for @kixboxer more of the victuuri sears catalogue model au because i have a problem. and this is apparently the only thing i can write at the moment. read the first part here.
Eventually Phichit, the production designer for the shoot, shuttles Yuuri back to makeup. Where Victor Nikiforov is sitting, dick no longer out, earnestly attempting to make small talk. Yuuri’s not sure whether re-sheathing the pig in its blanket is a mercy or not.
(Wet) dreaming about that dick convinced Yuuri it was his destiny to steal the 14 foot high Victor Nikiforov billboard off the side of I-95 six months ago.
There are six feet of billboard-Victor’s abs, which is more feet than all of flesh-Yuuri. An ideal ratio. And absolutely worth the frustrated tears he’d spilled gracelessly constructing a make-shift pulley system to maneuver the now-hacked-in-half billboard through his bedroom window.
Sobbing through a mechanical engineering problem brought Yuuri right back to his days as an undergrad.
The rest of make up and wardrobe is a blur. At least thirty percent of that blur is silver since Victor insists on being everywhere Yuuri is so that they can “really get into character.”
“I’m a Method model, Yuuri.”
“I’m sorry?” Yuuri’s seen every ad Victor’s ever done—including the one from Finland where he’s naked on a glacier with save for a strategically placed water bottle and text that reads “enjoy the refreshing waters of Lapland, Wisconsin.” But he’s never done an ad for Method. Or a national ad at all. Yuuri has a system. He would know.
“Like the Method.”
Oh. “Is…that a thing? For modeling?”
“It’s new. Cutting edge model tech. Seminars. Conferences. Workshops. You know.”
Yuuri does not know. “Oh right. Yes. Of course.”
When they finally make it to the set, Victor immediately guides him over to the meticulously arranged set of Dutch ovens. “To set the mood.” Victor smiles and Yuuri orders himself to stop staring at Victor’s lips.
“Well, we’re modeling for the homewares section…” Victor turns and then whirls back around to face Yuuri, brandishing two scanners. “So, we should take these scanners over to the the kitchen tools section and really get into character. You know, as if we were actually getting married.”
“I haven’t really thought about it.” Yuuri lies.
“Not even a little?”
“Never.” Yuuri says, determinedly not thinking about his copy of The Sims where there are enough married versions of Sim!Yuuri and Sim!Victor that they could (and do) populate the entire neighborhood.
Victor deflates then brightens. He’s bouncing on the balls as he says, “Oh good, then I get to be your first.”
Yuuri doesn’t let out an embarrassing half whine, half scream. But only just.
i get the point of your post but everything i've seen making fun of older women in fandom has been because of that one reylo who made up a story about fighting with a teenage anti and those people deserve to be mocked
i’m really glad you haven’t had to see any mocking beyond that specific context and obviously i’m going to agree that there’s nothing wrong with laughing at people who are genuinely behaving inappropriately for their age but
a) trust me when i say that this absolutely happens constantly outside of that specific context too and has been going on for a long time before that post was even made
b) even on that post people were being weird about it, like, honestly i only read it once because i can’t deal with secondhand embarrassment but it had people going “omg imagine being a 39 year old woman and wearing a graphic print tee” as if THAT was the issue with the post and not someone making up an imaginary fight with a teenager for tumblr notes because apparently all women over thirty are just allowed to wear shapeless blouses from the home catalogue?? plus all the comments about “crusty old women” like you’re just wholesale repeating deeply misogynistic phrases at this point
like every single time one of those things happens it may have a valid trigger for people to say “this is inappropriate behaviour for an adult” but it devolves into something that crosses the line far too quickly and really reveals the fucked up biases and ideas people have about older women and motherhood and maturity in general
and this isn’t just unfair towards the older women you’re (general you) directing this toward but also towards yourself because you’re unnecessarily putting yourself under pressure and stress
i used to be so terrified of getting older because i truly believed i would have to become a completely different person to be ~mature as if my personality was inherently incompatible with maturity and i know so many of my friends felt/feel the same way
and i’ve been so much happier and less bothered about this since i realized that while maturity does come with certain changes like having more life experience or being able to handle certain situations better, it doesn’t mean you have to give up your whole self and all the weird stuff you’re into and do a 180 degrees change out of nowhere
women are constrained so much in our society when it comes to what we’re allowed to like and who we’re allowed to be and this only gets worse the older we are, so of course all of us have some internalized bs to work through regarding that but it’s not fair to put that on other people who haven’t done anything wrong
tl;dr: no one’s talking about “you’re almost 40 and should know better than this at this point” which is in some situations absolutely a valid thing to say, we’re talking about all the unnecessary stuff around that and the misogynistic way this is often framed
John Wright & Co. Ltd., Essex Works, Aston, Birmingham. Small booklet (n.d. [c.1895]). If this scene is compared to www.flickr.com/photos/139060799@N08/25169933929/in/photol… it will be seen that the fire has been changed - here it is Wright’s ‘Czarina’ fire. The gas pressure seems to be rather high as the flames are shooting out into the room. I hope some unseen adult was on hand to move the children further from the fire.
Entomologists Charlie and Lois O’Brien have the largest private collection of insects in the world. In their 55 years of marriage, these real life “love bugs” have traveled the world gathering specimens for their unique collection. Now in their 80s, the couple plans to donate the 1.25 million bugs carefully catalogued in their Arizona home to a research university. Even without their insects, the love they built on little legs, wings and stingers will live on.
When I first began riding I bought a Stubben Tristan
Dressage saddle and thought I was the bees-knees. Over time I started to
realise that one size does not fit all horses and indeed this particular model Stubben
was probably not suitable for any horse on account of the narrow channel width
(minimum is about 3 fingers width or more, the Stubben as you’ll see below is
barely two). I held onto the saddle not willing to give into the fact that I
had probably wasted $400 and had most likely caused my horse to be sore. When I
commenced my Equine Sports Massage Therapy certificate it became apparent to me
that I would be stuck with the Stubben forever as I could not consciously sell
the saddle on knowing what I now know and which obviated use with my own
horses. Finally I plucked up the courage to pull out the knife and cut the
Stubben to pieces. And I’ve got to say, it’s probably the best $400 I’ve ever
spent. If you’ve got shitty old saddles sitting around I’d encourage you to do
this experiment at home! I catalogued my journey in images, including sitting
the tree on two different horses which is critical in realising how important
it is to have your saddle professionally fitted, especially when you consider
the damage you can do if your saddle is poorly fitted.
I don't know why people are upset at the 'throw darts' comment Cait made on that morning show. At least this time she didn't say anything about him wearing women's clothes. I'd call it a win.
Speaking of cross dressing, I am TURNT the fuck up right now because I ordered a sweater, a man’s sweater, for my female self, on November 21st and it left LA on November 29th via fed ex and they handed it off to my local post office on December 7 and apparently that last 2 miles to my house requires them first to return the ring to the fires of Mordor during which ain’t nobody got any fucking idea what happened to my sweater. Ultimately, I think it’s the universe getting back at me for not buying a sweater from that guy selling sweaters made from sheep in Donegal at the bottom of Slieve League back in September. I said I’d get one on the way down when I was on the way up but it started pouring rain on the way down and I was starving so I did not stop to honor my word. Then I get a catalogue at home a couple of months later selling really awesome sweaters made from, would you believe?….. Donegal wool! I ordered it immediately! What luck! Thank you universe! Except. No. Nice try, ungrateful prissy wretched tourist. No Irish wool sweaters for you! Very clever how the universe chooses to exact it’s revenge on behalf of betrayed Irish Sweater peddlers. Well played, universe.
You’d met Sam briefly when he brought in the best he could
muster for women’s clothes. He was taller than his brother, though both were
arguably giants. He seemed softer, though. Different, “Hope these are OK.
Couldn’t exactly shop for style.” He laughed nervously, handing over the items.
They were acceptable, you were sure, though not what you would have picked out.
Brown slacks and a more form-fitting white blouse. They were far more liberal.
Call her a sap, but Taylor was a sucker for metaphorical parallels. So, as the summer air climbed to an even, humid, hot, so did her… thing with Karlie.
The city had succumbed to an unmoving layer of suffocating heat. In the quiet enclave of Tribeca, as soon as the door shut on the inescapable haze, they were a mess of hands and lips and teeth, leaving a trail of clothes in their wake. Skin on skin, sweat, hands in her hair and raking down her back and climbing up her chest and in places they shouldn’t be. None of this was how it should be, but it was too delicious to stop it. The heat seeped through the cracks in the brick and fogged her brain, or that was her excuse at least. Against those sheets, she couldn’t think straight or see straight. All that swam into view were two green eyes, wide and glossy and hers.
Well, they weren’t all hers, but logistics had long been thrown out the window.
It was a speeding freight train, a diving plane, a… fuck it, that’s good enough. It was dragging sloppy kisses across her collarbone, that’s what it was. Curves and bends and the cacophony of both vocal and physical sounds revealing the lovely acoustics of her bedroom walls.
She’d never felt this reckless before. Taylor had always had her secrets; ones that made it out eventually and a small collection she was sure her first publicist never even knew. This indefinite tryst was something else entirely. It was a secret coiled in her gut, searing white hot against her stomach. One she never planned on, and one with no clear navigation for her to go by.
“I was thinking Thai.”
Karlie’s chest rumbled against Taylor’s ear as she spoke. She adjusted her head to look up just enough to see over Karlie’s chin.
“I’m up for it,” Taylor agreed. “But not yet, can we just…”
She tightened her arms around Karlie’s middle as she trailed off. Her legs wove through the endless tangle of Karlies’.
Another rumble shook her cheek as Karlie chuckled. The tingle of fingertips on her scalp soothed her into a soft hum.
They had switched it up and had fallen into bed at Karlie’s apartment this time. In the mid-afternoon, no less. Taylor bunched the sheets in her fist and thumbed the comforter. It was some sort of attempt to etch the tactile memory of it all into her mind forever. The starch of the sheets that don’t see enough of Karlie to be really broken in, the smell of this particular brand of fabric softener, the little creaks in the bed when they move, or even the pictures on the wall gathering a thin layer of dust just visible in the waning afternoon sunlight.
Some were familiar faces of Karlie’s family she’d come to recognize. Others were certainly not casual photographs. They were people she vaguely knew, black and white prints against a thick matte and a pricy looking ink black frame. They were the sort you see in fancy home catalogues or in those immaculate LA homes of “moms who have it all.”
“Who are those people on your wall?” Taylor voiced her thoughts.
“No, down by your dresser.”
Karlie sat up a little to have a look and Taylor smiled to herself how Karlie forgot who’s pictures she had on her own wall. She shouldn’t find how absent minded she was so damn cute, but she did. She rolled off of her bedfellow and into a pile of stark white pillows that enveloped her head, entertaining the idea that they could suffocate this irrational affection.
“Ah, Derek gave me those when I moved in,” Karlie recalled. She leaned back and attempted to flatten some of the pillows that were drowning Taylor.
“Who are they?” Taylor inquired, as she was reluctantly freed.
Karlie looked back again at the far wall and propped herself up on her elbows.
“That,” she began, pointing at the frame furthest to the left, “Is Kate Moss. I’m sure you know her.”
“Mmmm, oh yeah.”
“The next one is Lauren Hutton. Then Veruschka, Dovima with the elephants is my favorite. Jean Shrimpton over there…”
Karlie paused and looked down at Taylor suddenly with her tongue between her teeth, a giggle bubbling to the surface. Taylor herself laughed at Karlie’s amusement before scooting closer to get a better view of the source of her glee.
“What?” she asked.
“She kind of looks like you, Jean Shrimpton. In that picture at least,” Karlie stated. Taylor squinted at the photograph and scrunched her nose.
Karlie fussed with Taylor’s messy hair for a moment, looking back and forth between her and the photograph, before smiling proudly.
“Mmhmm, totally. It’s uncanny,” Karlie claimed.
Taylor glanced once more at the photo and barked a laugh, shoving Karlie back off her elbows.
“It’s not uncanny at all! You’re going blind,” Taylor exclaimed. Karlie flipped onto her side to put them eye to eye.
“Okay, maybe not uncanny,” Karlie relented, “but you do look a lot like her. It’s kind of scary.”
Taylor nearly snorted, and countered, “Karlie, she’s was a supermodel. I’m just…”
“A rock star?” Karlie finished for her. Taylor rolled her eyes with a bemused smile.
“Hardly,” she denied.
Karlie scooted even closer and slid her hand up Taylor’s cheek. Her eyes were soft and Taylor could sense a moment coming on. Better not go there.
“Are they your role models or something? Is that why you have them on your walls?” she interjected, trying to divert the conversation. She couldn’t do that right now, not as naked and vulnerable as she was, literally. Karlie didn’t move and held her gaze casually.
“Not really. I actually didn’t know who they were until a few years ago,” she said, with a self deprecating laugh punctuating her admission. She furrowed her brow in thought before coming up with her answer. “Besides the fact that they were a housewarming gift, I guess I keep them because they were the real deal, you know? Those women were the golden standard, the pioneers. They are the ones everyone still emulates today, whether they realize it or not.”
Taylor blinked, trying to understand. Karlie’s absentminded stroking of her cheek made that a little difficult.
Karlie concluded, “They keep me grounded, you know? Remind me of who I am in the big picture of this crazy industry, and make me feel small.”
Taylor scoffed at the irony that anything could make the towering Karlie Kloss feel small. She said as much and Karlie couldn’t help but snicker at Taylor’s dumb joke.
In a moment of weakness, Taylor lost herself in it all for just a second. She let herself sigh inwardly at how inexplicably gorgeous this girl was, mussed hair and pink cheeks spread in an affectionate grin. Could she get any more infuriating?
Apparently she could, because she went and said things like that. Taylor’s whole life was about reaching for the stars. Everyone she surrounded herself with wanted bigger and better and here was this girl, on top of her world and yet, she was just trying to occupy the six foot and some odd inch space life allotted her with a smile and a cookie. What someone of such sound mind was doing wrapped up with someone like her, she didn’t know.
The fact that Taylor had ever tried to resist falling into this head first seemed laughable now. She was slipping and sliding down this road and not exactly digging her heels into the dirt. She had no idea where this was going or what she was going to do about any of it. She was only certain that she wanted to be here for as long as Karlie would have her.
These words swam in her head but they fell dead and heavy on her tongue. Karlie was just so perfect right then and there, she couldn’t ruin this. She couldn’t risk Karlie getting skittish. Between the conversations they’d yet to have, the whole Josh factor which has been conveniently swept under the rug, and what they would do about Taylor being, well, herself and all that implies, it was all too precarious. Just one big jumble of loose ends getting more and more tangled as they carried on in their bubble.
Karlie tapped Taylor’s jaw and whispered, “Penny for your thoughts?”
Taylor put on a smile and shook her head against the plush material.
“It’s nothing important,” she assured her. Karlie mulled this over and inched even closer to her. Their hips were nearly flush beneath the comforter and Taylor tried not to notice.
“Well don’t worry about Jean over there,” she told her. It took Taylor a second to realize sweet, innocent Karlie thought she was still hung up on feeling inadequate compared to a supermodel from 50 years ago. What she wouldn’t give to only have problems that simple. But no, Karlie had no idea the seismic shift in Taylor’s world that was happening right under their feet. There was no way to explain it, and she wasn’t about to try.
Taylor sighed and went along with it, grateful for the reprieve from emotional apocalypse unfolding in her brain.
“And, why is that?”
“Becaaaause,” Karlie drawled, “You’re gorgeous. You could be a supermodel any day of the week if you wanted to be.”
She leaned in and pressed a kiss to Taylor’s lips so tender her whole body melted into the sensation. She breathed Karlie in, absorbing the warm and smooth expanse of her skin through hands she splayed across her back. Karlie pulled back just a hair.
“Mmm, really?” Taylor mumbled as she chased parted lips.
“Yep, says the supermodel.”
Taylor opened one eye to find Karlie donning that smirk that drove her nuts. She flipped her onto her back and attacked her smug mug with kisses that erupted into to giggles, the suggestion of Thai food completely forgotten.
They always warn children about the dangers of staring directly at the sun, but Taylor was never one to proceed with caution. And anyway, by now she had already gone blind.