riverdresses: ([dw] katarina ; lost but not forgotten)

(I like Tumblr + Twitter far too much.)

♥ I am currently losing sleep due to the splendour of the Karen Gillan tag on Tumblr. Karen, Karen, Karen! ♥

♥ & I felt like reviving this meme, because I've been listening to them nonstop for the past couple of weeks. & I did it on Tumblr as well & should probably let the love spill out over here as well. Chameleon Circuit are fucking amazing & I love them as much as any of my other favourite artists. They're just brilliant & adorable & so surpremely talented.

O, & everyone should go & look up their song Silence And The End Of All Things - a beautiful song for Amy & Eleven at the end of The Big Bang Two. I've had it on repeat for three days now & it makes me teary-eyed every.single.fucking.time. within the first minute of it. As soon as I hear 'when you wake up, you'll have a mum and dad, but I'll be just a story/that's okay/we're all just stories in the end/so live well and love rory', my eyes just fill with tears. It can be very problematic when one is listening to it on the bus, but that's what waterproof eye makeup & (stolen) designer sunglasses are for.

Answer the following questions using only the song titles of a chosen band.

I chose Chameleon Circuit.

1. Are you male or female? Kiss The Girl
2. Describe yourself. Teenage Rebel
3. What do people feel when they’re around you? The Sound of Drums
4. How would you describe your previous relationship? Silence And The End of All Things
5. Describe your current relationship. Type 40
6. Where would you want to be now? Gallifreyan History 101
7. How do you feel about love? Mr. Pond
8. What’s your life like? Nightmares
9. What would you ask for if you had only one wish? Travelling Man
10. Say something wise. Exterminate, Regenerate

Two & five were actually a lot harder than you'd think. I settled on my answer for five because I'm quite sure my laptop & I have a Doctor/TARDIS bond at times. & because the love of a TARDIS = better than any other kind of love. & I settled on Teenage Rebel for two because I'm just eternally seventeen at heart. & I was a girl when I learnt how to run. So there.

(& as for three . . . well, I probably scare people. & everyone who meets me probably thinks I'm straight-up mental & not in the good way. Too bad I'll never be as BAMF as the Master is. Ah, well.)

♥ I picked out my lesson books today & am going back later in the day to pay for them properly since I needed the barbarian's ident card. It's getting closer & closer, my return to lessons & to having to learn to (mildly) resocialise with people. It's making me feel stressy & slightly ill.

♥ Visiting my favourite uncle & his family for karaoke tonight! ::bounces:: I love karaoke, you know - it's my biggest guilty pleasure! As a former stage actress, I absolutely adore it, even if I can't sing.

. . . & the times we would have had now never had inside that box of bluest blue . . .
riverdresses: (Default)

I felt that if I just laid down among so many books, all the sleeping thoughts around me, I had the best chance of blossoming back into myself, to remember who I was.

It's gone now. But it's a good sign.

Posted via LiveJournal app for iPhone.

riverdresses: (four ;; figure it out)
I do seem to talk an awful lot about fashion, fandom, the combination of both & other such things, don't I? Though I think it would surprise some people to learn that I (very sadly) sometimes don't always practise the applications of such. & really, if I'm going to babble on about it constantly, I should apply it, shouldn't I?

Well, today, I decided I would.

A Theory of Practical Fandom to Fashion Influences in Everyday Styles, In Addition to a Semi-Comprehensive Fashion Review of The Third & Fourth Doctors, written & compiled by miss Sunday, in Her Sheer & Utter Madness.*

What it says on the tin, basically. )

caps: by myself in VLC Media Player. You're welcome to take them, but please credit me.
Episodes capped: The Three Doctors, The Claws of Axos (the Third Doctor), Robot & The Ark in Space (the Fourth Doctor).

*the title of this, obviously, is not meant to be taken seriously. I just thought it sounded cute. Have some fun please!
riverdresses: (ten ;; judge & jury)
I decided today, that what I need, is a dress. A Doctor-esque dress, of course, brown & white pinstriped.

So I sat & thought a bit more on this dress. It couldn't be just any sort of boring dress you'd buy in a shop, like the kind I always see in the high-priced shops in the city. No, this dress would have to be made with lots of things in mind, beyond fabric & inspiration.

First, it would need petticoats. Lots & lots & lots of short, soft & white petticoats; the sort that puff skirts out to twice their real flat sizes. They should be made of the softest, fluffiest, most comfiest of cotton & should be removable, in the event you simply must take them off. The dress would also need little pockets, iPod-sized, with a button to close it on the skirt. (I detest things with no pockets!! Where are my hands supposed to go?)

The top of the dress would be an entirely different affair. None of this neckline-that-isn't-really-a-neckline-at-all-but-a-flimsy-excuse-to-just-barely-cover-a-girl's-boobs, thankyouverymuch, but a nice, scoop-ish sort of neckline, or even better, that sort of neckline with little puffed cap sleeves! (though that could make the dress a bit childish looking, but I think it could be properly pulled off if the neck's done right.) This sort of dress just won't work with straps of any width; it would look silly & rather disregarding of its own inspiration.

The skirt's length is a bit tricky though. I suppose knee-length or maybe an inch above the knee would be fine & one wouldn't have to worry about bending over in the dress, what with all of that froth hiding your bloomers (or dare I suggest, the lack of them?) properly. Any longer, the dress wouldn't work at all, any shorter & it would just spit on the original idea of the dress.

It would of course zip up in the back. But what sort of zipper would it have? A big, rather obvious one, or one of those silly delicate ones that rip from the dress's top when you tug it all together? Pulling it over your head just doesn't seem very elegant, at least to me.

& of course, accessories. A great big matching hairbow, because really, what is such a lovely dress without a hairbow? (though I never wear them - not pretty enough for one!)

Maybe white kneesocks? (with that dress? Adorable, I say!!) & of course, because really, this wouldn't be too much fun without them - white Converse. Or maybe black. Or, if one would prefer, big four inch platform Alice in Wonderland shoes. Maybe rocking horse ballerinas, but the straps would have to be worn very low on your legs. Otherwise it would just look silly.

(of course, the blue & white version would look damn fantastic too, but it would need a bit of lace somewhere on it. Not a lot, not an overpowering amount, maybe just around the sleeves. Of course, you'd only be able to wear white kneesocks with it, I think, & maroon Converse or the black platforms. But it would be just as nice a dress as the first!)

yes, I know. I think too damn much. ::hides::

(& I think most of the above came from rereading this post & from one that [livejournal.com profile] soundthedrums made last night, I do believe.)

☄ ☄ ☄ ☄ ☄ ☄ ☄ ☄ ☄ ☄

☁ ☁ ☁ Another reason (among many) for me to one day escape to England: Vivienne Westwood. Even if I never got to buy anything, to just touch all of that beauty, & maybe . . . a pair of rocking horse ballerinas wait for me over there? Original rocking horse ballerinas? Maybe? Possibly?

My name was Vivienne once. Of course, I was young at the time, so I picked it because it was exotic & prettily spelled, but sigh, it was a lovely name.

(how long can a name reasonably be, anyway?)

☁ ☁ ☁ It is an odd bit of news to admit - I used to smoke a bit, when I was a sillier, less (if ever!) grounded teenager. Not a lot & not constantly, mind you, but I did it. I stopped after my aunt passed on from lung cancer two years ago, but o, I rather miss it now. Yes, I know it's an awful habit & frankly, not that attractive, but I quite miss it nonetheless. I suppose that it doesn't help that anytime I work out of doors, ninety people are sitting next to me smoking away & blowing.it.in.my.face.the.fucking.assholes. At least I don't do that to people when I do it!

(I'm such a poisonous girlthing sometimes.)

☁ ☁ ☁ Does anyone care to offer an explanation as to why I'm not only a) reading a fair bit of Master/Martha ficcage lately but b) downloading mixes for them? WHAT AM I DOING TO MYSELF I DON'T KNOW. More to the point, when did I start liking anything that wasn't Gwen/Martha? (yes, I have an odd fondness for Gwen/Martha. Nope, can't explain this one either.) Hell, I don't even LIKE to ship Martha with anyone that isn't Rose or Gwen, okaaaay. AT ALL! Martha's awesome on her own!

Hmm. O, well, whatcanyahdo? ::laughs::

(& the mix in question is here & HOW HOT IS MARTHA, JUST WANT TO SAY. Why I'm STILL not writing the Ten/Martha clubbing!porn of HOT is beyond me. O, wait, it's 'cause I'm so shy about things like writing. OKAY, DONE THERE.)
riverdresses: (miscellaneous ;; here in elysia)
I ♥ music

& I ♥ the TARDIS


music + the TARDIS = a theme of music for the TARDIS, her Doctor & the lucky few who travel with them

Her Space Holiday - Gravity Fails Us

There's a time you aren't really going anywhere, just moving through an unpronounceable star system while the Doctor works on some much needed repairs to the TARDIS. You aren't used to everything being so low-key, even though the Doctor's still racing about, dropping this & that & explaining how each part of the TARDIS works when you ask. After a while, you fall into a rhythm - he talks, softly, gently & you listen. Questions taper off after a while & you just lie down on the cool floor of the TARDIS, feeling the metal of the floor pressing gently against your back, feeling every hum & vibration travelling through your body. You close your eyes & just take it all in, the air against your skin, the surprising comfortableness of the floor, the soothing, soft sound of the Doctor's voice as he explains everything you wanted to know & some things you didn't.

Soon, you can't tell which is which - his voice, the sounds of the TARDIS or even your own voice. Everything is just there, inside your mind, all gentle & soft, a lullaby you've always known, even before you really heard it.

At the peak of the sound, of the noise, of the song, you don't even care which is which anymore. You've relaxed so that you're part of the TARDIS now, not living on or standing on, or lying on - you can hear everything he says, with her gentle commentary behind his voice.

'He does prattle on', she says, & you think, if she were a person, she'd be smiling as she said that.

You feel soothed by this; you feel like for once, you understand his affection for the TARDIS, because she's finally telling you.

This shouldn't end. You just lie there, eyes closed, hearing both of them inside your mind, tasting metal as the Doctor inexplicably runs his tongue over a lever near the main controls. She laughs with you as he does, an almost imperceptible twinkling sound behind your eyes.

Her Space Holiday - and things are mostly ghosts

You're just so tired after running for your life all the way back to the TARDIS, that you've just collapsed onto the floor when the Doctor goes to make you tea. You try to block out the screams, the blood, the dead bodies you were both practically tripping over as you ran.

You wake up sometime later & find his coat over you. You're still on the floor, your head resting on your arms & him lying next to you, smiling. You wonder two things - where is the tea & if you're dreaming.

He can feel how rattled you are. You do your best not to show it, but it's useless to hide anything from him. He's going to know, somehow, sometime. Even so, you just don't say anything. He pulls you into himself, arms around you, one hand in your hair. It's a position that feels more organic than anything you know.

you cannot help but believe in those curves, the gentleness of those arms.

You close your eyes & look at him after a moment.

The smile is gone.

Outside, you can hear the planet's last screams, the explosion.

Later, he'd swear to you he could hear the people screaming for him to save them.

My Elastic Eye - The Chemical Brothers

Of course he's crazy. Completely, utterly, fully cracked in the head & makes no attempt to hide this, no matter what he becomes. Leather jacket or pinstriped suit, he's just mad.

But really, riding on the force of an exploding star for a laugh? You weren't expecting that!

Of course, that didn't stop you from enjoying it as much as you did, even if you slammed into the railing & ended up with a bit of a bruise on your back.

Of course he'd get to come out of it unscathed.


You wonder when you'll be able to convince him to do it again.

Ladytron - Sugar

Granted, you never had the most favourable impression of New New York after what you went through there - you'd really be glad to never see it again as long as you were travelling with the Doctor. But he seems to enjoy visiting it, even though he won't admit to it, oddly.

So you browse around in the open-air markets (they actually have those so far from Earth?) & spend, spend, spend happily. They have everything, it seems.

Including dance clubs, which you haven't been in for so long. (school, then work, then the Doctor took priority over a night of dancing.) You want to go in, but the Doctor refuses & pulls you away for a lesson on emergency TARDIS repairs. You sigh & tease him about being a stick-in-the-mud. He simply arches one eyebrow & promises to show you a thing or two about dancing later, once you're back onboard the TARDIS.

Later you're sorting through the clothes you bought that afternoon, wondering if you can fit them in your closet. Hmm. May need to stop at home & drop your more worn things off.

You head up to the control room, only to be grabbed by the Doctor as you come in. You barely register the music playing, but once you do, it all comes back to you.

Suddenly, you're both dancing, for how long, you don't really know. Everything becomes about the music, the beat throbbing through your body, the sweat trickling down your back, the Doctor twirling you, dipping you, moving against you, his hipbones pressing into your back occasionally. You're not on the TARDIS anymore, your back in your favourite dance club, memories of strobe lights flashing through your head, dancing with your friends, joking about torturing every bloke in the place with your dancing. As long as the song keeps playing, you're dancing. You're dancing til you're both covered in sweat & out of breath, barely able to move, let alone sing or talk.

You feel the Doctor's hands on your hips, guiding you along to the beat of the music. You can feel his hands gripping tightly, his fingers brushing against a peek of skin revealed by your dancing. Your head's against his shoulder, your eyes closed. You listen to his breathing as the two of you keep moving in time to the song & to each other.

Finally, you collapse to the floor, both of you, laughing & panting from all the movement. You look at each other & just start laughing all over again, your laughter muffled slightly by your face pressed into his shoulder, his laughter sharp, clear, unrestrained, even as his sweat-soaked hair brushes your bare shoulder when his forehead rests there.

Radiohead - Up On The Ladder

Do the dance.

Travel everywhere.

Help people.

Show just a few the universe. Just a few.

One trip. That's all you've wanted to give them. One trip.

One becomes two. Two becomes three. Three becomes an invitation to travel, to see everything there is to see.

See everything you can see, until there's a war to fight, until there's an open hole in the universe, until you can't protect them anymore, until you realise you've shown them too much, the good & the bad, the ugliest side of everything you are.

You showed her a mirror. A mirror into what you know deep down, you could be. You showed her that mirror & killed any trace of innocence she might have had left.

Don't lie. You knew that innocence was marked the moment you kissed her. But you still did it.

'It doesn't mean anything.'

She saw right through that.

She saw right through that but you still couldn't resist bringing her into your world.

In the end, it all follows the same pattern, doesn't it?

you're all the fucking same.

abandon hope all who enter here

Elizabeth (Betsy). Twenty-two, almost twenty-three, but perpetually seventeen. Whirls back & forth between vulgarity & delicacies like a dervish proper & has been known to disappear for months on end. Worshipper of Carroll, devotee of Lovecraft & BPAL hoarder absolute. Destined for the madhouse.

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