his reaches would ever have to sit and console that festering hungry chasm of being an unwanted kid, with nowhere to turn.
Cause Eddie knew well enough, it was a bottomless gremlin pit with gnashing teeth, and it would take take take as long as you bothered to feed it.
And all that learning and comfiness, and living, now it currently tapered down to Wayne not being at all surprised, by watching his nephew shaking frail little spindly spiders out into the doormat, talking soothingly to them.
Shooing them out off the glossy pages of his rock music magazine. Telling them to get used to the brave new world of Forest Hills outside these four walls.
“-And kudos by the way for eating the flies. Appreciate you for that. Sorry I’ll have to take down those cobwebs. Consider this your eviction notice.” As he jimmied the last one off the paper and it crinkled noisily. Bracelet on his wrist jingling.
Wayne is peering over the shield of his paper. Coffee steaming away in a chipped Snoopy mug by his side. Cigarette dangling from his fingers. Watching Eddie crouch right at the mouth of the trailer door. Holding it open and watching the insects lope away in new brave directions.
Pieces of clarity started to to swim together when he takes a look at Eddie’s clothes.
Different to his normal threads on a Saturday night; Either he’s kicking his feet into reeboks, shouldering on his leathers and vest to go out a party at some place, and come back reeking of grass and beer breath. Or; he’s shuffling around in his thread bare plaid pyjama pants and a ratty AC/DC tee, asking what’s for dinner through a smeary eyed yawn.
This is neither; he straightened up to go and neatly return the magazine to his room, as opposed to throwing it down to rest in any old place. Odd.
Wayne took notice of his clothes. Black jeans that were suspiciously clean of ash stains or frayed knee holes. His long sleeved black skull tee rolled up to his elbows, ink on display. Chest blazoned with a band name he’s never heard of, and down the sleeve too in gothic red. His hair was all fluffed up - like he’d finally discovered what a comb was.
Eddie saunters back into the room. Flitting from place to place. Shoving beer cans in a bulging garbage bag. Along with empty crushed food packets that he left out. Sweeping crumbs off the counter with his bare hands. Probably over the floor but the effort was there- picking cigarette butts off the floor that he was careless enough to drop.
And Wayne didn’t even have to shoot his usual look, clearing his throat at him, about that nasty habit. He was clearing up entirely on his own. Without prompt.
He was rushing. Rushing was the antithesis of Eddie’s speed. A thin film of sweat on his brow under that choppy lollop of a fringe. He’s crammed garbage bags full. Shoving stuff inside.
Says something under his breath that sounds like “shit” as he darts back into his room. Wallet chain jangling behind him. Socked feet thudding softly on the carpets.
He keeps an ear open for what sounds like commotion. Frantic tidying. The shuffling of clothes by the armful. Closet doors shutting with a thwack. He talks to his guitar as he hums and tidied.
“I know I know. Sweetheart. I should have done this earlier. Don’t look at me like that…”
He rounds up his dirty clothes and does a sniff test - again. That was the third time tonight.
Movement clattering along the hall. Socked feet storm back to the washer. He’s stuffing an armful of mostly all black clothing into it like he’s trying to dispose of body parts in there. Ramming in so much he has to shut the door quick.
“Rat bastard.” He hissed after he shook the dream fresh laundry powder in and slams it shut. Punches it for good measure. His rings clack on the metal-metal contact. Shook his fist out I n the air cause that hurt more than he thought it would.
Now he’s back to the trash bags in the kitchen. Looping them up and walking across the door to dump them outside in the garbage cans. Hopping across the sharp gravel in socked feet like a jumping hare.
Wayne sees that determined set in his brow as the door snaps open and back in slams Eddie at a million miles a second. Frowning at everything he sees. Sloped brows. Mouth curled into a grimace.
He comes to empty the overflowing ashtray on the coffee table near Wayne. Well, it was an old soup can that somehow turned into an ashtray. Annoyed that he missed it. Muttering to himself. Scooping away dust. It was like watching a one man ant farm.
This led to him now being stood on the couch, suddenly reorganising the shelf behind it. Batting cobwebs away from mugs and wiping a hand on his jeans.
“Jesus. I mean how dusty is this place?” Eddie asks to no one in particular. Not expecting an answer.
Silence. Rustling.
Wayne folds up his paper and nicely slaps it down on the arm beside him. Folds his hands in his lap. “Eddie.”
Eddie turns around like a doe eyed deer caught in semi headlights. Twisted at the waist. Back of his shirt riding up over his lithe waist. Peek of his back and his plaid red boxer band showing over the back of his jeans.
The bony notches of his spine poke through skin where he’s leaning over. He blinks owlishly at his uncle. One foot braced on the back of their elderly moth-eaten couch.
“What the hell you doin?” Wayne asks with kind bewilderment. Shaking his head at his kid.
“Spring cleaning?”
Wayne’s eyes narrow as he lifts his hand up and sucks on his cigarette. “Sure?” He checks.
“No?” Comes the answer. Carefully. Wincing. Wayne takes a breather.
“There’s cobwebs. And, dust.” He explained. Pointing to the wall before him. “Look see, dust.”
“Why the sudden aptitude for household chores there, huh?” Wayne asks as he nurses his cooling coffee.
To his shame they don’t exactly keep the place pristine. He tries his best, but on some days work takes it clean outta him. Eddie’s room resembled a garbage tip bomb-site most likely.
Eddie swallows. “You know. Just- some light maintenance.” He shrugs. That was the most plausible answer his brain spat out upfront.
“On a Saturday night?”
“I’m um, totally slammed on Sunday.” He admits. Clapping off his hands.
“Kid. How stupid do you think I am. Because frankly, all I’ve seen, is all I need to see. If you get my drift.”
Eddie turns away and continues his frantic cleaning. Polishing a mug with his shirt sleeve.
“I have… guests… coming over tonight.” If he makes it plural maybe he can get away with it.
“Your DND club.” Wayne guesses. This earns a snort from the metalhead.
“I once saw Gareth eat pizza off the canteen floor. Like I’d bother dusting here for those doofuses.” He grins.
“Then question remains; who are you dusting, and laundry-doing and taking out the spiders for?” Wayne leans forward and asks. Scratching the stubble at the side of his grizzled jaw.
Eddie clings to silence. Which he never does. Never ever does this boy exist without noise bursting out his mouth. Looks like a sheepish kid again.
Wayne’s gaze meets his. ‘Well?’
Cause he would support whomever Eddie chose to bring home. Girl or boy, or undecided. He’s no dummy. He’s got eyes in his head. He’s seen things. The little quirky tics in Eddie’s character when he likes someone. He knows his kid pretty darn well enough by now.
“A girl.” Eddie concludes turning away, like it was casual, cool, and nothing to get worked up over. No biggie. Just… the girl of my dreams. So what? I can be casual about this. It’s totally fine. And normal. Normally fine.
“A girl.” Wayne nods.
“Change this record. It’s skipping.” Eddie leers. Pointing a funny wagging finger at his relative.
“This girl. She royalty or something.”
Eddie cuts a look. It’s just bordering on grumpy and peeved.
“Listen, she ain’t coming to inspect the place or audit us. A little dust and clutter isn’t gonna put her off spending time with you, now is it.”
Eddie sighs. Itched the back of his head. Screwed his eyes shut.
“No. See man. I wanted to be presentable. Cause when she walks in this trailer, she’s gonna be expecting me to look and act like sleazy, greasy trailer trash. And I just. Wanna-“ he clenched his fists.
“Just wanna be….presentable.” He mumbled. Repeating. As he softly scuffed the couch arm with his foot. He sighed. Rubbed a dusty knuckle in his eye until stars scrawled black and bursting.
“Goddd. Look at me. I’ve showered twice. And I untangled the knots out my hair. I used that fancy bar soap I got for xmas that smells like lemons. I brushed my teeth for a whole two minutes. May have used a splash of your cologne. That stung like hell by the way.” He added naughtily. Pinching the collar of his shirt in two fingers and flapping it up and down to cool himself off.
“I’m sweaty. My hair feels itchy. I don’t know what I’m gonna say. She’s gonna be stunning, and awesome and I feel like I’m having a heart seizure or probably a stroke over here. I don’t know man. Fuck-“
Wayne let’s him get it out. As he’s learned with Eddie sometimes it’s best. He often just needed a ramble. To let his tongue lash til he ran dry.
He kicked the couch again. Harder. Still standing up tall on it.
“What’s she like, this girl. She into the same kinda stuff as you?” Wayne enquired.
It dipped muzzily into his big soft heart seeing Eddies mouth hooked right up into a petite smile when he asked about you. One side curls.
“No she’s, uh, she likes Punk music and Bowie, Talking Heads, Billy Idol, and like, you should hear her, she talks about all these artists and shit I’ve never heard of. It’s amazing-“
She’s entirely too good for the likes of me.
“She’s so cool. Effortlessly cool y’know?- And creative?! She likes scary movies and she works in the record store. She hates jocks. I cannot believe she’s actually bothering to look twice at a moron like me. Super senior, King of the freaks.” He jabs his fingers into his bony skull clad chest.
Because Eddie didn’t think it was exactly a secret that flunk out’s like him, were never exactly crawling in babes, or cramming in dates on the weekends.
“I really like her.” He mumbled openly. Wiping palms on his jeans. That’s what this effort all whittled down too.
He couldn’t meet Wayne’s eyes as he said it. It seemed to good to be true. His hopes were so little. Floundering seeds.
He wanted this to go well. He whirled his eyes elsewhere and fidgeted through his words. Typical Eddie.
“I gathered as much from your general-“ Wayne waved his hand around in the air of the living room and towards the kitchen “…Running round. Giving me whiplash just watching you, kid.” He stubs out his cigarette.
Eddie stays where he is. Stood couch top. Absorbing the information Wayne fed him.
“Why don’t you get down from there. Leave the dusting the hell alone. And just relax.” He soothes. Always a balm to the frizzy fraying nerves.
Eddie looks like it could be a trap if he dares to let himself chill out. You say it like it’s easy.
“She must like you to come all the way out here to spend time with you. Just be yourself. I guarantee you, that’s what she’s interested in. Not the state of this place.” He shifts in his chair and groans a little. Adjusts his legs.
Eddie let’s out a huff. Slumps down the sofa and throws his body onto it. Crazy hair flicking after he moved. It’s fluffier too. Some lame attempt at his own hands to pretty it up from its usual insanity.
“What you guys planning on doing?” He seeks. Sips his coffee. Distraction worked well, too. He often found.
“Ordering pizza and watching a couple movies.” Eddie says up to the ceiling. Scanning for cobwebs. Fiddling with the rings on one hand. One knee twitching up and down.
He had the stack of videos ready on top of the TV. Night of the Living Dead. Nightmare on Elm Street. And then Ghostbusters for something undeniably cheesy. The microwave popcorn in the kitchen. A number for the pizza place hemmed in on the fridge with magnets, as per usual.
Wayne makes a soft noise at the back of his throat at hearing that. A smile creeps on his lips. He idly reads the folded back of his paper.
“What?” Eddie quizzes.
Wayne’s smile grows if anything.
“I may be an old man. But I was young once. I do happen to know what that means.” He stared Eddie down in that parental way.
“You’re gonna be careful with this girl, right. Safe sex ain’t no joke.”
That did it.
“Aww man, c’mon.” Eddie choked, cringing, as he launched himself up out the sofa and quickly scurried away like a jangly pillar of goth black missile. Aimed sharpish in another direction.
“It’s a first date, by the way. I’m not gonna be breaking out the condoms and whistles and bells here.” He lets out.
He’s shaking his head and losing himself in the confines of his room. Music is softly shredding out the low stereo. Alice Coopers ‘Welcome to my Nightmare’ sneers softly into his room. He cranks it up.
Wayne stood up. Smiling and shaking his head in making his kid cringe. Gathering his things for work. Walking to the kitchen slowly to empty the dregs of his cup. Leave it in the sink for later. He grabs his things as he walks on past the front door. Heavy work boots crushing soft on the carpets and then the lino.
He walks right up to Eddie’s door, peers into the clustered metal gilded mess of his room.
Shocked to notice he could actually see the floor. And the raunchy pin ups were safely shepherded away inside the closet. The playboy magazines he pretends he doesn’t know about shoved under the bed. The dresser and side tables were still messy as. There’s been an attempt at making the bed. The sheets are straightened and tucked in.
“Listen now, you’re 20 year old man, and you have a zipper. I won’t say any more than that. But you best play it safe. Y’hear?”
“NO.” Eddie fairly shrieks.
“Not listening anymore.” Comes the answer as he faffs around and pretends to be busy with some things in his closet.
“Eddie.” Wayne smiles.
He turns back around and stands up. Expression of limited enthusiasm.
“Wayne. I am the town fuck up in a lot of ways. But not in this way.” He marched back to his bedside. Throws the blue Trojan condom packet up in the air and catches it. A silent ‘see?’
His uncles brow crooks up. Shuffling his wallet into his jeans. Pulling on his heavy fleece lined denim jacket. “Jeez. Those things still in date?”
Eddies face falls.
“They expire?” He flips the packet and looks at the back.
“Lord. I am gettin out of here. Save me some pizza would ya.” Wayne dismisses with a shake of his old head.
This high school romance thing was better left a young man’s game.
~
Eddie thinks he forgets how to breathe, when the buttery headlights of your car slant into the big window of the trailer.
He poked his head out the door earlier. The air is cool out tonight. Hung with moisture, so thick you could sip at it. Icy cold like a dirty clear martini. The kind of night that bloats up and leaves the taste of wet grass on your tongue.
The headlights are a sobering neon yellow under the cushy spring night that was churning slowly in dregs and streaks, to a violet. Lilac bathed air punched with cold. One of those night slow nights that gets slipped into dark majesty, and the stars cluster bright like winking pearls.
Eddie’s eyes have been on the windows for an hour. He’s paced groves in this thick matted carpet, he’s sure of it. Eyes set on the windows like he’s on a mission. Trying not to chew his nails. Got him acting like a pound mongrel waiting for their owner to come home.
The car lights flick off. Engine cuts dead.
And now he can hear the slam of your car door. His heart rockets into overdrive with scary amounts of adrenaline and stabbing excitement that will, he’s sure, undeniably make a moron out of him before then night is out.
You’re stepping up the creaky porch. He knows those snaps and shifts of the old steps. You’re knocking on his door.
He takes a deep breath. Fills his crappy sentimental lungs, that he placated with a cigarette, twenty ache filled minutes ago.
He cannot open the door fast enough, and the sight of you the other side, roundhouse whirls into his chest. Smacks right between the ribs. Fists him by the front of his t-shirt and yanks-
You’re like that song Wayne hums and taps his feet too, when he makes eggs on a Sunday mo rning. ‘Like being hit by a falling tree, woman, woman what you do to me.’
“Ah woman bearing beer. You’re definitely welcome inside.” He grins. Leaning against his door.
He thinks he keeps on imagining how pretty you are. But here you stand with the cheap orange light of the trailer washing back over you, haloing your body like a wash of heaven, and he’s gotta remember not to stare.
You’ve brushed this smoky-sparkly purple eyeshadow on. Nightshade purple like the sky out tonight. Big lashes all dark too. Your lips are pink shiny and glossy. (You so totally stole a tube from Linda, naughty pencils)
You’re wearing a brown corduroy skirt and a black polo neck. Long brown leather boots up to your calves. Your hair is so silky. Eyes shimmering this angel honey warmth at him.
You’re holding an eggshell coloured plate of Saran-wrapped cookies. Piled high and dark chocolate. In your other hand you have a six pack of coors and something else-
“Best part?” You begin.
You hold something up, tilt your head and there’s that smile.
The thing you hold, it’s all canine teeth and fake tufts of hair. Two triangle ears. Tacky acetic smell of plastic. “For the Heist.”
A wolf man mask. A smile leaps onto his lips.
“You think of everything.” He shakes his head in disbelief. “Got yours I hope Pencils?” He asks with a levelled look as he widens the door for you to step in.
“It’s in the car. Messes up my hair.” You shrug. You climb up the last uneven wedge of a step and move to come inside.
“Hey.” You smile. He liked that you goofed around first. Went traditional greeting second.
“Hey back.” He said softly. Pretty smile all wide. Espresso dark eyes fixed unendingly on your face.
You nervously chew your lip and gaze down. You want to lean over and kiss his cheek but didn’t want to overstep or be weird about it.
You clunkily flounder on the doormat. Self doubt lingers on your fingertips. You wish you could just escape into the confidence to lean over and kiss him like you did the other night. But then you had a belly of vodka and Dutch courage backing you up.
Decide hand him over the plate of cookies. He can smell the cocoa and sugar sneaking out when he takes the thing off you. “For you-“ you gift.
“Troops made it. Well done boys.” It makes you chuckle. Wiggles the plate in one hand and talks to the cookies.
“Hope you got a sweet tooth. I made so many.”
“Always.” He answers to your enquiry. “My diet is 98% Oreos and mini powdered donuts.” He beams.
You nudge the beers in your hand too. “Fridge?”
He takes them off you gently. “Yeah, here, gimme.” He bundled them up and stepped past you. The door snapped shut behind him and you took in the space as Eddie padded to the fridge.
You smile as you gaze around the walls. The scratchy orange curtains. The warmness of the lamps splashing up light. A very well beloved couch and all the mug keepsakes and hats on the walls. It’s cosy. It’s a home. Capital H. Just like yours. You can see that from one glance.
The Campbell’s soup can used as an ashtray cause the actual red glass ashtray next to it was overflowing with pocket junk. The plaid shirts yet to be ironed, crumpled somewhat clumsily in a laundry basket. Some sepia family pictures tacked to the space above the counter where the sun won’t bleach them. The red pansy pattern on the sofa that clashes with the lone saggy yellow throw pillow. The marbled malty brown carpet.
A place that sure wasn’t fancy, but had character and warmth in swathes more than anything designer and clinical green money could buy. It’s a sagging trailer sure, no hiding that. But you imagine with a cold shower of outside patting at the roof, these friendly yellow walls would swallow you up in their charming blanket of old cigarettes, male cologne and powder dreamy detergent. Some scratchy record playing blues and a snuggly throw on that couch, it would be a sort of enclosing haven.
“It’s uh- not much. But… a place to crash or to hang your hat, as Wayne says.” Eddie trails off. Setting the cookies on the counter. Nodding in jest towards the numerous baseball caps.
“I like it. Honestly. You should see my house. Moms hippy-bohemian posters and pretty strange sense of interior decor reigns strong.” You tell him.
“I’d like to see that.” He says as he clunks beers in the ancient whirring fridge. You smile over at him. You nod and share eye contact.
“Come through the front door this time though, perhaps. Save your ass from that thorny rose bush.” You encourage warmly.
“Awh. You’re worried about the state of my ass.” He preens. Leans against the counter and gives you moony eyes.
“Damn right. Someone’s got to be.” You answer back.
“Thank heaven it’s you.” He simpers. Smile
Slowly crawls up and your stomach warms all dizzy. You bite your lip.
“Drink?” He offers. Hands splayed over the counter. “We got Pepsi, ginger ale.”
“Actually, a beer would be great.” You nod. Cold buzz light give you some courage to finally bump your mouth to those soft sweet lips you adore. And had missed.
You should have done it tonight the second he opened the door. Damn politeness. You should’ve sprung on him.
“Two beers. Coming up.” He grins. Drums the counter with open slaps of his hands. Dives for the fridge.
You unzip your boots. Worried about getting wet marks on the floor.
“Princess. Your shoes are probably cleaner than this carpet.” Eddie explains wryly from behind the fridge.
Coming back to see you standing into the mushy carpet in your bare feet. Painted toes mulberry purple. Sparkles glitter gritty over the deep paint.
“It’s the principle of the thing now, Munson.” You say as you toe them off. Stuff your socks inside. You place them by the door and wander over to the jut of the counter. Standing the other side looking at him. His skin itches and leaps with the realisation of your smiling at him. He more than likes it.
He’s got the beers before him. Cracking them open. The fizz and the hoppy mist. He slides yours on over for you to catch like a saloon bar in a western.
“Mi’lady” He says as he raises his can up for you to crash them together in a toast. A tinny clank where you toast. His rings clack on the side of the can.
“Thank you, gallant Knight.” You flatter. After taking back a cold hop filled sip.
It makes you think of that slanted drunken time in Kyle’s garden. Sharing polite sips of a warm beer. Stealing glances under fringes and sparing longing looks.
You watch his brows raise with surprise at your choice of title. “And here, I thought I was the jangly belled jester dude. Or the scrawny but lovable bard.” He grins all toothy.
“Fraid not. You’re my Knight in shining DIO vest.” You tell him.
If you had to, you’d rearrange the entire solar system by hand to see the sight of Eddie Munson blush again the way he is now. His cheeks full with it.
He scratches the back of his neck and looks like he wants to twirl away and hide in his hair all bashful.
“You rescued me from the pack of Ogres and brought me healing Campbells aid. Not to mention some very seriously delicious behaviour in a closet.” You played along. Fiddling your fingertips along the edge of the counter. “That’s Knightly behaviour, my guy.” You nod.
“You’d be ok with being my maiden then, huh?” He can’t ignore the very bloated intent behind those words. Chews the inside of his lower lip. He can taste beer and he’s so aching to kiss you again.
“More than ok.” You met his longing brown gaze. Those melty eyes standing stark under that chippy fringe. “Hey, as long as you don’t think I’m the Dragon. I’m fine with whatever.” You hold your hands up.
His smile brightens. “I think we all know who the dragon is, pencils.”
You laugh.
His heart swoons.
And then it twirls somewhere different. He looks intent. Like he wants to grab something but can’t. Pent up. Like he’s digging fingers into the counter to keep from something else.
“Ok, excuse the shit outta me but, fuck it, I should have done this the second I saw you tonight.”
He suddenly bursts into movement around the counter. You follow where he rounds it in record time. Chain jangling. Socked feet padding the floor.
Emotions are chunky jagged things that can’t contain him. Slip off his body like oil slick. Beat off him like rain bouncing off concrete. It can’t contain him or maybe it’s the other way around.
He comes your side and you can barely have a breath before he’s cupped your neck either side, so gentle, and pushed his lips onto yours in a kiss so sweet it made your brain wipe blank.
His body cages you back into the counter. Tile top digging the back of your waist. Your hands flounder for a second. You smile to his lips before your hands come to his back. His belt buckle jams to your skirt and it makes your stomach flutter with want.
He tastes the same and it’s a flavour you’re oddly fascinated by. Smoky brush and hoppy beer. Maybe a little acrid but you don’t mind it. So traditionally Eddie it makes your knees wobble.
His thumb is soft on the line of your jaw. Savours the way He languidly kisses you out of breath. He swallows a sugary clasp of a little gasping noise you made. Wants more- more more more of them. He’s caught in your orbit and never wants to fall out of this clutch of your gravity.
Tastes the gloss off your mouth and he prays you don’t think him a massive perverted creep for this.
When you break for air, his lips don’t wander far. Spit wet and near yours and now he’s wearing sugar high pink gloss too. His nose lays along the line of yours.
“Sorry-“ He gasps.
He may have short circuited your brain with that kiss. Glitched something out for sure.
“I don’t see what sorry has to do with that.” You murmur softly. Leaning up to brush your nose into his. Try to contain this harsh vein buzz he’s got going in you.
“Inviting you over to my trailer and mauling you.” He gasps as he rakes a soft brush of hair off your cheek. Back tenderly behind your soft ear.
You push on your tiptoes. Capture his mouth in a slowly melting peck. Hand sliding across his cheek. Palming a cheekbone. Fingertips nesting in that dry wild mane.
“I don’t mind a little mauling.” You explain. He rests his hands on your hips with a self satisfied chuckle. Thumbs stroking the waistband of your skirt.
“Not very Knightly.” He quipped. Going dumb the way you plucked kisses at his mouth in-between his attempts to speak.
“Chastity is overrated. I’m not waiting in a fucking tower to protect my virtue.” You tell him.
You’ve got his fucking chest skipping and his heart is on the roof of his mouth. Cheeks ache from smiling.
He holds your waist like he’s afraid you’ll move or drift away. Ridiculous. You’ve patiently waited to get here. You’re not budging. Eyes set on yours. The wet gloss glimmer of your lips and those eyes he pathetically wants to stare into like he’s discovered a new form of Eden.
“I can’t believe I didn’t work up the courage to talk to you sooner.” Bursts out his mouth before he can stop it. A shy little confession that he feels very nerdy to have given a voice too.
“Wanna know something?” You tell him all softly. Stroking over the wavy tips of those choppy bangs.
“If not guess I’ll just kiss it outta you…” He decides. Eyes dizzily on your lips. His hips sway into you and he tilts his head to plant a sweet kiss at the corner of your mouth.
“I think I had a crush on you from the very second you got sat behind me in history class.” You explain.
You couldn’t help it. There you were all wrapped and stirred up in your love of punk and anarchy. And then in walks this crazy, messy leather clad and metal dipped kid with doe eyes and trouble stroked deep into his smile. The frenzy and the non-conformity. Clutched you good.
“Why do you think I always tapped on your shoulder asking for a pencil, pencils?” He teased. But he wasn’t done;
Sense slotted into place.
“Do you know why I call you that by the way?” He checks. Voice such a soft chasm of purity.
“I assumed the way I’m always covered in graphite and ink, and paint splatters.” You shrugged.
“No.” He raises your hand up and marks a kiss the back of it. “But I do really dig that look on you.”
“Alas-“ He continued. “Its because you never snapped at me. Never once rolled your eyes or ignored me when I tapped on your shoulder. You didn’t dismiss me the way everyone else did.”
You’re floored. Stood pinned to this counter and you’re so touched.
“You always gave me a pencil. Always. And you smiled at me as you did it. Didn’t tell me to keep it with disgust or bark that you wanted it back right after. Look at it like you’d contract rabies from being touching something I’d used.”
You indeed smiled at him. You asked about the patches on his vest. About the bands you’d not heard of. Told him the answer to a random question of the pop quiz if you saw him struggling. Twisted around and caught sight of the horned devil skull he was doodling and thought it was cool.
You lit up when he came into class or when he said something funny. And sure, he did show off in the hopes it would earn that beam of yours. He always felt like opportunity slipped out his hands when you scurried away after class finished.
He tried every day, to stay and catch your eye- make you laugh again. Just something to rouse that little kernel of connection he had to you. And when he saw you around you were always alongside the blonde one he assumed was too cool to approach.
“Wow, we’re morons. It’s only taken us this long to get things going.” You supplied casually.
“Pencils. Trust me. I noticed you beside that blonde poodle friend of yours a lot. I thought how pretty and awesome you seemed. Would’ve tried to talk to you, but I kinda thought you hated me.” He admits with a wince.
“Why?” You ask almost sadly. Ready to crunch up your own conscience in guilt.
“That’s what people usually do. They don’t even get to know me they just decide to skip right to the ‘hating my guts’ part.”
You shake your head. Boldly.
“Not this people.” You say. Cupping his cheek. “And I’d like to spend a lot of time proving that tonight.”
Your free hand slunk to his waist. Holding him with a perfectly lovely touch that has his knees swooning. Fuck it, yes. He could swoon too.
He smiles at that. And it’s so stunningly honest it makes the slippy walls of your heart ache. Lays his lips onto yours again.
“What’s say we order this pizza, get buzzed and uh, do some very dirty hand stuff on the couch whilst we pretend to be interested in it?” He grins.
“Perfect.” You slip up and kiss him again. Arms crossed over his shoulders. Body entirely pasted to his.
“Does this mean we’re officially dating now?” You ask him sweetly when you pull back. Not having moved one inch away. Engrossed, entangled and entwined.
“It better.” He nudged his nose to yours. And it really was as simple as that.
“Fuck. I wanna kiss you again. Can I-“ He started, and before you can even answer. Before your tongue can shape and push words out your teeth. He’s on you again.
“Baby. We’re way past asking permission.” You break away and breathily tell him as the kissing gets heavier, more intense. Arms squeeze harder. Getting closer when there’s no room to spare already. Crushed. No breath. It’s glorious.
“Don’t tell me that.” He flirts. If you give him free-reign, you’ll never be able to reel him back again. You just won’t. He’s far too, far gone.
“Believe I just did.” You tell him. Ballsy.
He leads you stumbling by the waist over to the couch. Smiling. Nibbling your lower lip. Sucking and his tongue sweeping yours. Knocking and kissing, knees touching. Falling and falling into each other again. You gasp where you awkwardly clash together on the lumpy couch cushions.
“Oh, you’re gonna regret that one Pencils.” He teases. Face all blushy and definitely love-drunk. Kiss dazed. Funny how you’d quite forgotten about those beers all of a sudden.
“Bring it on, Munson.” You urged.
~
🕷️This here? Oh no biggie. Just the next part of Eddie x Pencils 🕷️
My taglist for the JQ babes; @ceriseheaven @indouloureux @stiegasaw @fujiihime @youaremyfamiliar @captain-tch @ghosttownwherenoonegoes @svenyves @sammararaven @feralgoblinbabe @groupie-love-71 @andromeda-andromeda @starbxcks @morganamoonstone @ramona-thorns @gvtosbith @poppy-metal @munsonswhore86 @munsonlov3r @lunatictardis @shenevertricks1831 @hazzaismyreligion @harrys-tittie @anaisweird @cerinthussulpicia @cinnamoncunt @thincrusttheworks @manicpixiedreamcurl @therosietoesy @fanficappreciationblog @thicksexxualtension @tvserie-s-world @sharp-and-swift @dadsbongos @2clones-1kamino @edsforehead @chcolateeyelver @seven-glass-kids @forever-is-not-for-everyone @creme-bruhlee @bkish @wayward-rose @wyverntatty @latenighttalkingwithgrapejuice @churchmuffins @chickpeadumpsterfire @choke-me-levi @prozacandnicotine @xeddiesbattattsx
~
#eddie munson#Eddie munson x reader#eddie munson imagine#eddie munson smut#Eddie Munson fluff#eddie munson x oc#eddie munson x original character#eddie munson fan fiction#eddie munson fanfic#super freak series#stranger things s4#stranger things#i would die for this man#punkwrites
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The Poverty Aesthetic;
Why do people want to look poor?
N.hoolywood Fall/Winter 2017 men’s collection
Not wanting to look polished and elegant isn’t something new. Messier aesthetics have been popular styles since the 1950s. The hippies of the 60s wore a beat up, vintage carnival look. Punk rock trended in the 80s where people wore shredded, torn, or bleached jeans. The 90s had grunge where tattered and even dirty clothes were worn, with distressed denims and flannels. But while these trends were primarily influenced by music and political movements, the current phenomenon of wanting to look homeless or poor is not.
The poverty trend really started with shoes. Taking inspiration from grunge fashion trends which included well worn Doc Martens and Converse. Many people took to manufacturing this look by purposefully making their shoes look dirty, and old. So while these may look similar, the 90s grunge style was created through thrifting and repurposing clothes. This new trend is a mockery to 90s grunge, faking a used look is pathetic, many people who are forced to wear tattered shoes would love your brand new ones. If you really want the distressed shoe aesthetic then buy them second hand, or just wear your shoes until they look worn. This has escalated severely, to the point where luxury brands such as Gucci and Balenciaga, are now selling new used looking shoes.
N.hoolywood and Magnolia Pearl have both been criticised for glamorising the poverty aesthetic. Even John Galliano, who’s 2000s homeless inspired collection later influenced the parody Zoolander film. Celebrities such as Johnny Depp have been seen wearing ‘distressed chic’ outfits which could have been seen on a homeless person, except that he’s actually wearing Magnolia Pearl.
It is no surprise that people have taken issue with the poverty aesthetic, because this is only an aesthetic for those who have the choice. It is the ultimate luxury to be able to choose to dress poor. What a poor person will be judged for wearing is now a trend for richer people. Rich people view poor people through their lens of privilege. This style is not just controversial, it is ignorant, out of touch, and overall just privileged.
Choosing to wear second hand clothing, oversized and layered outfits, is not the issue. I understand that many people choose to dress in a more alternative and grungy style which may look similar to what is worn by poor or homeless people. It is not problematic to wear distressed or tattered clothing when you can afford otherwise. Dressing in worn and second hand clothing is one of the best ways to tackle fast fashion and over consumption. The issue lies where rich people want to masquerade as poor, when luxury brands sell and promote ‘homeless chic’ fashion.
#fashion#runway#couture#fashion design#fashion designer#fashion runway#poor#poverty#aesthetic#grunge#grunge aesthetic#punk rock#punk#hippie#gucci shoes#balenciaga#johnny depp#magnolia#john galliano#magnolia pearl#n.hoolywood#90s fashion#90s grunge#90s aesthetic#homeless
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‘Rosy Blog Chic’ Makes it’s comeback for Spring
What is Rosy Blog Chic? Take a deep dive to 2013-2014 with me, the era of Instagram filters (No, not the face ones-- the original presets on the editing tool) Ariana Grande’s Yours Truly album and its impact on fashion at the time, and OG tumblr core. As Spring rolls around, I feel myself reaching for the same pins on pinterest that I did back on Weheartit in 2014... and I’m ready to bring it all back.
The year is 2013, and you are sat in your bedroom watching Zoella on Youtube and painting your nails in a DIY manicure. Something about this era screams early girlhood, having fun and not caring if something is perfect, as long as it looks pretty. At the time, tumblr and Weheartit was alive with ‘rosy blogs’, and if you search hard enough-- the graveyards of abandoned blogs still remain untouched, like a time capsule of such treasured years, reaching its peak at 2014.
Where did the name ‘rosy blog’ come from?
No one knows. After many google searches, and coming up with nothing -- I can only assume it was coined from the huge insurgence in ‘rose gold’ at it’s time, florals and roses being featured in lots of rosy blog posts, and the ‘rosy’ warm, pinky filter that was laid over all the images to give it that classic look it was known for. These days, the aesthetic is more popularly claimed as ‘girly 2014 aesthetic’, ‘yours truly era’ or simply ‘2014 core’. As a long time girly girl, I am truly advocating to bring this style back. Here’s how.
FLORALS, FLORALS, FLORALS.
Taking a step back into this era, what better time to incorporate floral prints into your wardrobe that spring? Ditzy print, crowded florals on dresses and skirts and sunflower crop tops (Think old American Apparel) are the perfect ways to incorporate a Rosy chic back into your wardrobe. It’s girly, and can be worn super casually as these are not items that technically ever went out of fashion or became played out.
DOT, DOT, DOT...
Undeniably, polka dot was huge in this era. Something about it can be so youthful, whilst also carrying this timeless chic that is vaguely reminiscent of the 50′s/60′s (See Audrey Hepburn, or kitschy housewife aesthetic) A simple black and white will totally do the trick maybe with pearl accessories or ribbon embellishments but a pink and white polkadot is super adorable too!
WHAT BRANDS?
When looking back at the fashion of this era, a few brands stick out to me as being staples of their time. Thanks to early Ariana Grande, Wildfox became hugely popular-- especially in their knit pull overs, sweaters, and sunglasses. They were often pastel colours, donning some kind of cute cartoon print over the top such as a rainbow, or hearts. Another big brand that took over this time period would be American Apparel, and a quick search into ‘vintage American Apparel’ or selling sites would lead you exactly to what you need, the same goes for Vintage Victoria’s Secret PINK items -- however you might find some luck in their current resurgence of ‘Originals’ now being sold on the website. I recently copped some OG fold over leggings! For more girly, era relevant brands-- look into H&M, Brandy Melville, vintage Topshop, Hollister and Abercrombie for that classic girly girl look. Or, dig back into your closet and see if you kept anything from this era!
COLLAGE AND PIC EDITING GALORE
To truly encapsulate the way this era unfolded, try your hand at taking cute pictures and laying an warm-vanilla toned filter preset over the top. In this era, people would take pictures of just about anything cutesy-- think your cute tea mug, a girly phone case, your strawberries and nutella mid day snack, this could even consist of whatever show you’re watching on Netflix photographed on your laptop on some sweet bed covers -- the perfect hobby for a lazy day! If you want to take it that step further, collate these pictures into a bordered collage to really push that early-years-instagram aesthetic.
SO...WHAT SHOULD I WEAR?
To begin with outfits, there are a few staples I would look out for. When thinking Rosy Blog Chic, what springs to mind instantly is a bralet / crop top paired with a skater skirt. At first glance, this sounds totally out dated-- but to me, there is something so timeless about these kind of looks. This will be perfect as the weather warms up, but whilst its still cold, you can always pair it with a chunky knit cardigan and tights-- also staples of its time. Pumps, mary-janes, brogues and flats are all appropriate shoe choices for this look.
Another casual look that is less strictly 2014 would be an off the shoulder sweater, leggings / yoga pants, and a pair of ugg boots. This is more appropriate for colder days and definitely will give you an old school Victorias Secret model off duty look.
A common theme in this era of online photo’s was pyjamas! Again, perfect for a lazy day-- the girl behind the camera was often seen to be donning full length or shorts and a tshirt sleepwear in cute prints and colours. Whether it be VS classic stripes, polkadot/animal print, vintage Disney movie print, florals, it doesn’t matter as long as it’s cute.
To accessorize, bows were a huge deal. Whether its clipped to your pony, worn on your handbag or simply just there for decorating, oversized bows were one of the first trends Ariana Grande brought to the internet. The accessory portion of Rosy Blog Chic seemed to take a more classic, timeless and girly route that can often be seen in modern Coquette fashion today-- meaning ribbons, pearls, and lace to up the girly factor by 10.
Try your hand at home made manicures if you are currently giving your nails a rest from Acrylics or gels! Essie nail polish was at its peak during this era, as everyone seemed to be rocking natural length pale pink nails! I love long nails, and they were still super popular-- this is just for those who want to give their nails a rest.
Did I miss anything? Let me know! I hope to be seeing Rosy Blog Chic more and more this spring!
Mimi 💗
#rosy blog#2014 aesthetic#ariana grande#ariana grande yours truly#2014 ariana grande#fashion advice#fashion blog#pink aesthetic#girly aesthetic#fashion#mimis guide ♡#wsiw
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Year-End Poll #30: 1979
[Image description: a collage of photos of the 10 musicians and musical groups featured in this poll. In order from left to right, top to bottom: The Knack, Donna Summer (x2), Chic, Rod Stewart, Peaches & Herb, Gloria Gaynor, Village People, Anita Ward, Robert John. End description]
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We have made it through another decade, everyone. As we reach the end of the 1970's, we are also reaching the end of disco. This is something that makes this genre stand out in a historic sense. Because while we've covered many genres tied to their decade (traditional pop with the 50s, doo-wop with the 60s, etc), those didn't necessarily end the moment the decade switched over. We're still in disco's peak (the dance party before the storm), and many of the songs and artists featured on today's poll are still considered classics. Fun fact, the original name for Chic's Le Freak was called Fuck Off!, which in my opinion is the correct way to sing along to it. The song was written after the band couldn't get into Studio 54, the disco hot spot of the 1970's.
Which brings us to the first crumbling pillar that will send disco collapsing. As disco became mainstream, the aesthetics of disco became less about marginalized people surrounding themselves with opulence and luxury as an escape, and more about...the opulent surrounding themselves with more luxury. The communities who had built this subculture were getting priced out of their own hot spots as the upper class and the celebrities flocked to the hot new thing.
But the disco backlash wasn't just marginalized people and disco purists frustrated with the gentrification and commodification of their subculture. In fact, I think it's safe to say that they were the minority. In reality, the disco backlash had two main prongs: the general music-listening public who was sick of hearing disco on every station, and/or bigots who would hate any kind of Black or gay music they heard no matter how commercialized it became.
So, let's talk about Disco Demolition Night.
July 12th, 1979, the rock vs. disco conflict reached its ugliest peak as tens of thousands of people stormed Comiskey Park in Chicago. Disco records were crushed, burned, and even blown up. The event soon broke out into a riot and thankfully no one was killed, but the demonstration still casts an unpleasant shadow over this moment in music history.
I don't want to diminish the ugliness of this event. As Craig Werner, a professor of African American studies at the University of Wisconsin put it:
"The Anti-disco movement represented an unholy alliance of funkateers and feminists, progressives and puritans, rockers and reactionaries. None the less, the attacks on disco gave respectable voice to the ugliest kinds of unacknowledged racism, sexism and homophobia." (A Change Is Gonna Come)
And to quote Chic's Nile Rogers:
"It felt to us like Nazi book-burning. This is America, the home of jazz and rock and people were now afraid even to say the word 'disco'. I remember thinking - we're not even a disco group."
So I don't want to imply that Disco Demolition Night wasn't a shameful moment, because it was. However, it didn't kill disco. I see a lot of music retrospectives use this event as the one climactic moment that killed the genre and forced music itself to change. And I get why; it's an exciting and narratively satisfying conclusion to come to. But I don't want to say that, because I don't want to give Steve Dahl, the anti-disco shock jock radio DJ who organized the event, the credit in taking down an entire subculture.
Commercialization killed disco. White executives and artists cramming disco into everything without appreciating its roots killed disco. Gentrification killed disco. Changing tastes killed disco. Homophobia and racism killed disco. Capitalism killed disco.
A radio DJ and his angry drunk white boy fans storming a baseball stadium didn't kill disco. But it was the symptom of a disease that was already coursing through the system.
And despite the genre's historic death, disco would actually continue to live on past this decade in a variety of ways. Much like most other genres, disco was able to change and evolve with the times -- it just couldn't do so under the "disco" label as even the name itself became poison.
Also, as I said I keep these polls focused on the U.S. charts because that's where I'm from so I have a better understanding of the musical and historic context. However, it seems like disco's death was mostly contained to this country. When I glance at the various European charts (and any European followers can feel free to correct me), disco didn't seem to drop off in the same way. This will become relevant when we cover some of the European crossovers in a few decades.
So as we celebrate/mourn the end of the seventies with its last dance party, we can all come together and agree that whether you're a rock fan or a disco fan, at least most of your music has aged better than talk radio.
See you all in the 80's.
#billboard music#billboard poll#tumblr poll#1970s#1970s music#1979#the knack#donna summer#chic#rod stewart#peaches and herb#gloria gaynor#village people#anita ward#robert john
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Welcome to my Blog !
about me♡
My name is Blair
• I am a 16 years old Sagittarius who only want to be rich, thin, pretty, successful and adored just because
•im a sad poet of the 60s and a 90s supermodel trapped in the body of a teenager
• Jeffrey Dean Morgan is my husband
• i love Sofia Coppola, my cat, music, old movies, Audrey Hepburn, poems, be sad, rainy days, pinterest, Blair Waldorf, models, drinks, Chanel & Dior, shopping, coffee, magazines, be hot, lingerie, Italy, old money, read and write, journaling, girlblogging, fashion, diet coke, red nails, LDR, breakfast at Tiffany's, 60s, party girl, and older men.
Fav's
music: i love Taylor Swift, Lana del Rey aka Lizzy Grant, Mitski, Olivia Rodrigo, The Smiths, Sandie Shaw, Elvis Presley, Cilla Black, Isabel LaRosa, Nirvana and Deftones
movies/series: Gossip Girl, Gilmore Girls, Baby, The Walking Dead. Marie Antoinette, American Psycho, Black Swan, Virgin Suicides, Emma, Breakfast at Tiffany's, Funny Face, Last Night in Soho, Girl Interrupted, Gone Girl, Buffalo 66, Priscilla and the Dead Poets Society
Books: Bell Jar, My year of rest and relaxation, Virgin Suicides, Dead poets society, The picture of Dorian Gray, A little life, The chic diet, Valley of the dolls, Just Kids.
I love things like sunrises, the morning in the beach, a cloudy and rainy day, hear music for hours, watch the same movie over and over again, the berries, perfume, fashion design, victoria's secret, bake, and make fake scenarios in my head when I go to sleep♡
This is my personal blog I use this like a journal or moodboard, just for fun
BTW Im a pinterest wh0re.
If i like u we can be mutuals♡
Pinterest: @JdoreDior16
You know you love me xoxo
#girlblogging#coquette#blair waldorf#it girl#alana champion#lily rose depp#lana del rey#kate moss#old money#girly blog#pink pilates princess#dior#runway#shopping#nyc#victoria's secret#victoria's secet model#healthy girl#green juice girl#lululemon#chanel
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Una Chin-Riley's Nails: A Comprehensive Guide
Hello friends I spent an obsessive amount of time trying to compile a list of Una’s nails for all of her appearances in Star Trek and this is what I came up with.
The Cage:
Number One is rocking some shiny, blue nails in this episode! It almost looks like they might have a silvery French tip too but it's difficult to tell.
Discovery:
After sorting through like 1000 screencaps the best I can wager is some kind of shiny topcoat with maybe a creme French tip?
Short Treks:
Looks like another shiny topcoat here! Or maybe a pale pink? Either way, very nice.
Strange New Worlds:
I absolutely could not get a clear shot but they look vaguely black?
Children of the Comet:
Looks like they are solid gold. In some shots there almost could be black stripes but it might just be reflections. So I'm going with solid gold.
Ghosts of Illyria:
One of my favorites! Black with a gold V at the cuticle!
Memento Mori:
Gold stripes over plain nails. Very chic and modern! How she managed not to chip them in the midst of saving La’An and then almost bleeding out I shall never know but I have made respect for that as someone who chips my nails just by looking at them.
Spock Amok:
Back to the black with a gold V! Except in some shots these look dark blue more than black, while others definitely look black. Hard to tell. I'm leaning black tho.
Lift Us Where Suffering Cannot Reach:
I cannot find a single shot close enough to tell for sure but they look dark so I'm guessing they are black.
The Serene Squall:
Once again I struggled to get the screencap BUT if you watch at 19:43 in the episode THEY ARE THE SHINY BLUE!!!!! Absolutely gotta be a reference to The Cage. So nice.
The Elysian Kingdom:
Again, can't find a screenshot close enough to tell for sure, but they look blackish.
All Those Who Wander:
Looks to me like they are black with some thin, gold stripes!
A Quality of Mercy:
I can find absolutely no shots of her nails whatsoever. None. I am devastated.
Anyway, I really love the fact that Una has fun nails and that they put that detailing into her costuming. I think it’s awesome that Una is so tough and smart and somewhat serious, but she has the most amazing nails that, in the context of the show, she probably does herself. It’s just a neat little detail about her character that I really enjoy, along with her fun 60s hairstyles.
Someone from the SNW costume and makeup department PLEASE release a nail guide for Una so we can see all you hard work in full!
#if anyone has good screenshots from the episodes i am missing PLEASE add them#i scoured the internet for these#i even did a lil low-level piracy for the Serene Squall#which is ironic#Star Trek SNW#Una Chin-Riley#what a queen
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Hello! I don't know if it's been asked but what are the RO's clothes look like? Their fashion choices, are they a fashionista or a complete fashion disaster?
Hello! I did some Research!
So to answer your second question first──I'd say that all the ROs were fashionable! However, since it's set during the turn of the decade ('72) some ROs are more fashion forward and knowledgeable than others who like/are sticking to trends from the 60s! (and a couple ROs who don't care for fashion trends and wear what they can buy!)
Side note, finding men's fashion is such a Task! I wish there was more references to style icons than the same 5 men over and over again!
The Fashion "Makers"
Nate, EVA!, José, Ji Han, FAUVE!!
The Fashion "Disasters"
MICA!, Detective Han, Jackson
NATE
"70s Glam Rock style/70s Rock Chic" 'androgenous style' Flared Trousers, Satins and Velvets, Fitted and Leather Jackets, overly cling cut satin tops and button up shirts that loose their buttons. All the jewellery━rings upon rings and necklaces for everyone. (Nate takes a necklace from every girl he hooks up with, like a conquest trophy.) Platform Boots, or metallic footwear, lots of animal print rather than paisley or floral patterns. Instead of bold and bright colours Nate, like Eva, tends to stick with earthy colour (mainly browns!) But he's not afraid to be flamboyant and wear the bold colours.
Think──Mick Jagger, Ziggy Stardust(David Bowie), Marc Bolan, Patti Smith, Stevie Nicks
EVA
"Bohemian Chic" Maxi Dresses and Peasant Blouses, Eva tends to stick with earthy and monotone colours over any kind of print. She loves trousers──Bell Bottoms that give the flowing silhouette. When she wears headwear it will always match her dress/top. She also likes the feel of Silk Satin on her skin, she wears silk nightdresses to bed and satin outfits on a night out. She's not the biggest fan of Fur or Robes but she has a few items in her closet to keep with the trends. Eva also loves a full suit moment!
Think──Cher, Marisa Berenson, Farrah Fawcett, Blanca Pérez-Mora Macías(Bianca Jagger), Faye Dunaway
MICA
"Hodgepodge/Eclectic Style". Mica does not care for fashion however, literally all of they do (including fashionable!MC) meaning they can't get away with being a disaster or a walking nightwear/pyjamas model.
Think──Being Dressed/Influenced by Nate, Eva, fashionable!MC and José. lmao
DETECTIVE HAN
"Leather/70s Casual" Ha! Hahaha! Fashion sense? What their mother bought them──comfortable and practical save for their leather jacket (from their father.) They don't care for fashion and will stand out around fashion forward people (and not in the good way.) However, they never look like a disaster and their outfits always come across as curated and planned (even if they're not) which gives them style points!
Think──Debbie Harry, Cheryl Tiegs, Diane Keaton, Clint Eastwood
JOSÉ
"60s Mod/70s Hippie/70s Disco" Wrap Dresses, Halter Necks, High Waisted skirts or trousers, sometimes even shorts, Playsuit/Rompers. Lots of accessories, though José likes to wear the jewellery their siblings and mother maker them. Platform shoes over strappy sandals because they're not the best at balancing. José's sense of style is very wide and they don't care to keep up with trends──they know what they like and they like what they look good in!
Think──Grace Jones, Twiggy, Jimi Hendrix, Joni Mitchell, Diane Von Furstenberg, Beverly Johnson, Hazel(model)
JI HAN
"Sophisticated 70s/Casual Punk" Turtle or Roll Neck shirts, wide legged trousers over bell bottoms, but he prefers a nice pair of straight cut jeans. Very casual in his personal style, but he does like layering──mainly layering shirts. Ji Han is open to style tips and will definitely take them from a fashionable!MC! (If any MC gives him an accessory, he will wear it always, even if it doesn't go with the rest of the outfit.)
Think──Elton John, Mick Jagger, Richard Carpenter, Yves Saint Laurent
FAUVE
"Hippie Chic/Flower Child" Ruffles, Fringe and Fur and Colour and Pattern Mixing, paisley print and florals, block colours and stripes──Lace and Satin and Corduroy. Fauve is The Most fashionable out of all the ROs. She keeps on top of trends while also curating her own personal style. She subconsciously inspires the people she's around on a day to day to dress better. People go to her for style advice! Fauve also love hair accessories like headbands or bandanas, headscarves (and neckscarves!) Or something simple like a thin braided belt tied around the head (calling back to the 60s flower power movement!) Fauve is more a fan of over the knee platform boots but still has an extensive collection of shoes that include Clogs, Platform Sandals, Loafers and more casual shoes like Woven Espadrilles or trainers.
Think──Patti Boyd, Twiggy, Diana Ross, Jane Fonda, Lauren Hutton, Jerry Hall, Nadia Cassini
JACKSON
"70s Athleisure/Casual" polo shirts, casual footwear like Adidas or Puma trainers, tracksuit jackets. Pattern shirts. Denim jackets, Knitwear jumpers/sweaters. Most of his style comes from what his almost-ex wife curated for him, and he's trying to distance himself from it leaving him with little fashion knowledge and just going along with what he buys in store. He consultants his daughter about his fashion sometimes but she is and 8 year old so he's not sure how accurate her advice can be.
Think──George Best, Marvin Gaye, Terrance Stamp, James Hunt
???
spoilery! I can come back to them when they're not a Secret anymore?
#radio kathryn if#all ros#c: nate nicks#c: eva vidal#c: mica hollens#c: detective han#c: josé danger#c: ji han#c: fauve#c: jackson lewis
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Sunset Died - Pauline
Pauline found it difficult to pack her backpack. But she knows that she is the one who got herself into this situation. Even if unintentionally. Pregnant, alone and with only a handful of luggage. "Morgana said if I had problems, I could come to her...but I don't think there would be room for me there. Hh, where else can I go?".
It felt like there was no end to the day. She visited Morgana and told her everything. But unfortunately she couldn't give her shelter, it would have been too cramped with one more person. So she would have to continue her search… She was tired and hungry… And surprised. "Zelda, is that you?".
"Pauline? Hey, long time no see...". Pauline was very surprised. "What's happened, are you living here now?"/ "Oh, don't ask. Yes, hn, and tomorrow I'm sure I'll have the sore muscles of my life. You wouldn't believe how much I've done here in the last two days. And all the things I've found... Wait... Oh man, finally finished, another secure line, great".
Pauline put down her backsack. "Actually, there's a simple explanation for this. It could have been so nice with Gobias, but I didn't get on with Susan at all. And you're not just walking around with a backsack and a depressed look on your face for no reason, are you?"/ "Oh Zelda, I…"/ "ooh, someone's hungry… come in, I'll make us something to eat and then you can tell me what's going on"
"You really did all that on your own? There was almost nothing here but a ruin"/ "Yes, but only almost… Hey, but don't expect a luxury apartment inside, okay?"/ "I don't care what it looks like inside, the main thing is that I can sit down first, my legs hurt…"/ "hey, you're not 60 yet…"/ "No… Not that".
Pauline quickly noticed that it was pleasantly warm inside the house. There was an old rusty fireplace in the room, but it wasn't broken and it smelled pleasantly of the wood that was slowly burning. "So, be honest"/ "a bit shabby, but clean..."/ "I like shabby, but still chic, shabby chic, hnhn. Is salad okay for now?"/ "h-hh, mhm".
Pauline would have preferred to eat something really good again, but at the moment she didn't really care what was on her plate, she was really hungry. "Where did you get these pretty figures?"/ "Found them... As I said, I've found a few things recently. ".
While Zelda prepared the food, Pauline looked at the little figures in silence. She knew that Zelda loved kitschy things, playful things. And she had to smile... "So, what happened, sweetie? Stress with Xander? You're together, I heard?"/ "Yeah, n-no... I was... With him and... With Hank..."/ "With both?? Oh, wow, Pauline, hnhn".
"it's actually not funny at all, you know? I…I thought it might work, but instead I lied to myself and hurt them both"/ "hmm, well, they're men, they'll get over it"/ "surely not so fast, because…one of them is going to be a dad"/ "oh, congratulations, then…ouch! Wait… Are YOU pregnant??"…
"mhm… Yes, I am… And…". Zelda dropped the knife on the chopping board. Then she turned to her and squealed with delight. "I can't believe it, Pauline, you're really having a baby?". Pauline had to smile a little at her reaction. "Yes, but please don't make a big deal out of it, okay? I…"/ "h-h, oh man, oh man, that's really unbelievable sorry, but I… I'm just happy for you… Aren't you happy?". Pauline shrugged her shoulders a little.
Zelda only had to look at her face to realize that something more must have happened. Pauline's eyes filled with tears. "oh… Come here, hm. You don't know which of them is the father of your baby"/ "I have a suspicions, but I don't really know, no. And Xander, he… He kicked me out"/ "What? Oh man."
Pauline slowly pulled away from the hug "He was really mad, Zelda. I betrayed him and now this… I'm really bad, aren't I?"/ "Oh, no, you're not bad, just… Just always very quickly very much in love. But I know how you feel, o.k.? Hey, if you want, you can stay here for a while, all right? And… for your current state, I'll even offer you my bed, I've still got a sleeping bag"/"h-hh, Oh you… Thanks"/"not for that… Oh man, a bahaaby!".
After the salad was ready, they both took a plate and sat down at the table. Zelda could tell that it really wasn't easy for her at the moment. "But you… You want to keep the baby, don't you?". Pauline looked at her and smiled. "Sure… it's not it's fault. I didn't want children before… But now that I know it already exists… I like the thought. But… I'll be alone with him…or her"/ "oh no, you've got me, I'm the cool Auntie Zelda".
Pauline had to smile a little again. Zelda is indeed a good aunt, at least to her nephew and niece. She is very sorry that she no longer lives under the same roof as them. But luckily they can still visit each other. "the salad is really good, thank you"/ "there'll be meat soon, I've been practicing hunting with VJ"/ "Oh, really?".
"Mhm. there are some wild animals that have come back… We've already made a plan, nobody shoots more than one animal a week and we have to watch out for the season, when they have their young etc…."/ "I know my 'young' certainly won't be hunted.
Don't you have a sink?"/ "I have to plug it in first, sorry, but there's a pump with a bucket outside".
Pauline went outside to wash the dishes. "oh man, that's really primitive... But also kind of funny. She did everything by herself... and what can I do? Drive men crazy, drive myself crazy... I hope I don't have a crazy baby".
"and I can really sleep in your bed? I don't want to be a burden on you, Zelda"/ "you have the more difficult circumstances, and I have enough space. don't worry about it, okay?"/ "mhm. Let's go to sleep then, baby... I'm so tired".
The first night alone, well, not quite. After all, Pauline now has a baby under her heart and she can stay with her friend for a while. They've known each other for a while, and they also have something in common. Both are half-Asian. And they certainly have common interests. We'll see how things go from here.
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@greenplumbboblover 😊
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Propaganda
Hanka Ordonówna (Szpieg w masce)—no propaganda submitted
Norma Shearer (Marie Antoinette, The Women)— First Jewish woman to win an Oscar for her acting!! She pioneered stronger, more independent and complicated roles for women onscreen. One film historian described her as "the exemplar of sophisticated modern womanhood and ... the first American film actress to make it chic and acceptable to be single and not a virgin on screen."
This is round 1 of the tournament. All other polls in this bracket can be found here. Please reblog with further support of your beloved hot sexy vintage woman.
[additional propaganda submitted under the cut]
Hanka Ordonówna:
Norma Shearer:
She got into showbiz on a technicality, there was a line of 60 girls to pick from, the studio needed 8 and she was second from last. She coughed loudly and then stood up and grinned when the casting director looked over at her, and he let her in because it made him laugh. After that there was several years of hard work before she landed her first movie. Where she had been repeatedly put down for her face in silent film, he was praised for her voice when the talkies first came about. She was most in her element in the pre-code era, when she played the strong, graceful, self-sufficient type of woman and she won the academy award for best actress in The Divorcee in 1930. She directly competed with greats like Greta Garbo and Joan Crawford for the rest of the 30s.
She just epitomizes Old Hollywood to me and seems criminally underrated these days
Short-haired, modern woman, pre-code queen
someone call the fire department because this woman is H-O-T HOT!! Three chilis and a warning label hot!! Ever-burning passion HOT!!! But also glam and elegant and gorgeous (the side profile portrait is the most beautiful picture of any person ever)... she has the range
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relapse & restriction
CONTENT WARNINGS: EATING DISORDERS, RESTRICTED EATING, TRIGGERING DISCUSSIONS OF FOOD
Remember food is fuel and fuel is absolutely necessary for your body to stay alive. Don’t let silly beauty standards dictate your eating and your life. If you are easily triggered by discussions of disordered eating and negative perceptions of food, please do not read the following prose. eat & stay hydrated! <3
…
i.
“she has malnutrition,” my home doctor says as she checks my wrists and prescribes me on sugar fluids and nutrient pills. i have not been eating for a week. it is code for eating disorder.
mum looks on. ”is it treatable?”
“yes.” time ticks on and my brother waits outside.
i am starved out of my soul. deep hollowed eyes, violet-knuckled bruises, and devoid of thought. one week.
ii.
my one week low-calorie morninglunchdinnersnackfest! guaranteed to loose more than 20kg! foodspo/mealspo thread!! <33:
one medium-sized fried egg? ~ 78 cals!
1 cup matcha protein almond latte? ~ 60 cals!
1 saltine cracker? ~ 10 cals!
½ cup of tomato soup? ~ 105 cals!
⅓ slice of white bread? ~ 22 cals!
⅓ roasted chicken drumstick? ~ 33 cals!
½ cup white rice? ~ 121 cals!
4 oz air-fried salmon? ~ 194 cals!
½ gluten-free medium-sized oatmeal chocolate chip cookie? ~ 33 cals!
diet coke? ~ 0 cals!
do the math and tell me if it’s less than 1000 cals!! <3
remember kids, nothing tastes as good as skinny feels !! <3
iii.
if beauty standards are a person, and the purge is real.
they are the first i’ll tear the door down to
on account of falsifying the determiners of beautiful:
skinny legs tutorial!! look, brandy melville carries a one size fits all??
do you fit in? “bye-bye booty: Heroin chic is back!!”
try this A4 paper thin waist challenge!! see how fat you are??
noo why is th1nsp0 content banned on twitter??
tumblr?? tiktok?? join edtwt!! though, pro-recovery dni!!
(i was in scout camp when i dizzied, circus of purple visions
collapsed with blood soaking my undergarments and
half awoke to blankets that weighed heavier than me on my near dead body;
i still feel the bland slick of porridge forced down my throat.
proana girlies?? mitigating censors in the prospect of
pursuing an early death. ed tumblr diaries of all hedonistic thoughts.)
these are fruits you should avoid as it induces sugar euphoria!!
clean girl aesthetic!! kale smoothies will help you lose weight!!
i walked 20000 steps today to achieve a thigh gap!!
body-checking disguised as ootd and grwm tiktoks
sketchbook detailing rampages of eating disorder content
the striking thump of my collarbones and my wobbly knees
a 2 hour loop subliminal messaging “i am so skinny“ “i am 44.4 kg” “ i am thin—“
SHUSH! SHUT UP. SHUT THE FUCK UP!!
this is existing in a society that curbed the living in me,
to strive for an empty heartbeat and rotten-tinged bones for legs
low calorie food still eaten in moderation
the constant desire to clasp my wrist in assurance of how skinny i am
clumsy rhetoric spilled in between sips and spits
of my no calorie pungent pomegranate mineral water
you should skip your lunch too and snacks except
water and maybe some yogurt-zero
starvation is never salvation
thin is glazed over with honey
And so easily fractured with bones
hunger. starving. eat. EAT. EAT!
on december 18 2018, i started recovery
i have relapses, days of unintended calorie deficits;
but i am healing unlearning,
trying, escaping, living ~
…
“you are embarrassed about your blood, its redness, the way it is just coming out of you with no concern for anyone’s feelings. You are … embarrassed to be alive.”
- Carmen Maria Machando
—————
is 90’s thinness coming back? - Mina Le
please stop romanticizing eating disorders on tiktok - Sarah Hawkinson
tiktok is bad for women, actually - Jordon Theresa
The Evolution of Pro Anorexia - Of Herbs and Altars
i lost weight to fit into Brandy Melville - Letao Chen
“Nothing tastes as good as skinny feels.” - Kate Moss
Are you a femcel? - Roisin Lanigan
bye-bye booty: Heroin chic is back - Adriana Diaz
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