That MTV interview with the photographer was a well written piece of propaganda for “Bare with me”, basically saying that love is love, and it is beautiful in all forms. The stuff about Lauren and Lucy was all propaganda to prop up the narrative.
The photographer and the wardrobe lady were only saying what they were advised to say. LIES! (though the wardrobe lady decided to fuck the narrative a bit with the “sisterly and maternal connection”) Management did the same thing with DWTS. Val was advised to lie about when and where he had his first meet up with Normani for DWTS. They had been rehearsing for days before that Houston Rodeo, yet they wanted to push the narrative to the general public that the girls were in on the surprise, and helped introduce Mani to her dance partner. Why? To show how much they support her decision to do her own thing.
My point is, they (management) have no problem getting outside forces, other than the girls, to help sell their narrative. The ladies who did that photo-shoot with Lauren and Lucy are no different. Why have the photographer say what she said? They needed someone, other than Lauren or Lucy, to confirm that Laucy was real, to prove that Camren wasn’t. That one interview killed three birds with one stone. It confirmed Laucy, destroyed Camren, then destroyed Laucy, all at the same damn time. Brilliant actually.
sylvanas: the val’kyr are the only way our people can be saved
me: *thinking about those dogs from mists of pandaria that do the exact same shit as val’kyr except that you don’t have to sell your soul to a sea goddess to get more of them you just have to love them and take care of them*
Do you like Shireen? I'm really sad about the thought of her burning, I don't want her to die and fire seems so painful and scary for a little kid. And it's going to be her own dad that burns her, right? Poor shireen :(
Of course I love Shireen! My heart breaks for her. Nearly killed by greyscale as an infant, “far from pretty” and “homely” in a society where the idealized feminine form is a beautiful one, apparently the only child in they grim and gray household of Dragonstone (at least for the majority of her life), the child of unhappily married parents, her sole constant companion through most of her youth a terrifying, prophecy-spouting, eldritch-risen clown. Yet despite everything, Shireen can still be courteous, gentle, even cheerful and fun-loving, making friends and being sweet. When I think of Shireen, I think of this exchange:
“Are you the wildling princess?” Shireen asked Val.
“Some call me that,” said Val. “My sister was wife to Mance Rayder, the King-Beyond-the-Wall. She died giving him a son.”
“I’m a princess too,” Shireen announced, “but I never had a sister. I used to have a cousin once, before he sailed away. He was just a bastard, but I liked him.”
It’s Shireen in a nutshell, innocent and childish in the best possible way. She’s a princess, she announces, not out of snobbery or pride in her place, but simply because it’s a fact; she seems to treat being a princess the same as if, say, Val had said she had black hair, a mark of commonality between the two. She has to note Edric was a bastard - you can imagine Selyse hammering into her that Edric was only “Robert’s by-blow”, not her social equal - but given what we saw of her and Edric in ASOS, it’s clear what matters to Shireen is that “I liked him”.
Except it wasn’t home anymore. Somewhere in the intervening years of grinding through undergrad and graduate coursework, the house Jazz grew up in had stopped being home.
Danielle had been given Jazz’s room when she left halfway across the country to Yale. During holiday visits they would share, Dani insisting that all her time “camping out” under overpasses and old mausoleums as proper precedent for her to sleep on the floor.
A few times Jazz caught herself thinking of it as her room, instead of Danielle’s. She could still recognize the room she’d stayed in for seventeen years, an old imprint she felt in the air, pins and needles in her scalp; her hands itched with the impression that if they just peeled away the sci-fi posters and anime wall-scrolls and the global Polaroid collage the old room would still be there, waiting beneath like a layer of wallpaper.