You know how wild geese are stereotypically assholes here on Earth, right? Go overhead in sometimes MASSIVE flocks and land to forage and rest? Also they honk a lot??
Think about it. Alternian Geese.
From the day they surface, little trolls learn to fear the DISTANT HONKING of Alternian geese, which quickly primes them for learning to fear Subjugglators/The Dark Carnival. If you as a tiny troll don’t learn to duck for cover in your hive when you hear the echoing chorus of the most common death birds on the planet, once the flock is overhead, they’ll quickly descend upon you, beat you down with their buff-ass wings, and rip you to shreds like sky-piranhas. This would mean a sudden, instant, bloody and savage death for wrigglers who didn’t know better and a lesson learned for first-time survivors.
Obviously they stop being QUITE as dangerous to older trolls, but they’re still bad enough in large numbers, even for highbloods, that a flock landing in somebody’s lawnring could still keep them trapped inside, maybe even preventing them from going to work until they could find a way to kill them or get them to leave.
“We will camp here for the night,” Thorin calls out and you sigh, relieved to finally be resting.
You wait until Bilbo gets off before you follow your brother. You hear Thorin getting into an argument with Gandalf, but you ignore it, opting to tie your pony to the tree.
“Gandalf? Where are you going?” you hear Bilbo ask and that catches your attention. “To seek the company of the only one around here who’s got any sense!”
That causes your brows to crease.
"MYSELF, Mr. Baggins! I’ve had enough of dwarves for one day!” Gandalf replies and you watch him go.
You follow him to see where he’s going.
“Gandalf?” you ask quietly. He stops and sighs. “I will be back Ms. Baggins. Do not worry about me,” he says and you nod, turning back around to go back to the dwarves.
By the time the sunsets, Gandalf is not back. “Y/n, be a dear and take this to the lads,” Bofur tells you, handing you two bowls. Bilbo takes one from you and you smile at him in thanks.
When Gandalf left, you did not want to talk to anyone, but Bilbo. You both leave to find Kili and Fili. You find them easily, but they’re just staring at the ponies.
“Whats wrong?” Bilbo asks and you sigh.
“You lost the ponies didn’t you?” you ask them and Kili turns to you in surprise. “Please don’t tell Uncle,” he pleads. “Well, someone has to tell him,” you reply as Bilbo takes a look around.
“As our official burglar, we thought you two might want to look it,” Fili says and you narrow your eyes at him. Biblo will undoubtedly fall for it.
“Well, it looks like something big was here,” Bilbo says, looking at the fallen tree. “That’s what we were thinking,” Fili says and you roll your eyes. You look around and you see a light.
You move forward, shoving the bowl into Kili’s chest. You jump over the broken trees and move closer to the light.
"Trolls,” you mutter. You duck as you see another troll carrying Myrtle and Minty.
“They’ve got Myrtle and Minty!” Bilbo says, coming to stand next to you. “We’ve got to do something,” Bilbo says and you sigh. The boys were going to tell him to do something and he did.
Needless to say, you were all captured by smelly trolls and luckily for you, you were put in a sack and not tied on the spit.
“I’m going to murder you both as soon as we get out of here,” you tell Kili, trying to wiggle yourself out.
“It was your brother’s fault for us getting captured!” Kili exclaims. “It was you two dunderheads that didn’t notice a fucking troll stole the ponies. What were you even doing to not to notice it?” You ask annoyed and he shuts his mouth.
“Oi. You two quit your griping. We’re trying to figure out how to cook ya’,” one of the trolls says. “Oh shove off you cotton headed ninny muggin,” you retort, opting to just lie there instead of wasting your energy.
“You wot?” The other asks. “None of your business you swine,” you reply and you’re immediately lifted up by your foot and turned towards the trolls, blood rushing to your head.
“I don’t like you,” he says. “Get in line big fella! Half of my people don’t like me,” you say. “What are you then? An oversized squirrel?” He asks and you roll your eyes at the same question the trolls asked your brother.
“I’m a hobbit you twat,” you say, trying to get the blood flowing properly but you can’t given the fact that he has a tight grip on you.
The troll grabs you by the waist and rights you and you thank valar for that.
“What is a hobbit? The other one was a buglarhobbit. Are you some kind of offspring?” he asks again. “What are you going on about? There’s no such thing as a buglarhobbit you daft bimbo,” you say and that causes him to lift you above his mouth.
That’s it. You were going to die right there. You weren’t even halfway to the mountain yet.
“Wait! You can’t eat her! She’s got worms. In her — tubes,” you hear Bilbo says and suddenly, you are tossed into the other dwarves landing unceremoniously unto Thorin.
“Are you alright?” Thorin asks. “Just Peachy,” you reply, trying to sit up. “Yes. They’re all infected with parasites,” Bilbo says as you see Gandalf running in the background. Ah, so he’s buying for time.
“We don’t have parasites, you’ve got parasites,” Kili shouts and you kick him. He looks at you and you glare at him. He turns back to the trolls. “I’ve got huge parasites! The biggest there is!” he shouts and the company starts agreeing with Bilbo’s words.
“What would have us do then? Let them all go?” the troll spinning the spit asks. “Well,” Bilbo says and you laugh at your brothers silliness.
“I know what you’re trying to do! This little ferret is taking us for fools!” another one says, poking Bilbo in his stomach.
“The dawn will take you all!” another voice interrupts and suddenly the trolls are turned to stone.
It takes you all a while, but you are all packed and ready to go by midmorning.
You glare at Thorin as he blames Bilbo for getting them into trouble in the first place.
“You are forgetting, Mr. Oakenshield that it was your two nephews that lost the ponies in the first place,” you growl out, poking the king in his chest.
He looks at his chest in surprise. A hobbit would dare poke him?
“I suggest you change your attitude towards Bilbo because he was the only smart one that had the nous to play for time, you cheeky little shit. Now, if there are trolls here there must be a cave nearby,” you say, looking around and leaving the dwarf and wizard behind with stunned expressions. You were such a feisty little hobbit.
A/N: So, this is a bit late (sorry) but basically, it’s a long one-shot on how Branche’s Valentine’s Day went before the Trolls movie :)
Branch startled awake, alarm blaring on his bedside table. He
pinched the bridge of his nose with one hand and slapped the noisy clock with
the other. He groaned, not needing to look at the calendar to know what day it
was. After all, it was his least favorite holiday. While the Trolls living
above him were normally hyper, loud, and all around obnoxious, Valentine’s day
multiplied their annoying traits by a thousand.
Every Troll loved Valentine’s day, and King Peppy had
decreed many years ago that on ‘this
special day, hug time can be any time’. It was torture. Not only was every
troll constantly hugging, but the love-songs were non-stop! Trolls would sing
anything from love-ballads, to cheesy break-up songs about getting back
together again. Oh, and don’t get Branch started on all the cards exchanged.
From a simple “I love you” note, to ten-page love confessions, the letters and
cards practically rained from the sky.
And, to make matters worse, a certain someone loved this holiday more than any Troll in the existence of
trolls. And she made it her personal duty to give Branch a hand-made card every. Single. Year.
“You’ve got this,”
he told himself, forcing his legs over the side of the bed. “Just stick to the plan and you’ll survive.”
Branch took a single moment to take a deep breath in… and
then slowly out. He opened his eyes, rolling his shoulders as he stood up.
Nimbly he grabbed a small pocket-book of the side of the dresser. He looked at
the cover, remembering all those years ago when he’d started writing in the
book. The title was written sloppily, almost hastily, and in bright red
“Okay,” he mumbled to himself as he glanced it over, reading
the first step.
Step 1: Gather enough
supplied before anyone wakes up so you can comfortably stay holed up inside
Note: Do not
let Poppy know you’re in the bunker. If this fails, refer to page thirty-four.
Easy enough, he just had to collect a couple of things and
then he could enjoy a day holed up inside his bunker. Branch walked over to his
supplies, stuffing the handbook into his hair. He pulled out a piece of paper
and a pencil. He was almost out of his regular drinking water—of course he
could always pull from the many jars he had stacked up in case of a Bergen
attack, but he’d rather not waste what he’d saved when he could easily get more.
Branch, making up his mind, gave a firm nod, jotting down water as the first
supply he needed to retrieve.
“Let’s see,” Branch nibbled on the edge of the pencil as he
continued to take in what was needed. Well, for starters he’d need a new needle
and some more thread to patch a blanket. He was in need of some more paper as
well. Spending days on end inside a bunker with nothing to do but write poetry
tended to weed your supply of paper a bit thin. Not to mention the countless
lists he’d made, as well as Survival Guide books on various subjects. Thinking
about it, he probably needed some more pencils too.
Branch glanced over
his list, grinning as he looked it over. It was short, and he’d be able to get
everything he needed before the hour was done. Branch would be out and then
back in his bunker before anyone knew he’d left. And by anyone, Branch meant
Poppy. She seemed to be getting up earlier and earlier on Valentine’s day.
Branch would have to start getting a move on if he wanted to avoid her.
Branch grabbed what he would need (a simple backpack to help
carry supplies, some coins to get the supplies, and a small weapon just in case
something happened.) He walked over to his elevator, pulling on the lever
firmly. He emerged from his hide-out, keeping low to the ground as he surveyed
the surrounding area.
Despite the sun not being up yet, he could hear the
thrumming of guitars, voices singing loud and proud. Ugh, he shook his head, slinging the backpack over his shoulder as
he headed towards the village. As usual, there were Trolls already up and
“Get in, get the
supplies, get out,” he chanted to himself, keeping close to the trees and
walls of different stores.
He came to the Troll Market quickly, grip tightening on the
straps as he different Trolls emerged from their homes or shops, greeting one
another with a friendly song and long hug. Cards had already started to be
exchanged. Branch narrowed his eyes, keeping his head low as he headed for one
shop in particular. He doubted most of them would be open, however, this
particular shop was run by a Troll named Mossy, who had a habit of opening
before the sun rose.
The bell on the door jingled, Branch’s shoulders stiffening
as he slowly entered.
“Oh,” said Mossy from behind the counter. “Good morning
Branch, here for more supplies?”
Branch gave a gruff nod, heading over to the selection of
paper and pencils. Quickly, he selected the best quality paper for the best
price and grabbed a couple of pencils, heading over to the counter.
“You’re up early today,” Mossy commented with a smile.
“Stocking up for Valentine’s day again?”
Branch raised an eyebrow as Mossy began taking stock of the
items he had picked out, adding up the prices.
“Well, I’m glad you came early,” Mossy continued, undeterred
by his silence. “I’m going to close up shop early today. It is a holiday, after
all! Your total is $5.99. Say, Branch, why don’t you celebrate with us today?”
“Oh, and be perfect pickings for a Bergan?” Branch shot
back, fishing coins out of his pockets to pay. He set them down on the counter,
scooping up his stuff and shoving it into his backpack. “I don’t think so.”
Mossy clicked his tongue and muttered complaints about
Branches attitude as he walked away and out of the shop. He let the door click
shut behind him, shuffling to the side as he checked over his list.
Paper and pencils, check. Now all he needed was some water,
thread, and a needle. He glanced towards the sky, realizing with growing horror
that, though the sun had still not shown itself, the sky was a dull grey
instead of a midnight black like it used to be. Branch had to hurry.
He rushed to the next shop, tugging on the handle. With
growing frustration, he realized it was locked. Branch turned his eyes towards
the sign on the door, growling when he read it.
“Closed for Valentine’s
day—Hugs and kisses to you all!”
Ugh, perhaps it was better to just forgo the thread and
needle. For now, anyways. This left only one item left on his list. Water.
This, of course, should be the easiest to get. He just had to stop by the
nearby stream, collect his water and then he could be on his way home.
The trip there was eventful, to say the least. With the sun
getting lighter and lighter the town of Trolls grew louder and louder. The
singing was everywhere, dance and music numbers seemingly possessing every
troll Branch crossed. He ducked this way and that, hiding behind trees and
stones to avoid being dragged into them. These delayed Branches hike by fifteen
minutes, and by the time Branch managed to get to the stream, there was already
“Oh, Hello Branch,” Creek smiled as Branch warily
approached, jar in hand. He was sitting by the small river, legs crossed and
arms out in meditation. “What brings you out on this fantastic holiday?”
“Restocking water,” Branch replied stiffly, edging towards
the river. He bent down, letting his hand splash into the frigid water as he
filled the jar.
“You’re not going to be at the party today?” Creek asked, a
hint of a smile playing his features. “After all, Poppy would love for you to
Branch rolled his eyes, snapping the lid shut as he stood.
“No, I will not be coming. Because unlike the rest of you, I
don’t want to become Bergen food,” Branch set the jar in his backpack, slinging
it over his shoulder.
“So, you’ll be in your bunker all day then?”
“Sure,” Branch rolled his eyes, walking away. Creek waved
goodbye, though Branch pretended not to see. Once he was far enough away from
Creek, Branch risked a look to the sky. His heart dropped, dread settling into
his stomach. He could see rays of sunshine filtering through the leaves. Poppy
would be visiting his bunker soon.
Branch all but ran back to his bunker, sliding in through
the door and tapping his foot impatiently as the elevator went down. He set his
supplies on the floor, rushing to his room to find the sign he’d created years
It’d been quite brilliant, really. Branch was still very
proud with himself. He’d gotten the idea perhaps five years ago, when Poppy
began pestering him more and more. He’d written a sign, letting everyone know
that, un-regrettably, he was out in the forest all day and wouldn’t return
It was foolproof. Poppy would usually pound on his door like
always, screaming his name. Then, she’d see the sign, sigh, and dejectedly walk
away, leaving behind her home-made valentine.
Branch found the sign, kept safely in his closet. And, like
so many times before, he rushed back to the elevator, jumped out of his bunker
and imbedded the sign in the dirt next to his rock. And even though he told
himself this would be the most relaxing day in the year, and that he’d have a
blast not talking to anyone, he found himself frowning as he climbed back into
the bunker, closing the entrance.
No one would be bothering him for the rest of the day. That
much, Branch was sure of.
Branch walked to his table, tugging the curtain open as he
removed the previous valentines Poppy had made him. Each one was unique,
varying in color from bright purple to soft pink. He sat in the chair, letting
the various cards scatter around the table. Branch sighed, reading and
rereading the various encouraging messages on each card.
He lightly tapped one, a gentle tune bursting forth, Poppy’s
voice singing gently.
“You are my sunshine,
my only sunshine,
You make us happy,
even though you’re grey,
You’ll never know,
Branch, how much we love you,
Please come out, and
join us today!”
A smile tugged at his lips as he rested his head on the
table, staring at the valentine. It was ironic, in a way. Poppy claiming that Branch was the one that would never know
how much she loved him. He frowned, eyes narrowing as his
gut twisted. Branch grabbed a fresh paper and pencil, scribbling down a
“You are my sunshine, my only sunshine,
You make me happy,
even though I’m grey,
You’ll never know, Poppy, how much I…”
Branch stopped, eyebrows knitting together as his pencil
hovered just above the paper. Dejectedly, he let the pencil fall from his hands
as he grabbed the paper and gently ripped it apart.
“So stupid,” he
muttered, dragging a hand over his eyes as he leaned back in the chair. A
sudden pounding on the door above caused him to jump, his eyes darting up.
“Branch!” Poppy screamed
as Branch shook his head. He reclined back, arms supporting his head as he set
his feet on the table. “Branch! Branch!
In five seconds she’d notice the sign. She’d then give a
sigh, probably mutter something about this happening every year, and leave his
valentine gently on his welcome mat. Then she’d walk away, singing some love song.
“Branch!” She called, voice echoing. Branch counted down the
seconds on his fingers. And five, four,
three, two—“Branch, Creek told me you’re in there—the sign isn’t going to
fool me this time!”
Branch froze, eyes widening. His shoulders tense, eyes darting
to the table where the many valentines sat. Crap.
Branch leapt from his
chair as he snatched the letters, shoving them back in their place. He swooshed
the curtains shut, pressing his back against the wall as he attempted to calm
down. What was he supposed to do? This had never happened before—Oh, curse
Creek! He should have known that slimy good-for-nothing Troll was up to
something. Branch’s eyes caught the bold letters of his Survival guide book. In
an instant, he was leaping across the room, snatching it off the table, and
flipping through the pages.
“Come on, come on,” he whispered. Aha!
Poppy’s figured out
Step 1: Do not panic.
Well, it was a little too late for that. But no matter, he
Step 2: Figure out
what she wants while acting like a grump.
Branch nodded his head, he could do that.
Step 3: Crush the
valentine and slam your door shut.
An empty feeling crept into his stomach as he looked up to
where Poppy was still shouting for him. Sure, he crushed all her party invites,
ripped them to shreds, even… But to do that to a valentine? He wasn’t so sure.
“Branch!” Poppy dragged out her words, reminding Branch of a
whale as he pulled the lever on his elevator. “Branch! Braaaanch! Branch!”
He heard a thud as Poppy stomped on the ground in
“Branch!” She snapped. “Come out!”
“What?” Branch responded, opening the flap on his welcome
mat. “What do you need?”
Poppy gave a gasp, rushing over to it with a grin.
“What do you mean, ‘what
do I need’,” she scoffed, holding something behind her back. “It’s
Valentine’s day—and even hermits like you
need to come out for air! Now get out here, I have something for you.”
Branch let the flap close, swallowing as he thought about
Step 3. He shook his head as he opened the hatch and climbed out. His arms were
crossed over his chest, an unamused frown placed on his face.
“What?” He asked as Poppy practically buzzed, bouncing on
“Well, I thought this year I’d give you your Valentine in
person, soooo,” she dragged out,
carefully taking the pink heart from behind her back. She shoved it forward, a
grin practically cracking her cheeks. “Happy Valentine’s day, Branch!”
Branch swallowed thickly. Accept it! Crush it! Accept it! No, crush it! No, you have to accept
it! She’ll invite you to her stupid party and then you’ll have to reject her.
It’s easier to just crush the stupid valentine! She’ll never talk to you again
if you crush it!
“Well?” Poppy laughed. “Aren’t you gonna take it?”
Branch bit his lip, looking at the outstretched heart. He rolled
his eyes and sighed, reaching out and snatching up the heart.
“Fine, whatever,” he scoffed as Poppy beamed. “Is that all
“Well, actually,” Poppy took another step forward. Branch
raised a brow and took a step back. “Our friends are all going to have a
slumber party and—“
snapped, turning around to jump back into his bunker. Poppy frowned, crossing
“No?” She asked. “I didn’t even get to finish what I was
Branch turned around, glaring.
“You were going to ask me to come along, and my answer is
“But it’ll be so much fun!” Poppy protested. “We’ll all be
there—Fuzzbert and Cooper and Biggie and Satin and Chenille and Guy Diamond, and
Suki—oh! And Creek!”
Branch grunted as he kicked open the welcome mat door to his
“Come on, you never come to any of my parties. You need some
“No, I need some peace and quiet,” Branch gave her one last
withering look. “Besides, knowing you lot the singing will be non-stop,
attracting the Bergen’s right to the village.”
Poppy let out a groan, pinching the bridge of her nose. “Branch,
come on! We haven’t seen a Bergen in ages! They’re not going to find us.”
“No, they’re not going to find me!” Branch crossed his arms,
scowling. “However, when you’re lost in song, singing your loudest, a Bergen
will strike and it will be entirely your fault when everyone you love gets
Poppy gasped, hand covering her mouth as she stumbled
back. Branch jumped into his bunker,
giving the hatch door a slam. For a moment, neither of them said anything.
“Happy Valentine’s day, Branch,” he heard Poppy mutter dejectedly
as she turned away and headed back towards the village. Branch felt his heart
give a painful twist as she walked away, not a single note springing from her
lips as she went. Quietly, he reached into his pocket, gently removing the pink
It was glittered to the max, swirling letters scrawled
gently in the middle.
My dad always says that all you need in life is love, but a little
chocolate now and then doesn’t hurt! Have a happy Valentine’s day and know that
you are forever and always loved by your friends.
Branch turned the card around, a small box glued to the other
side. He opened it, a large chocolate truffle tumbling out into his palm. He
sunk to the ground, nibbling on the piece of candy as he read the card again. Branch
pulled the lever, elevator sliding down into his bunker as he continued to
read. With a sigh, he stood up, heading back over to the table. He grabbed a
piece of paper and his pencil, sitting down with a thump.
L is for the laughter you give me every day.
O is for the optimism, you always send my way.
V is for the value, of being my only friend.
E is for eternity, my love for you has no end.
Branch set the pencil down, looking over the card with a
frown. He could never give this to her. He wasn’t worth her. Branch stood,
grabbing the letter as he rushed to his room. He reached under his bed,
removing a tattered yellow box. He flipped open the lid, pressing his Valentine
into it with a scowl. He slapped the lid back on, choosing not to dwell on the
many replies he’d written over the years.
Valentine’s day was his least favorite holiday. Yes, he
hated the many hugs exchanged. Despised the loud singing and dance numbers. But
his least favorite part? The part that made this single holiday the most
Every year, Poppy strived to make him a letter or card. And
every year he repaid her by pretending she didn’t exist or telling her she
would be the reason all her friends died. Branch let his head bang against the
wall, eyes squeezed shut as he held the heart shaped card close to his chest.
This is the problem with being easily amused. You’re having fun in your own perception of the world, and others don’t know how to react to it because you’re so different than they are, and you’re not falling into the normal parameters of what they’re used to as far as interacting with others.
… That was more verbose than I expected.
This is not gonna end well. Kanaya’s pasting John’s conversation as Rose, so a younger John can read it.
This is gonna have hilarious consequences, or something profound will be said.
Ah, so, movie critic part 2.
John in the future trolled Kanaya by impersonating Rose. That conversation caused Kanaya to troll Rose in the past. Which led Kanaya to contact John to troll him.
The thing that really stood out to me about your writing is how you change small, insignificant things sentimental. The ducks. The Troll post-its. Poppy flowers. A bug and a monkey having sex. Things like that
Spinsie answers my question: “Why are Skeptics so important to convince?” and lays down the law of the land.
Hi Anna! Spinsie here, wearing my flak jacket as the nanny-nonnies continue to launch their spitballs. A spectacularly lovely person has posed some very pertinent questions, so I have provided a response.
Why are the Skeptics so important to convince? Why would anyone care what we have to say about this ridiculous situation? Why are we being monitored so closely? Aren’t we supposed to be the crazy paranoid ones whose opinions do not matter? I can’t help feeling like we’re missing the big picture here..
I wonder this a lot. We’re variously tagged as mental, obsessed, malevolent, envious, deluded and pathetic; it really does beg the question as to why anyone bothers reading our posts or bothering to change our views.
I can only offer an opinion(s), and only based on what I see. I don’t have any inside information about the secret lives of Rachel and whoever she married. I’ve sorted these random thoughts in to sections because sub-headings can be fun sometimes. I’ve started with the obvious and then moved onto more opinion based responses.
We’re on social media, on a pretty big site that is populated by lots of fandoms. We’re part of a well-known fandom so we’re sitting ducks for trolling, and sitting ducks for the Tea Party type nans who are convinced that anyone who disagrees with the enforced narrative is the enemy and must be punished. That would account for a large amount of our detractors. We also engage with them a lot, so it makes their attacks worthwhile. (For what its worth, I think at least some of the trolling is a desperate attempt for company. I’m not excusing people who do it, I’m just suggesting that sometimes they are a good deal more lonely than we realise.)
A bit not good
Sceptics of anything rarely get good press. They’re also prime targets for derision, and mocking them is an easy way to scare off anyone who doubts the pushed narrative. I am sure a lot of closet sceptics are very scared of being ostracized by their followers or doxxed by the nans. Staying silent is a safe option, and therefore the nans’ punishments could be viewed as very effective.
Yes, some sceptic views are controversial, but I’ve yet to find a valid reason why the nans think it is their role to police that, particularly when there is so much toxicity out there on the webs that could use some policing. In any case, anyone with a ounce of common sense would realise that one person’s view does not represent a whole group’s view. The more wily nans have sought to take the most controversial views and present them as the general sceptic view, when, if they had any nous, they’d be plastering their sites with rock solid proof of how great the Batch union and progeny are. They’d have pictures and irrefutable arguments and could drown us out with their reason.
A rational person would just block sites they don’t want to read; the nans just come back salivating daily, waiting to be outraged and inflamed. I wonder sometimes if they actually secretly like us.
Nan Power in anonymity
There must be a lot of comfort to be had in joining group onslaughts anonymously. The nannies live on anon and can say whatever hateful things they want to and about us. All it takes is a couple of the more vituperative nannies to give implied permission to the other more timid nannies and next thing you know, the sceptics are inundated with pompous, patronizing nonny posts.
Importantly for the nans - while we’re busy defending ourselves against their tirades, we’re not posting the pregnancy pics or discussing the blinds or questioning whatever Seb is writing now. It’s an old tactic – keep your opponents defending and their arguments will never look valid.
Which leads me to …
I’d like to enact a sceptics’ legislation, a law that requires every single nanny-nonny submission to be answered with the pregnancy chronology pics. New rule, nannies: no one gets an answer, justification or defence until you explain the how Rachel’s pregnancy worked. As soon as a nanny - or indeed anyone – can provide a plausible explanation as to how Rach twisted her pregnancy body on the Vogue couch, why she shilled a wedding dress she obviously didn’t wear, how her belly was upside down in Brora Brora, how she bowed at LL and how she wore her old size 4 non-maternity clothes when she was seven months pregnant, then we’ll start arguing.
Section 2 of the act forbids any nanny to use details of their experiences as their reasons. No one gives a toss what nannies wore in their pregnancy or that they were able to scale Big Ben two days before going into labour. All nannies who wish to present their case are required to explain only Rachel’s experiences, and to provide receipts. Section 2b defines receipts as not being People, a Daily Fail article or any other news report or tweet.
The legislation will allow special credit to any nanny who can adequately explain why Rachel BLURRED HER HUSBAND’S FACE in images she used to sell a pair of shoes. I mean, seriously. Why nannies, WHY? What part of that action suggests this is a normal union? What part of that action doesn’t unsettle your belief that this pair is in love? TELL US. Explain how that blurring is the action of a normal devoted spouse.
Just buy the thing
We’re actively refusing to accept a popular product. That form of dissent is never popular.
What’s more, the product is an actor who, up until last November, had a peculiar, organic charm, and a large tightly gathered, vocal fandom that appreciated an actor who seemed genuinely funny and creative. In the last year we’ve seen him streamlined, seemingly taken over by corporations. He’s become a lot less palatable for the rustic crowd, and a lot more digestible for the mass market. Sad, but not unusual. He seems to want a franchise and the perks that come with that. His (varied) handlers seem to believe that in order to achieve global success and represent the value of a studio, he has to present a particular image.
No one wants to believe their fave could be so easy to repackage. Anyone who argues that he is, is not going to popular.
Nans: a field guide
How much of the trolling and opposition is from the nans, and how much is outside influence? I’d say, based on what I see, that about 80% comes from nans, 20% from outside. I don’t think the outside influence is really interested in pushing the narrative and if they are, they’re dopier than I originally thought: they don’t have to push the narrative anymore. It’s pushed. That Rach and Whoever are married, procreating, parenting, buying houses and living the dream is the default setting these days.
I think the outside influence is entrenched in sexism and elitism and driven by nastiness. They depict the sceptics as mad fangirls who wanted to marry a actor, and view them as an exclusively shameless female base who will never get their picture in Tatler, sprouting opinions and sprinkling snark over a pair of privileged polished upper middle class actors who are selling everything from cars to clogs and expecting their pitches to be received without question. They never refute any sceptic views, just insult and degrade.
The sceptics’ refusal to bow is annoying for the outsiders, I’ve no doubt. I envisage the outsiders as privileged and not used to being challenged by those they perceive as less important. I interpret the outside trolling as frustration, shouting down ornery commoners who won’t accept Rachel and Whoever’s intrinsic superiority. Their on-going wailing has no impact yet they keep coming back, so it must be for their own benefit.
Why won’t we just die
As for infighting amongst the sceptics – well, both the nans and the outsiders would love watching that. We’re a pretty broad church and yet we’ve been, until recently, pretty friendly. Worse, we’ve been defiant and refuse to shut up. No matter what they do, we just keep blogging. That would have to be a great source of irritation to nans and outsiders. Divide and conquer is their only hope. Watching us squabble would delight them, so of course the less stable (or desperate) amongst them would come charging in to keep the fights going.
(And this is just a guess, but if you hypothetically ran a website business that specialized in shaping social media perceptions, wouldn’t it look great on your CV if you could prove you took down an opposing faction for a big client?)
Fifty shades of beige (and they’re all beige)
Finally – the whole fauxmance was fascinating in its early stages. As celebrity watching goes, it’s boring now. I think the nans are as bored as us. Batch and Rachel may have learnt to hold hands, but she’s never going to make any exciting fashion choices and he’s no longer the charming goofy person he was two years ago. They both look fairly glum.
We’re more quiet these days because we’ve grown so used to the Batch process of red carpets and sour faces. I daresay the sceptic ranks will continue to grow as long as the Batches keep trudging down the red carpet. We just won’t be as vocal, or as noticed. We might get the occasional laugh (I so hope she is making mood boards to celebrate the baby’s teething) but even those things will get dull eventually.
I think the nans are as bored as us. They troll and provoke a lot more when there’s no news.
As for the final outcome – well, the Batches have managed to keep it going for a year. If they do break up, we won’t hear about it until it’s all sorted, months in the past and finalised. Any truth behind the union or the break up will be skillfully buried. If I’m wrong, and there is a blaze of publicity and an unspeakable scandal, I expect the nans will all come rushing over here, insisting they were always sceptics and they never liked Rachel at all. The outsiders will disappear instantly.
There’s always hope
If you liked Batch and admire his work, that’s still available to all of us. I really enjoyed the Sherlock special. Sometimes I re-watch TTSP and marvel at how good he can be, and remind myself that he will continue to get better and better. Who knows what kind of films he’ll make in the future. Consider the long term for a moment: what if he breaks through the mainstream US market – aided by the fact he is “married and parenting” - and establishes himself a world wide audience? What if he uses that power to produce interesting films, star in exceptional roles and is able to take some creative risks because he’s scrambled to the top of the pile?
Time for bed
I think the nans are unavoidable, but we don’t have to entertain them. Let’s change the tune and make them work for their supper. Rather than having us have to prove our views to them, have them prove theirs to us. I do know that nothing I’ve seen or heard so far has changed my mind, and every foot stamping, bad mannered nanny makes me more convinced that we’re witnessing a clumsy PR stunt.
Thank you Spinsie for this absolutely brilliant post!
I hereby pledge to uphold the Spinsie Law from here on out.