Category: Action angst
Characters: Walter and an overly-confident boxing opponent
Summary: The year is 1955, and boxer!Walter kicks some ass. Walter is a youngin' here, so he's not really gone completely over the deep end (pre-Kitty, pre-Roche).
Warnings: Boxing, blood, and Walter
( And, gleaming out of the gymnasium's window, the sun seemed to sanctify this one moment in crisp light. )
I'm in love with Rag&Bone. I'm 19, but I'd really like to pull of some of these sleek, tailored looks. I don't want to end up looking too straight-edge... but I hate all the sloppy fashions out lately-- well, it's just not my thing to wear torn pants, neons, and slouchy T-shirts. It's cool when people can do that look well, but I never can... XD
I'm a peasant and probably couldn't even afford a pair of socks from this place BUT. . . I can always draw fashion inspiration from stuff like this, right?
I think that it's puzzling how hair color became some sort of indicator of personality...especially when it comes to women (although I do think men, especially ginger men, get a lot of unnecessary grief as well).
Not to make sweeping generalizations (but, really, I guess I must in this case, considering the topic), but blonde women are often portrayed in books and media as vapid, materialistic sex fiend's with no other real purpose besides being eye candy, reducing them to nothing but coveted objects. Brunettes are sometimes considered the antithesis of blondes-- the sweet, nerdy little wallflower which nobody notices until it's "too late". Redheaded women are either A) some sort of destructive, hot-headed femme fatale or B) the bookworm which no boy/girl would dream of dating.
I know I'm not the only one who thinks these generalizations are ridiculous. And blatantly misogynistic. And just plain boring ... how shallow can you get by judging others by their hair color? When you think about it, it's revoltingly stupid.
And, as said above, I think this generalization applies to the boys as well. Redheaded boys tend to get the worst treatment, I think-- although, personally, I find boys with freckles and ginger hair can be very attractive (or, just as attractive as blonde or brunettes). What I've heard from ginger boys (that I know, in any case), is that girls either think they're freaks,"cute" (which is, I've been told, code for "not ugly, but I'm not interested" when applied to ginger guys-- it's a sort of neutral, limbo term), or "surprisingly" good-looking for a ginger. Interestingly, ginger guys don't seem to get the same sort of generalizations applied to them as ginger girls -- ginger guys aren't always assumed to be nymphomaniacs like ginger girls.
Considering that redheads are rare... maybe "gingerism" is a result of being, for lack of a better word, "targeted" because of the recessive redheaded gene. I'm not 100 % sure about this point, but I'm just brainstorming right now...
Well, I've nattered on enough for one day, I think... :D
As you walk by, you notice Number 102 smells like meatloaf on unwashed plastic plates... and 105 smells like apricots and jasmine. You imagine that some luxurious old lady lives in 105, still wearing chamagne-colored silk dressing gowns from the Golden Age. Of course, she'd be wearing fine pearls, sipping bitter Columbian coffee from a china cup given to her by a long-ago admiring movie star, and lightly scanning a novel in the sun (she'd only read the discriptions, and skip the dialogue).
All you can conjure up for 102 The Meatload Room is a messy young couple, animals, practically, never taught to clean up after themselves. Dirt. Grime. Scattering their ill-fitting clothes on lampshades and stovetops. You bet they think they are so charming, like little Holly Golightlys, putting their shoes in the fridge. Ha. You pass them by.
Your Room 108, you get out your keys... the gold and copper keys, and a single silver one... eyeing the shining and glinting colors, you imagine "Make news friends/ but keep the old/ one is silver and the other gold" in a twelve-year-old's high pitched voice yearning to earn a badge that in a month she'll forget about. You think of a time when being twelve would've seemed old-- because now it seemed strangely young, yet not so far off. You're eighteen, only a sliver of six years' difference.
Not a big difference, weirdly close to the messy twenty-something couple and the demure seventy-something lady.
And you think how silly you're being, while unlocking the door. You finish your English and History reading, fret about midterms, text friends with gnawed nails, and fall unintentionally asleep at your desk.
Role Model #1:
Catherine the Great of Russia... one hardcore bitch, but she was good at her job. And I've seriously got to admire the fact she got the ultimate revenge on her abusive husband... she was one powerful woman, for sure...
Role Model #2: So this is my fangirly post of the day... Twiggy was awesome. Even though I think she looked a bit too thin, Twiggy still brought a new perspective of beauty and fashion for the 1960s.
One day, when I'm all grown up, I'm going to save this place. Maybe turn it into a school, or something... (yes, yes, I know it resembles Hogwarts :D )... anwyway, one can dream, right?