#tk maxx coming through

[bleedingthroughteeth]

Disco ball balloon dog

#aesthetic #disco ball #mirrorball #png #mirror #dog #balloon dog #balloon #so Taylor swift coded #Taylor swift #pngs #bleedingthroughteeth #i love him #carrd #carrd stuff #carrd resources #resources #tk maxx coming through

[reds-skull]

BLOOD||HUNGER

[PREV PART] [AO3]

Y'know how I said I'm not gonna post every day... Okay look I'm just enjoying myself and I'm on break so I got time to write. Sue me.

This chapter is called "The Ruin". Enjoy!

Page 5 of the “Blooede Starvatfōre-dēde”, parable 2:

A blind man finds upon his path, a thing of uncertain birth, He whispers words of guilt, gait unsure around the being, A story of war falls from his lips, a tale well known, The beastly soul bows in assent, warmed only by gore, The man asks of the Beast, will you let me pass, The path clears, but a voice requests, Will you, O fallen knight, Will you let a monster trail?

The last time Soap was under a CO, the man spat in his face that he’s never going to amount to anything, not with his “attitude”. The one before it made him clean the latrines for three months, not that he stayed long enough to finish that sentence.

Ghost was… surprisingly different. His orders were clean cut, but Soap found them completely logical. And when he didn’t…

“We can’t go that way, the roundabout is full of equipment. Soldiers are constantly circling it.” Soap muttered next to Ghost. The SAS operator looked back at him. The skull mask adorning his face was cracked from untold battles long past, the sharp edges catching the low neon light from a nearby street sign.

Soap is sure if he saw that jumping at him from the shadows, he would scream like a wee girl. As it stands, the mask only makes him think of shirts edgy teenage boys would find on a sale at TK Maxx.

“How do you know?” the masked man questions.

Soap pulls a small bag from the rucksack he nabbed two days earlier, “managed to swipe some black powder from there when they weren’t lookin’.”

Ghost hums, “know how to use it?”

“Was a demolition expert, before…” Soap trails off, shoving the bag back into the side pocket, “we can go through the southern side, near the church. Think they’ve already combed that area.”

“Copy, lead the way Sergeant.”

Soap takes them through the winding alleys, hearing nothing behind, but knowing Ghost follows. For a man his size, he’s unnervingly dead silent.

“Where was yer exfil point set?” he starts. They would need to double time it, if it was back north…

Ghost is cryptid with his answers, as always, “we’ll have to set a new one.”

Soap frowns. “So our goal is just to put distance between us an’ the hostiles?”

“Affirmative. You got intel on their location?”

They enter an abandoned grocery store (as all stores in this area are), and Soap makes a detour at the cleaning aisle, looking for bleach and other solutions he could use for crafting. “I was ‘ere two days ago, dinnea where they are now…” he grins brightly when he finds a nice big bottle of bleach. With the vinegar he already has, he could create a good amount of chlorine gas. Pour it into a bottle and chuck it at hostiles, and they got a distraction should they need it.

“Stay focused, then.” Ghost murmurs, snapping Soap out of thought. He’s not used to having someone next to him, even before everything went to shit…

The church comes into view when they exit the store. Ghost stops to stare at it, and Soap takes the moment to inspect the Lieutenant further. Black gear over black clothes, no markings of country, unit, even blood type. Soap feels like there’s a lot more about this botched mission that Ghost isn’t telling him.

Not that the spooky bastard tells him much of anything.

“Could use the tower to scope the area. I see a line up there we can zip line down from.” Ghost eventually rumbles. 

“Sounds good, LT.” Soap responds, catching his slip belatedly. Internally, he muses, ‘ye can take the man out of the military…’

Ghost’s head snaps around to glare at him, and Soap can see his mouth open under the balaclava, before he turns around to stomp to the church tower, leaving Soap to jog to catch up.

The church looks ransacked, in a way that makes Soap’s gut churn. He’s not religious, not since he enlisted, but the way the soldiers destroyed everything without disregard…

It’s a view that haunts him throughout the city. How they don’t care that anyone lived here before.

Children laughed, babes were born, old men reminisced over long gone memories, girls played together. People lived and died here, this was their world.

And the Hunter’s soldiers crushed it all under their boot, spat on the graves of their ancestors and severed the ties.

Soap feels the anger building within him once more. His fuel for the firepower he throws at the hostiles. At first, he wanted to know why more than anything. But it doesn’t matter anymore.

Nothing can justify this.

He stares at Ghost’s wide back as they climb up the stairs to the tower, wondering what the operator thinks of all this. If he too feels his heart clench at the thoughts of senseless violence. Or if he doesn’t care, if the mission is the one and only important thing on his mind.

Soap wonders if there’s anything under that mask at all.

He asks himself, if there’s anything left behind his.

They reach the top, the city sprawling beneath them. The little lights blend together, shining between the dark buildings. Would’ve been a nice view.

Would have, if they didn’t spot the trucks rolling to a stop in front of the church.

Ghost and Soap share a brief look, and instantly he moves to climb out of the window to jump to the zip line, only to be stopped by the Brit.

“What are ye waitin’ for?! We need to go!” he almost yells.

Ghost yanks him back in, the sheer power knocking Soap into the wall. Fuckin’ hell, he hits like a beast.

“If we zip line now, they’ll shoot us down. We need to get through the ground floor.” he growls, turning away and starting to run down the stairs. Soap rolls his shoulders and runs after him, muttering a few curses under his breath.

Soap catches up to him, yelling, “there must be a back exit we can use-!”

Ghost stills on one of the last steps, shushing him. They both strain their ears, hearing far-off steps growing closer, and closer, and closer-

Soap shucks his rucksack off, taking out the bleach and vinegar, quickly pouring them into an empty beer bottle, “the fuck are you doing?” Ghost yells above him, crouching to hide behind the banister when the front doors are kicked open.

Soap ignores him, driving a piece of cloth down to stop the gas from leaking, and shoves it into Ghost’s hand as he makes another one, “throw this right before we go, they won’t be able to breathe right for days.”

Soldiers start spreading through the ruined church, Ghost testing the weight in his hand, “on my count.”

Soap nods, finishing up his bottle.

“One, two…”

One of the soldiers spots them, and Soap stops breathing.

“Three!”

They throw the bottles, the liquid within them splashing as they arc across the church. His bottle hits the soldier that saw them square in the face, and he instantly starts coughing and clawing at his eyes.

The gas isn’t visible to the naked eye, but Soap can track its spread by the way all soldiers start coughing. He and Ghost push off to run up the stairs, but as Soap casts a glance back, he sees some of them equipping a gas mask.

Why the fuck were they prepared for chemical weapons in a civilian city?!

“Ghost!” he shouts, slinging his rifle off his shoulder, “they have gas masks!”

He hears the man curse, “keep running!”

Not sooner after, bullets begin to ricochet around the spiral staircase. Soap swings around to shoot a couple of them, and as Ghost does the same, he notices his shots don’t land as they should.

He glances back at the Lieutenant, watching him rub roughly at his left arm. Right… Ghost did say he was broken. Soap didn’t realize how bad it was. 

A few seconds later, he realizes Ghost threw the bottle with his left hand, landing it perfectly between the soldiers.

With no time to maul it over, he pushes onwards.

Ghost is still grasping at his arm when they reach the window, and Soap can’t help but ask, “are ye gonna be able to zip dow-”

Ghost’s tone lowers dangerously, nailing him with a death glare, “I am not weak, Sergeant.”

He’s not sure who’s cornering who here. Ghost takes his eyes off him a second later, tugging on the line before asking, “got anything we can use?”

Soap continues shooting down the enemies pushing up the stairs, “check my pack!”

He feels Ghost rummaging through his rucksack, and it almost distracts him from the hails of bullets around them.

It’s… odd. How he doesn’t even know the man’s face, but he can trust him with his back.

Ghost zips the pack back up. From the corner of his eye, Soap can see two metal clothing hangers he picked up in one of his searches for a thicker jacket. In his other hand is his little project he used most of the black powder on.

He lifts it questioningly, and Soap answers while shooting, “a wee gift I made. It’ll trigger when someone steps on it.”

“How big’s the explosion?”

Soap smirks, “big enough.”

He can almost feel Ghost’s eye roll from his silence, and he would’ve chuckled if soldiers didn’t start coming closer.

“Ye ready to jump?” he yells.

Ghost hands him a hanger, dropping the charges on the last stair step. Soap watched him flex his left arm one last time, before swinging the hanger over the line, and jumping off.

Soap’s heart drops for a moment when the operator sways wildly, part afraid for him, but mostly for himself.

The hostiles at his feet don’t care either way, so Soap braces himself and jumps off as well. The way down is bumpy, rattling, and fuckin’ fast. Soap lets go of the hanger right before the end, rolling off on the rooftop, and stopping.

He hears his “gift” go off, and the sound is so beautifully familiar, it sends a pang of nostalgia through him.

Ghost is already making his way down, seeking to hide between concrete buildings. Soap hastily catches up.

“That was a wild one, wasn’t it, LT?” he says, a little out of breath.

That breath gets completely knocked out of him when Ghost slams him to the nearest wall. His eyes are obscured by shadows, leaving only two black holes when he leans down to growl in his ear.

“Don’t fuckin’ call me that. I am not your LT, not your CO, we are strangers. We get outta here, and you can go back to your civvy little life. Understood?”

Soap breathes out harshly, grinding his teeth. “Like I have a fuckin’ life-”

Ghost pulls back just to slam him harder, “do you fucking understand, Sergeant?”

He stares at the black voids, voice clear and flat, “yes sir.”

The Lieutenant finally pushes off, and Soap lingers for a moment. He wants to be angry, he wants to snarl and bite and talk back, like he used to when his past COs were yelling at him.

But Ghost is right. After this little “adventure”, Soap will have to go back to his life. To an empty apartment, which he has probably already been evicted from. To searching a job, only to find nothing truly worthwhile. To an airsoft field, a fuckin’ mockery of what he lost.

To a monotonous, repetitive, grey cycle, where John loses his mind just a little more every day.

Ghost is just telling him the truth.

Soap trails back behind Ghost, the man not reacting to his presence. He looks so much larger than him like this, blocking what little light is around them, casting a long shadow over Soap. 

He tried not to think of “what could have been” in the past year. But it’s so hard, when it’s literally within reach.

Could he have been like Ghost? This imposing, unrelenting soldier, stronger than anyone he’s ever fought. So powerful, he escaped a whole military worth of hostile soldiers?

There may be nothing behind Ghost’s mask, but there’s someone behind Soap’s. Someone weak, lost, and repulsive.

And Soap isn’t sure what’s worse.

They’ve walked in silence for the last hour or so, Soap lost in the tar pit of his own mind. Some part of him, hysteric and deranged as it is, doesn’t want this to be over. It disgusts him.

Ghost’s arm has been twitching minutely for a few minutes now. It distracted Soap from spiraling for a bit, wondering what exactly is wrong with him. He doesn’t see any rips in the fabric around the area, so it’s not a stab or gunshot wound. He thought about blunt force trauma, but that wouldn’t act up every once in a while like this. An old injury would, but if it’s bad enough Ghost can’t even shoot straight, no one in their right mind would send him on the field.

Soap exhales, his stomach knotting in warning. They didn’t stop moving since they encountered each other, so they didn’t really eat. Which Soap just remembered, and now can’t ignore.

He considers it for a moment before piping up, “ye hungry?”

Ghost pauses in front of him, slowly turning to stare at him. “You got food?”

Soap nods, pulling a few oranges from his bag. He almost hands one to Ghost before remembering his arm, and sets about to peel them both. Ghost watches him silently, as a sweet aroma fills the small back way. 

Soap gives him the first peeled orange, busying himself with the other while Ghost turns around to eat it. When Soap takes the first bite, a sour taste bursts on his palate. Yet as he chews, it turns sweet, and he closes his eyes for a moment, savoring it.

Ghost has turned back to face him when he opens his eyes again, a look Soap can’t place in his eyes. It makes him hurry and gulp down the rest of the fruit, and he wipes his mouth with the back of his hand.

He starts walking, but this time Ghost walks beside him, his eyes still not straying from Soap.

Ghost’s eyes are a nice, rich brown, he notices for the first time.

#call of duty modern warfare 2 #cod mw2 #cod ghost #cod soap #john soap mactavish #simon ghost riley #BLOOD||HUNGER #call of duty fic #call of duty fanfic #call of duty modern warfare #cod fic #cod fanfic #the last scene was completely unplanned but i fuckin love it now #also oof angst #you thought revenant au was painful? oooh boy

[ingek73]

PRINCE HARRY EXCLUSIVE INTERVIEW

‘This is not about trying to collapse the monarchy, this is about trying to save them from themselves’

By BRYONY GORDON

Montecito is on mudslide alert, its residents nervously awaiting an evacuation order. I wake up on the morning of my meeting with Prince Harry to a media storm – his book, Spare, has found its way into Spanish shops almost a week before publication – and a meteorological storm, this normally bone dry part of southern California being battered by rain. Both squalls are doing a good job of reminding me that, while you might be able to run 5,000 miles from the source of your pain, you can rarely escape from it.

When I finally reach Montecito’s most famous resident – and possibly, right now, the world’s – he is nonplussed about the weather, which some have described as biblical, but I might describe as… well, British. Prince Harry tells me that the day before I arrived, he put on his waterproofs and headed down to the beach in the pouring rain with his dog, Pula, ignoring all offers of an umbrella from those around him. (I don’t tell him that I already know this, having seen pictures of said outing on a website that morning.)

And yet, even with the threat of mudslides, the Duke of Sussex clearly feels safer here in his Montecito home than he ever did in the royal palaces where he grew up. You could hardly blame him. The house is a sanctuary, surrounded by acres of greenery, complete with chickens, a play area and a teepee so lovely that I find myself jokingly asking if I can move into it. I am taken to a finca-style guest house where I find a generous spread of crudités alongside umpteen types of tea, served, of course, in the finest china. Soft music tinkles in the background. Candles flicker. It would all feel very relaxing, were it not for the fact it is only a matter of hours since the book somehow leaked to The Guardian newspaper and went on sale early at a chain of Spanish book shops.

There is some amusement from Harry about how the passages on his “frost-nipped penis” might have come out in translation, but mostly he is sad and disappointed that the general public’s first encounter with the contents of Spare will come not through reading the book itself, but via newspaper headlines.

In the book, he describes those who work on Fleet Street as a “dreadful mob of dweebs and crones and cut-rate criminals and clinically diagnosable sadists”, and that’s the more polite stuff. Am I mad to be speaking to him on the day that many of my colleagues are ripping him to shreds, especially knowing, as I do, that he has killed 25 members of the Taliban while on a tour of duty in Afghanistan? But the moment he walks through the door, a trail of dogs in his wake, I am reminded of his warmth and down-to-earth humour.

Today he is dressed in the TK Maxx uniform of T-shirt and jeans that he writes about in Spare. He welcomes me with a hug and rushes to make the tea. He is bright-eyed, looking far happier and healthier than when I last saw him at Buckingham Palace in early 2020, on his final day as a working member of the Royal family. He seems relaxed, more free – the nerves he had during our first interview, back in 2017, are gone, replaced with the quiet confidence of someone far more at ease with himself.

We sit on enormous cream sofas in front of a roaring fire, overlooked by a watercolour painting of a beach. I apologise for bringing my jet lag with me. He looks at his watch. “Think of it this way – it’s 11.10pm in the UK. You’re in the pub.” He quickly remembers that I don’t drink. “Or you’re not in the pub, but you’re OK. You can do this!” And so I switch on my tape recorder, and we begin.

He tells me that he is “someone who likes to fix things”. “If I see wrongdoing and a pattern of behaviour that is harming people, I will do everything I can to try and change it.” He worries about the other “spares” in the family. “As I know full well, within my family, if it’s not us,” and at this he points at his chest, “it’s going to be someone else. And though William and I have talked about it once or twice, and he has made it very clear to me that his kids are not my responsibility, I still feel a responsibility knowing that out of those three children, at least one will end up like me, the spare. And that hurts, that worries me.”

I first met Harry in 2016, when I began working with him and his brother and sister-in-law on their mental-health campaign, Heads Together. Right from the get-go, he seemed to grasp the issue of mental illness in a way that seemed quite unexpected from a member of the traditionally buttoned-up British Royal family.

I have only wonderful, warm memories of that period, which culminated in Harry coming on my podcast, Mad World, and speaking for the first time about the anguish he experienced trying to process the death of his mother. We developed what I would call a working friendship, which saw me get involved with various Heads Together and Royal Foundation events, and we have stayed in touch over the years.

The Harry I have come to know is perhaps best summed up via an anecdote in Spare, where he develops trench foot while out on an army exercise in Wales. He has been yomping through the countryside for several days, with equipment equivalent to the weight of a young teenager strapped to his back, during a heatwave. Halfway through, the heatwave breaks with a storm of torrential rain. They continue marching. Eventually, he realises that his foot is burning. At a checkpoint, Harry takes off his boots and socks, and the bottom of his right foot peels away. Medics inform him that the exercise is over for him, but when a staff sergeant tells him that there are “only” eight miles left, he resolves to tape his feet in zinc oxide and get the hell on with it.

“The last four miles were among the most difficult steps I’ve ever taken on this planet,” he explains. “As we crossed the finish line I began to hyperventilate with relief.” He hobbled about like an old man for the next few days, proud as punch that he pushed on through.

Here we have Harry – or Harold or Haz or H, depending on who you are – to a tee. You can say what you like about him (you probably have), and throw what you like at him (you may wish you could), but when he feels he is on the right path, he keeps going, through thick and thin and trench foot. What you see with Harry is what you get – a quality that made us love him until relatively recently, when it suddenly became the reason he has come in for so much hate.

He has been called a “cycle-breaker”, which is a term that refers to a person who changes decades – nay, centuries-old family patterns. There are some who cringe at all this “therapy speak”, dismissing it as “woke” Californian psycho-babble. That might have been the case way back in the 80s, but it isn’t now. The truth is that when Harry speaks about his feelings, about his escape from dysfunction, he doesn’t sound that different from any other person in their 30s who has been forced to confront issues with their mental health.The only real difference is a claim to the throne dating back to William the Conqueror. He speaks the language of recovery. And like most languages, being forced to learn it is painful. It is often messy, and mistakes are made. But boy is there a tremendous sense of reward when you start to be proficient in it.

Harry is matter-of-fact about this process. He accepts that any chance of reconciliation is unlikely at the moment. “What I’ve realised is that you don’t make any friends, especially within your family, because everyone has learned to accept that trauma [as] part of life. How dare you, as an individual, talk about it, because that makes us all feel really uncomfortable? So right, you may not like me in the moment, but maybe you’ll thank me in five or 10 years time.”

As someone who writes about mental health, I am far more interested in the detrimental effects of what Harry describes as living in “fancy captivity” than I am in the minutiae of who said what and to whom. To me, the most shocking thing about Spare is that he kept all of this inside him for so long, with only the one altercation with paparazzi. For all the side swipes about his privilege, trauma is trauma is trauma – whether it takes place in a damp bedsit or in front of a worldwide audience of billions as you walk behind your mother’s coffin. In Spare, Harry reveals that for 10 years after Diana’s death in 1997, his brain went into a state of complete shock, refusing to believe that she was actually dead, instead engaging in the kind of magical thinking that is most often seen in people with severe obsessive compulsive disorder or psychosis.

For an entire decade, Harry’s grief was buried so deep that he believed his mother had gone into hiding, that she would return to him and his brother at any moment. He refers to it throughout as “the disappearance”, a detail so heartbreaking that you would have to be cold-blooded not to be moved by it. At Eton, his brother shuns him – an occurrence relatable to most younger siblings, but one that nevertheless blows apart the narrative that Willy and Harold had been attached at the hip until Meghan came along. At 15 he has his head shoved in a deer carcass, an act that is seen as an aristocratic rite of passage at Balmoral, but that would be seen as child abuse anywhere else in the world. At 16, he is splashed across the front pages of the papers and frogmarched by his father to spend a day at a rehab in Peckham, because he has indulged in a spot of adolescent experimentation with cannabis (it’s hard to see how this story would be justified today). All credit to him, really: I think, had all of this happened to me, that I would have been on even harder drugs by the time I turned 13.

“Lots of people go through lots of s--t,” he shrugs, when I express sympathy for the litany of misfortune he has gone through. His critics have accused him of playing the victim, and yet I find a man who is anything but. “It’s interesting because so many of those moments have made me the man I am today. Would I encourage Archie to stick his head inside a carcass? Probably not. But people who’ve experienced trauma deal with it in different ways. I think when it comes to me and William, the fascinating part is that we both experienced a similar traumatic experience.

“He wanted to talk about it when [we were] younger, which built up a little bit of resentment. It wasn’t anything against him, I just didn’t want to talk about it. And then as we got older, I started to go slightly off the rails, and deal with it through drinking and drugs, and he went completely silent and completely shut down. And then my life started to alter and completely change, because I wanted, or had no other choice, than to confront the very thing that I had been running from, or scared of, for all those years.”

He tells me that he wasn’t walking around thinking of his mother the whole time. “I was doing everything humanly possible not to think about her.” Therapy, at first suggested by his brother, but properly engaged with once he got together with Meghan, changed everything. “It was like clearing the windscreen, clearing away all the Instagram filters, all of life’s filters.”

It allowed him to deal with the guilt he felt about his inability to cry (in the years after his mother’s death, before therapy, he shed tears only twice – once at the burial at Althorp, and then years later on a skiing holiday with his girlfriend at the time, Cressida Bonas). “I started to confront the idea that mummy wanted me to cry,” he tells me. “I convinced myself that she must have wanted me to cry, that that was the only way I could prove to her that I still miss her.”

He took ayahuasca, a psychedelic, with a professional – there is some research that the plant has positive effects on mental wellbeing. “After taking ayahuasca with the proper people,” he says, sipping his entirely non-mind altering chamomile tea, “I suddenly realised – wow! – it’s not about the crying. She [Diana] wants me to be happy. So this weight off my chest was not the need to cry, it was the acceptance and realisation that she has gone, but that she wants me to be happy and that she’s very much present in my life. And now, as two brothers, if one of you goes through that experience and the other one doesn’t, it naturally creates a further divide between you. Which is really sad. But as much as William was the first person to even suggest therapy, I just wish that he would be able to feel the same benefits of that as opposed to believing what he doesn’t need to.” (Harry claims that William thinks therapy has made him delusional.)

Maybe if the brothers had taken an ayahuasca trip together, none of this would have happened. As it is, Harry concedes that “it couldn’t be worse”. But he sees Spare as a last resort – not as a reconciliation, but an attempt to get his side of the story out (he doesn’t know the exact number of unofficial books that have been written about him, but believes it to be in “three figures”). He has been accused of airing his family’s dirty laundry. “But I always say: ‘What’s the difference between airing lies about your family through the British press, or airing truth through a book?’ In my case, this is all contained in one place where I hold myself entirely accountable and responsible for what I am saying.

‘William was the first person to suggest therapy – I just wish he could feel the same benefits’

“I don’t see why it’s so ingrained [in society] that whatever happens in your family, you should never talk about it. That no matter what’s happened, I can’t do this. But they [the Royal family] can? Because of who they are and what they represent? The way I was brought up is that, as a member of the Royal family, you lead by example. So you shouldn’t be able to use that privilege to get away with more things. No institution is immune to criticism and scrutiny, and if only 10 per cent of the scrutiny that was put on me and M was put on this institution, we wouldn’t be in this mess right now.”

“It’s so…” he shudders, and makes a guttural “urggh” sound. “It’s so dirty. It’s so dark. And it will continue and it will carry on and I look forward to the day when we are no longer part of it, but I worry about who’s next.”

He says he knows that the press “have got a s--t-tonne of dirt about my family. I know they have, and they sweep it under the carpet for juicy stories about someone else.” He tells me about some of the darkest moments in 2019. “I was coming back to Frogmore after Archie was born, and I would walk into the nursery and there she [Meghan] was in floods of tears, tears dripping on Archie while she was breast-feeding him. That was a breaking point for me. And she is someone who doesn’t read the stories. She would be dead if she was reading the stories.”

We talk about his reasons for doing this. “This is not about trying to collapse the monarchy, this is about trying to save them from themselves. And I know that I will get crucified by numerous people for saying that.”

The question so many have put to him is: is it worth it? His response is simple. “I feel like this is my life’s mission, to right the wrongs of the very thing that drove us out. Because it took my mum, it took Caroline Flack, who was my girlfriend, and it nearly took my wife. And if that isn’t a good enough reason to use the pain and turn it into purpose, I don’t know what it is.”

I tell him that from reading Spare, it seems clear that it nearly took him, too. “Yeah.” I get the impression that he didn’t want to exist, and then he met Meghan, and he had an experience of… “I want to live. I was never aware of how unhappy I was. I didn’t allow myself to think about it.”

I put it to him that even if Meghan is difficult – and I don’t think she is – it is unlikely that the monarchy have never encountered a difficult member of the family before. “But that’s the thing,” he nods, “that’s the unconscious bias. But they always tell on themselves. The press will tell on themselves and the family will tell on themselves as well. You look back on the history of how many members of my family have shouted at staff, [and] that is apparently all forgotten about and Meghan’s the bully.” He shakes his head. “It’s like, what? No, no, no. The members of this family that are literally brought up within this construct, have some issues to deal with.”

I talk to him a bit about the process of writing the book with the ghost-writer J R Moehringer. “It was definitely cathartic. It was painful at times. It was eye-opening.” In the book, he talks about “The Wall”, a mental block in his brain that divides his life before and after his mother died. “There were memories that I managed to pull up and over The Wall that I had forgotten about, that I didn’t even know existed. And there were times when I scared the s--t out of myself as well.”

In what way? “For example, Afghanistan. There were moments there that took me back. I would close my eyes and put myself back in the cockpit and fly those missions again. And JR was amazed by the level of detail that I could remember.” He tells me that the first draft was 800 pages, whereas the finished manuscript is just over 400. “It could have been two books, put it that way.” Some stuff, such as his life-changing trip to Nepal in 2016, had to be removed because of space issues. “And there were other bits that I shared with JR, that I said: ‘Look, I’m telling you this for context but there’s absolutely no way I’m putting it in there.’”

And why wouldn’t he put those bits in? “Because…” he pauses. “Because on the scale of things I could include for family members, there were certain things that – look, anything I’m going to include about any of my family members, I’m going to get trashed for. I knew that walking into it. But it’s impossible to tell my story without them in it, because they play such a crucial part in it. And also because you need to understand the characters and personalities of everyone within the book. But there are some things that have happened, especially between me and my brother, and to some extent between me and my father, that I just don’t want the world to know. Because I don’t think they would ever forgive me. Now you could argue that some of the stuff I’ve put in there, well, they will never forgive me anyway. But the way I see it is, I’m willing to forgive you for everything you’ve done, and I wish you’d actually sat down with me, properly, and instead of saying I’m delusional and paranoid, actually sit down and have a proper conversation about this, because what I’d really like is some accountability. And an apology to my wife.”

His wife is up in the main house, with the kids. We go there after the interview, with a smiling Meghan greeting me at the door. We spend some time together, drink turmeric lattes, and I get to see Harry in his element – Husband Harry, Dad Harry, the normal bloke in thoroughly abnormal circumstances. The children run around, the dogs jump on the cream sofas with muddy paws, and all is much as you would find it in any other home, during the witching hour just before the kids tea.

Before I go, Harry is keen to show me another wall, one he feels a little bit more positive about than the screen that sprung up in his head after his mother died. It’s a picture wall on a staircase, the kind found in homes all over the world. It features scores of framed photographs of his wife and children, alongside lovely hand-written cards from his grandparents. He has just finished putting it together, and as we admire it, I recognise that familiar look of pride I have seen on the face of my own husband – the look of a dad who has just completed a DIY task without destroying the plaster.

It’s tea time for the kids, and the early hours of the morning for my jet-lagged brain, so I say my goodbyes to Harry and Meghan, who pack me off with hugs and homemade jam. But I think about that wall for the whole of the drive back to Los Angeles, and then, on the plane, all of the way back to London. I think about the glee Harry found in it, the smile on his face as he showed me it. But mostly I think about how nice it would be for Harry’s brother and father to see the wall, and one day maybe even have some of their own carefree photographs included on it.

Lead picture credit: Bryony Gordon

#prince harry #duke of sussex #spare #bryony gordon

[nutterwithasolderingiron]

so who wants to hear how much hassle i went through for gender affirming shoes?

so i came out as non-binary recently. the biggest issue i find as an amab person trying to find gender affirming clothes is shoes. just casually browsing tk maxx and i see them. a pair of boots that scream "i am neither masculine nor feminine. i am only sexy" and guess what, they are in my size baby. try on the right one and it fits like a glove. last pair in the shop and a good price too. i get them home and.... each shoe is a different size and the one i tried on was the correct size. the other shoe was too small.

given how much gender euphoria these boots gave me, i was reluctant to let them go but couldn't wear one of them. contacted tk maxx customer service and i'm told there's no way to check which stores will have the boots i'm looking for but i will have to return them. so i do and then the hunt is on. there's 6 tk maxx within a 20 mile radius of me and my only mode of transportation is a 1991 ridgeback bicycle.

during this time, the customer service woman i was chatting to said "there is no way to know which stores will have them let alone in your size. you'll have to phone them up first" i phone them up and none are helpful. luckily, i was ASAB: assigned stubborn at birth. so i made a game plan. i will plan a route that means i can hit up as many branches of tk maxx as possible per day over the course of 3 days. total milage i will have to do will be 70 miles and hit up at least 2 stores per day.

store 1. they had em, not in my size. 8 mile bike ride later store 2. they don't have them at all. 12 mile bike ride later store 3. have them but not in my size. 10 mile bike ride home

day 2. first bike ride was meant to be 8 miles but google maps keeps getting me lost so it was more like 12. store 4. have em but not in my size. 10 mile bike ride later and it's a store near my dad's. store 5. THEY FUCKING HAVE EM IN MY SIZE.

i am so fucking chuffed that i start crying while the cashier is ringing them up (sorry for that) just for the fuck of it, i decide to wear them around the shopping mall the tk maxx is located in..... as i'm putting them on, a middle aged woman comes up and compliments my outfit and starts telling me about her daughter and how happy it makes her to see LGBTQ+ folk living their best life and being happy. super fucking sweet. totally worth the 15 mile bike ride home (google maps is not calibrated for bicycle routes) with ripped tights. sorry to anyone who seen that.

so nearly 70 miles cycled in hot weather and humidity just for gender affirming shoes.

#nonbinary #enby #lgbtq+ #rant i guess #i'm going to check how fucked my wheels are tomorrow at work #big shout out to my bicycle “rusty” he was the real ally during all this

[lunnule]

muttering under breath while 'staying alive' is playing in a loop in the background

i accept the struggle. i accept that i've been procrastinating on this essay for about 2h. i accept that my confidence is, like, in the basement right now and that i am seeking validation through texting everybody 'I HATE ESSAYS'. i accept that i have to write 2000 words today. no i said i Accept that i have to write 2000 words today. yes no i do accept it. i said i accept it. come on you've already written 800 words, you can totally do this! - how about this (no i am not above bribery), you focus for the next 1h30-2h and then we can go walk around tk maxx and flying tiger, look at shoes and fun things. also have a nice beverage and/or snack. deal? deal. now get off tumblr and let's go

#self talk #i am struggling girlies #the only way out is through #i can do this #forever in academia

[acourtofsnakes]

Sleepover Saturday with my dearly beloved wife?? Oh hell yes

What are your 3 favourite candle scents?✨

How would you spend the perfect autumn day?🍂🧡🍁

Do you have any headcanons about Dream that you’d love to share?👀

Sending you all the love and shortbread in the world 🥰

Oh my gosh, shortbread, love and my wiffffe🥰I love you too🥰

My three favourite candle scents:

Bergamot and Black Tea

Moonstone that I got from TK Maxx. I don’t actually know what it’s meant to be but it’s so so good.

My own (self plug) Velaris wax melts that smell like bergamot, night blooming jasmine, sandalwood and a teensy bit of vanilla ☺️✨

A perfect autumn day would be started off with waking up when it’s still a little chilly, and getting a maple iced latte, or an Earl grey. Then I’d wrap up with one of my many tartan scarves and go for a beautiful walk with lots of trees so I could crunch in the leaves! Then when I got a bit too chilly, I’d come home and watch a cosy autumn film, most likely Harry Potter. Theeeen I would have a super hot bath with a Lush bomb, and then read with hot chocolate!!☺️🍂🍁

Omg, so many Dream headcanons but I’m gonna limit myself to three because we all know what’ll happen.

-I feel that he would adore anything arty. Galleries, museums, craft fairs and markets, anything where he can see what humans can create with time and love. He’d love to try all the different treats like fudge, pastries and treats, hot chocolate (👀) anything he can get his hands on. It reminds him that his faith in the world shouldn’t be so lost, that there is still beauty left. He also loves it when you read to him.

-You stroke this man’s hair, he’s a goner. He’d be sitting there one day and you absently run a hand through those fluffy raven locks and he utterly melts. Then it develops into a time where he’s so tired, or he’s drained from creating dreams and nightmares and he lays his head down in your lap and you instantly start coming through his hair, rubbing his scalp and his face completely relaxes. He lets out a soft sigh, all the tension draining from his body and eventually the Lord of Dreams falls asleep with his head in your lap. ✨

-He loves it when the weather is super intense. Wind, storms, snow, rain, anything wild and untamed. He loves to see the sheer beauty and ferocity of nature being allowed to claim back a world that has been overrun with technology. He’ll stand out in those storms or snow, head tipped to the sky even as the rain pelts down in his face, that faint smile on his lips and his arms spread slightly out as he just feels it snd takes it in. 🌧️

#asks #my lovely wife 🥹 #li answers

[nine-blessed-hero]

The picture of the ratty-looking patch coat I posted earlier actually got me thinking about Aderyn's wardrobe a bit.

I have a scene in The Ruby Falls where she goes into a standard boutique to buy new clothes because, at that point, all hers are shredded by knives or covered in blood. But the more I think about it, the more I think I should change this to going into a Cats Protection charity shop.

Aderyn strikes me as the sort of prefer thrifting her clothes over buying brand new. The rest of the items she owns (excepting GreyFox Security-provided tactical gear, which is always top-of-the-line and very expensive) are the sort of items to come from a charity shop, so I think her clothes would be too.

The habits one learns as a child often become deeply ingrained in adulthood. Growing up, her personal style was informed by whatever she could (chav) buy for pennies in a charity shop or got as hand-me-downs from neighbour kids. A Saturday morning riffling through the racks in TK Maxx or charity shops would have been the norm in her friend group. This is a trait she's held onto, despite having more liquid capital than before. So you're far more likely to see her rocking around in faded jeans, split at the knee from someone else's use, a hoody going bare on the elbows and a t-shirt which says "unknowable" in all caps on fire, than you are to see her in the latest fashions from Next.

#meta writing #hero of kvatch #tes oblivion #The Elder Scrolls #oc aderyn griffiths #modern oblivion au #haven's ember series #meta wandering words

[honeymoononvenus]

THE SOCIAL BUTTERFLIES

“ I’m starting to think the music is dead.” 

A bold proclamation that followed a series of substandard nights out on arrival into London. I wasn't quite sure what I was expecting, but I knew it wasn't this; this being a mixture of bars that themed themselves ‘metal’ or ‘punk’, full to the brim of poseurs and rich kids desperately trying to pass themselves off as poor kids to fit the motif. 

Even though it was early days for me, I’d been dreaming of this mythical place where the musical focus was always more about what you were saying than how much you were selling, a movement established by true pioneers who had had enough of the way they were being treated in society and chose rhythm as a way to kick back. A movement that was inclusive of all people, totally radical and ahead of its time, that sanctioned even just for an hour or two a space that you could come and be yourself, entirely free of the shackles of public humiliation. I was desperately in search of something, ANYTHING that could act as a glimmer of hope that this had not been completely saturated or lost in time. 

My passage took me down Denmark street in Soho, otherwise known as ‘Tin Pan Alley’. A once epicenter of music. A road where the likes of the Sex Pistols and David Bowie called home. On any given day you could find artists such as Bob Marley, the Kinks, The Stones, Hendrix, Jeff Beck, Stevie Wonder and even the bloody Beatles recording demos, or just frequenting the place where it all happened. While it would obviously be naive of me to expect too much from this lost paradise in 2022, it did feel like quite a slap in the face to be welcomed into the street by a mammoth TK Maxx, an ironic representation of the battle lost. A giant flag of victory stuck into the guts of music by our old pal commercialism. Fuck this. 

I got on the bus and this was where I made my sad decree, maybe music as we knew it is over. The man won. 

Then entered … The Social Butterflies… 

Now; for context, I had first heard about this band months ago from a photographer I met in Thailand. I sat at the table of a hostel, scrolling through some brilliant flicks by this young talent, and queried about the band I was looking at. 

“They’re the best band in Brighton and some of the best people I know”. 

I can't quite tell what it was exactly, but something about them caught my eye. Something about them burned into my brain and gave me hope that maybe the scene wasn't dead, I was just looking in the wrong places. I could see the phenomenon through the screen.

As fate would have it yet again, their final show aligned with a trip to Brighton I was taking with a  friend from home. Armed with nothing but a google map pin location and a bottle of Jack, we made the trek in. Partly to find the answer to my decree, but after two weeks of dud nights in London, we were mostly just seeking a good time. 

And oh boy did we. After hiking through woodlands and encountering numerous foxes ( a rare treat for two Australian girls), we were welcomed into a clearing in the woods by a group of young people, dressed in all different styles. How fantastic for there to not be a single word to sum up this motley crew. 

My friend and I sank into a makeshift hammock and watched as the frontman , Emile, frantically ran around the clearing, imploring whoever was closest to him to help hang signs or lights, or to find out where their bassist was since it was already 20 minutes past start time. We looked at eachother, knowing that this was it. This was what we were searching for. Our very own pot of musical gold. 

As the sun made its final descent over the horizon, and all three members were present, the band picked up their swords and made an announcement ; 

“Ok. Two announcements. Number one, don’t stand on the fucking leads. Ok? Great. Number two, the petrol generator over there, will blow us all up. Stay away from it. Especially you smokers, which is all of you. Im serious, stop fucking laughing.”

He then pulled out a thin piece of cardboard, and the bass and drums began to beat. The crowd all stood up and moved closer in as Emile read out a sort of slam poem, everyone rhythmically swaying as they rolled their cigarettes. Not near the generator, of course. 

The crowd began to stir. Their smiles grew wider, as did their pupils. Bodies drew closer and closer as the crowd and their fierce leaders slowly became one entity. Their ‘stage’ was without barrier, the only thing weaving in between being the photographer, who at one point you could find meters up a tree attempting to capture this moment, this movement. 

I spoke to him after, about his time with the band, and how this was the last gig. They affectionately had labeled him the fourth social butterfly, a spin off of the interchangeable role of the fifth beatle. He said it was bittersweet that it was all over, the reason being the boys all going off to different unis at the end of the month, but that he was happy to be a part of this. Without him, there wouldn't even be any tangible evidence that this moment existed, and what a beautiful concept that is. 

But back to the band. 

If this were a stage play, the characters would have been meticulously meditated on, each serving completely different purposes while simultaneously and unanimously propelling the storyline forward. 

As lead, we have Emile, genius mastermind and mad showman of the forest. Costumed in a tattered black suit, baby blue button down and a skinny tie. His raven hair ran slick and thin across his forehead as it built up with sweat from his feral dance moves ; but boy how he moved! As if he were possessed by some force greater than himself, he could twist and thrash and shake his boney body in a way only comparable to that of some sort of sadistic love child between a birthday party era Nick Cave and John Lydon. 

It was as if he were under a spell… a spell conjured by our supporting actor , and bassist, Henry. 

The sexy saboteur to Emiles unnerving, adorned in an unassuming brown suede jacket and trousers, his mousy brown hair cut up in the style of Keith Richards. Henry wore his bass low as he effortlessly swayed around the stage and through the crowd, all the while puffing on a seemingly endless cigarette that he would secretly reset between every song. 

They were polar opposite, yet equally as undomesticated. Their saving grace? 

The real man of the hour; Felix.

Tame and humble hiding in the back sat the glue that held this otherwise loose hinge together, both energetically and rhythmically. 

Two show ponies and their rock. 

The absolute essence of a fantastic trio. 

In between songs the crowd were given a chance to find their footing again before being launched back into it as the next started. During these intervals, Emile could be found having a swig of whatever alcohol he could seem to get his hands on, while the other two were gesturing for a lighter, or having general chat with the crowd.

You could tell that they didnt give a fuck what people thought of their music - nor their looks, or attitude, or blatent substance use. They had something to say, something to share, and created a space for the people to come and do the same. A mutual reclaim of self expression through music and movement, just as humans have been doing since the dawn of time. They didn't try to sell CDs or merchandise afterwards - in fact, the only way to get a rare Tee was for them to pick you as a good audience member - although the honor of the tshirt holder went to the photographer, well deserved. 

Once they finished the live show, the party really kicked off. Someone plugged their phone into the now blown amp, and a series of songs continued to lead the highly intoxicated yet highly ecstatic crowd late into the night. Everything goes in a place like this. Slow dancing to disco, making out with strangers, conversations about God and death and everything in between  - our own little world  right there in the middle of the woods. 

Thank you social butterflies for giving this little Australian the push to continue on my quest. You are the firework up my ass that will propel me into the UK music scene in a way that I’d always dreamed of. I can't wait to see where your personal endeavors take you next.

PHOTOS: @choosethislater

LISTEN: 

https://open.spotify.com/artist/0q2qVW2XpWAdHrJqXJkrMA?si=ULabfaMlQiWen3mk1vI3

[pond-jumpers]

Road Trips Day:

Dinner in Killarney

We arrived safely in Killarney, parked in a self-pay parking garage, and had a bit of time to walk the streets of Killarney before our dinner reservation. Killarney is a charming, albeit tourist town, with hotels, restaurants, pubs and city traffic.

We wandered past restaurants, pubs, and shops. (Holly observed a TK Maxx (!) clothing store.) We went inside a tourist trinket store for a browse. Rachael and I bought something and when I started talking with the young clerk and she asked me where I was staying, she said she was from Cahersiveen (the nearest big-ish small town to Valentia Island)! Small world!

Our time ran out and we headed to Bricin House for dinner

https://bricin.ie

We walked through what looked like a very interesting Irish craft shop and upstairs to the restaurant. It was casual elegant, with lovely watercolors on the walls. Our waitress came immediately with a cheerful Irish greeting and menus and water pitchers for our table.

After much deliberation we all had versions of the Early Bird special.

Starters were bruschetta or Camembert with a small salad. I had fish in cream sauce. Rachael had a curry dish. Marion, Holly and Nik had Chicken Boxty…

The staff came by to see if we needed anything and filled our water pitcher frequently without being asked. The owner/manager stopped by to chat and was more astonished that Marion lived on Valentia Island, than that the rest of us had come from America!

So far this is a prevalent attitude wherever we go in Ireland…astonishment that an American woman would buy a house and live on Valentia Island!

We had such a good time and such a good meal that we lost track of time. (A recurring theme…). Suddenly it was time to leave to catch the shuttle to the Killarney Racecourse where Celtic Steps was performing!

We tried to get our waitress’ attention but she was swamped with customers. Finally we caught her eye, but the credit card machine ( which they bring to the table and you use yourself for payment) was busy!

Ultimately we discharged ourselves from the restaurant, went down the stairs, and gazed with longing at the hand crated Irish items as we blitzed by for the outside door.

Once on the street, it was another mad dash on foot through the streets of Killarney to get to the hotel where the shuttle awaited. As usual I brought up the rear and we all charged after Marion. This time it was Rachael’s turn to be the “Nah Nah Minder”, coaxing me along the street in another wild dash!

My shoe came untied, so the troops halted while Rachael quickly tied my shoe and scooted me along, down streets and across traffic circles to the Big Bus.

I think it was 2-3 minutes before the bus left.

We rode quietly to the race track, catching our breath and counting our luck, in happy anticipation of Celtic Steps!

[amphtaminedreams]

The Women of Euphoria and Personal Style: Lookbook no.8

Hi to anyone reading,

I hope you’re well considering everything going on! It feels weird to want to talk about fashion or TV shows or red carpets or whatever when 90% of my Google searches are COVID-19 related but there you go. It’s all about trying to power through as normal (minus the social interaction) and pretend the world isn’t ending, right? Queue nervous laughter.

And as if things aren't shitty enough, production of season 2 of Euphoria has been postponed until further notice. 

Okay, in the grand scheme of things, having to wait a bit longer for a TV show isn’t catastrophic but it does just about sum up the transition from 2019 to 2020 thus far that after HBO redeemed itself by broadcasting Euphoria in the summer following an ending to Game of Thrones that has made the whole series unrewatchable, the glimmer of hope in me reignited by the prospect of series 2 this year has been quickly dashed. 2021, I’m rooting for you, because it doesn’t seem like things are getting better any time soon, and in all seriousness, I think everyone needs a break from the collective suffering of the last few months.

For me (and undoubtedly for many others if the hundreds of makeup looks and styling videos are anything to go by), Euphoria’s effect on the world of fashion and beauty is unprecedented. I really can’t recall a TV show in living memory that has had as much of an impact on the way young people dress. I mean, this might partially be because the style of the characters already kind of caters to and draws from the target audience but also, aside from Blair Waldorf did anybody really give THAT much of a fuck about what anybody in Gossip Girl wore?

The draw of the styling on Euphoria is that it has something for everyone. The style of each of the main girls, Rue, Kat, Maddy, Jules and Cassie, all of whom I’ve attempted (emphasis on attempted!) to base (emphasis on base!) outfits around, is varied and distinctive but still so current and realistic at the same time. It’s also consistent; even if you don’t own the specific pieces worn by any of them, similar shapes and details reoccur enough in different looks throughout the series that it’s not hard to create an outfit which matches your favourite character’s overall vibe without buying anything new. That’s kinda what I have attempted to do here and without further ado, I’m gonna get on with it! First up:

Jules (Played by Hunter Schafer)

When it comes to whose style is the most experimental, Jules is the obvious answer. A lot of her outfits are what I imagine a cartoonist in the near-distant future will envision their cool girl protagonist wearing. Whilst her ensembles are generally whimsical and girly for the most part, there’s usually a few slightly punk-ish finishing touches thrown in there too be it through chunky shoes or bold makeup or that incredible mesh trench coat she wears in the series finale with the trans symbol on the back which, honestly, deserves a moment of silence. 

There are definitely nods to current fashion trends sprinkled throughout her wardrobe too. I'm not going to lie, despite someone at work seemingly thinking it was an insult to tell me I look like someone who does (I still don’t know but this person has a Rick and Morty keyring so I don’t give it too much weight), I’ve never watched any anime. BUT, that being said, given the abundance of anime screenshots posted by all these aesthetic oriented Instagram and Tumblr moodboard accounts, I have a vague idea of what some of the more iconic characters look like and a lot of Jules’ looks seem to be very much modelled after or at least inspired by them. In a way, I see a lot of her looks as a blend between modern “e-girl”, Y2K skater chick (yes, I’m thinking early Avril Lavigne), and 2013 Tumblr “hipster” a la 2014 Joanna Kutcha and Charlie Barker, and though on paper that sounds like a nightmare combination, it works. I know-if that sentence were a Depop description I would’ve just gained 30 followers.

When it comes to my own interpretation of Jules’ style, it’s definitely something I like to channel when I’m putting together a proper OUTFIT outfit. Meaning an outfit I actually put effort into and thus will most likely want to get a good photo in, lol. The way her character dresses is almost quite Christopher Kane in that it’s fresh and unusual but still understated enough that I wouldn’t walk into a room wearing any of these feeling like I’m doing a Rick Owens runway.

I’m not TOO far out of my comfort zone but still at the same time, I’d be trying something new and maybe a little bit more zany than I'm used to. As for noting where any of these pieces are from, only a few have been bought in the last 6 months, but from left to right clockwise I have marked out those that have in case they’re still available (though be wary of the fact that it seems a lot of online clothes stores are still forcing warehouse employees to work in close confines at the moment and so perhaps aren’t operating the most ethically):

LOOK 1

Corset-Jaded London

Shoes-TK Maxx

LOOK 2

Dress-Motel Rocks

Boots-Koi Vegan Footwear

LOOK 3

Dress-Jaded London

LOOK 4

Dress-Jaded London

Beret-Ebay

LOOK 5

Beret-Ebay

LOOK 6

Mesh Top-Depop

Hair Clips-Urban Outfitters

Kat (Played by Barbie Ferreira) 

Eurgh, Kat. 

I LOVE THIS BITCH.

If I had to choose my favourite character in the show, it would be a very close toss-up between her and Rue, and though I think Rue might just about nab the top spot for her relatability factor, Kat is the girl I want to be or wish that I had been when I was at school. I mean, there’s definitely an argument to be made in that a lot of what she’s doing with her cam work could be seen as a means of validation (Sam Levinson has basically said everyone on the show has some kind of an unhealthy coping mechanism and I would guess due to the circumstances in which her cam girl career was borne and the fact she’s underage, this would be hers) but I do think in other ways we really see Kat reclaim her power and recognise herself for the smart, capable, gorgeous woman that she is. Honestly, the definition of divine feminine energy, and I would completely let Barbie Ferreira/basically Kat if she was also actually 23 dominate me.

Plus! Her! Style! Is! The! Bomb! Definitely the easiest character to base looks around because if I’m totally honest Kat’s energy is pretty much just what I want to emulate in every day life. 

It’s either pieces that are typically feminine, cutesy, and even slightly preppy at times drenched in everything grunge OR vice versa where you have something semi-gothic and then add a colourful, more playful touch in there that harks back to the beginning of the series before Kat had began to explore her identity and sexuality and dressed slightly more Forever 21.

I’d say, not yet with my whole chest, that on a good day the outfits I put together when making an effort aren’t too far off something Kat would wear, minus the more overtly BDSM touches; if wearing a ring choker in London is enough to get me a creepy comment from a gross middle aged shopkeeper (because I apparently forfeited my right not to be perved on when I decided to buy a bottle of Oasis summer fruits), then you can only imagine the kind of looks wearing a full-on harness would get in my conservative OAP dominated hometown. Not the most doable right now, especially considering the only time I get out is to work and to go for a run. The chafing I could deal with but the horrified glares of pensioners whose M&S prawn mayo sandwiches I’ve ruined by simply being in their eyesight not so much.

LOOK 1-

Corset-Urban Outfitters

LOOK 2-

Bodysuit-Depop

Skirt-Zara

Harness-Ebay

LOOK 3-

Co-ord-Depop

Lace-up Corset-Missguided

LOOK 4-

Dress-Vintage

LOOK 5-

Belt-Ebay

LOOK 6-

Coat-Topshop

Dress-Jaded London

LOOK 7-

Fishnet Top-Ebay

Skirt-Urban Outfitters

Maddy (Played by Alexa Demie)

Not gonna lie, I was kind of scared to do Maddy. I’m scared to be posting this, lol! Alexa Demie has played this character for a single season and she’s already one of the most iconic women to grace our screens in years. This is a huge undertaking and I don’t have the bank balance or the body confidence (lmao) to raid IAmGia. 

And this is where I want to stress: THESE ARE NOT OUTFIT RECREATIONS. THESE ARE INSPIRED BY. I HAVE ADDED ELEMENTS OF MY OWN STYLE INTO THEM. PLEASE DON’T DRAG ME. I KNOW, I’M NOT ALEXA DEMIE. I WOULD NEVER ASSUME TO BE ALEXA DEMIE. I’M NOT ABOUT TO TAKE THE LORD’S NAME IN VAIN LIKE THAT. So now we’ve got that out the way (wipes bead of sweat off forehead), let’s continue. 

Everything about Maddy Perez is extra. She has very much been established as a centre of attention character, and her outfits are a key part of that. They’re daring, they’re hyper-feminine, and they are always glamorous. We’re told that she competed in beauty pageants when she was younger and it’s clear that level of excess and coordination and glitz and all-round-boujeeness wormed its way into her DNA during that time. Even the “depression” outfit she wears to school following Nate becoming violent at the fair is costume-like, a 2019 Bratz doll Off-White street style collaboration.

Do you know how HARD I had to try to be HOT!? For these photos. Alexa Demie is one of those blessed women who doesn’t have to try at all, and that translates into the character completely. At any given moment, Maddy could add or remove one item or clothing and be let straight into the VIP section of a club, and that, honestly, is inspiring to us all in these dark times. 

One thing I tried to keep in mind is that she always looks polished and coordinated, I.E the kind of look I would prepare for a night out is something Maddy would wear on an average day. Co-ords and delicate prints seem to be more subtle wardrobe staples along with mesh and PVC and glitter and feathers and fur and basically anything that toes the line between expensive looking and tacky. Yes, I am aware we may toe different sides of that line but please let me stay delusional and believe that’s not the case for 5 minutes. Much appreciated xoxo

LOOK 1-

Bodysuit-Jaded London

LOOK 2-

Bralette-Depop

LOOK 3-

Co-ord Suit-Boohoo

Bodysuit-Boohoo

LOOK 4-

Dress-Motel Rocks

Shoes-Schuh

LOOK 5-

Bodysuit-Zaful

Trousers-Depop

Coat-Topshop

LOOK 6-

Dress-Zaful

Belt-Zaful

LOOK 7-

Top-Jaded London

Hair Clips-H&M

Rue (Played by Zendaya Coleman)

I have a complicated relationship with Rue as a character. When I started season 1 of Euphoria, I was like “Oh my god, this girl is the worst. Jesus, she’s so negative and draining and willingly self-destructive and-”

Then, oh my god is this what it’s like to live with me!?

I will say, to my own credit, that I don’t think I've ever been quite as hard to deal with as Rue (a lot less smashing stuff up and a lot more moping), and to HER credit, by the end of the season we come to realise she’s been through a fucking lot and so it makes sense, but wow. I don’t think I have ever seen a teen show handle drug abuse and mental illness in such a brutal way. It’s quite a talent to be able to show a character cause so much pain to those closest to them and yet do so through a sympathetic lens. And issues aside, whether it’s her occasional social awkwardness or her relationship with her family or watching bloody Love Island (still quite surreal to see Zendaya Coleman witnessing the Amy/Curtis drama unfold), Rue is just my favourite character to follow. 

Her style, though. AH. The thing is, I can hardly drag it, because it’s pretty much what I wear when I’m moping about the house-or just any time I can get away with it to be honest-to a T. I want to stay true to character, but that being said, creating a “Seth Rogen”-esque outfit that’s worth posting on here is difficult. So, with the same kind of artistic license that had me wearing berets whilst cosplaying Maddy Perez, here is the best I could do:

I know, I know, it’s probably too much colour and jewellery for Rue but this is as toned down as I could do and I tried to stick with the key silhouettes we see from her throughout the season; I mean, I can’t see her wearing leopard print but the structure of the coat in outfit 1 is very similar to the one seen in Shook Ones pt.II. I think the bottom line when it comes to her character is keeping things effortless and not overly-feminine; you want to mix street style, athleisure and your dad’s wardrobe favourites like your life depends on it. Plus messy hair and smudged makeup, both of which I’ve already got down according to the completely inappropriate number of customers who’ve asked if I'm tired at work so thanks for that guys, and glitter tears. Lots and lots of glitter tears.

OUTFIT 1-

Dungarees-Vintage

OUTFIT 2-

Trousers-Depop

Cardigan-Urban Outfitters

OUTFIT 5-

Beanie-Depop

OUTFIT 6-

Shirt-Boohoo Man

Sports Bra-TK Maxx

Trousers-Urban Outfitters

OUTFIT 7-

Shirt-Jaded London

Cassie (Played by Sydney Sweeney)

Style-wise, Cassie is a hard one. When putting outfits for her character together, I found myself gravitating towards a direction that’s probably a bit too bohemian for her character, under the guidance of loose terms like “girl-next-door”, “floaty”, “delicate”, you get the idea. She definitely feels the least fully-realised in terms of all the main girls and I think it’s fair to say she’s probably got a bit of self-discovery to do. Most of her storylines in the season are dictated by her relationships to other people: McKay, Maddy, Lexie, her parents and so on. 

Nevertheless, I tried to stick to the airier, more traditionally “pretty” pieces whilst still channelling the confidence and ease with which Cassie pulls them off. Sydney Sweeney has the most incredible figure and I feel like whilst the clothes the on-set stylists put her in flatter that and don’t hide anything, they’re still the focus. It doesn’t feel like there’s anything more inherently sexual about her character than any of the other main female characters despite the way the men within the narrative view her, and I think it’s a testament to the the wardrobe department that to me she still gives off big modern Disney princess energy and a certain innocence even whilst we hear her being continuously sexualised by her male peers. 

If anything, Cassie probably dresses the most like an actual teenage girl, and her style, whilst less distinctive than the other girls, still does a good job of capturing the youth and romanticism of her character. 

The colour palette of her wardrobe tends to be quite neutral, with a couple of pastels thrown in there, and if there are any details, they’re usually quite dainty. Similarly, Cassie is probably the least experimental when it comes to her makeup; we don’t really see her wearing the bold eyeshadows or liners or gems like the other girls at any point.

OUTFIT 1-

Bodysuit-Motel Rocks

Hair Clips-Bershka

OUTFIT 2-

Dress-Jaded London

OUTFIT 3-

Trousers-Urban Outfitters

OUTFIT 4-

Top-Urban Outfitters

Hairband-H&M

`OUTFIT 5-

Top-Urban Outfitters

Jeans-Zaful

Headband-Primark

OUTFIT 6-

Top-Urban Outfitters

OUTFIT 7-

Dress-Urban Outfitters

Hair Clips-Boohoo

SO, I guess that’s it for my Euphoria lookbook! As always, let me know what you think (nicely pls, my ego is fragile lol) and I’d love to hear your opinions on the show too! I really haven’t got this excited over a new TV show in ages and I just think that it does everything so excellently-from the writing to the cinematography to the soundtrack, you can tell each element is so carefully and purposefully constructed. It immerses you into the dramatic highs and lows of being a teenager in a way I haven’t seen since UK Skins and I never thought I’d watch a show which held a candle to that. 

In terms of what I’m doing next, I’ve got a very delayed fashion week masterpost in the works as well as something to fill the Met Gala shaped hole in our lives, which I hope to get up over the next couple of weeks. In the meantime, if you read to the end, THANK YOU! And I hope you’re staying safe and AT HOME where possible. I know this self-isolation feels never-ending and if I’m honest, it is having a hugely negative effect on my mental health, but NHS staff are doing their very best with the shitty recourses they have and whilst it seems that our government have thrown workers under the bus once again, we can all do our bit to combat that by slowing the spread of the virus. Also thank you to anybody who’s out working now in such a scary and uncertain time! I work at a grocery store and can say from experience that the best way to show this thanks is just through kindness and following employee’s instructions without giving them grief for it. Everyone’s scared right now and the best we can do is pull together and look out for each other, as difficult as that might seem at times.

Anyway, sorry for the ramble, and like I said, stay safe! Thanks once again if you read til the end or even if you’re just here for the photos. Appreciate it more than you know either way!

Lauren x

#euphoria #euphoria hbo #lookbook #styleinspo #styleinspiration #fashion #fashionblogger #fashionblogdaily #styling #`fashioninspo #tv series #aesthetic #zendaya #zendaya coleman #rue bennett #hunter schafer #jules euphoria #rue euphoria #barbie ferreira #kat euphoria #euphoria maddy #maddy perez #alexa demie #sydney sweeney #cassie euphoria

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[justzawe]

Zawe Ashton: I’ve tried therapy and booze, but nothing helps as much as TK Maxx

When it comes to grief, anxiety or even post-audition stress, this upscale jumble sale is where I go to breathe

Zawe Ashton

Existential angst? It’s my second to last Google search. (The most recent one was, “Is it bad to join Mumsnet when I’m not a mum?” but that’s another column.) I belong to the generation wedged between Gen X and the millennials. I don’t know what we’re called, but we seem to be particularly susceptible to existential unease. We grew up without the internet; instead, we got the Millennium Dome and were told to behold the future. Then broadband arrived, and it was like a lightning bolt that split us down the middle: analogue on one side, digital on the other. Caught between electronic overload and the dwindling art of real-life interaction, and ill-equipped to deal with the tyranny of choice.

Now I flake on dinner with friends and spend hours agonising over which photo filter to use. Foreboding engulfs me and self-medication is the only relief. Therapy, yoga, acupuncture, booze: my friends and I try them all, in various combinations. But, for me, there’s no soporific as potent as TK Maxx. For anyone who doesn’t know, these are huge red shops found on high streets or retail parks with a brands-for-less ethos across clothes, accessories and homeware. They became popular after the recession, austerity motherships. Their beauty lies in the randomness of what’s on sale. Anything the factory doesn’t want – fashion’s latest ephemera, defunct cosmetics lines – comes here.

I have no idea what the TK stands for, and I can only assume that the Maxx represents the max volume of uncoordinated stuff you can fit under one roof. It’s a humongous branded jumble sale, beautifully controlled chaos. As soon as I walk through the doors, the tension knot in my chest dissolves and the tranquil opening bars to Björk’s Hyperballad play in my head.

I often go after auditions, to stop my hands from shaking. I usually need to pop in anyway, to return the latest “character” item of discount clothing I’ve bought: an ill-fitting blouse I’ve picked up to pass as a tough CIA agent, or the stretch-denim jacket adorned with rhinestones that I was sure would make me more convincing as an adolescent runaway. I guess it’s the way other people feel about hiking, sun salutations or a flotation tank in an uptown spa. My bliss is loading up my basket with designer trainer socks, decorative ampersands made from driftwood or scented candles shaped like parakeets. This is a freedom of choice I can bear. I have no problem exercising my human responsibility over a water feature cleverly made to resemble a barbershop quartet of frogs (actual find). I feel a genuine smile pass over my lips when, on the Essentials aisle, I spot a goblin riding a bicycle that’s actually a very well-cast bronze garden ornament. Of course this is essential. I’m happy. My heart beats at a normal pace. The dopamine hits are sustainable in here, unlike out there, where attempting to answer my flagged emails can leave me catatonic.

I try to get to a TK Maxx wherever I go. Last week, my best friend’s grandmother, whom I love as my own, was very ill in hospital on the outskirts of London. My friend suggested we take the air after visiting. I nodded slowly and empathetically, before suggesting the local TK. I’d never been to that one, and she had once mentioned that it stocked a particularly eclectic stationery selection.

I wish I could achieve the same weightlessness that I feel sorting through fluffy glitter pens when browsing the aisles of my own brain. The stores in suburban industrial parks offer the most undiluted sense of anonymity. I was in a TK Maxx when I learned of one of the biggest bereavements I’ve ever dealt with. My favourite aunt was desperately ill, and I got the call to say it was potentially only a matter of hours. I kept my phone close and on loud, and set my browse mode to “tranquillised”. I tried on every single pair of sunglasses and had alighted on enormous white shades with a neon green rim – something the Prodigy would have worn without irony circa 1997 – when I got the call to say we had lost her. I let the security tag press painfully against my nose and felt the tears come.

A man tapped me on the shoulder. He’d seen me on TV and wanted a photo. I said I couldn’t; he was indifferent. I regretted it, though: just because I feel anonymous in here, doesn’t mean I am. Life pounds on, no matter how many Christmas nail polish gift sets I’m pulling along.

I paid for my items: funeral clothes, bath salts and a giant patchwork mouse that doubles as a doorstop. Essentials. The mouse’s head peeked over my store bag. Was that judgment in her eyes? “It’s cheaper than therapy, dude,” I mumbled. We all have to cope somehow. Back in the world of 4G, it won’t take long for the anxiety to build again, as my phone buzzes with work emails, group chat messages and burial details. (x)

#zawe ashton #the guardian #2017

[stealthemoonandmakewaves2]

14.11.20

Another day, so many more things to be thankful for

I'm thankful for our lil Christmas shopping trip into town, abbeycentre and tk maxx (your fave), even if we did get more things for ourselves than other people (oops, treat yo self though 🙈). I'm thankful to have been there for your first trip to St George's Market, I love it there so much and I'm glad I got to share that with you ❤

I'm thankful for lifts where we saw friends and for the wee impromptu trip up to Knockagh as well

I'm eternally grateful for our wee chats and that we're on the same wavelength for the future and that our timescales for it all match up too; I'm so excited to build life with you and I'm so happy that we're so in sync for it. I love you with all my heart ❤

I'm thankful for what is hopefully the last time either of us hear from our exes. Even if it threw us both a bit, I'm glad we have each other and that we're both looking to the future with each other and cutting off the past, and that we both have each other's backs to support each other in healing and building something beautiful that we truly both deserve, rather than the shit we've gone through in our pasts.

I'm thankful that I can talk to you about anything and everything and that you will always support and never judge or think I'm being stupid. As you know I'm not used to that and you have no idea at all how much it means to me. I'm sorry for any time my brain hesitates on that, I promise it's never you and that I know I can and will always come to you. It's something I'm working on unlearning, and I know I'll get there, and with you I know I'll get there even faster ❤

I'm thankful that even if things and feelings caused by your past resurface and put your head all over the place, you still know that you're safe with me. I know how hard it can be to shake those feelings off, and I'll always be there when they show up. No matter how your head is or what kind of a day you're having, I will be there unconditionally and always. You're safe now and I'm glad you always know that deep down, even if your head is telling you otherwise at the time. I will always do my utmost to support you and be the partner you deserve, because you deserve every happiness and support in life ❤

I love every little piece of you with every little piece of me ❤

[twelvegrimmyplace]

Relative Values: the Radio 1 presenter Nick Grimshaw and his niece Liv, who works in fashion

The pair talk about famous friends, homophobia and Glastonbury

They’ve always been close: Nick, 34, and Liv, 24, in the kitchen of Nick’s home in north London

Nick

Nine-year-old me was in disbelief when my sister, Jane, told me I was going to be an uncle. She’s 11 years older than me, and moved back home to Oldham from uni to have Liv. I was obsessed. Jane used to call me her miniature husband because I’d go to all the scans with her. The nurses would ask, “Are you having a little brother or sister?” and I’d take great pleasure in correcting them, revealing my important new role.

The day Liv was born it was boiling hot, and I didn’t want to go and sit in a hospital. When I first saw her, I remember feeling overwhelmed, not because I was jealous but because I now sort of had a younger sibling. Liv slept with my sister in the room next to mine, but my mum made it clear we shouldn’t tiptoe around the baby. In fact, we’d all sing goodnight to Liv every evening. Her arrival started a second childhood for me, one where I got to play with things like Barbies. I was a teenager, so I’d make her cry by colouring their hair blue and declaring they were punks. I was also really protective. I’d worry about her not making friends at nursery or follow her around like a bodyguard if grown-ups were passing her around for cuddles.

There was always music playing at home, but the radio was my favourite, because it made you feel as though you were never alone. I loved listening to Radio 1 — John Peel at night, Sara Cox in the morning and Chris Evans. I can’t sing or play an instrument, so through radio I could still be involved in music and meet interesting people. And it had to be Radio 1 — all the other stations felt too “presentery”.

My parents always wanted us to have good jobs. Both Jane and my older brother, Andrew, were supersmart. Meanwhile, I couldn’t pass my maths GCSE, and I still can’t even take down a phone number fast. But they could see how driven I was about radio.

Nothing prepares you for your own show. Twelve years on, I still try really hard. You owe that to your listeners — and to be real. I’ve never shied away from saying “my boyfriend” or talking about who I fancied on air. That wasn’t the mentality at Radio 1 when I started on the Breakfast Show. People would send in horrible homophobic messages asking me to stop because their kids were listening. It’s sad that some people still think like that now. I never had to come out to my parents, they just figured it out. I think the sight of me doing dance shows as Cher in my mum’s high-heeled boots aged seven probably helped.

People assume that I have lots of famous friends, but I have to interview Katy Perry or Jennifer Lawrence for my job — they’re not coming round for a cuppa. The friends I do have like Annie [Mac] or Alexa [Chung] I’ve known since I first moved to London. I didn’t know anyone, so I built a surrogate family of waifs and strays, people to have Sunday lunch with. That was a tradition from home.

Liv has always come down to visit, and because she’s wiser than her years has never seemed fazed by any of the random things I take her to. She came to Glastonbury with me when she was 14 and took it in her stride, while I, at 24, was just losing it with excitement. I often think I should be more like her. She’s so level-headed. I go from zero to 60, deciding that everyone hates me or whatever.

We’re in touch daily. I’m sure there were fallouts when we were younger, but the next minute we’d be putting on shows. Now the time we spend together is more about relaxing, maybe a mani-pedi or a nosy around TK Maxx. Our relationship is definitely more like siblings than uncle and niece. In some ways I look up to her, even though she’s so small — I actually call her Trollie. She’s got this inner cool. She’s not a people pleaser like I am. Liv’s OK with being herself, and that’s something we should all try to be.

Liv

I never thought of Nick as cool until my friends said so after he got the school bus with me. No doubt I told them they were way off, but I adored him growing up. My mum says he used to follow me like a shadow, and I did the same to him. In fact my mum, him and me became a little trio. I speak to my dad now and again, but because I didn’t live with him, Nick was the older male example in my life. He didn’t ever discipline me, but there was nothing I felt that I couldn’t share with him. I don’t think he’s ever scared off any potential boyfriends — that’s my mum’s job. In fact, it was my boyfriend Joe who pointed out that Nick is a bit of a father figure to me.

I have great memories of Nick taking me to gigs like the Sugababes and enjoying them even more than I did. Glastonbury was pretty memorable, too. I had my wellies ready for weeks. It was scorching, though, and we stayed in a tepee, dancing the night away to Scissor Sisters in the Block9 area wearing fake moustaches. It ruined festivals for me. Friends will invite me to V Fest and I get there and think, “Is this it?”

Sometimes I’m baffled that people want pictures with him, as if he were Barack Obama. I hope I’ve never embarrassed him, although I bet I’ve come close — like meeting Princess Eugenie at an event and not being able to shake her hand because I was carrying three pints of cider, or having a chat with Chris Martin without having a clue who he was.

I don’t tell people that I’m related to Nick. Why would I? I have another uncle who works for Virgin Trains, and I wouldn’t tell people that either.

I’m very proud of him. He works hard. He hasn’t changed since moving to London, thank God. We bicker, but we’re also honest — the whole family is. It’s not Christmas Day until we’ve had a row, usually about roast potatoes, but it comes from a place of love. I still get excited when he’s coming home. I’ll pick him up from the station in what he calls “Trollie’s taxi”. There are times when he’ll come back saying, “Oh, I’m not eating carbohydrates,” and I just tell him to shut up. He’ll be the one suggesting we go for McDonald’s next time. That’s Nick.

I know he’ll always be there for me. And if I don’t get to speak to him, I just put [Drivetime] on the radio after work. His voice will always feel like home.

Nick and Liv are appearing on Celebrity Gogglebox, Fridays, 9pm, Channel 4

STRANGE HABITS

Nick on Liv She’s a super-strict timekeeper who has to have a plan and always needs to know exactly what’s going on

Liv on Nick He can’t stick to a plan. Ever. He’s always on time for work, but the rest of the time he’s useless. He’s always trying to fit too many things or people in

#this is lovely <3 #nick grimshaw #grimshaw fam #press #will do a few pull quotes in a min! #long post

[theparanormalperiodical]

The Worst Horror Film of the Week // The Curse Of The Nun (2018)

Hello hello hello, and welcome to the Worst Horror Film Of The WeeeEEeek!

I’m your host - thespookiestllama - and today we’re going to be talking all about - yes, ya guessed it - the shittest horror films ever created!

Basics, Imma give you a quick rundown of the plot so you don’t have to wait 80 minutes of your life…

And I’m also going to tell you what makes it quite so shit, including the scenes and plot holes which enrich the shitness... but also make it fucking hilarious, too.

Question is - what horror film are we gonna be bitchin’ ‘bout today?

You know what we need folks?

Haha, ya guessed it.

IT’S TIME TO SPIN THE WHEEL.

“Spin that wheel!”

“Spin that wheel!”

*wheel noises that sound like tigtigtigtigtigtigtig…*

ooooooooooOOOOOOOOOOHHHHhhhhhh.

Well would you look at that!

Today’s worst horror film of the week is none other than The Curse Of The Nun (2018).

Never heard of it?

Neither have I.

Well to get us all up to speed, here’s the trailer!

Not bothered to watch the trailer?

Here’s a trailer summary:

There’s the happy-family-moving-home-fresh-start-warm-lighting-sequence, an overly aggressive kissing scene, and 6 ½ different shots of people being dragged by their feet. 

Now it’s time to ask ourselves - and say it with me, folks:

“Does the trailer give away the whole plot?”

Yep. 

Like, seriously, that’s the whole plot:

Family moves into a new home, demon nun shows off her squatters rights, demon nun wants to possess the mother, shizz gets spooky.

I mean, the only plot twist that could resurrect this film could be the blokes from ‘Can’t Pay We’ll Take It Away’ rocking up and saying they have a high court order for the demon nun who hasn’t paid her rent for 600 months featuring a geordie accent. 

But alas, there is no geordie accent asking for goods worth paying back the debt…

Instead, there is a weak haunted house storyline stealing imagery from The Conjuring’s own portfolio of monsters.

Before we let the full bitch fest commence, let’s actually do the story some justice.

Here’s a rundown of the plot:

*clicks on torch and lights up face cause apparently that's spooky*

A loving family decide to shack in a new crib after the mother went through an abusive relationship. Once the mother is alone in the house, things get demonic.

Some cheap plates smash to the floor when the demon looks for hobnobs.

The demon nun then tries to get to second base with the main lass, and once some paranormal shit happens, we discover that this is the spirit of a nun named Sister Catherine.

Cathy is in purgatory, and wants the mother to stay in the house in order for them to be roommates forever...and forever…

So, yes, it’s the classic tale of a spirit wanting your soul for some undecided reason that no one ever really knows about.

It’s a basic-bitch plot with a basic-bitch budget.

As we draw to the end of this episode of The Worst Horror Film Of The WeEEeeek, we come to our final question:

Does it have the shit factor?

Look, folks, let’s all be honest here.

It’s a low budget film.

And no, there’s nought wrong with that.

But what is wrong it is how the cast list starts with ‘Pizza Guy’. 

Yet what else certifies it as shit is how closely - and crappily - it copies other films.

Or rather, one film franchise!

Obviously it’s mirroring The Nun; they came out in the same year, they look the same, they have the same character…

But it also adds a Conjuring twist: there’s an iconic scene in the first Conjuring flick where we see Basheba’s corpse hanging. But all we see are her feet to give us the subtle hint that she has not-so-subtley sacrificed herself and her child to the devil. 

And if you watched the trailer, you know that feet somehow feature rather prominently in this movie. 

So yes, it somehow ends up taking inspiration from porn, too.

Fancy a watch of this flick?

Ready to spend 1 ½ hours of your life watching the TK Maxx of horror films?

Well here’s how you can:

You can check it out on Amazon Prime… Or you can watch it on YouTube for free.

(If that doesn’t verify it as The Worst Horror Film of The WeeeEEeek I don’t know what will.)

*Outro music starts*

Well I guess that’s all we have time for folks!

Oh, but before you go, it’s time for my final verdict…

I CONDEMN [this film] BACK TO HELL!

(It’s a quote from The Conjuring, guys, y’all need to know this.)

If you liked this post you’ll be a fan of these bad boys, too:

The True Story Behind The Conjuring And The Other American Haunted Houses You Need To Know About

7 Reasons Why The Nun Is The Best Feminist Horror Film. Period. 

#the curse of the nun #the curse of the nun 2018 #the curse of the nun film #the nun 2018 #the nun #valak #the conjuring #the conjuring 2 #the conjuring 3 #horror films #bad horror films #film review #haunted houses #spirits #demo #Ed and Lorraine Warren #the warrens #horror film trailers #best horror films #best horror movies 2018 #best horror movies 2019 #streaming #amazon prime #paranormal youtube #paranormal evidence #paranormal footage #real ghost stories #true ghost stories

[sadpeopledancing]

“Nine-year-old me was in disbelief when my sister, Jane, told me I was going to be an uncle. She’s 11 years older than me, and moved back home to Oldham from uni to have Liv. I was obsessed. Jane used to call me her miniature husband because I’d go to all the scans with her. The nurses would ask, “Are you having a little brother or sister?” and I’d take great pleasure in correcting them, revealing my important new role.

The day Liv was born it was boiling hot, and I didn’t want to go and sit in a hospital. When I first saw her, I remember feeling overwhelmed, not because I was jealous but because I now sort of had a younger sibling. Liv slept with my sister in the room next to mine, but my mum made it clear we shouldn’t tiptoe around the baby. In fact, we’d all sing goodnight to Liv every evening. Her arrival started a second childhood for me, one where I got to play with things like Barbies. I was a teenager, so I’d make her cry by colouring their hair blue and declaring they were punks. I was also really protective. I’d worry about her not making friends at nursery or follow her around like a bodyguard if grown-ups were passing her around for cuddles.

There was always music playing at home, but the radio was my favourite, because it made you feel as though you were never alone. I loved listening to Radio 1 — John Peel at night, Sara Cox in the morning and Chris Evans. I can’t sing or play an instrument, so through radio I could still be involved in music and meet interesting people. And it had to be Radio 1 — all the other stations felt too “presentery”.

My parents always wanted us to have good jobs. Both Jane and my older brother, Andrew, were supersmart. Meanwhile, I couldn’t pass my maths GCSE, and I still can’t even take down a phone number fast. But they could see how driven I was about radio.

Nothing prepares you for your own show. Twelve years on, I still try really hard. You owe that to your listeners — and to be real. I’ve never shied away from saying “my boyfriend” or talking about who I fancied on air. That wasn’t the mentality at Radio 1 when I started on the Breakfast Show. People would send in horrible homophobic messages asking me to stop because their kids were listening. It’s sad that some people still think like that now. I never had to come out to my parents, they just figured it out. I think the sight of me doing dance shows as Cher in my mum’s high-heeled boots aged seven probably helped.

People assume that I have lots of famous friends, but I have to interview Katy Perry or Jennifer Lawrence for my job — they’re not coming round for a cuppa. The friends I do have like Annie [Mac] or Alexa [Chung] I’ve known since I first moved to London. I didn’t know anyone, so I built a surrogate family of waifs and strays, people to have Sunday lunch with. That was a tradition from home.

Liv has always come down to visit, and because she’s wiser than her years has never seemed fazed by any of the random things I take her to. She came to Glastonbury with me when she was 14 and took it in her stride, while I, at 24, was just losing it with excitement. I often think I should be more like her. She’s so level-headed. I go from zero to 60, deciding that everyone hates me or whatever.

We’re in touch daily. I’m sure there were fallouts when we were younger, but the next minute we’d be putting on shows. Now the time we spend together is more about relaxing, maybe a mani-pedi or a nosy around TK Maxx. Our relationship is definitely more like siblings than uncle and niece. In some ways I look up to her, even though she’s so small — I actually call her Trollie. She’s got this inner cool. She’s not a people pleaser like I am. Liv’s OK with being herself, and that’s something we should all try to be.”

Strange habits: “She’s a super-strict timekeeper who has to have a plan and always needs to know exactly what’s going on.”

- Nick about Liv for The Sunday Times Magazine

#nick grimshaw #liv grimshaw #the sunday times