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#barbie porcelain collection

barbielore · 2 months

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Victorian Tea Barbie was an Avon-exclusive Barbie themed around, well, a Victorian-era Barbie having tea. However, this was not the only Barbie that Mattel used the phrase "Victorian Tea" for.

The Victorian Tea Porcelain Collection Barbies were two Barbies from the late 1990s depicting rather more elaborate Victorian-era fashion - and, of course, tea.

The two dolls in the collection were Orange Pekoe and Mint Memories.

I can't speak to exactly how accurate these fashions are, but they certainly look a lot more detailed and, well, less cheap than the Avon collaboration. Plus, as with all Barbies in the Porcelain collection, they came with absolutely beautiful box art.

Interestingly, the special care instructions enclosed with Mint Memories proclaimed that she was the first porcelain Barbie to have a moveable head so she could be posed with different "attitudes".

It also details that the teacup contains 22 karat gold paint and that, although her hand is posed to balance the teacup, they recommend adhering the cup and saucer to her hand with adhesive.

#barbie #barbie porcelain collection #victorian tea #mint memories #orange pekoe #barbie collectibles #avon

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p1325 · 9 months

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Barbie Collector - Women of Royalty

Queen Elizabeth the First

Marie Antoinette

Sissi, the Empress

Joséphine de Beauharnais/Bonaparte

#barbie #barbie doll #collection #collector #90s #history #women of royalty #napoleon #empress sissi #marie antoinette #historical figures #uk #france #austria #doll #porcelain #queen elizabeth I #sissi the empress

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haveamagicalday · 1 month

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Battle of the Barbies! Bonus Round: Just for Fun

This is a bonus round of Battle of the Barbies. All other polls in can be found here.

#battle of the barbies #fantasy barbies #barbie #barbies #barbie doll #barbies dolls #barbie core #barbie collectibles #barbie collector #dolls #doll #doll community #doll collection #doll collector #dollcore #polls #my post #non disney #porcelain doll

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faetima · 1 month

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𝐡𝐞𝐚𝐫𝐭 𝐬𝐡𝐚𝐤𝐞𝐫 . .

. . maybe you and alhaitham were just never meant to be.

// tws ; blood ! possible alluding to reader’s death? ; gn reader ; modern & high school au, hanahaki au

a/n: stan twice

unrequited.

you knew your love was of that nature, yet you couldn’t help but yearn for it.

for the delicate and feathery touch of the scribe’s love.

pining after him was no use, you knew. but, alas, what could you do?

he was the prestigious scribe, whilst you were a nobody, too meek to speak up to others, always uttering a small, “yes” to everything asked of you.

too shy to talk to people — terrified that you would embarrass yourself or leave a bad impression, or that you would wind up being the center of attention.

but, if you were so scared, why did you crave his attention?

every time you glanced around the classroom, fleeting gaze eventually landing on his soft grey and teal tufts of hair, and his turquoise eyes, flecked with specks of orange, you couldn’t help but wish as you stared at him, a stoic and indifferent expression plastered onto his stupidly pretty face —

wish that he could love you.

wish that he could hold you.

wish that he could look at you.

wish that he could know you.

but luck was never on your side, was it? for, you wholeheartedly expected your wishes not to be heard (and they weren’t), but lady luck had decided to make your life miserable — making the decision that having an obviously unreciprocated wasn’t enough.

and so she gave you hanahaki.

every day, as your gaze landed unconsciously on him, the vines curled around your lungs, gripping them.

flowers — fuchsia azaleas — tickled the back of your throat, being lodged there, making you cough a little.

and, alhaitham’s head turned towards the noise of coughing.

you froze, quickly collecting the petals in your hand, stuffing them into your pocket. your gaze instantly shot downwards, glued onto your notebook as your hand rapidly scribbled something down, pretending to be taking notes or writing or just doing something.

and, as you wrote, you felt monarchs fluttering in your stomach, heat rising up to your neck and face.

who knew that agony could be a little fun?

—

but, as the days grew, your heart made it clear that it did not desire “fun”.

oh, no.

the only thing it wanted was alhaitham.

and that was made evident by the way you were now crouched on the bathroom floor, on your hands and knees, coughing out bouts of the hot pink flowers to remove the giant lump in your throat and the tickling of petals in the back of it.

the azaleas hit the previously porcelain white and neatly polished floor with a disgustingly wet noise, and, as you opened your eyes the tiniest bit, you laid your eyes on the flower.

a seemingly freshly bloomed azalea, coated with your own blood, slick with your own mucus. it laid there, some of the burgundy blood dripping down and pooling around it, coloring the dove-white floor with a splash of red.

you sat there, blankly staring at the barbie azaleas flopped on the floor. they were still covered in blood for your throat. they’re the hundredth flowers you’d coughed up today, and you had a strange mixture of apathy and horror coursing through you.

the lump in your throat felt like a knife, and the petals tickle and tickle, causing you to cough and wheeze. it was getting harder and harder to breathe. you were exhausted — from both coughing up the flowers and also from feeling this fucking unreciprocated love. but, of course, the hanahaki wouldn’t let you stop suffering until your love is returned.

if only alhaitham would look at you, talk to you, acknowledge your existence in any way.

if only you would talk to him.

but, god, if it wasn’t hard to build up the courage.

he wouldn’t just come up and talk with you. why would you even wish that? why were you so stupid?

you hated yourself for it, wishing he would talk to you whilst not even interacting with him.

the truth was that the scribe intimidated you quite a bit, being stoic and indifferent, curt and formal to nearly anybody.

you tried to take a deep breath, but it hurt.

it hurt so, so much.

the fuchsia azaleas covered the piece of floor in front of you almost entirely, a horrific reminder of the disease that's destroying you from the inside.

while you had been thinking, the stupidly pleasant smell of the azaleas — a dainty and delicate blend of floral honeysuckle notes— mixed with the tinged irony odor of blood, wafted upwards toward you, giving you a whiff of a smell that made you want to wretch.

you should’ve gotten the surgery when you could — now it was far too late, you were going to die for sure.

you were beyond the point of saving.

—

you stared blankly at the sheet of paper which sat before you, trying to concentrate on the lecture your teacher was giving, but your mind kept drifting off.

you kept glancing upwards, and every time you did so you saw the lightest shade of grey there could be, like a thrush’s delicate feathers, mixed with sage green, perfectly complementing the scribes clothes.

yeah, maybe you should keep your eyes on the paper. looking at him made you watch to rip your throat out and cough your lungs out.

—

you sat in your bed, curled in a small ball, fluffy white blanket bunched up around you.

the bright screen of your computer, extremely so, illuminated your face.

you didn’t particularly want to write this essay, and what would be the point? the stupid azaleas would choke you to death eitehr way, using you as a human flower pot.

you closed the screen with a harsh thud!, drowning yourself in complete and utter darkness as the abnormally bright light emitted from the computer was sucked away.

you hastily put the computer away, curling into a tight ball on your bed.

you awaited death, hot pink azaleas tickling your throat and dreaming about the scribe, his perfectness almost alien, like the condition deteriorating you from the inside out, like a withering flower.

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girlsdressingrooms · 2 months

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Iris Barrel Apfel, Decorator and Fashion Stylist

(August 29, 1921 – March 1, 2024)

Ms. Apfel was one of the most vivacious personalities in the worlds of fashion, textiles, and interior design, she has cultivated a personal style that is both witty and exuberantly idiosyncratic.

Her originality was typically revealed in her mixing of high and low fashions—Dior haute couture with flea market finds, nineteenth-century ecclesiastical vestments with Dolce & Gabbana lizard trousers.

With remarkable panache and discernment, she combines colors, textures, and patterns without regard to period, provenance, and, ultimately, aesthetic conventions. Paradoxically, her richly layered combinations—even at their most extreme and baroque—project a boldly graphic modernity.

Iris Barrel was born on Aug. 29, 1921, in Astoria, Queens, the only child of Samuel Barrel, who owned a glass and mirror business, and his Russian-born wife, Sadye, who owned a fashion boutique.

She studied art history at New York University, then qualified to teach and did so briefly in Wisconsin before fleeing back to New York to work on Women's Wear Daily, and for interior designer Elinor Johnson, decorating apartments for resale and honing her talent for sourcing rare items before opening her own design firm. She was also an assistant to illustrator Robert Goodman.

As a distinguished collector and authority on antique fabrics, Iris Apfel has consulted on numerous restoration projects that include work at the White House that spanned nine presidencies from Harry Truman to Bill Clinton.

Along with her husband, Carl, she founded Old World Weavers, an international textile manufacturing company and ran it until they retired in 1992. The Apfels specialized in the reproduction of fabrics from the 17th, 18th, and 19th centuries, and traveled to Europe twice a year in search of textiles they could not source in the United States.

The Metropolitan Museum of Art’s Costume Institute assembled 82 ensembles and 300 accessories from her personal collection in 2005 in a show about her called “Rara Avis”.

Almost overnight, Ms. Apfel became an international celebrity of pop fashion.

Ms. Apfel was seen in a television commercial for the French car DS 3, became the face of the Australian fashion brand Blue Illusion, and began a collaboration with the start-up WiseWear. A year later, Mattel created a one-of-a-kind Barbie doll in her image. Last year, she appeared in a beauty campaign for makeup with Ciaté London.

Six years after the Met show she started her fashion line "Rara Avis" with the Home Shopping Network.

She was cover girl of Dazed and Confused, among many other publications, window display artist at Bergdorf Goodman, designer and design consultant, then signed to IMG in 2019 as a model at age 97.

Ms. Iris Apfel became a visiting professor at the University of Texas at Austin in its Division of Textiles and Apparel, teaching about imagination, craft and tangible pleasures in a world of images.

In 2018, she published “Iris Apfel: Accidental Icon,” an autobiographical collection of musings, anecdotes and observations on life and style.

Ms. Apfel’s apartments in New York and Palm Beach were full of furnishings and tchotchkes that might have come from a Luis Buñuel film: porcelain cats, plush toys, statuary, ornate vases, gilt mirrors, fake fruit, stuffed parrots, paintings by Velázquez and Jean-Baptiste Greuze, a mannequin on an ostrich.

The Museum of Lifestyle & Fashion History in Boynton Beach, Florida, is designing a building that will house a dedicated gallery of Ms. Apfel's clothes, accessories, and furnishings.

Ms. Apfel’s work had a universal quality, It’s was a trend.

Rest in Power !

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larzuen · 3 months

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Casino Of The Vamps AU fun fact for each character

bc I'm cringe

- Julie uses kaomojis when texting, especially this one specifically. (ﾉ◕ヮ◕)ﾉ✧

- Barnaby collects vintage porcelain clown dolls.

- Howdy has 7 younger siblings +he's the eldest.

- Eddie Is VERY sleep deprived.

- Jonsey Is deaf and uses LSF sign language.

- Franny rarely visits the casino due to her getting easily overwhelmed by large crowds.

- Bea likes keeping things tidy and would often scold Julie when she's making a mess.

- Wally does abstract art as a hobby. he mostly uses red paint and he would say that It's blood as a joke ...unless.

- If Sally has a singing voice VA, It would be similar to the song "The Villain I Appear To be".

- Frank does Insect taxidermy as a hobby, butterflies mostly.

- Poppy has been working for HOME organization even before Wally joined.

- Sunny has a one sided rivalry with Wally. (think of their dynamic as Raquelle and Barbie lol)

#reposted from twt :3 #just wanna share this here #wh casino of the vamps au

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barbielore · 2 months

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I've been really getting into dance lately. I've taken up East Coast Swing, although I am not very good at this stage. You're not going to see me performing in a Jack N Jill any time soon.

This was a really awful segue into talking about a cool line of Barbies that have nothing to do with East Coast Swing.

The Tango Barbie giftset was an FAO Schwarz exclusive Barbie and Ken set, featuring Ken with a small amount of facial hair and Barbie with a rose in her teeth. This was released in 2002, and followed in 2003 by another giftset depicting partnered dancing.

In The Waltz, Ken has a Clark Gable moustache, and Barbie's gown is flowing everywhere you can imagine.

Neither of these were the first or only Barbies to be depicted around partnered or ballroom dancing. The Ballroom Beauties collection comes to mind, although I find quite perplexing. You see, Ken is on the box, but Barbie is actually alone.

Moonlight Waltz Barbie is absolutely beautiful, don't get me wrong. But why is Ken on the box art if he's not actually there? Did Mattel just not want to make a bunch of different Kens in similar suits? Because they could have been more creative with their menswear.

And later, we had tie-in Barbies for Dancing with the Stars - for example, Waltz again depicted above. This is a really interesting costume, actually, and I Love it.

But none of these reach the levels of Bob Mackie's Tango Barbie from the Celebration of Dance porcelain series.

Look at her. She's incredible.

#barbie #barbie collectibles #waltz #tango #the waltz barbie #ballroom beauties #celebration of dance #barbie porcelain collection #bob mackie #tango barbie #barbie and ken #dancing with the stars #moonlight waltz

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agentnatesewell · 4 months

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tremendous tasks, dear friends

the wayhaven chronicles | barbara robertson (f!detective) / nate sewell / mason + family (lucas daniels) | 5k words | rated G

happy holidays to @delucadarling on this twelfth night and epiphany eve! i have simply fallen in love with barbie and had such a wonderful time writing for her for the @wayhavensecretsanta

.🎄.

Within the forested woods surrounding a deceptively inconspicuous town, one brimming with holiday cheer and festive wishes, bustling with last-minute preparations of a yuletide celebration for humans and supernaturals alike, sits a dilapidated building. A relic of a time ago, thought abandoned and unbothered, hiding a veiled mansion beyond its crumbling facade.

In this warehouse, now as familiar as home, Barbara Robertson - detective or agent depending on when and who one asks - sits in the center of the living room elegantly dressed for the season. One last task, a final check-in, for the next day’s Wayhaven Christmas Fete remains, and her trusted Filofax is set securely nearby, traded for a cup of steaming, glasses-fogging drinking chocolate. Hands warming against the gold rimmed and whimsically painted precious porcelain, she shifts her attention from event planning to listening, intently, of past traditions once forgone and now renewed.

In this living room, now his home, Nathaniel Sewell - agent and acting commanding agent, a temporary promotion until their team leader returns from a self assigned important mission - sits adjacent, on the floor with long legs tucked beneath him; sweeping his hand over carefully laid materials, collected from the nature surrounding them, on the ivory lace-embroidered cloth covered coffee table. He picks out a hard confection from a glass jar in the middle of the table, passes it to her then reminisces, “My earlier days, when I was with my family, during the Advent period before Christmas Day, my brother and I would spend the morning hours collecting what we could on our grounds. Not dissimilar to what we’ve found on our strolls in town and the community garden this autumn.”

Long branches of holly from the gardens, deepest green leaves with sharp, curved edges, clusters of bright, reddest berries; vines of ivy growing along on the outer stone of their home, long stems dense with lined green and white leaves; hardy sprigs of rosemary from their kitchen window garden, fragrant and robust; precious bundles of mistletoe, from the town’s nursery, with pretty pearlescent white berries; and perhaps his most prized possession of the season, from a bespoke shoppe, a singular pear sitting on a bed of gold foil.

“Are you making a wreath,” she inquires, leaning closer to the greenery. Fingers already occupied with proffered candy instinctively seek her pencil, and blindly slide behind her ear, in case there is need to write any pertinent information of this tradition. As she inspects, Barbie notices there isn’t any sort of evergreen present that she’d become accustomed to with modern wreaths, though perhaps Nate had used all he could find to festoon along the fireplace mantle, perhaps all the evergreen in Wayhaven and the surrounding forest.

“A Christmas Bough.” The corners of his eyes crinkle as a smile plays at the corner of his mouth, voice trailing and he falls into a fog of nostalgia, happy memories returning to overshadow those which usually haunt him. As his thoughts fade, Nate chances a glance at Barbie, and he is pulled back into the present. For behind a curling strand of her blond hair, fallen away from her gilded claw clip, peeks a twist of red and white, and the scent of peppermint. The pencil which is usually there in her hand, in peril of becoming her drink stirrer.

“Barbie?”

“Nate?” The abrupt change in his tone, now alarmed, draws Barbie away from her study. She looks up towards him, green eyes peering over her red plaid-rimmed glasses, taking note at how amusement highlights the honeyed hues of his brown eyes, and how he’s closing the already narrow gap between them, brows raised questioningly and silently awaiting permission to come closer.

And it is easy for her to grant him such permission, as Nate is always so careful, comforting, safe, even in this spontaneity, and Barbie is quite curious what it is that has attracted his attention.

The brush of his thumb across her cheek, his fingers curling at her temple and over the shell of her ear prove far more exhilarating than any spice and sugar rush incurred during the holiday season. Nate chuckles, deep and resonating, just as silver bells sing, and he pulls away, his palm open. “You might find that peppermint candy complements the dark chocolate of your beverage far more than your pencil might.”

“What,” Barbie looks at her cup, pencil between the rim and its high handle, and groans. “Oh my god.” Shaking her head, she drops the utensil with a sharp laugh. “Guess I needed this break. Helping Tina organize the Fete at the station this year is keeping me busier than I imagined. Especially with all of,” she waves her hand, “this.”

Nate knows she is referencing her continued training with the Agency and on-call, standby assistance for the Wayhaven Police Department’s local cases - taking a holiday encouraged, always, during their sporadic diners at the local bistro - but does hope she has been enjoying the past week spent transforming their, in his opinion, humble home into a Christmas wonderland so expertly designed, it would rival the most elegant department store displays. And though Adam and, by order, Unit Bravo, had been convinced by Nate’s suggestion of team building exercises, Barbie has been enjoying herself. Excitement casting her in gold and silver radiance, she is even more breathtaking, indulging herself in the season. Dressed in themed ensembles, time made and spent introducing Farah to popcorn tins and Christmas themed movies, baking and icing so many cookies, decorating while singing tunes so delightful, he has been humming them both in tandem and alone.

Regardless, Barbie deserves empathy and understanding, and a second candy cane. “May I say that the Fete has been coming along quite nicely, and will surely be memorable for years to come.”

“You may,” she accepts his compliment, allowing her fingers, nails painted to resemble ribbon tied gift wrap, to just barely glide along his as she accepts the candy. To avoid a repeat of a near miss, Barbie stirs her drinking chocolate with the straight side of the candied stick, inhaling the melding scents as the steam rises and evaporates into the air. “Thank you, Nate.”

Pleasant moment aside, and desperately needing the embarrassing moment aside, Barbie points the candy cane, melting end, at the table. “Tell me about your Christmas Bough. I thought it was called a Kissing Bough?”

Nate nods. “You’re correct. Formally, these were called Christmas Boughs, and traditionally, Kissing Boughs. Every year, from when we could carry in ash wood or willow wood branches, our bough would adorn the doorway to our drawing room, welcoming our guests for the many parties held during the twelve days post Christmas. Usually family, many cousins, family friends.”

Barbie places her cup on the table, resting her elbow on the edge, listening intently once more. The cadence of his voice again melodic, a nostalgic recitation in celebration of a life passed instead of a sorrow of a life lost.

“One modern convenience this year.” Nate points to a neat stack of green craft wire, set opposite of the shining pear. “Bending curved tree branches into circles is much easier these days, but I would like to focus more on this particular foliage”

“Do they hold any meaning?” She asks, knowing too well that rarely does Nate take on a task casually.

“Holly,” Nate works as he speaks, nimble hands still familiar with the process from centuries ago, tying the branches together with the wire, a blur of green and red repeating until creating a circle. “Everlasting life.”

The irony is not lost on Barbie. By how Nate blinks his eyes, an attempt to keep them clear, she knows it’s not lost on him, either. But then he clears his throat, shapes his mouth back into a smile, and transfers the rest of the holly branches and half of the wire to the space in front of her. An offer to join him, and she obliges; observing and enamored by his hands, mirroring his motions to create a second circle.

“Ivy,” Nate continues, “dependence and endurance. Rosemary, remembrance.” Running the tip of a finger along the leaves, breathing in the released fragrance, he takes a deep breath. Another breath.

As silence grows, the bough making process is acknowledged as a memorial by them both. When her half is complete and returned to him, Barbie lays a hand on Nate’s shoulder. Immediately, she feels him relax, and this time the deep breath is an exhalation. When he turns to her, his smile is genuine, grateful for her grace. “Thank you. My apologies, for my sentimentality.”

“What about the mistletoe?” She squeezes his shoulder, and hopes the question cheers him up.

“Ah, mistletoe.” Nate lifts a bundle for himself, a second one for Barbie. She keeps it for herself. “A good luck charm. One could, during the celebratory period, greet their guests or each other for a kiss. A suitor could kiss the one they wished to court, on the cheek, and we did make sure all parties were in accordance. All would hope to be kissed, lest they endure the bad luck of being left out. There was a limit, as with every kiss, a berry would be picked. When all was gone, the kissing ceased.” He chuckles, picking a single spray which had fallen out of place. “Milton’s pockets would be full by night’s end, as he was rather outgoing and effortlessly charming.”

Barbie plucks a gem-like berry to roll between her fingers, twisting her lips as her gaze shifts towards Nate, finding he has done the same. It comes as a surprise to them both, a happy and quite welcome surprise, when Barbie closes the space between, kissing Nate’s cheek. Drawing away, she puts the berry in his palm. “There, now you have one, too.”

Behind a second, cordial-ish, exchange, through the doorway of this living room which has yet to bear the meaningful ornament of greeting, shaking bruising snowflakes off the jacket he’s worn during his overnight patrol of the town - stubborn to accept the order to dress weather-appropriately from their temporary leader, until an approving hum from Barbie, he will keep to himself that he did not mind the shearling-lined leather moto jacket that kept him from freezing - Mason grimaces at the warm welcome of glittering ornaments, the droning and inescapable music repeating too many damn times, and the strong and tangled scents of cassis, eucalyptus, white musk, and pine.

Thick blankets of snow keep him from his reprieve on the rooftop, and if it was any other season besides one that compels humans to decorate their homes with garish and gaudy blinking lights, corral them into the streets to sing in groups, he would volunteer to take the next patrol. But it isn’t wholly terrible, though. In the living room he can wait for Barbie to tie up any loose-ends, as she’d called them, with her next-day festival preparation; maybe Nate will help her, and Mason can retreat to the quietest and dimmest corner of the room to look out the window and watch the hidden parts of the forest, untouched by merry well-wishers.

Her voice cuts through his annoyance, happier he knows but unsure how to tell. She sounds like she did the other day as he watched her hang monogrammed stockings over the fireplace, Nate explaining some change, some rise and fall in her sound, more cheerful. When he hears Barbie laugh, the tension in his body fades, and the abrasive reminders of the season taunting his senses fall into the background. Mason sheds his coat, rubbing his hands over his arms to avoid losing too much heat too fast, and follows a conversation to the middle of the room, in front of the couch and on the floor.

Too far to perch on the arm of the velvet armchair, where he’s most comfortable when Barbie is around, he instead sits on the edge of the coffee table, angling away from the herbs and plants invading his senses. Any other time the seemingly innocuous rosemary would have him retreating, but she turns to him. And Barbie is fucking - glowing. Mason blinks, wondering if his retinas are taking longer to heal from the morning’s snow glare than usual. Still glowing with a pink tint to her cheeks, and damnit if that halo around her doesn’t make him think of that angel on top of their second Christmas tree, and damnit that he’s lost the cool edge to his entrance.

“Elf got your tongue, sunshine?” Barbie asks, smoothest he’s ever seen her, at least with a candy cane between her teeth.

In his periphery, Mason spots a small bundle of leaves and the plant is easily identifiable. Cheap, plastic replicas in abundance at the previous night’s party in some sort of garden dome when he’d walked through the park on his route. He swipes a sprig and twirls it, answering, “Wouldn’t mind you catching my ton-”

“Hello, Mason,” Nate sighs, tying what is left of the mistletoe together. “How was your patrol?”

Giggling teenagers and metal scraping at the ice rink and the entire town smells of vanilla, chocolate and sugar, that flashing robotic Santa waving in the air are all enough to keep anything interesting from happening; too chaotic to focus any magic, too much of a headache to get up to any trouble. Mason shrugs, “Same old.”

Settled, finally giving notice to whatever Nate and Barbie are actually doing, Mason juts his chin in the direction of the circles of holly. “You aren’t done decorating this place yet?”

“It’s a Kissing bough,” Barbie explains, rising to her knees to meet Mason. Nate subtly coughs the alternative ‘Christmas bough’, likely as a means to keep the atmosphere light and less hot, less heavy - wholesome! “When you’re under, you give a kiss, and get a reward.” She leans in, one hand on his thigh and he grins, arm slinking around her waist, ready for a knock-her-tights-off kind of kiss. But instead of her mouth, his is met with a waxy, tasteless and not sticky clump of berries. “It’s not up yet, Mason.” Smiling, having amused herself, she sits at the coffee table once more, awaiting Nate’s next instruction.

“You’re welcome to join us, if you would like to thread this wire through the pear.” Nate knows he is pushing Mason’s good will and willingness to participate in any more decorating, yet persists with his inclusion. “This should be our final project.”

“Wait! One more!”

From a flash of purple and a cloud of glitzing gingerbread scents and mirth, attention is captured towards the fir and cedar garlanded mantle in this living room, and standing between a cozy, crackling fire and the main Christmas tree, eight feet all and so elegantly adorned, skirt at the base holding exquisitely wrapped gifts, is Farah Hauville - home from one last visit to the Christmas Tree Lot at the edge of town for the season before taking over agent patrol for the rest of the day - standing atilt, resting an elbow on the top branch of a small, a quite small pine tree.

Amber eyes sparkling with triumph, Farah sweeps her hand out in an arc, resting it on her hip. “Ta da! What do you all think? Natey, Barbie? Mason.”

Not just quite small, the tree is rather sparse. Uneven weight distribution, inconsistent branch thickness and needle distribution - some thick with vibrant needles while others rather pale and almost white, some with just tufts at the end. A lone pinecone sits towards the base, and there may have been a debate if the bird’s nest fell or broke apart.

Nate stands, stepping slowly and surely to the tree, mind whirling as he thinks of how to express his thoughts; keep Farah from being crestfallen, express his gratitude for her enthusiasm, how to hide the tree in plain sight and preferably outside. “Certainly a unique tree,” he manages, “though, I do wonder if it would be better suited in the hallway. Could be set in an urn outside of your bedroom door and we can bedeck after your shift - wrap a strand of fairy lights, drape tinsel, use the rest of the ribbon.”

“Knew you’d say that,” Farah replies, bouncing, “This tree has been in that lot since it opened, and no one has given it a chance! A second look! I know it’s not pretty, it doesn’t match the other trees we brought home. It’s not perfect,” Farah flails her arms, pointing to the three other trees in the room that could have been portraits in a magazine. “But it deserves love, doesn’t it? Like the great philosopher, Linus, said.”

“Linus? I’m not familiar with their work.” Nate pokes at a dull needle with this index finger. “Unless you mean Linus of Thrace, the musician.”

Barbie soon joins, shadowed by Mason, and circles the tree to study it. “‘Charlie Brown Christmas’. Farah and I watched while you read ‘The Gift of the Magi’.”

“You were even playing the song the next day,” Farah remarks, miming him at the piano. He nods in response, fingertips brushing along the edge of a healthier branch. She continues her plea, turning to throw her arms out, wide and dramatic, and quotes, “‘I never thought it was such a bad little tree. It’s not bad at all. Maybe it just needs a little love.’”

“Farah,” Nate rubs the back of his neck, knowing she’d likely practiced her speech during her last few patrols about town. The tree truly does not fit in with the well planned out, specific aesthetic of the room but he is moved by her effort, her passion. “I can promise to find space for it. In here.”

To the great shock of everyone, Mason grabs a smooth, circular red ornament from the main tree, fixes it to a sagging branch on the new addition. He comments before Nate can protest, “I like it. It’s irregular, obviously intended by nature to be so. Has character. Leave it where it is, at least it’ll be something interesting to look at.”

Barbie stops pacing, following Mason’s lead, with a green ornament she hangs on an opposite, slightly lighter branch. Just a little trimming, tinsel and lights and ribbon, and this tree could truly be special. One of a kind. Its own new tradition.

It gives her an idea.

Leaving the others to discuss re-arrangement, Barbie walks back to sit on an empty space of the coffee table to consult the ‘CF’ section of her Filofax. A layout of the main room of the Christmas Fete is centered by a hallway length runner rug with tables at either side for Haley’s hot cocoa and treats station, beginning at an entry arch and a dais at its end. On the side of the page, the cast. Elves - Len’s kid and Douglas, Mrs. Claus - Tina, Santa Claus - Lucas, making his debut.

Lucas, her beloved brother and subject of her final, most important task - confirming his, and Adam’s, flight details and estimated arrival. Barbie checks the time, and tapping her phone screen she notes alerts from his airline. Five minute delay, ten minute delay, confirmation of arrival, a text from him.

Another hour or two from the city, and Barbie and Lucas will be reunited after far too long apart - and she can hardly wait! Smiling to herself, singing to herself that song from their childhood Christmas pageant, Barbie pencils in a small tree in the space between Mrs. and Santa Claus. She calls to the group, asking Farah, “Could you bring this Charlie Brown Tree to the Fete tomorrow? It’s just the right size, wouldn’t be in Lucas and Tina’s way. Added bonus, the people in town seeing what they missed out on, how a little love goes a long way.”

Nate places a hand to his chest, mouthing a ‘thank you’ to Barbie. Farah claps hers in excitement. “It would be an honor! I’m going to get Nate’s decoration box and get this little guy ready for the show! I’ll drop it off at the station.” Taking a hold of the tree at its base, Farah lifts it like a piece of paper and runs off and out of the room. And it is a testament to Nate’s reflexes and agility that he catches the two ornaments shaken off, and returns them to their home.

A ring of Barbie’s phone interrupts the calm in Farah’s wake.

Video call, her mirror image on the screen and Barbie gives her glasses a quick adjustment before swiping her finger across the glass to answer.

“Ho, ho, ho!” A voice bellows, and there is a grinning Lucas, dark brown hair expertly mussed under the brim of his vintage, thrift-shop treasure, red flannel and white wool Santa Hat. “Merry Christmas!”

Barbie waves, laughing, widening the camera view to show off the living room, then back to her. Nate greets Lucas, unsure where to stand and if he can even see him, moves to lean over Barbie’s shoulder where the pocket of his brown leather jacket fills the display. His own cellular phone rings and he excuses himself to answer. Mason shakes his head, and, arms folded, walks to settle on the edge of the couch.

Back to Lucas, and now Barbie spots a twinkling flash against the red of his hat, one more, behind him white snow flurrying and thickening with each passing second. His voice muffled, harsh streaks of wind silencing him, though she can pick up the unmistakable and clear, deep accent of Adam Du Mortain, calm and authoritative.

There is a leaden, sinking feeling in her stomach.

“Snow squall,” she finally hears, and when did Lucas move? Blurred behind the camera lens, he has found shelter inside the doors of the airport. Fellow travelers behind him converge into small groups, collective voices rising in confusion and frustration relaying the news to their loved ones. Airplanes had been taking off and landing, no imminent threat of weather. “Barbie, roads are closed, don’t know when they’ll open. Promise I’ll be home as soon as I can, but I’m not sure I’ll be able to make the Fete tomorrow.”

“Oh. Okay,” she answers, nodding, glancing around the room to find Nate speaking animatedly and Mason watching snow swirling outside. “Just stay safe, Luke, alright? Keep me updated. Is Adam with you?”

“Ordering the weather to behave,” he chuckles, attempting to keep her spirits from crashing. “Look, Barbie, I’m sorry.”

Trying to formulate a plan, alternatives and logistics, how to inform Tina, Barbie doesn’t respond until she hears her name again. She shakes her head, “It’s alright. Take your time. We will figure this out. Don’t do anything hasty or dangerous, you need to come home in one piece.” Barbie looks at the screen again, zoom tighter on Lucas, notices the same plush red and fluffy white at his shoulders. “Are you wearing your Santa costume?”

“If you’re going to travel for the holidays, you’ve got to travel in style and make a big entrance. Besides, someone has to spread holiday cheer amongst the masses.”

“Keep them distracted and don’t have too much fun. Again, stay safe. I’ll talk to you soon.”

As she ends the call, Barbie consults her Filofax, searching for an answer. Surely, she wrote up a back-up plan for Santa, Mrs. Claus, and the Elves, and she did but Sung committed to the community Christmas Feast. She turns to a blank page, scribbles thoughts - Surely, Adam will take care of Lucas. Surely, Mrs. Claus could take the place of her husband, saying he needs a head start on his journey, the children could video-chat with him.

“Barbie,” Nate’s voice is as understanding and gentle as his gait, taking a seat next to her, patting her back with a touch so light it does not register. He finds Mason, raising his brows and tilting his head and in seconds, Mason stands before them. “I spoke with Adam. Unexpected change of weather a few miles northwest of the city, might be due to magic gone awry, and does not appear to be malicious. Unit Golf has been dispatched to secure the situation, and Adam will be working with them. Bravo is on standby, but he feels this should be contained without our intervention.”

Mason shrugs, Barbie is still writing in her organizer.

Turning towards her, Nate’s smile is encouraging, “Now, you are in need of a Saint Nicholas for your Christmas Fete tomorrow. Do you have Lucas’ costume? He and I are of similar build and height, and I would be glad to stand in for him.”

Barbie, facial muscles finally moving and her mouth falling into an unintentionally pretty pout, unlocks her phone, finds her text messages, and brings up a picture to show him, then Mason. Lucas, mid-laugh, Santa hat flopping to the side, Santa jacket open with a white shirt underneath, Santa trousers on underneath, standing with a not so stiff shouldered, slightly amused Adam in the midst of white and colored glistering lights. “Spreading so much cheer that he performed a holiday miracle, making Adam smile.”

Mason, concerned with the pallor of her skin and the dullness in her eyes, crouches down and pats his pockets, where his now banished cigarettes were once stored - to prevent a fire hazard in this room of shimmering, glimmering potential kindling - pulls out a package, a monstrosity, a little cake shaped like an evergreen tree, an emergency treat purchased at the convenience store. Smushed, and he decides there is no way he will let her raise her blood sugar with something that tastes like plastic. “Eat something if you’re going into figuring-out mode. Maybe not this, I’ll get you something that doesn’t look like reindeer vomit.”

Nate, rubbing his bottom lip with this thumb, remembers the prior year’s Christmas celebrations. A truly magical time in this already magical town, every year healing from the tragedies at the start of their permanent tenure. He recalls a certain gentleman, an embodiment of the legend and a hero to each child, reading their name from a scroll and making them believe to be the most special. “Mr. Rockwell. He was treasured, and enjoyed the role.”

“Retired. Out of town to visit his new grandchild.” Barbie taps her pencil against the cover of her Filofax. Nate’s mention of the Santa Claus of the past decade, of his generosity and love, his joy infectious, reminds her of a conversation - between Mr. Rockwell and his wife, Lucas and Tina, and her. A transition of tradition.

“Wait.” Her eyes open wide, sparkling once more with another idea. “We are brilliant! Mr. Rockwell left us his suit, even though it was too short for Lucas, something about keeping the Christmas spirit. It should still be at the station, I’ll call Tina to confirm.”

Once more in the middle of this living room, Mason returns to see two faces look at him expectantly, and though there is some he does not understand, he understands the faces of two schemers. Especially one who has talked him into decorating more than he ever thought he would in eternity, and one he would do just about any damn thing for. He shoves the cookie, on a napkin to avoid another lecture by Nate, towards Barbie. “Eat this. And what do you both want?”

“Tina said the Santa costume is at the station, and she’s running a lint roller over it to get rid of any dust. You’re about Mr. Rockwell’s height -”

“No.”

Nate makes a second attempt, honeyed words pleading, “for no more than two hours. It would mean so much to this town that has become our home. It would mean -”

“I’m not dealing with any little brat screaming in my ears about some presents.”

“It would mean a lot to me,” Barbie finishes for Nate, flatly. “We will keep the kids calm, Nate and Farah will entertain them. Tina will talk to them, and you can just check their names against a roster and repeat their wish. Then take a picture with them.”

“Nope. Besides, we’re supposed to be in the shadows.”

Nate nods, acknowledging that Mason is correct. The accessories, such as the full, white beard, may be uncomfortable for him, as well as the inevitable sounds which come with the excitement of children. It may not be such a fair ask, and there may be some other possibilities. “Babs, there may be some adjustments I can have made to the suit, to accompany the length of my arms and legs. The tailor in town, I am sure, is quite busy. I can, however, make a request with ours at the Agency.”

An attempt to speak comes out as a squeak, and Barbie throws her arms around Nate’s shoulders in a hug. “Thank you, Nate. Really. We should go now, and get to your tailor as soon as possible.”

Mason, silver eyes sharp and observant, regards Barbie and he guesses she’s relieved, with the sharp exhale of breath, taking a bite of the cookie and writing down some last notes. There is an errant thump in his chest, and he rubs his palm against it. Then regards Nate, also exhaling a breath, longer, and his hands slide into his pockets, their refuge.

And damnit, her smile is making his jaw tingle, and he stretches it to alleviate that sensation. Damnit, she is so fucking beautiful like this, merry and jovial. And, groaning, Mason drags his hand down his face, wrapping his fingers behind his neck.

He thinks he might regret this for eternity, but then figures that being able to do what Nate is doing, make her glow like that again, so ecstatic? Maybe that’ll make an afternoon of misery worth everything.

“Wait,” he reaches, finding Barbie’s hand, and pulls them both up. “You just have to promise to stay near me, alright, sweetheart?”

Barbie’s mouth falls open, and she truly is stunned, frozen in place as she processes his answer. She then grins, thanking him with a kiss to his cheek. “You got it, Santa.”

In the midst of hazing lights, luminous trees and the rising dawn of the Eve, there is a stir. In this living room, under a bough and honoring the custom of the mistletoe, a couple hushes each other between deep kisses and berry extraction. His senses are heightened once more, and he grumbles an announcement of visitors. She spies past the door and wishes, one small wish, that he will appear.

And to her delight, they are not just any visitors.

The commanding agent will claim this a completed, successful mission, but with a hearty and robust, “Merry Christmal to all!”, Lucas will say that with a little magic, he fulfilled his Christmas promise.

fin.

#the wayhaven chronicles #twc fanfic #wayhavensecretsanta #nate sewell #twc mason #mar writes twc

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desertdollranch · 2 months

Text

Opening and reviewing my first My Imagination doll

I have a new 18 inch friend to introduce and review! And this one has had an interesting journey to me.

I stumbled across My Imagination dolls a few years ago on Dollation, a delightful but now defunct site that cataloged different brands of play dolls as well as collectible dolls (check it out via the Wayback machine). By that time, this particular brand, designed by notable doll artist Robert Tonner, was no longer producing dolls. I looked at a few listed on eBay, but I didn't feel ready to buy one. They were a bit out of my price range, and they didn't really strike me as very unique. Their brand name refers to the line of clothing that was supposed to be produced for them, in partnership with DC Comics, the Wizard of Oz, Gone With the Wind, Alice in Wonderland, and I think maybe Disney. But there were very few of those promised items that were produced, and the brand itself only lasted from about 2015 to 2017 or so.

I have more or less neutral feelings about the partnering brands, so that didn't really sell them for me. So I moved on and put them out of my mind.

Cut to a few weeks ago, when my mom attended a doll show local to her. She's a collector as well, although these days she's almost exclusively into Barbie and similar size dolls. At the show she bought a beautiful 16 inch Tyler Wentworth doll, and when she sent me pictures I was pretty certain that the doll was designed by Robert Tonner. There's just something distinct in the face molds he creates. He also designed the dolls for the Magic Attic Club brand, and I have three of those, whom I adore. They're quite a bit older than My Imagination dolls, though.

(Heather, Keisha, and Rose.)

My mom and I were talking about other doll artists whose dolls are easily identifiable, like Helen Kish and Dianna Effner. I mentioned to her that Tonner had also designed a brand called My Imagination, and I went searching for examples to show her. That's when I stumbled across a listing for a doll that was not only a realistic price, but the particular doll I liked the best.

Since I first heard of them, my doll collection has changed a lot. It's no longer quite so dominated by American Girl dolls--not that I don't love them, I certainly do, but I've also opened my home to many other different brands of 18 inch dolls like Maplelea, Our Generation, Starpath, Healthy Roots, Götz, and Faithful Friends. I love having a diverse collection of unique dolls. It's fun to see how different they all look from each other, and yet they're all pretty much the same size and can be friends with each other.

So when I did see the listing for the My Imagination doll, I felt my heart change towards her and couldn't get her off my mind. I sat on the listing for a while, contemplating, imagining who she might turn out to be, until the seller sent me an offer for an even lower price. That did it. I went for it. And she arrived today.

Click through the cut to see the unboxing ceremony!

None of the dolls in this brand were given names. They are referred to as Brunette/Redhead/Blonde, in either Starter dolls (standard articulation at hips/elbows/head) and Deluxe dolls (bendable knees). The specific doll I got was the Starter Brunette.

She was brand new in the box, and it looks like she was probably never removed from her packaging. She was gently tied in with white satin ribbons rather than those awful plastic straps.

Time to free her from her box and take off her hairnet.

She's in perfect condition. She has a full vinyl body and is very heavy. The vinyl itself is dense and smooth with a matte finish, so much so that she almost looks like she's made of porcelain. Her skin has no shine to it at all. It's a bisque color with rosy undertones.

Her long curly brown wig is lovely but imperfect. It's rather dry on the ends.

Her glass eyes are gorgeous. They do not open and close. She has inset eyelashes.

But I think the side part isn't working for me, so how about we try a center part?

I think this gives her a younger look! Later I'll try to get her wig off and move it over so that she has a center part, but for now brushing it to the side works fine.

Looking at her undressed, I think she looks skinnier than American Girl dolls, but definitely not as slim as my Magic Attic Club dolls. Her head turns, and her arms and legs move outward as well as forward and backward.

Here she is side by side with one of my American Girl dolls, Eugenia. I think I'm right about their size comparison.

They had a fashion show to find out for sure just how similar they are! Eugenia can wear New Girl's dress just fine. It velcroes in the back and isn't too tight. New Girl is wearing an American Girl brand dress, and it fits almost perfectly--it's just a tiny bit big, and definitely not in a noticeable way.

Here's Eugenia wearing the cute sandals that came with New Girl. They're a pretty close fit.

And here she is next to (her cousin? half-sister?) Rose. To my eye, they very much look related.

Here she is in Maplelea brand clothes. I also did some brushing and reshaping of her curls.

I haven't decided yet what her name will be. I do know that she's a modern girl who loves to read, daydream, and play dress-up.

#my imagination dolls #doll review #robert tonner dolls

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marzipanandminutiae · 5 months

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how did you get into collecting dolls?

Genetics, I'm half-convinced.

My mom loves dolls. My older sister loves dolls. In videos from my second Christmas and birthday, you can see me carrying around whatever doll I got as a present and doing everything one-handed. I grew up reading A Little Princess and Hitty: Her First Hundred Years and the Doll Hospital series (Mom had to talk to me a bit about the portrayals of PoC in the first two, but I was mostly in it for the Doll Content anyway). Dolls have been a huge part of my life pretty much from the start.

I got my first collector's dolls pretty early on, too- there's video of me at age 3 talking about a doll I apparently owned, that was "gold and pretty and collectible" and lived on the family piano for her own safety. I don't remember who that was, but I did get the 1990s "children's collection" Rapunzel Barbie when I was 3 or 4 and she's still at my parents' house.

In terms of dolls that aren't presently meant for children to play with at all, I guess I started collecting around age 11 or 12 with some modern porcelain dolls from the Geppeddo kiosk at the mall. At 14 I got my first antique, an 1880s china doll who was sadly lost in the fire last June. My first BJD came when I was 18. And the rest is history!

#ask #i-think-strange-things #dolls #doll collector

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darkbluekies · 4 months

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I do collect Barbies! This genuinely isn’t me trying to brag or sound arrogant, but all of my 59 Barbies I currently have are collector/special/limited edition. I like them not because of their status, but because their clothing/quality was so well done. They’re from the late 90s to 2000s.

I’m not gonna list them all of course, but I think you’ll like these as a lot listed are historical/time period inspired outfits. Let me know though if you have different/more style preferences and I’ll try to find some to share with you again.

Barbie Cafe Society

Barbie Faberge Porcelain (3 in series)

Barbie Great Fashions of the 20th Century (7 in series)

Barbie Hollywood Movie Star (6 in series)

Barbie Mrs. P.F.E. Albee: Avon (2 in series)

Barbie Royal Jewels (4 in series)

Barbie Victorian Tea Porcelain (2 in series)

Barbie Victorian with Cedric Bear

Barbie Wedgwood (2 in series)

The website I used when collecting is https://barbieguide.sosugary.com/index.php

It’s a great catalog of Barbie releases. You’ll find a lot more historical inspired dolls on there, and Barbie makes excellent porcelain dolls too that I think you’ll like.

And tips if you’re interested in fashion doll collecting…

Don’t buy newer collector/special/limited edition dolls from Mattel. They’re worse quality for outrageously more money. Trust me on this. (A lot of my collector Barbies I was able to get for $30-$40 USD new in box, compared to the $100+ USD price tag Mattel charges now for collector dolls).

Mattel has been declining in quality ever since 2016 (probably earlier) and is still going lower present day. So if you’re interested in good quality play-line or collector dolls, try to get pre 2016.

Mattel dolls most of the time have polypropylene hair, which is considered the worst hair quality fiber as it literally disintegrates over a few years and isn’t easily brushsble/stylable.

Mattel also gives most of their dolls cheap paper-like printed clothing or molded on clothes.

If you want quality, buy MGA. They have nylon hair (easily brushsble, stylable, and won’t disintegrate). Much higher quality clothes/fabrics with intricate details and complex designs.

Mattel=Quantity

MGA=Quality

Thank you for your time!

That's cool to hear :))) it's nice to find someone that shares the interest of dolls, even if it's a different kind! Although I learned a lot, thank you♡ I'll check out the older styled ones!!

I'm not very interested in fashion dolls (apart from those from the 1800s) so unfortunately I'm sticking to my child looking dolls, which is why I kind of like the American girl dolls that are supposed to look like 1900s/1800s

I'm going to take this opportunity to brag about my girls as if they were my children. Here are my some of my older dolls<3

Just like you say about Barbies, these dolls also have limited editions (such as the discontinued one with a very, very uncanny voice box from the 1880s) unfortunately, I don't have any of them. BUT, I do have two from the most famous doll makers, Kestner and Armand Marseille<3 Always have to look for the markings that tell exactly which model they are

And I have one special girl who I call Darling who has human hair!!

And I just have to squeeze this in, when I was in Belfast I got to see a doll I have been such a big fan of for so many years. It's a doll that was floating around in the wreckage and actually seeing her up close in real life made me tear up in pure happiness. She was absolutely stunning, and I think she might (just might) be a similar model to my doll with the red boots, but i could get a good luck of her neck to see the "tag". Here she is!!