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narraboths · 1 year ago

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“You got anything to tell me about yesterday’s interview, Ponytail?”

Being cornered by one’s editor is rarely a good sign. Being cornered by a harried Snapper Carr one month into her tenure as a rookie reporter would be enough to give others nightmares for a month. Maybe ulcers. Kara, though, she’s been having a great week, and she’s not about to let anyone ruin it.

“Nope.” She pops the p a little. Something about Snapper’s moroseness always pushes her to be spitefully chipper.

“Nothing out of the ordinary?”

“Not at all.”

“Hm.” Snapper nurses the thought with that dour, toothachey look that Kara’s come to learn is directed at her just as much as it is a sign of his general displeasure with the world. He pulls out his phone, jabbing at the screen. “So do you mind explaining to me why my cub reporter is on the front page of every gossip rag from here to Metropolis as the Mystery Blonde Caught in Luthor’s Web?”

That can’t be right is immediately the tip of Kara’s tongue but it freezes there, along with the incredulous laugh threatening to burst out of her, because Snapper is shoving his phone in her face and–

“It’s not what it looks like,” she blurts out, instinctively, then winces at her own choice of words. Great save. “I was just being considerate.”

It’s true, really. She was only holding the door open for Lena as they left L-Corp (Lena was on the move the whole day, they did half of the interview in the back of her Range Rover, flitting between offices), and it only happened that Lena’s hand fell to her forearm, a completely innocent gesture, as innocent as Lena’s smile, as the way she swayed a little closer, saying thank you as she strode by. And sure, Kara may have felt mesmerized for a single, fleeting moment, suddenly so deeply flustered by the gentle weight of Lena’s hand that she almost cracked the door handle in two, but who wouldn’t? Lena Luthor just has a remarkable presence. Why are they letting paparazzi camp out at the L-Corp doorstep, anyways?

“I’ve never seen Luthor that affectionate with anyone.” Snapper eyes Kara suspiciously, his face screaming why you of all people, bumbling rookie who can barely even spell?. “I’ve never seen any of the Luthors affectionate with anyone at all.”

“Guess it’s just my natural charm, sir.” Kara flashes the most annoyingly innocent smile she can, then squares her shoulders. “Did you actually read my article?”

There’s a beat of silence, Snapper staring daggers at her. Then finally, finally, he lets out an annoyed huff.

“Of course I read it. It’s going out first thing tomorrow.” He pockets his phone, then rubs his face with a tired motion. “Make sure this doesn’t happen again.”

“You got it, boss.”

It happens again.

It happens again a bunch, really. (Kara at the L-Corp gala, at Lena’s table, the two of them in lively conversation, shoulders pressed together – she was telling me about L-Corp’s new green energy initiative, sir –, the fond smile and almost-teasing tone when Lena calls “yes, Miss Danvers?” at her press conference – she’s just nice! It’s not a crime! –, the candid of them on the CatCo balcony when Lena’s in house for her cover shoot, Kara gesturing excitedly and Lena leaning against the railing, hanging onto every word, a jacket two sizes too big wrapped around her shoulders – you know it gets cold out there. At least there’s no photos of her wrapping the jacket around Lena, their hands brushing together, the faint blush along the lines of Lena’s throat. That’d probably look pretty suspicious.) Snapper’s face takes on increasingly vivid shades of purplish red.

“Do we need to go over the meaning of journalistic integrity again, Danvers?”

Kara decides to take graduating from “Ponytail” as a win.

“We’re not– it’s not anything untoward,” she shoots back, arms crossed, only slightly blushing. In anger, certainly. “I’m doing my job. I grilled her on L-Corp still holding a contract with the government for anti-alien defense systems that Lex negotiated, just last week. There’s footage.”

“Yeah,” Snapper grinds his teeth so vehemently that Kara’s afraid he might crack a crown. “Footage of her hugging you in the hallway afterwards, too. What the hell were you doing?”

“She just thanked me, sir.” The vein on Snapper’s neck looks ready to burst. Kara makes a mental note to recommend meditation at a less belligerent time. “She said my question made it possible for her to make a public stance and really send a message.”

Snapper looks like he’s nearing an aneurysm.

“Hell, Danvers, that sounds even worse!”

It sounded pretty great, actually, Kara thinks, after the borderline unprofessional row they had in Lena’s office when Kara first broached the subject. It felt pretty great, too, not just Lena’s declaration, her renewed commitment to reject everything Lex and Lillian stand for, but the warmth of Lena’s pressed against her, her lips brushing against Kara’s cheek, the low murmur of “you’re such a wonderful friend” in her ear that gave her such a strange shiver. At least that much thankfully escaped the prying eyes and cameras.

“Either I don’t go near her, or CatCo continues to have the leading stories on one of National City’s most high-profile citizens.” She gives Snapper the steeliest look she can muster without letting her heat vision flare up. “And my covers are currently bringing in our biggest numbers. Sir.”

Snapper grinds his teeth again, but his shoulders sag just a touch, and Kara knows she’s won this round.

“You’re on thin ice, Danvers. Back to your desk.”

Kara complies with a grin and a thumbs up, and decides to take a break half an hour later, when Alex forwards her an article titled Bosom Buddies: Lena Luthor Out And About With CatCo Gal Pal with a subtle mix of skull, knife, and eyeroll emojis. She does save one of the photos, though, the one where Lena’s head’s thrown back in adorable, delightful laughter.

“Can you explain this one, Danvers?”

Snapper doesn’t look angry this time. No, he’s strangely calm, somewhat elated, even, slamming a whole bundle of newspapers down on her desk, jolting Kara out of her reverie. Half of them are National City publications, Kara vaguely notes, but there’s Metropolis and Gotham and Central City in the mix, too, as if it was the story of the century. Must be a slow news day.

“Of course, sir. I think the proper term is ‘first date’?”

To her greatest surprise, Snapper barks out a laugh, loud and gruff.

“You’re now barred from any future reporting on the Luthors or L-Corp,” he tells her, not without a touch of satisfaction. If Kara hadn’t been walking on sunshine for the past thirteen hours, twenty-eight minutes and forty-one seconds, since the first tentative press of Lena’s lips against her own, she might’ve felt a bit miffed. “Cat Grant’s setting aside a little time later in the afternoon to chew you out personally.”

Kara nods happily along. Withering tones and grim disapproval, the usual spiel, as if anything could dull that buzzing, electrifying feeling coursing through her body since last night, the weightless, feverish joy that grips her every time she thinks of Lena’s last text and everything can’t wait to see you again tonight could possibly entail.

“Yessir.”

“Congratulations, Danvers.” Snapper raps his knuckles against her desk. “Let’s spare each other the heartburn from now on.”

(Kara shows up with a hickey on her neck and the headlines of Lena Luthor Packs PDA With New Girlfriend the next day. Snapper refuses to look her in the eyes for the rest of the week.)

#supercorp #supercorp fic #my fic

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99pansy · 23 days ago

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ss/mayo blogspot lore + frerard theory

hi I'm about to drop some insane lore that I don't think a lot of mcr fans/frerard theorists know about. this isn't discussed often so I figured I should write about it here before all the evidence is lost to time.

this is probably gonna be a long one so buckle in! i have gathered as much evidence here as possible but there's no way to be certain about anything. i'm trying to maintain as much journalistic integrity as i can throughout this post (also trying super hard not to insert my opinion too much) because i think a lot of this speaks for itself.

so i have a pretty significant frerard theory but i have to give a lot of backstory and documentation for it to fully make sense. this will not be in chronological order (to best suit the narrative) but i hope it makes sense

many people know about frank's F.T. Willz endeavors which have been proven as him in recent years. however, "ss" or "shitsubou shita" was another blog he had before this which is not widely known

around 2007, there was a major theory in the fandom that gerard and frank were running secret blogspot accounts where they'd post journals, poetry, etc. frank's account was iamthemodernprometheus.blogspot.com and gerard's supposed account was its-mayonaise.blogspot.com. both accounts are still up, though i'm not sure if any posts have since been deleted. this probably sounds crazy so i'll explain everything!

evidence for frank as SS/shitsubou-shita/iamthemodernprometheus

i strongly believe this was frank's personal blog, but you can come to your own conclusions based on this info

frank's supposed original blogspot handle was "shitsubou-shita." once fans realized this was his account, he deleted it pretty much immediately. you can read some fan discussion about the fall out from this in a comment thread here. this comment thread will be linked a few times in this post because most of the screenshots on this post originate from there.

apparently *frank* was posting some very personal thoughts/feelings on this blog that he did not want to be discovered. i'll go over some of the deleted posts in a minute, but first i need to give more a little more context.

at the same time the blog is found, someone comments "your fired" on a recent post. apparently some fans thought the comment looked strangely out of place, and it was one of the last comments left before the account's deletion, on one of the final posts made.

this will be relevant later on, and we'll get into the account's posts soon.

my theory is that someone on the "inside" could have found his personal blog and tried spooking him, which could have been the final straw for him. or, the account being deleted could be completely unrelated to the weird comment. all of this can be found here (same link i posted previously)

months after deleting their blog, shitsubou shita begins posting under a new url "iamthemodernprometheus" (but still under the pen name "shitsubou shita" or "ss" as fans called him)

in his new blog, and similarly to F.T. Willz years later, he still leaves plenty of crumbs for fans to figure out it's him. screenshot sources are below

latin heading: his page had a latin heading that when translated, reads "keep the faith"

bio on blogspot: "industry - chemicals", and "you dont stop playing cos you get old…you get old cos you stop playing" both sound suspiciously personal to frank

his url choice: "the modern prometheus" is the full title of mary shelley's frankenstein. frankenstein is a character that frank has always deeply resonated with due to his namesake, love of horror, and being born on halloween

spelling of wierd: SS and frank both spell "weird" as "wierd"

i think he enjoyed the mystery of having a secret online persona, which eventually led to the creation of F.T. Willz in 2008. it seems like wanted to leave just enough evidence for people to suspect it was him, but not enough to prove it.

here are some snippets of 2007 era discourse about the identity of "ss" and their deleted blog. you can find all of these comments and more context here. this was around the time gerard got married and fans felt like the dynamic on stage was different, and they were concerned about the future of the band. it's a LOT to go over so i would advise reading the comments if you want more perspective

on the next page, an anonymous comment is posted which fans immediately begin to speculate is SS (frank). again, if you click the link you can get way more context than i'm able to provide here.

this insinuates that SS frequented the comments on mayo's blog, which i don't think he would have done without believing/knowing mayo is gerard

there was a lot discussed in this thread including pretty solid evidence that frank/ss wrote the ancient and historic "eliza post"

if you are not aware of the eliza cuts drama, that's a totally different and equally as insane rabbit hole you'll have to research on your own

tldr; she is gerard's mentally unstable ex-fiance who he was engaged to very shortly before lindsey

gerard and eliza got engaged on may 22, 2007 (the last show of the black parade tour) according to this reddit comment.

the "eliza post" went up on june 4, 2007. here is the post in its entirety:

"Hi I felt I had to write to you guys to allay some of your fears regarding the rumours and speculation surrounding Gerard and Eliza and the future of the band. This is the only time I will ever post. I will not be able to respond to your comments or enter into discussion or debate on what I'm about to say. We are aware that this is one of the most popular message boards for MCR fans and we know you guys are the most dedicated and loyal fans in the world. It saddens me to see such division amongst the fans over one woman. If it's any consolation, you guys are not the only ones affected. She is merely tolerated by both band and crew. Believe me, nothing anyone can say will change his mind. She's been the cause of numerous conflicts and while we dont have to like it, we have to accept it, at least for the forseeable future. From day one this woman has had a hidden agenda - her manipulation knows no bounds. Some of you may find this difficult to believe but I assure you I have personally witnessed the two sides of this woman. Her so-called 'good deeds' are nothing more than PR exercises for his benefit. But he does not see what goes on behind closed doors. We have tried to draw his attention to her blatant self-promotion and diva demands. This is a prime example of love being blind. His feelings for her do run very deep. Her feelings for him, however, are questionable at best. Many people believe, including myself, that he is being used as nothing more than a stepping stone. It's disheartening to see someone you care about and have worked with for a very long time change as a person, becoming more detached and causing the group dynamic to change as a result. There have been conflicts and differences of opinions and compromises have had to be made She does not accompany the band on the European legs of the tour. Since being on this current European leg, he seems much happier which suggest she doesnt make him as happy as he thinks. Despite being asked more than once to remain discreet, she blatantly disregards his wish to keep his personal life private by continually fuelling the internet hype. The band has always been about the music and the fans. This will not change. MCR have never endorsed any type of clique as it encourages and promotes the kind of high school mentality that MCR have always fought against. Your continued support is appreciated and rest assured this woman will have no adverse affect on the band and the music. For obvious reasons I am remaining anonymous. Eliza, we know you trawl these message boards and you probably know who I am - but I'd like to see you try and prove it!!!"

it's clear that whoever wrote this had a very strong distaste for eliza and was deeply troubled by the idea of gerard marrying her. based on the language used and style of writing, i strongly believe frank wrote this post. i'll be circling back to this in a minute, because i have a little more to go over.

for more evidence that SS is frank, we can reference this reddit comment made just 9 months ago by someone heavily involved in the blogspot community at the time, kapunua. their username on this post is "ReallyKapu."

if you read through the comment links I provided earlier, you may see their name pop up. they are also mentioned by name on the "iamthemodernprometheus" blog. if you also search "kapunua mcr" on google, you can verify their involvement in the blogspot community at the time.

kapunua is also mentioned in its-mayonaise's post here (no screenshot provided for this one, its just a small mention)

there's also a screenshot of a different comment kapunua made about 9 years ago with similar information. i found the screenshot here.

evidence that "mayo" is gerard

as mentioned in the post above, mayo often used british english syntax in his posts. he also posted about some pretty juicy stuff including a blowjob poem (you can seek that out yourself)

using british english isn't out of the ordinary for gerard. he often used an accent on stage during this time. moreover, he is a writer who has written multiple characters with this type of accent, showing he has a certain appeciation for it. i think his persona for the "mayo" account could been a sort of character he put on to disguise his idenity.

if you decide to view mayo's blog, you'll see each post has nothing but comments from mcr fans exclusively. i find it very interesting that the writer of its-mayonaise never bothered to make a post saying "hey, btw, i'm not gerard" in the 4 years this blog was run for

we have somewhat less definitive evidence that gerard is mayo. however, it is clear that at the very least, they had to have been someone involved with MCR or their crew at the time.

mayo makes a post alluding to their identity here, which you can find in the first screenshot below. this section sounds a lot like something gerard would write:

"I have been asked to reveal myself to you. You all know me. I am whoever you want me to be, I am an artist, a poet, a singer, a motherfucker, and a contradiction, a mouthpiece, a friend, and an enemy, a brother, an informant, a whipping boy, a basket case, a queen, and a criminal...(credit to John Hughes.)"

there are THOUSANDS of comments, many of which speculate the identity of mayo on each of his blogspot posts. you should definitely do your own detective work and see what you think, because there is far too much info to go through here.

a frerard theory

as i previously mentioned, frank had deleted his original blog for shitsubou-shita in late september. however, prior to this, he made and then deleted some particularly turbulent and questionable posts

for context, the frerard fight happened on august 22, 2007, and gerard and lindsey got married on september 3, 2007 (just four months after gerard was engaged to eliza)

gerard and lindsey are married on the last night of the projekt revolution tour.

mcr takes a break for one month after this, where we can probably safely assume that freshly-married gerard and frank did not plan on seeing one another.

i think this was very troubling for frank for many different reasons. gerard had just freed himself of the eliza situation and here he was making the same mistake again. he was on the verge of losing his dearest friend yet again, and i believe that despite his best efforts, he could not get through to gerard.

obviously, gerard and lindsey are still married to this day. however, many fans might be aware of what happened between her and mikey. there's also a lot of other questionable information about lindsey circling the web, but that's a different story for another time.

weeks later, similarly to the eliza situation, shitsubou-shita makes and deletes the following posts on his original blog (this was prior to the creation of iamthemodernprometheus):

Friday, September 21, 2007 Abandon hope, all who enter here... What the fuck happened? Why didn't I see this coming? I made a point to keep out of it this time, but at what cost? I'm trapped between a rock and a hard place, it's a lose/lose situation. I've always been honest with you, shouldn't that work both ways? What's with the double standards? People are starting to notice. I'm not talking about kids, I'm talking about people in their mid 20's and 30's. People with life experience who can see the cracks starting to show. What am I supposed to say? I just dont have the answers. How can I reassure them when I need reassurance myself?

he says "i made a point to keep out of it this time" which seems like a reference to the situation with eliza i mentioned previously. he alludes to the idea that fans are beginning to notice the band's dynamic is not the same anymore. this was specifically around the time when "frerard" moments came to a pretty abrupt end.

he says "i've always been honest with you, shouldn't that work both ways?" which can be interpreted in a few different ways. he may feel deceived due to his best friend's sudden marriage. however, the intensity of the language used in this post shows he probably had some very intense feelings toward the situation.

it seems like the writer was having a considerably difficult time coping with these feelings. a day later, this post is made:

Saturday, September 22, 2007 Sticks and stones may break my bones but words will never hurt me. Bullshit. I've always been a smart ass, even as a child, although my mom would prefer to use the term precocious. I've always had trouble keeping my mouth shut, I'm an open book, completely ingenuous - secrecy and circumvention are not my style. But then I've never experienced extreme paranoia. So I'm writing this blog. I know you will never read it, I wouldn't want you to. Not everything is about you. This blog is for ME, a perverse catharsis, I need this right now to preserve the small amount of sanity I have left. A blog fuelled by disappointment, frustration, confusion and dejection. I am not laying the blame at your door. The burden of blame is mine. I didn't speak up soon enough. I didn't want to rock the boat, I've been there before. I didn't want to fight or endure days of being given the silent treatment. Its not fair on the others. Why do you always make everyone feel like they have to take sides? If I had been a better friend, I would have stepped in regardless of the consequences. I acted selfishly because I didn't want to lose you, but ironically, I may have lost you anyway. I meant every word I said at the diner and although I didnt show it, your smirk and glib response hurt me more than you will ever know. I don't know who you are anymore. I cant seem to find the right words. Nothing I say seems to reach you. You are wrong. I DO care. I love you. I refuse to give up on you and I refuse to let you push me away. I am going to fight for our friendship, you aren't the only one with a stubborn streak. We are in this together, for the long haul, I promise. I want my friend back. I miss him.

it seems like whatever the writer is feeling toward the subject of this post goes beyond the boundaries of a typical friendship. the final paragraph says everything we need to know.

we can assume that based on this post's mention of meeting a diner, that frank and gerard likely met up during their month-long break to talk about the way things went down

lastly, i know there's at least one interview floating or blog post around where frank says he was a difficult teen and a pain in the ass as a kid, but i can't find it right now. if anyone has the link to that i would love to add it here, because i remember it sounding pretty similar to that first paragraph.

Sunday, September 23, 2007 Is the pen really mightier than the sword? And so you continue to blog, as do I. The difference is, I am not hurting anyone. I'm just trying to gain some perspective while you are publicly making a fool of yourself. Your words are hungrily devoured and dissected by the masses, you seem to revel in the chaos and controversy. At the moment your identity is pure speculation, but have you thought about the consequences if anyone was able to prove your identity? Not just for you, but for all of us? Have you lost your mind? How can you be so selfish? You have become a self obsessed megalomaniac. I know what I get out of writing my blogs - but what do you get out of writing yours? Do you even bother to read the comments? Some of those comments break my heart. These aren't just nameless, faceless strangers, these are real people with real lives and real feelings. These are the people that allowed us to bring our music into their lives. These are the people that we see on tour, the people that wait outside for hours in the cold and rain just to meet us, the people that write us letters and make us scrapbooks, the people who care enough to bake us cookies and brownies, the people that send us birthday cards and bizarre, crazy ass gifts, the people that have given us their love and support, the people that cheer us on, the people that made us. Why are you so hellbent on destroying not only yourself, but everyone who loves you? You wanna see how far down I can sink? Your mom called last night - and I lied to her. After everything she has done for us, I lied to her. How do you think that made me feel? Do you even care?

this last post, for me, solidifies the identities behind each blog. it is so clear through the details in this post. to me, it seems like frank was hurting so bad, and in such a vulnerable place, that he completely let his guard down and made this post.

the mcr lyric included "You wanna see how far down I can sink?" is undoubtedly mind-boggling and speaks volumes to how carelessly obvious frank was (maybe intentionally?) willing to be

there's so much to unpack in this post and i honestly can't even begin to wrap my head around it. i would love to hear anyone's opinion!

later in the post, it seems clear that he is referencing the iam-mayonaise blog and gerard's seemingly wreckless posting. but mostly, i think he was lashing out due to pain of betrayal after losing the closest person to him and someone he deeply loves not once, but twice.

again, it's hard to believe how obvious he was being here, but i really think it was a result of the pain/suffering he felt

if you scroll back up to the first screenshot of this post, you can circle back around to when he removed his entire profile after making this final post, eventually rebranding to "iamthemodernprometheus"

the its-mayonaise account makes this post on september 30, seemingly as a response. the title could apply to frank, who as we all know, was gerard's best friend and right-hand man. the rest of this post can be interpreted in many different ways, so you can make whatever you want out of it:

however, the last paragraph does give me pause... i would love to see/create a full analysis of this post, but i'm trying to stick to facts here so you can form your own judgement

after gerard's wedding and mcr's month long break, they play two shows in mexico (oct 4 & 7, 2007) and then the hoboken show takes place, where frank yells "lie to me" during i'm not okay and seems very low energy and unlike himself

i believe things gradually improved between them after this point, but i'm not sure if their connection was ever completely the same.

conclusion/my opinion

coupled with all of the other available evidence about gerard/frank's tumultuous friendship/relationship/situationship, i think this information strongly alludes to the idea that at the very least, frank had some very intense feelings for gerard that were not fully reciprocated. i would love to hear what anyone else's opinion is on this topic, because it definitely isn't discussed often

i think it's completely heartbreaking (especially with everything else we know) but i do think their incredible connection is a massive contributing factor to mcr's legacy

if you notice any inconsistencies in this post or have any questions, please send me a message! i want to keep this as consistent, comprehensible, and well-sourced as i can!

lastly please follow me if you liked this! i spent months researching and compiling sources for this post and i would so appreciate it <3

#frerard #my chemical romance #mcr #gerard way #frank iero #frerard theory #ss/mayo #ss mayo #shitsubou-shita #its-mayonaise #mcr history

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stelly38 · 2 months ago

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“I can’t remember how much bonking I did” —Aidan Turner

With Ross Poldark behind him, the star of Di5ney’s adaptation of Jilly Cooper’s Rivals talks ’80s excess, intimacy coaches and beef brisket.

Here I am, avidly watching the first few episodes of Rivals, the sizzling new Disney+ treatment of Dame Jilly Cooper’s raunchy blockbuster, before my interview with dreamboat-y Aidan Turner, when my 22-year-old daughter walks into the room. “What the actual?” she cries, open-mouthed in horror. “Oh my God! What are they doing?”

I chide her prudishness. “Well, if you must know, Rupert Campbell-Black and a woman he probably just met have reached a shuddering climax on Concorde,” I explain. “Your generation didn’t invent sex, you know, darling – the Mile High Club has been around for…” but it turns out that’s not what’s triggered her.

“These people are SMOKING! On. A. Plane. Who even does that?” Everybody, that’s who. Welcome to the sassy, sexy 1980s, Missy. Double-breasted suits and taffeta skirts, booze, bonking, endless ciggies and hairstyles so fugly (the mullet, for pity’s sake?) as to have recently crept back into fashion. It’s all there: rampant sexism, social climbing and conspicuous consumption, to a banging soundtrack of Eurythmics, Hall & Oates, Haircut 100 and the rest – no idea how The Birdie Song got in there though. Did people really...? Yes, we did. Now run along. From the moment the opening credits roll on Rivals, it’s fair to say we are immersed in a very different, instantly recognisable universe.

I lapped up every transgressive minute. Why, dear readers, the last time I enjoyed a pleasure quite so guilty was when Aidan Turner took off his shirt in… “I’m not here to talk about Poldark,” says Turner very politely, with a fabulously winning white smile, when we meet. So we don’t. At least for a bit. We are here, after all, to discuss his new role in this very different literary classic – and no, ladies, he’s not been cast as the libidinous blaggard Campbell-Black. As if. County Dublin-born Turner, 41, was a shoo-in for dashing Declan O’Hara, the saturnine Irish journalist turned reluctant chat-show host who finds himself at the epicentre of a battle royale in the cut-throat world of independent television. David Tennant plays Corinium TV boss Lord Baddingham, and Alex Hassell’s Rupert Campbell-Black has ascended to the lofty heights of Tory Minister for Sport.

I could try to explain, but that’s about all the primer you need – rest assured that with this high-budget adaptation, even the most loyal of Cooper’s fans will find themselves safe in its (wandering) hands. “Rivals is about the three things that fascinate all of us: sex, power and money,” says Turner. “That trifecta is especially potent when there’s a clash of status and class. Class informs all sorts of things, including the sex, which is sometimes completely transactional on both sides. From the very top to the very bottom of the ladder, everyone’s slightly on the make.”

Speaking of the top and indeed the bottom, the eight-part series employed not one but two intimacy coaches. “They had a lot of intimacy to coach,” confirms Turner breezily. “I think they really improve sex scenes because they encourage creativity and it all looks so much more authentic. There’s a lot of bonking. I want to say I did a lot of bonking – I can’t quite remember how much.”

Declan is very much the dark-eyed, watchful outsider, his integrity as deep-rooted as his humongous moustache – “artist’s own”, remarks Turner. (He speaks in mellifluous Irish tones and uses his own accent to play Declan.) Amid the jostling for supremacy in the first few episodes, Declan’s only crime appears to be wearing mustard socks on air and having sensuous congress with his own wife (played with exquisite brittleness by Victoria Smurfit).

Such uxoriousness appears borderline scandalous in Dame Jilly’s masterfully constructed world of egos, oneupmanship and serial adultery, which signals that despite being a workaholic, Declan is clearly a good ’un – although, to be fair, I have only seen the first three episodes.

“I hadn’t read Rivals before. It seemed very British so it wasn’t really on my radar, but it’s really fun – although later on it descends into something much murkier. I just read the scripts initially and then was really struck by how faithful they were to the book,” says Turner, who is married to the American Succession actor Caitlin FitzGerald, 41. “You get a real sense of the characters in the first 15 or 20 pages and it’s a mark of excellent writing that you feel you already know these people.”

Whether or not you like them is up to you, but it’s absolutely gripping and Turner’s character is right at the heart of the story. “Rivals is a really truthful depiction of an era that in a great many ways was hugely problematic,” says Turner. “It’s not being refracted through a modern lens and some of it is quite shocking, particularly the way women are treated. There’s also endless back-stabbing; Declan is detached, the one who sees what’s going on, and because he’s not from this class-bound world [he] struggles to understand the playbook – but he’s married to a woman who does and that causes tension.”

To research the role of a broadcasting homme sérieux, Turner trawled YouTube to watch hours of Firing Line, the US current-affairs talk show presented by conservative pundit William F Buckley Jr for 33 years. From 1966 to 1999, he verbally sparred with leading figures of the age.

“I felt it was important to look to older shows, the way they were presented and the communication style,” says Turner. “The interviewee would be given time and space to answer questions in full. These days it’s very different; the nearest we have to that now would be podcasts.”

“Once filming started, to be honest I was channelling my dad the whole time. He’s an electrician, not a journalist, but Declan is very like him – the way he carries himself, the tone of his voice, his passion. He feels very Irish and so does Declan.”

For Alexander Lamb, an executive producer on Rivals, finding the right fit for the pivotal character of Declan was crucial. “The very first person we thought about – the very first person we cast – for Rivals was Aidan. He was the lynchpin because he just felt so right; he’s got depth but also such charm and that was exactly what we wanted. A lot of the cast was built around him.” That cast also includes EastEnder Danny Dyer, Katherine Parkinson, best known for The IT Crowd, Emily Atack of Inbetweeners fame, and Claire Rushbrook, who was in the first series of Sherwood. When it came to Turner, Lamb had been impressed by his previous standout roles as a vampire in the supernatural series Being Human and a clinical psychologist in police procedural The Suspect.

“Aidan hadn’t played sexy-dad-with-teenagers or an intellectual journalist before, so that gave the whole thing a freshness. I think there’s a lot to be gained from getting actors out of their comfort zones,” observes Lamb. “I’ve never really worked with an actor before who was so conscious of his performance. He would come back behind the camera to see if he could improve on what he’d done.” Dame Jilly, adds Lamb, needed no persuasion in casting Turner. “It did not escape her just how good-looking Mr. Aidan Turner was. Let’s just say she became quite the fan.” Turner responds in kind, with unalloyed admiration. “Jilly is so sharp, perceptive and really funny – she’s very kind, but as she was seeing the daily and the weekly rushes I am quite certain that if she hadn’t liked what any of us were doing, she would have told us very swiftly.”

Later, he quietly relates a telling conversation with Cooper at a garden party held at her Gloucestershire gaff (to call it a pile would be too excessive, to call it a house too modest), one summer evening last year, after filming. “I remember a surreal moment when she took me by the arm and led me around the garden, pointing out the place where she would write and how she would look over the valley,” he says. “And then she pointed out the houses where her nearest neighbours and friends lived and said, ‘This is Declan O’Hara’s house, and that one’s Tony’s house,’ and explained how she would visualise the world of Rivals. It was a very special moment.” How magical, I say. He nods very slowly, the corners of his mouth twitching, eyes crinkling at the preciousness of the memory. He’s so unabashedly soulful, I almost have to look away. And so, to business: is Turner really as handsome as they say? Hmm. Maybe that’s what strikes you first but, in truth, it’s the least interesting thing about him.

Born in Clondalkin, a town outside Dublin, before the family moved to a suburb of the city, Turner admits he was never academically inclined. With a low boredom threshold, he struggled to concentrate at school, but when his accountant mother took him along to dance classes, he excelled; he went on to compete in ballroom dancing at national level, but lost momentum.

There was a stint working as an electrician with his father, but it was a job at the local cinema that sparked his interest in acting, entering the Gaiety School of Acting, Ireland’s national theatre school, where he graduated in 2004. After appearing in several theatre productions, including Seán O’Casey’s Easter Rising play The Plough and the Stars, he got his first major television gig in 2008 in the Irish hospital drama The Clinic.

“I was a lowly receptionist and Victoria Smurfit, who is my wife in Rivals, was a consultant,” he smiles. “Let’s just say we didn’t have a huge number of scenes together back then, so it’s great to catch up now.” Soon the BBC beckoned and he was cast as Dante Gabriel Rossetti in the Pre-Raphaelite Brotherhood drama Desperate Romantics. The six-parter failed to make a mark, but led to a critically acclaimed role in the comedy-drama Being Human, where he caught the eye of director Sir Peter Jackson, who cast Turner as the dwarf Kili in The Hobbit trilogy between 2012 and 2014.

Various other parts followed, culminating in his award-winning portrayal of Captain Ross Poldark in the 2015 revival of the BBC classic, which ran for five series and made him both a household name and a pin-up among ladies (and interviewers) d’un certain age.

After he was shown scything a field shirtless, a sheen of sweat on his ripped – sorry – torso, the Sunday-night concupiscence became so pronounced that media commentators called out the reverse sexism and denounced the reductive way in which Turner was being treated as a piece of prime meat. A decade on, he still seems mildly baffled, but not ungrateful, for the attention, if loath to dwell on it. “There are worse things to be known for than having a nice physique,” he says, philosophically. “But that was a long time ago and I’ve done a lot of fully clothed work since.” Hilariously, in Rivals, Declan finds himself sharing a schedule with a series called Four Men Went To Mow, featuring a quartet of topless hunks – with scythes. Turner almost leaps off the sofa when I bring it up. “I know! I was reading the script and when I saw the Four Men Went To Mow reference, I assumed someone was deliberately winding me up. Then I realised it was actually in the original book, so I took a deep breath and let it go.”

I can confirm he’s fully dressed for our interview, wearing a mustard top by British menswear brand Oliver Spencer, which he dryly describes as ‘drab chic’, Levi’s 501s, and a pair of trainers. He points out they are classic white Reeboks with a natural gum sole. I admit I didn’t know that was A Thing. “To be honest, neither did I,” he shrugs in good-natured agreement. “They were a present from a mate of mine – he’s a musician so far cooler than me, obviously – and he was very emphatic that the soles were a big deal.”

On his wrist is a 1969 Omega Seamaster. “It cost less than £2,000, it was an anniversary gift and the only watch I own,’”he offers, pre-emptively. “Oh, and I’m not sponsored by Omega, none of that.” Would he like to be? I ask mischievously. “Ah well, I’d certainly take the phone call. You always like to have options.” This is all the more interesting because later I ask if there’s any truth in tabloid rumours that he has variously been earmarked as the new Bergerac and the next James Bond. He denies both charges. “But you’d take the calls presumably?” I suggest. A pregnant pause follows. “You know, I don’t think I would. I have to say I think I’d pass on those.” Bergerac I can understand – but intimations of 007 are, like talk of knighthoods, not to be trifled with, much less dismissed out of hand, however cat’s-chance unlikely.

Turner just pulls a slightly apologetic face (possibly for the benefit of his aghast agent reading this). But really it should come as no surprise; Turner has built up a reputation as a protean performer, moving seamlessly between television, film and the stage in a variety of markedly different roles. Last year he appeared opposite Jenna Coleman in a minimalist two-hander, the West End revival of Sam Steiner’s 2015 fringe hit Lemons Lemons Lemons Lemons Lemons, about love and language. Director Josie Rourke says she cast Turner not just because he is ‘brilliant’, but because he has an ability to connect with his character and with the audience.

“Aidan is a very technical and focused actor who really works hard to prepare – in that respect he’s not dissimilar to David Tennant. That might make him sound dour or serious, but he’s very personable and funny,” says Rourke, a former artistic director of the Donmar Warehouse in London. “He’s acutely aware, in a lovely way, of every single person in the room. There’s something fundamentally unselfish about his performances.”

Off stage, Turner leads a quiet life with his family in an 18th-century house in east London, which he famously furnished with the table and chairs from the Poldark set in Cornwall. He looks amused when I wonder aloud if he hangs out – virtually or actually – with the slew of young Irish actors, like Paul Mescal and Barry Keoghan, who have made a name for themselves. “It sounds boring but I work, and then when a project is finished I start reading scripts again,” he says. “I’m not on social media, I don’t get wrapped [up] comparing myself to anyone else. Frankly, it’s hard enough keeping track of my own career. Since the birth of our son, my wife and I have agreed that only one of us will take a job away from home at any given time; we’ve not [had] a clash yet but we’ll have to see what happens when the time comes.”

They did, however, both have plays on in the West End at one point last year; he was appearing in Lemons while she was in The Crucible. “It worked out really well, we headed out in different directions during the day, catching up with friends and getting stuff done, far too busy to see each other,” he recalls. “Each of us did our show then we would meet up afterwards and share a cab home. It was really fun, but that sort of synchronicity is quite rare.” Like a lot of actors, Turner is guarded when it comes to discussing his personal life. Although frenzied interest from the paparazzi has calmed down post-Poldark, every so often pictures do appear in the tabloids – and Rivals will no doubt increase his bankability. It is something he accepts with equanimity.

“If I do get snapped, I don’t make a fuss or get angry, but I try to stay out of the way.” I remind him of a very striking photo of him putting the rubbish out in a frankly extraordinary receptacle. “Ah yes, maybe I should get rid of the fluorescent pink wheelie bin, a bit of an own goal,” he sighs.

I bet he doesn’t. Far too much of a compromise. I do manage to winkle a few details out of him by playing my fellow Irishwoman card and discover that he’s a ‘serious’ pool player – just this week he settled down in front of a recording of Steve Davis and his teammates taking the 2002 Mosconi Cup in Bethnal Green. He plays golf, enjoys music, and is an avowed Nick Cave fan.

“I’d have to say my favourite downtime is having friends round for good banter and food in the garden, weather allowing. I’m trying to perfect the manly art of beef brisket in my [Big] Green Egg barbecue. I think one of the reasons Rivals was such a happy show to work on was because so many of the scenes were us all together at parties. Then at the end of the day we’d kick back and half of us would still be in character.”

And what characters they are, all dressed up in their ’80s finery, jockeying for position, angling for seduction as Tears for Fears belt out ‘Everybody Wants to Rule the World.’ Gen Z won’t understand, much less approve (lock up your 22-year-olds), but as a snapshot of a bygone age, Rivals promises to be TV gold, and at its glittering epicentre, Declan O’Hara, legendary brooding broadcaster with the biggest ’tache in town.

All episodes of Rivals are available on Di5ney+ from 18 October

Interview by Judith Woods from The Telegraph; Photos by John Balsom.

#aidan turner #rivals #declan o'hara #interview #copy pasted #for anyone who's paywalled #The Telegraph 27 September 2024 2:30 PM #Judith Woods #John Balsom

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defire · 3 months ago

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Top 8 favorite tumblr whump stories!

Content warnings are not exhaustive, just there to give you a general idea of what's in the story from my perspective.

Fyi, these are MY descriptions of the stories and don't reflect the authors' opinions on their stories.

Also I worked really hard on this ok

Destroyer by @paingoes

Completed (but I love the random updates)

A powerful psychic was trained from a young age to be a weapon of war, but as time goes on, it seems he can't stand to hurt people anymore.

Content: living weapon, beatings, war, child abuse (usually off-screen)

Overloaded by @fleur-a-whump

Ongoing

A new program is being rolled out to reform villains. Jasper, an electrokinetic and the first "guinea pig" of the system, earnestly tries to regain the heroes' trust while in a sort of probation, but with constant surveillance, cruelty and a shock collar, things are only getting worse for him in his new position.

Content: superpowers, electrocution

Crossed Out by @whumblr

Ongoing

A defense attorney ends up in prison and attempts to keep his integrity in the face of ever-increasing brutality.

Content: captivity, beatings, prison

Poster Child by @darkthingshappen

Ongoing (I think?)

The son of political activists is imprisoned by their enemies--the WRU. They plan to condition him into being a pet, and he is determined not to let them.

Content: BBU, rape, captivity, sensory deprivation

Brother's Keeper by @darkthingshappen

Completed

A man is abducted from his home under cruel conditions and flown to russia, finding out that he is being held prisoner until his brother can pay his debt--and in the meantime, Ben is being tortured and filmed.

Content: cruel whumper, beatings, electrocutions, rape, caning, burning

Secrecy by @doomeddestination

Ongoing

An amateur spy is caught by an enemy and interrogated using increasingly cruel torture methods. Eventually he is left the choice of spilling the information, or death.

Content: captivity, rape, violence, manipulation

Home is Where the Hurt Is by @whumblr !

Completed (I think)

A journalist is blackmailed into allowing an old enemy to abuse him relentlessly after work every day, but when he uncovers more details about his attacker, he realizes his own life is at stake.

Content: hiding marks of abuse, beatings, violence, sadistic whumper

Weeks by @scarletfish8eta

Completed

A young man is kidnapped and held for ransom by a violent woman coping with grief in some very unhealthy ways. As his boyfriend and the police work to find him, an old friend of his kidnapper shows up. Their conflict threatens his safety in a whole new direction.

Content: kidnapping, beatings, phobia, sexual assault

These are all really beautiful. I have read a lot of tumblr whump stories lately, and these are the ones I would definitely read again.

*applause*

Here's a link to my previous list of faves for more great stories.

#whump readers #whump writers #original writing #original whump #whump writing #others writing #for your enjoyment #rape whump #whumpblr #whump community #beating whump #sadistic whumper #caning #electrocution #war #living weapon whumpee #home is where the hurt is #hell yeah

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the-astral-fairgrounds · 4 months ago

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from twitter

"Our journalists visited the site of the homicide earlier today, to conduct an investigation of our own, but we were met with a bit of resistance by the police and forensics team at the site. But fear not! We at the Emberton wire are committed to journalistic integrity and getting the stories to the public, no matter the cost! So without hesitation, we pushed past their blatant censorship of journalism, and went to the scene of the crime! Here are some raw photos of the victim!"

uh.. WOAH THERE!!!

the images are actually incredibly interesting, the grayscale and pixelation somehow makes it look Spookier than it is (it leaves more room for the brain to fill in the blanks), maybe that's just me though

full image under the cut for anyone who (understandably) doesn't have Twitter

"The Emberton Wire

MURDER AT WHITEPINE!

Murder strikes! Earlier today, a maid was found dead in Whitepine Estate, home of Emberton's largest tycoon and philanthropist, Sir Zombie Hemlocke! The maid was said to have been stabbed multiple times all over her body, with parts of her severed completely. Shocked and confused are the people of Emberton on this day, such a horrible occurrence hasn't happened in this quaint city in decades!

And now an investigation has opened on who could have been the murderer, the dastardly villain who could still be among us!

Our journalists visited the site of the homicide earlier today, to conduct an investigation of our own, but we were met with a bit of resistance by the police and forensics team at the site. But fear not! We at the Emberton wire are committed to journalistic integrity and getting the stories to the public, no matter the cost! So without hesitation, we pushed past their blatant censorship of journalism, and went to the scene of the crime! Here are some raw photos of the victim!

Who could have done this? Was it a fellow, jealous maid? An affair gone wrong? Stay tuned for the newest updates of this thrilling case, we will be updating you all every step of the way!"

In a footnote (? I don't know the word for it):

"Text corrector hired!

our last few papers had some typos! well we finally hired a goddamn editor so you can stop sending up angry letters now. it really hurts our feelings and we'd like" (the rest is cut off)

#whitepine #if anyone's already posted this on here um whoops #un whites your pine #-🧨#I'm not gonna do the cruel thing and tag this as mysticat. it is literally just bros corpse

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empiredesimparte · 4 months ago

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Live TV Broadcast on Francesim 2, Special Edition ‘Oliver and Hortense, The Royal Wedding’

👉🏻 Follow Hortense's wedding on the blog @officalroyalsofpierreland

Statement by Jérôme Leicca, Head of the Emperor's Household, at the Press Conference on the Marriage of Hortense and Oliver of Scots.

Ladies and Gentlemen, members of the press, This royal marriage marks an important and symbolic moment for our two nations, and I am here to clarify the new legal and protocol situation of Her Royal Highness, Princess Hortense, to the French people. Princess Hortense, in marrying Prince Oliver, has acquired a new status as Princess of the Scots. She will henceforth be referred to as "Her Royal Highness, Princess Hortense." This title is a recognition of her integration into the Scottish royal house and her new role within it. This new status takes precedence over her French title, which she nevertheless retains as the sister of the Emperor of the French. This retention has been approved by His Imperial Majesty, Emperor Napoleon V, in accordance with imperial tradition and the provisions of our Constitution. Thus, her full title is: "Her Royal Highness, Princess Hortense of the Scots, Duchess of Rothsey, Countess of Carrick, Lady of the Isle of Sky, Madame de Francesim." As a member of the imperial family, Princess Hortense will continue to enjoy certain protocol privileges when she is in our country, in her capacity as Madame. However, her main responsibilities and commitments will now focus on her duties as the wife of the Prince of the Scots. The official functions and protocol engagements of the Princess in Francesim will be coordinated in close collaboration with the Scottish Royal Household to ensure harmony and consistency in her activities. It should be noted that Her Royal Highness will continue her studies in Francesim at the École Polytechnique for two more years. We kindly ask journalists to respect the privacy of the Princess and the newlywed couple while on French soil. In accordance with Article 2 of the Imperial Constitution, the children of Their Royal Highnesses will not have any rights of succession to the throne of Francesim. They will hold dual Franco-Scottish nationality but will not have any French imperial privileges. This event strengthens the bonds of friendship and cooperation between the empire of Francesim and the kingdom of Scotland. It symbolizes the unity and fraternity of our two nations, and we look forward to increased cultural and diplomatic exchanges as a result. The members of the Emperor's Household, with whom the Princess grew up, wish to express their warmest wishes for her marriage to the Prince Oliver.

⚜ Traduction française

Emission télévisée en direct sur Francesim 2, édition spéciale "Oliver et Hortense, le mariage royal"

Déclaration de Jérôme Leicca, Chef de la Maison de l'Empereur, lors de la Conférence de Presse sur le Mariage d'Hortense et d'Oliver d'Écosse.

Mesdames et Messieurs, membres de la presse, Ce mariage royal marque un moment important et symbolique pour nos deux nations, et je suis ici pour clarifier la nouvelle situation légale et protocolaire de Son Altesse Royale, Hortense, auprès des Français. En épousant le prince Oliver, Madame a acquis un nouveau statut en tant que Princesse des Ecossais et duchesse de Rothsey. Elle sera désormais désignée sous le prédicat "d'Altesse royale, Princesse Hortense". Ce titre est une reconnaissance de son intégration dans la maison royale écossaise et de son nouveau rôle au sein de celle-ci. Il prévaut désormais sur son titre français, qu'elle conserve néanmoins en tant que sœur de l'Empereur. Ce maintien a été approuvé par Sa Majesté Impériale, l'Empereur Napoléon V, en accord avec la tradition impériale et les dispositions de notre Constitution. Ainsi, le titre complet est : "Son Altesse Royale, la Princesse Hortense des Ecossais, Duchesse de Rothsey, Countess of Carrick, Lady of the Isle of Sky, Madame de Francesim". En tant que membre de la famille impériale, la princesse Hortense continuera à jouir de certaines prérogatives protocolaires lorsqu'elle se trouve en notre pays, en qualité de Madame. Cependant, ses responsabilités et engagements principaux seront désormais centrés sur ses devoirs en tant qu'épouse du prince des Ecossais. Les fonctions officielles et les engagements protocolaires de la Princesse en Francesim seront coordonnés en étroite collaboration avec la Maison Royale d'Écosse pour assurer une harmonie et une cohérence dans ses activités. Il faut préciser que Son Altesse Royale poursuivra encore deux ans ses études en Francesim, à l'Ecole Polytechnique. Nous demandons donc aux journalistes de bien vouloir respecter l'intimité de la Princesse et du jeune couple marié sur le sol français. Conformément à l'article 2 de la Constitution impériale, les enfants de Leurs Altesses Royales n'auront pas de droits de succession au trône de Francesim. Ils auront la double nationale franco-écossaise, mais n'auront aucun privilège impérial français. Cet événement renforce les liens d'amitié et de coopération entre la Francesim et l'Écosse. Il symbolise l'unité et la fraternité de nos deux nations, et nous nous réjouissons des échanges culturels et diplomatiques accrus qui en découleront. Les membres de la Maison de l'Empereur, auprès desquels la Princesse Hortense a grandi, souhaitent exprimer leurs vœux les plus chaleureux pour son mariage avec le prince Oliver.

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acesgarden · 6 months ago

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Lowkey based off of an old fanfic of mine that got accidentally deleted :<. So to the person who requested the og Rise!April sleepover fic (if you’re still here), This one goes out to you 🫡.

|| Girl’s Night

Pairing(s) ->

Rise!April O’N. Sunita, and Cassandra J. + F!Reader

Warning(s) ->

N/A.

Summary ->

Sleepover at April’s ft. Sunita and Cassandra.

1k Words : Masterlist

Worn shoes beat against old stairs. Climbing them has become a second nature to her. The hallway of the second floor wasn’t dim, but not harshly lit either. Though there was this one light that constantly flickered. Always some strange rhythmic pattern. She continued on, passing door after door while she counted the numbers as they went by.

213, 214, 215, 216, 217, 21- she stopped immediately, backtracking to apartment 216. giggling to herself and readjusting her backpack. Raising her fist she knocked on the wooden door. There was faint talking coming from deep in the apartment. Then there were footsteps approaching and the door opened.

“Oh! I’m happy you could make it, honey. April, Sunita, and Casey are in the living room waiting for you. I’m just about to head out, so do take care of the apartment.” She loved April’s mom, most everyone did. She treated all of April's friends like her own kids. The older woman followed after her to the living room and gave April a quick peck on the forehead. All four girls waved goodbye as April’s mom left for work. A late call in. Not that April ever minded, nor the three other girls. Who turned to the latest arrival.

“Soooo, what snacks ya get?” Casey was the first one to speak up. Casey leaned in close as she plopped on the floor. Pulling the bag from behind after she sat and unzipped it.

“I went and raided the nearest convenience store.” She flipped over her bag and various kinds of chips, candies, and other goodies fell out of it.

“And-“ she flipped the bag right side up, unzipping the front pocket. Shoving her hand in and pulling out a few extra bags of popcorn.

“I came prepared.”

“You are a lifesaver! I completely forgot to grab extras.” April laughed, she had been very busy with setting up for their monthly girls night.

She smiles big, passing things out, everyone has their tastes and when plain popcorn is made it goes by quickly. They all began setting up for the night, blankets, pillows, foods, movies, and other activities.

They talked as they did. Casey talking about her life after leaving the foot, she was trying out for hockey again. Reminiscing over her childhood team. Sunita talks about her new job on the surface and her work with integrating Mutants, Yōkai, and Humans. April mentioned more of the integration project as well as the work she does now as a news journalist. The later arrival intrigued, asked questions and eventually updated about her own life.

The chatter quieted as the group got settled. April sorted through the movies as they decided which one to watch first. She had grabbed five, a few favorites, a musical and three newly released movies. Each with their own tastes, but eventually they all decided on Howl’s Moving Castle. Sure they’ve watched it hundreds of times but it was good! With them in agreement they fully settled into their spots and started the movie.

a decent portion of the movie had passed when Casey started dozing off. Sunita noticed her first, grabbing a nearby pillow and whacking her on the head. Casey jumped up.

“You started it.” Casey snatched a pillow and threw it at Sunita, but she missed and it hit April in the back of the head. Name remained oblivious to the pillow fight stirring as she was engrossed in the movie. Until a stray pillow hit her in the back of her head. To which she turned and looked at the scene. April pillowless, Casey with a pillow in hand bonking Sunita who’s pillow lay in her grasp below Casey.

Name turned to face them. Before grabbing a pillow as it went flying. The pillow fight continued with pillows flying, giggles and laughter, and light hearted shrikes as the group of girls lost track of the movie.

That was till a knock at the door sounded and all four of them froze.

“The pizza!” April scrambled up rushing to the door. The other three settled and tidied up just a smidge. They turned as April closed the door with her foot and headed to the kitchen. Everyone followed after her, talking and helping her set up. Grabbing slices and then leaving the leftovers of pizzas in the oven for April’s mom once she returned.

Everyone returned to their seats, munching on pizza as the movie continued. Each time starting up a new one, followed by chatting and jokes and the occasional person getting up for another slice. Cracking open the bags of chips, candies, and other goodies occurred throughout the night. Once April went to the kitchen and came back with four tubs of icecream.

Maybe stopping to play a game or do another little activity together before eventually returning to a new movie. This went on for hours.

The movies ended, games and food put away. Pillows and blankets readjusted. Everyone was readying for bed. Doing a quick thing of skincare, helping with hair and everything else needed.

All of them were quick to doze off, tired and exhausted from their previous ventures. it quickly became quiet and the room filled with sleeping kids. Mayhem curled up by April like an actual cat would do.

They all whispered good night to each other and some managed to fall asleep faster than others, while some quickly scrolled on their phone to fall asleep. They too eventually fell asleep.

It was late- or well early in the morning when Mrs. O’Neil returned home. Tired from work and relieved to not hear any screams from the apartment. Opening the door to find all four girls passed out line a light. Their weird dog thing curled up by April. She smiled and quietly stepped into the kitchen, seeing the note about the leftover pizza. Getting herself a quick two slices before turning back to the four girls laying dead asleep. Missing April’s forehead and giving them all a quietly whispered goodnight.

Tags: @fluffybun24

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turneradora · 2 months ago

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THANK YOU SO MUCH TO Emma Jones for the article in the Telegraph

🌹❤️💋

The Telegrah

Judith Woods

27 September 2024 2:30pm

‘What the actual?’ she cries, open-mouthed in horror. ‘Oh my God! What are they doing?’

I chide her prudishness. ‘Well, if you must know, Rupert Campbell-Black and a woman he probably just met have reached a shuddering climax on Concorde,’ I explain. ‘Your generation didn’t invent sex, you know, darling – the Mile High Club has been around for…’ but it turns out that’s not what’s triggered her.

‘These people are SMOKING! On. A. Plane. Who even does that?’

Everybody, that’s who. Welcome to the sassy, sexy 1980s, Missy. Double-breasted suits and taffeta skirts, booze, bonking, endless ciggies and hairstyles so fugly (the mullet, for pity’s sake?) as to have recently crept back into fashion.

It’s all there: rampant sexism, social climbing and conspicuous consumption, to a banging soundtrack of Eurythmics, Hall & Oates, Haircut 100 and the rest – no idea how The Birdie Song got in there though. Did people really...? Yes, we did. Now run along.

From the moment the opening credits roll on Rivals, it’s fair to say we are immersed in a very different, instantly recognisable universe.

I lapped up every transgressive minute. Why, dear readers, the last time I enjoyed a pleasure quite so guilty was when Aidan Turner took off his shirt in…

‘I’m not here to talk about Poldark,’ says Turner very politely, with a fabulously winning white smile, when we meet. So we don’t. At least for a bit. We are here, after all, to discuss his new role in this very different literary classic – and no, ladies, he’s not been cast as the libidinous blaggard Campbell-Black. As if.

County Dublin-born Turner, 41, was a shoo-in for dashing Declan O’Hara, the saturnine Irish journalist turned reluctant chat-show host who finds himself at the epicentre of a battle royale in the cut-throat world of independent television.

David Tennant plays Corinium TV boss Lord Baddingham, and Alex Hassell’s Rupert Campbell-Black has ascended to the lofty heights of Tory Minister for Sport.

‘Rivals is about the three things that fascinate all of us: sex, power and money,’ says Turner. ‘That trifecta is especially potent when there’s a clash of status and class. Class informs all sorts of things, including the sex, which is sometimes completely transactional on both sides. From the very top to the very bottom of the ladder, everyone’s slightly on the make.’

Speaking of the top and indeed the bottom, the eight-part series employed not one but two intimacy coaches. ‘They had a lot of intimacy to coach,’ confirms Turner breezily. ‘I think they really improve sex scenes because they encourage creativity and it all looks so much more authentic. There’s a lot of bonking. I want to say I did a lot of bonking – I can’t quite remember how much.’

Declan is very much the dark-eyed, watchful outsider, his integrity as deep-rooted as his humongous moustache – ‘artist’s own’, remarks Turner. (He speaks in mellifluous Irish tones and uses his own accent to play Declan.) Amid the jostling for supremacy in the first few episodes, Declan’s only crime appears to be wearing mustard socks on air and having sensuous congress with his own wife (played with exquisite brittleness by Victoria Smurfit).

‘I hadn’t read Rivals before. It seemed very British so it wasn’t really on my radar, but it’s really fun – although later on it descends into something much murkier. I just read the scripts initially and then was really struck by how faithful they were to the book,’ says Turner, who is married to the American Succession actor Caitlin FitzGerald, 41. ‘You get a real sense of the characters in the first 15 or 20 pages and it’s a mark of excellent writing that you feel you already know these people.’

Whether or not you like them is up to you, but it’s absolutely gripping and Turner’s character is right at the heart of the story.

‘Rivals is a really truthful depiction of an era that in a great many ways was hugely problematic,’ says Turner. ‘It’s not being refracted through a modern lens and some of it is quite shocking, particularly the way women are treated. There’s also endless back-stabbing; Declan is detached, the one who sees what’s going on, and because he’s not from this class-bound world [he] struggles to understand the playbook – but he’s married to a woman who does and that causes tension.’

‘I felt it was important to look to older shows, the way they were presented and the communication style,’ says Turner. ‘The interviewee would be given time and space to answer questions in full. These days it’s very different; the nearest we have to that now would be podcasts.

“Once filming started, to be honest I was channelling my dad the whole time. He’s an electrician not a journalist, but Declan is very like him – the way he carries himself, the tone of his voice, his passion. He feels very Irish and so does Declan.’

For Alexander Lamb, an executive producer on Rivals, finding the right fit for the pivotal character of Declan was crucial. ‘The very first person we thought about – the very first person we cast – for Rivals was Aidan. He was the lynchpin because he just felt so right; he’s got depth but also such charm and that was exactly what we wanted. A lot of the cast was built around him.’

That cast also includes EastEnder Danny Dyer, Katherine Parkinson, best known for The IT Crowd, Emily Atack of Inbetweeners fame, and Claire Rushbrook, who was in the first series of Sherwood. When it came to Turner, Lamb had been impressed by his previous standout roles as a vampire in the supernatural series Being Human and a clinical psychologist in police procedural The Suspect.

‘Aidan hadn’t played sexy-dad-with-teenagers or an intellectual journalist before, so that gave the whole thing a freshness. I think there’s a lot to be gained from getting actors out of their comfort zones,’ observes Lamb. ‘I’ve never really worked with an actor before who was so conscious of his performance. He would come back behind the camera to see if he could improve on what he’d done.’

Dame Jilly, adds Lamb, needed no persuasion in casting Turner. ‘It did not escape her just how good-looking Mr Aidan Turner was. Let’s just say she became quite the fan.’ Turner responds in kind, with unalloyed admiration. ‘Jilly is so sharp, perceptive and really funny – she’s very kind, but as she was seeing the daily and the weekly rushes I am quite certain that if she hadn’t liked what any of us were doing, she would have told us very swiftly.’

‘I remember a surreal moment when she took me by the arm and led me around the garden, pointing out the place where she would write and how she would look over the valley,’ he says. ‘And then she pointed out the houses where her nearest neighbours and friends lived and said, “This is Declan O’Hara’s house, and that one’s Tony’s house,” and explained how she would visualise the world of Rivals. It was a very special moment.’

How magical, I say. He nods very slowly, the corners of his mouth twitching, eyes crinkling at the preciousness of the memory. He’s so unabashedly soulful, I almost have to look away. And so to business: is Turner really as handsome as they say? Hmm. Maybe that’s what strikes you first but, in truth, it’s the least interesting thing about him.

‘I was a lowly receptionist and Victoria Smurfit, who is my wife in Rivals, was a consultant,’ he smiles. ‘Let’s just say we didn’t have a huge number of scenes together back then, so it’s great to catch up now.’ Soon the BBC beckoned and he was cast as Dante Gabriel Rossetti in the Pre-Raphaelite Brotherhood drama Desperate Romantics.

The six-parter failed to make a mark, but led to a critically acclaimed role in the comedy-drama Being Human, where he caught the eye of director Sir Peter Jackson, who cast Turner as the dwarf Kili in The Hobbit trilogy between 2012 and 2014.

Hilariously, in Rivals, Declan finds himself sharing a schedule with a series called Four Men Went To Mow, featuring a quartet of topless hunks – with scythes. Turner almost leaps off the sofa when I bring it up. ‘I know! I was reading the script and when I saw the Four Men Went To Mow reference, I assumed someone was deliberately winding me up. Then I realised it was actually in the original book, so I took a deep breath and let it go.’

I can confirm he’s fully dressed for our interview, wearing a mustard top by British menswear brand Oliver Spencer, which he dryly describes as ‘drab chic’, Levi’s 501s, and a pair of trainers. He points out they are classic white Reeboks with a natural gum sole. I admit I didn’t know that was A Thing. ‘To be honest, neither did I,’ he shrugs in good-natured agreement. ‘They were a present from a mate of mine – he’s a musician so far cooler than me, obviously – and he was very emphatic that the soles were a big deal.’

On his wrist is a 1969 Omega Seamaster. ‘It cost less than £2,000, it was an anniversary gift and the only watch I own,’ he offers, pre-emptively. ‘Oh and I’m not sponsored by Omega, none of that.’ Would he like to be? I ask mischievously. ‘Ah well, I’d certainly take the phone call. You always like to have options.’ This is all the more interesting because later I ask if there’s any truth in tabloid rumours that he has variously been earmarked as the new Bergerac and the next James Bond. He denies both charges.

‘But you’d take the calls presumably?’ I suggest. A pregnant pause follows. ‘You know, I don’t think I would. I have to say I think I’d pass on those.’ Bergerac I can understand – but intimations of 007 are, like talk of knighthoods, not to be trifled with, much less dismissed out of hand, however cat’s-chance unlikely.

Last year he appeared opposite Jenna Coleman in a minimalist two-hander, the West End revival of Sam Steiner’s 2015 fringe hit Lemons Lemons Lemons Lemons Lemons, about love and language. Director Josie Rourke says she cast Turner not just because he is ‘brilliant’, but because he has an ability to connect with his character and with the audience.

‘Aidan is a very technical and focused actor who really works hard to prepare – in that respect he’s not dissimilar to David Tennant. That might make him sound dour or serious, but he’s very personable and funny,’ says Rourke, a former artistic director of the Donmar Warehouse in London. ‘He’s acutely aware, in a lovely way, of every single person in the room. There’s something fundamentally unselfish about his performances.’

‘It sounds boring but I work, and then when a project is finished I start reading scripts again,’ he says. ‘I’m not on social media, I don’t get wrapped [up] comparing myself to anyone else. Frankly, it’s hard enough keeping track of my own career. Since the birth of our son, my wife and I have agreed that only one of us will take a job away from home at any given time; we’ve not [had] a clash yet but we’ll have to see what happens when the time comes.’

They did, however, both have plays on in the West End at one point last year; he was appearing in Lemons while she was in The Crucible.‘It worked out really well, we headed out in different directions during the day, catching up with friends and getting stuff done, far too busy to see each other,’ he recalls. ‘Each of us did our show then we would meet up afterwards and share a cab home. It was really fun, but that sort of synchronicity is quite rare.’

Like a lot of actors, Turner is guarded when it comes to discussing his personal life. Although frenzied interest from the paparazzi has calmed down post-Poldark, every so often pictures do appear in the tabloids – and Rivals will no doubt increase his bankability. It is something he accepts with equanimity.

‘If I do get snapped, I don’t make a fuss or get angry, but I try to stay out of the way.’ I remind him of a very striking photo of him putting the rubbish out in a frankly extraordinary receptacle. ‘Ah yes, maybe I should get rid of the fluorescent pink wheelie bin, a bit of an own goal,’ he sighs.

He plays golf, enjoys music, and is an avowed Nick Cave fan.

‘I’d have to say my favourite downtime is having friends round for good banter and food in the garden, weather allowing. I’m trying to perfect the manly art of beef brisket in my [Big] Green Egg barbecue. I think one of the reasons Rivals was such a happy show to work on was because so many of the scenes were us all together at parties. Then at the end of the day we’d kick back and half of us would still be in character.’

And what characters they are, all dressed up in their ’80s finery, jockeying for position, angling for seduction as Tears for Fears belt out Everybody Wants to Rule the World. Gen Z won’t understand, much less approve (lock up your 22-year-olds), but as a snapshot of a bygone age, Rivals promises to be TV gold, and at its glittering epicentre, Declan O’Hara, legendary brooding broadcaster with the biggest ’tache in town.

All episodes of Rivals are available on Disney+ from 18 October

#aidanturnerinternational #aidan turner #séries #rivals #declan o’hara #declan #disney+uk #disneyplus

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thealogie · 6 months ago

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Q&A anon here, my apologies for the delay in reporting, still a bit overwhelmed. Regarding the play, I still can‘t believe what I witnessed from the front row. Holy butt-wiggle. Standing ovations, tears, the whole shebang. But this is not what the children are here for, so:

The Q&A audience was really civilized and polite, the talk itself extensive with Wales, arts, politics and MS (acting approaches and all) being the main topics. Longest part was an interview by a journalist, and then 4 or 5 audience questions.

MS cannot and will not give a short or simple answer where a long detailed explanation answering 4 more questions would do just as nicely. I loved every second of it. No mentions of other collegues or friends (or whatever that ~pointing vaguely in shennant direction~ is). It went way longer than they planned and I have to say to witness his brain work is sth else really.

He said London and Cardiff audiences weren‘t that different (though Welsh could often relate more esp to the miners’ history) which he considers a good thing bc it speaks for the integrity of the play itself. Due to some technical difference at the WMC there is now a pause that allows for applause and sometimes there is and at others not. That seemed to excite him a bit. Audience is an important part of a production and completes it and together the experience is created.

Also his passion for political issues, ability to articulate and explain and honest interest in the good of the people - I hope he will never quit acting but boy would he be a good politician.

He was terribly sick during the Nye taping (we knew, but like really really sick). Barefoot and pyjamas on stage make for vulnerability.

Overall he was quite serious but effortlessly charming and still funny and very, very Welsh.

THANK YOU SO MUCH for coming back and providing a detailed report. I’m twirling my hair and kicking my feet at the part where there’s an extra pause so he gets an additional round of mid-play applause. It’s like vitamins for him.

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stergeon · 5 months ago

Text

can someone please write this doropetra fashion designer/journalist modern au for me. i spent too long thinking about the devil wears prada today and now i have all the beats mapped out for this story i Do Not have enough time in the world to write.

please help. please. i'll give you everything. all of it. it's all right here. take it. mention me if you swap the names to sell the movie or streaming rights. i just want it to exist.

pitch: dorothea is a hot-nasty fashion mogul and petra is a journalist-turned-reluctant model who captures dorothea's attention (and her heart).

btw this is a Really long post so look out. also i know nothing about the fashion industry and Will Not Learn so don't tell me anything.

setting: various major cities in the USA. NYC, LA, Enbarr (you know, Enbarr, that major city somewhere between florida and texas. we've all been there).

cast

most everybody is in their mid-to-late 20s at the start.

petra: the last journalist with integrity in a world that's actively trying to eliminate journalism as a field. worked her ass off writing listicles and bullshit SEO articles for years until she caught a break and got in with a "Real Publication." she now works her ass off there. unfortunately there's rumors of her team getting laid off due to AI crap so she's stressed af trying to line up her next gig, just in case.

dorothea: hotshot young fashion mogul with a cult of personality around her. was a complete unknown barely out of college when she designed manuela casagranda's absolutely breathtaking met gala dress and her company blew up overnight. now does high-profile lines that are popular with movie star types and bougie social media influencers. notorious for being very, very friendly with her preferred models.

edelgard: petra's finance major/arts minor friend from college and her former roommate. nepo baby with Lots of connections. got petra her first big job writing PR crap for a division of the hresvelg business empire. caused a scandal by getting romantically involved with her TA (byleth) in grad school but they're still together. complains about her PA (hubert) and her lout of a stepbrother (dimitri), both of whom she's constantly texting or otherwise having to corral.

shamir: petra's boss/editor. admires petra's guts and her writing chops, as well as her ambition. somewhat of a mentor to petra, but is absolutely no-nonsense when it comes to work. she's been in this business a long time. there's no fucking around. leonie is another journo on the team. ignatz and linhardt also work with them doing layouts, formatting, and photo/video editing.

manuela: a famous singer from dorothea's hometown who basically adopted dorothea as a protégé after dorothea sent her sketches of designs she'd made. essentially responsible for dorothea's career. they have a bit of a contentious relationship these days as manuela's a bit jealous of dorothea's rising star and because dorothea's been ungrateful in recent years despite how much manuela's stuck her neck out for her. still, she's always there to give dorothea terrible advice when she needs it. her evolving relationship with dorothea is kind of a b-plot.

bernadetta: a reclusive, but well-connected social justice blogger and internet activist. one of petra's good buddies who regularly sends her scoops.

ingrid, ferdinand, sylvain, catherine, felix: models who commonly work with dorothea.

Jeritza: a nobody fashion photographer who thinks he's somebody. he's absolutely awful.

claude and hilda: paparazzi who work for tmz, buzzfeed, whoever will take em. petra thinks they are the scum of the earth. they are.

act 1

we open with petra on yet another bullshit assignment for her crappy job writing articles about things that don't matter. this one is a profile piece about a local fashion photographer, the mononymous Jeritza, who might be somebody someday and seems to think he already is. leonie was supposed to do the article but she flubbed it by offending Jeritza, who now won't give her the time of day, so shamir asks petra to please step in last-minute. petra's mad, but she gets her hustle on and goes anyway. it's not like she can be too picky with gigs in this economy.

by the time she gets to the shoot, she's late, and Jeritza is throwing a tantrum. the model isn't working out. Jeritza cannot work in these conditions. Jeritza fires the model and is about to freak the fuck out when petra walks in the door. oh, Jeritza says. i can work with you. petra did NOT sign up to be a model, has never wanted to be a model, has no interest in this whatsoever. but let's be real: it is a great angle for the piece. this could get clicks. shares, even. so she does it.

the shoot is a massive success, which is to say Jeritza is delighted with the results, but as it's just for a local streetwear company, the impact on culture is negligible. petra writes her article, which gets some attention due to the very funny portrait it paints of the histrionic artiste that is Jeritza. it's not much buzz, but it's just enough buzz to get shared around in fashion circles—enough for it to wind up in dorothea's inbox, courtesy of manuela. "Thought of you!! XD XD This is so funny!!" manuela writes. dorothea replies "lol" and is about to move on with her day when she decides to give the article a courtesy skim and scrolls down far enough to see the pictures.

oh. who is that model?

a few days later, petra's out at a bar getting drinks with edelgard and bitching about life when she gets a call from an unknown number. she figures it's probably spam, but they leave a voicemail. the transcription mentions it's from a dorothea arnault, whoever that is. edelgard almost shits a brick. DOROTHEA ARNAULT? you need to call her back. right now. petra's like okay jeez, i will. what's the big deal. edelgard facepalms. she forgot that petra doesn't follow fashion even a little bit ("isn't the gucci, like, the area between your butthole and your—?" "no petra it is not"). embarrassing for her, but there's no saving some people.

edelgard briefs her on the arnault situation. dorothea's studio is huge right now. edelgard's family business has been sponsoring some of her recent fashion shows and everybody who's anybody is trying to get an arnault outfit for their next event. while dorothea's very popular on social media, she's very tight-lipped about her private life. a profile on her could be a huge break for petra.

okay, petra thinks, what the fuck, okay. i'll call her back.

dorothea picks up on the fifth ring. uh-oh: she sounds hot.

hel-looo, miss macneary, she says, it's nice of you to pick up the phone. i saw that little article you wrote recently. you're sooooo funny. [her voice is sweet and smooth like butter. she sounds like she's twirling her hair as she talks. she doesn't say how she got petra's number. petra doesn't think to ask.] and those photos of you... my, my. you're quite the looker, aren't you? and you don't even model professionally? that's a terrible shame. you'd do well, you know. i'm in berlin right now but i'll be in enbarr's fashion district on tuesday afternoon. why don't you come by the studio? we're doing a shoot for some designs i'm releasing soon... a secret summer collection. oops, i shouldn't have told you about that, should i? well, i'm sure i can trust you to keep my secret. and maybe i could even trust you to write something nice about me? i think they'd suit you, you know, these new pieces i've got. if you have any interest in trying your hand at modeling again, i'd love to see you in them. 11 o'clock. ciao!

petra gets a handful of words in edgewise. most of them are yes. she keeps her phone held to her ear for too long after dorothea hangs up. she wishes she'd been sober for this conversation. she's not really sure what she just agreed to. she doesn't want to forget the sound of that voice.

she shoots a text to shamir. edelgard buys her a shot the instant she steps back into the bar.

tuesday comes and petra's nervous. she packed and repacked for this. checked twenty-five times that she brought her tape recorder and her good camera. arnault is gonna think that camera's a joke, but it is what it is. she's trying to play it cool, hyping herself up the whole time she's on the train. it's gonna be fine. just keep the tape rolling. write the profile. she doesn't have to model, she can just do what she does best. listen. pay attention. write honestly. move on.

sure.

if petra thought dorothea sounded hot, she's wholly unprepared for how hot she is in person. she's spellbinding. drop-dead gorgeous. positively unreal. and on top of that, she's so charming. she's graceful. smart. funny. flirty. and she keeps touching her—little touches on her hand, her arm. chaste things. friendly things. things that could be accidents.

she's exactly petra's type.

but petra is a journalist with integrity, dammit. she's going to be professional. and to her credit, she is professional. arnault makes it hard, but she manages. she blends in, listens, stays focused, stays out of the way. the model's cute—ingrid something-or-other. she can't remember but she got it on the tape recorder. told petra her instagram handle like six times, too, so she won't have any trouble finding her. the shoot is almost wrapped when dorothea asks if petra would be interested in modeling for her. she's not at all offended when petra politely declines. she poses when petra asks to take her photo for the profile. thanks her for coming out and talking to her. says goodbye with a polite handshake and that dazzling smile. she thinks about that smile and that touch throughout the whole train ride home.

skip ahead to friday. petra is working on the story and transcribing the audio recording when she gets a text from dorothea. so lovely meeting you on tuesday [heart emoji] [kiss emoji] [heart emoji] i know it's last minute, but the final pieces of the summer collection are coming in tomorrow and i think you'll like them for your profile. i'll fly you up tomorrow morning to meet me at my studio in manhattan, unless you're busy, of course~

petra is not busy tomorrow. shamir is considering opening a new style division of their publication.

the flight is the train ride but worse. keep the tape rolling, macneary. listen. pay attention. write honestly. move on.

she's resolute. committed. her resolve doesn't waver even when she gets off the plane, ready to call an uber, and there's a guy in a suit with a sign that says MACNEARY on it. it doesn't waver when the guy stops her and says no, he's not looking for another macneary, he's here for her, courtesy of ms. arnault. it doesn't waver throughout the ride—the chauffeured ride, in a fancy car, just her and the guy—from jfk through the streets of nyc, seeing the skyline she's only ever known from movies and on tv. it doesn't waver when she's escorted into a skyscraper in the garment district and guided up to the floor where ms. arnault is waiting for her.

it wavers when she sees her. when dorothea says her model couldn't make it that day and she could really, really use petra's help, it falls completely.

you can guess how the rest of that trip goes. petra barely remembers it herself. she gets back home to enbarr, trying to recover from the whirlwind week she's had by doing what she does best—working. she can scarcely believe any of it was real. she has to believe it when she gets back to her shithole apartment, sets to the task of transcribing the audio from her tape recorder, and realizes it was rolling the whole time.

the whole time.

and there's absolutely no denying any of it after dorothea sends her the photos for her review.

you look so good in these, she tells petra when she sends her the first photoset. i think you look better out of them, she says when she sends the second.

petra considers her options. considers freaking out. considers not replying. considers moving to australia. she considers and reconsiders and does none of those things.

what she does do is send dorothea the audio recording. dorothea sends her some photos of her own.

they meet up again in LA on the day the profile drops.

act 2

if that first week was a whirlwind, the summer is a hurricane. petra's being lauded for the quality of her profile on dorothea, as well as for being the only member of the press who can get close to ms. arnault. it's borderline scandalous, how she's also modeling the summer line despite not even being a real model. it's a thinly-guised affair—almost completely un-guised when their flirting gets a little too overt during a show in tokyo. who cares. petra's entranced. dorothea takes her everywhere, her personal reporter, lavishing her with gifts, showing her the world. she's keeping her busy between all this travel and all this passion. they go to show after show, shoot after shoot; petra works her ass off, keeping the tape rolling, listening, paying attention. so what if she doesn't have time to answer shamir's texts right away the way she normally would. the website's getting more traffic than it ever has, carried by petra's inside scoop on the world of dorothea arnault. shamir can cut her a break.

and she's surprised by how much she likes dorothea. how much she likes spending time with her. dorothea's all the things petra thought she was: glamorous, bubbly, charismatic. but she's also so brilliant, so hard-working, busting her ass every single day of her life. and she's sweet, too. she lavishes petra with attention, gives her all kinds of little gifts and things—nothing too expensive as to make petra uncomfortable (the jetsetting is bad enough as-is), but small, practical things she actually likes and could use. she asks petra about herself almost as often as petra asks questions about her. it's not petra's job to talk beyond getting the conversation flowing, to put more of herself into the discussion than there needs to be to get dorothea to open up. she's here to listen. to pay attention. write honestly and move on.

but she's finding she doesn't really want to move on.

one night they're hanging out in dorothea's fancy hotel room eating room service and drinking wine when dorothea makes a crack about how little petra knows about fashion. petra admits that she really didn't intend to get into it, that it just kind of happened. that what she really wants to do is investigative work, writing about events, exposing corruption, that sort of thing. no offense to dorothea! it's been fun doing this, don't get her wrong, but she's got goals, other things she wants to do—once dorothea gets tired of her, she jokes. sort of jokes. dorothea laughs. she smiles at her and asks why she wanted to be a journalist.

and petra's honest again. honest like she hasn't been before. she tells her a little about her childhood, her family life. about growing up in brigid (you know, the country on planet earth) and moving to enbarr as a teenager after her father died. seeing her super-smart, brilliant mother and grandfather go from these auspicious jobs in their home country to shitty ones that just barely pay the bills here, all in the name of long-term security. how they taught her to work hard and always act with integrity, no matter what she's doing. she tells her about the struggles of learning a new language, how it made her become a good listener, how she fell in love with writing because it gives her time to think about her words, to express herself the way she wants to. she wanted to be a journalist to speak for those who can't raise their voices loud enough on their own.

dorothea smiles at her the whole time she's talking. petra's not used to being on this side of the table, to being listened to like this. she almost doesn't know how to handle it; she's apologizing, feeling embarrassed for having said so much, but dorothea says don't be sorry. that's beautiful. she's lucky to have such wonderful people in her life who love her and support her. and she likes hearing petra talk.

things are different after that night.

act 3

the start of the Drama Arc. the summer's coming to an end. petra and dorothea are still spending so much time together, jetsetting around the world. petra's working on a piece that's a backstage look at the arnault company's leadup to milan fashion week. the stress is getting Real and the cracks are starting to show. petra's missing deadlines, blowing off shamir, blowing off edelgard, blowing off her family. she's barely in enbarr these days, jetlagged to hell, lost between time zones. her pal bernadetta reaches out and says hey, there's something Big i'm working on that i could use help digging into, can you give me a hand? petra says sure, i'll take a look. she doesn't. she forgets somewhere between london and são paolo.

things are still hot between her and dorothea, but she's starting to see the cracks in her, too. she's getting to see more of her, more of what lies beneath all that glam and bubbly personableness. you don't go from being a nobody to a mogul in your 20s by being nice, and what petra slowly discovers is that dorothea isn't just not nice, she is ruthless. she's nonstop, working her ass off, and anyone who can't keep up with her gets left behind. she hints at her past sometimes: at her shitty childhood, at growing up in poverty, at being orphaned, at having spent years in foster care. but she never opens up. she's 100% focused on the future, and it's all she wants to talk about. dorothea wants to live her dreams, yes, but more importantly, her goal is self-preservation.

petra finds this out when they're at a shoot one day. petra's off to the side, fucking with her piece of shit camera when who storms up to her but ingrid, and she's pissed as shit. she chews petra out. calls her an asshole. says she stole her job. asks what the fuck is wrong with her, doing that while posting her articles, publicly announcing to the world that she never even wanted to be a model. petra's floored. she doesn't even know what she's talking about. she asks ingrid to start over.

that "second date" of theirs in manhattan, way back when? turns out dorothea was telling the truth when she said her model couldn't make it that day. ingrid was supposed to be modeling. she was dorothea's #1 for ages. she'd just come off back-to-back-to-back shoots when she got sick, really sick. stuck-in-shanghai-and-probably-not-going-to-be-able-to-board-a-flight-to-manhattan-tomorrow sick. she told dorothea so, said she'd try her best. dorothea said not to bother and didn't call her again.

it'll happen to you, too, ingrid tells petra, once you aren't useful to her. you're giving her all this press now, but if you ever do anything else, she'll drop you like she drops everyone else.

ingrid storms off, leaving petra standing there, holding her stupid camera. she looks at dorothea, standing across the room, running the show, correcting this and that, getting everything perfect, exactly the way she wants it. petra looks at her and wonders. wonders what would happen if she wrote something dorothea didn't like. if somebody new caught her eye.

they get dinner that night and it's tense. dorothea's stressed. she's carrying on about this and that, talking about the shoot, texting and responding to emails, slamming back glass after glass of wine. petra's quiet, letting her talk. too quiet, apparently, because dorothea eventually takes her head out of her phone and asks her what's up. nothing, petra says, just thinking about everything going on, about the shoot today. dorothea rolls her eyes. i know, she says; on top of everything else, ingrid was there, and she wanted to have a whole conversation with me, like i wasn't busy and like she didn't fuck me over the last time i saw her. she texted me earlier, too. the audacity of this bitch, she gripes, going back into her phone, still mad. a little later into dinner, manuela calls and dorothea answers it; she's bubbly and sweet, all hi how are you omg it's been so long, i miss you, sorry i've just been so busy~ i've gotta go but we'll catch up soon. she hangs up and shoots petra a look. she's so needy, dorothea says, laughing. petra tries to laugh too and can't quite manage.

they're still going everywhere together in the leadup to milan fashion week, and petra's still working on the piece, but she's feeling a little gross and she's quieter than ever. she lets herself believe that maybe it's fine, maybe it's okay, maybe she's not really that cold and ruthless. but then dorothea shows her one day.

everything's been going wrong: there's equipment stuck in customs, marketing materials haven't been delivered from the printers yet, the studio they rented for pre-shoots is double-booked. then a model's late to the shoot and another one is complaining and dorothea is done, so done. she fires them on the spot, gets on the phone and calls two new ones who will get the job done and done without question. petra's quiet. listening. paying attention. keeping the tape rolling as dorothea justifies herself aloud, without prompting. don't judge me, she says. i do what i have to do, and everyone else should, too. i know no one is going to take care of me. i've got no reason to take care of anyone else.

she's a mess all night. angry. stressed. shutting herself off. petra's seen her get like this a few times, but this is the worst it's ever been. she's in her phone all night. practically snaps at petra when she asks if she can help her with anything. shrugs away from petra's touch.

they go to bed and petra barely sleeps. she just lies awake, thinking. thinking about dorothea. thinking about herself. thinking about how she's been blowing off her friends, her family, her boss. thinking about how swept up she's been in all this crazy stuff she doesn't even really care about, putting off her own career. feeling guilty about ingrid. feeling guilty about blowing off shamir and bernadetta. worrying about who she's become around this woman. wondering what happened to her integrity.

fashion week goes great. flawlessly. petra heads back to enbarr afterward. she's almost ready to publish her piece, but she's gotta make up with shamir first. she apologizes. says she's so sorry. sorry for blowing her off. sorry she missed her deadlines. shamir is pretty fucking done with her and has told her as much already, but petra's earnest, and her piece is ready, and she wants to give the girl one more shot. she tells petra alright, i'll forgive you, but i need this piece tonight or we're done. i can't keep waiting on you and your schedule.

okay, petra says, you'll have it tonight.

she's worried. nervous. there's so much on her mind. the piece is ready but it's not going to make dorothea happy. she wants to call her first. she tries and gets her voicemail. tries again. nothing. texts her instead, a few times. hey, she writes, i need to talk to you. call me when you get the chance. it's about the profile. it's important. i'm on a deadline.

nothing. the hours are ticking by. she calls her. texts her. it's really important, dorothea. i need you to talk to me. please.

nothing.

petra's left wondering. wondering what to do. whether she should hit send on this email or hold off. wondering what she wants out of this.

and what is this, anyway? a summer fling? are they dating? girlfriends? they've never put a name on anything. do they have a future? can petra even think about building a future with someone she doesn’t trust to keep her along if she ever should need help? maybe dorothea’s hot and smart and maybe she’s got incredible drive but if she doesn't share petra's values, if she’s not going to be able to live for more than herself, and be true to herself, can petra accept that? does dorothea even know herself well enough to be able to be authentic?

time runs out and petra sends her piece to shamir. dorothea leaves her on read.

the piece is published. it's a huge hit, and not just in fashion circles, because it's a perfect portrait of dorothea arnault, and who doesn't love a biography of a wunderkind. it's honest. it's real. it talks about everything: her light, her darkness, the ups and the downs of being with her. it's raw. personal. revealing. it's all her brilliance and all her evils, captured in the way only someone who really loves her could do.

when it drops, petra expects dorothea to call and rip her a new one. she doesn't expect her not to call at all. but dorothea's radio silent. a few days later, some dickhead paparazzi petra has the misfortune of knowing (hilda and claude) send her a picture of dorothea in LA, running around with some red-headed douche (ferdinand).

sorry, dorothea texts her eventually. i've been soooo busy. i've missed you, but we'll catch up soon.

sure, petra writes, knowing they won't. i'll see you soon, she writes, knowing it's goodbye.

act 4

petra goes back to her career. back to her friends. crashes on edelgard's couch for a while. spends time with her family. starts addressing the connections she fucked up, fixing things with shamir, trying to gain momentum again. despite the profile on dorothea being such a success, it takes a long time for her to get back on her feet. but it's okay, 'cause if she's busy, she doesn't have to think about her.

months go by. every couple of nights, dorothea drafts a text to petra and deletes it.

it's february now, which means new york fashion week is here, and although petra is branching into investigative stuff nowadays, shamir calls in a favor and asks her to help cover it. petra knows she might see dorothea there. knows it’s a risk. decides she’s gonna be so strong and brave, and she can’t really afford to pass it up anyway because it’s a big career opportunity, a chance to revisit fashion after her profile last year. so she goes.

and they see each other. and nothing happens. they don't even say hello.

but that night, when petra’s in her hotel room, spiraling, dorothea calls her. she's in a hotel up the street. she asks petra to come over. for all her sense, her morals, her logic, petra is no more than a lesbian, so she says yes.

they don't talk. they jump right to making out sloppy style and fucking nasty and holy shit, it’s just like it was when they first met: hot and intense and so good, so perfect. except it’s not, it’s not, because this isn’t going to work out no matter how much they want it to, and they both know it. they get into a big fight after dorothea makes a crack about the profile and petra loses it. she puts dorothea on blast for being such a piece of work, saying she can’t ever be with her no matter how much she wants to because dorothea won't ever put someone else first and she’ll never figure out how to be anything other than alone.

then petra drops another bomb. over the past few months, she's made up with bernadetta, and it turns out that the big scoop bernie uncovered is about exploitative business practices a certain scummy fashion company engages in. a certain scummy company that dorothea's company is partnered with. said company's dealings wouldn't get their business partners in legal trouble, but public perception would certainly change. she's been working on an exposé about it. she's going to release it soon. really really soon. like as soon as she gets back to enbarr.

dorothea looks like she's been hit by a truck. she begs petra not to release the story about the company. it’s going to fuck her brand. she'll be ruined. she offers petra whatever she wants. gets nasty, even, defensive. then she fucking breaks. she doesn’t fully open up, but it’s the closest she’s ever come to doing it. she says she's sorry, sorry for hurting her, sorry for shutting her out, sorry she cut and ran like she always does when she might catch feels, when she might be vulnerable for once. she says she's sorry and she asks her please, please, not to release the story.

petra doesn’t give her an answer. she just goes back to her hotel.

once she gets back, she doesn't sleep. she stews for ages, pacing, going back and forth, trying to figure out what to do. act with integrity and drop the story as-is. don’t drop the story and protect the person she cares about, in spite of herself. amend the story so maybe dorothea won’t catch heat...? no, that wouldn’t be acting with integrity either. she can’t win either way.

and dorothea’s having a think, too, which is to say she’s a fucking WRECK. realizing how bad she’s fucked up her life. realizing that petra liked her for her. wanted to get to know her for more than her name and her money and her connections. told her things about herself she didn’t even realize were true. and she hurt her at every single turn. for the first time in her life, she had a chance at something real with a good person who really loved her and she fucking blew it. there’s so much dissonance as she tries to defend her own actions to herself and can’t because petra’s wormed her way into her head, the only person who ever Really questioned her, the only person who ever made her question.

she's always figured things out alone. she's always had to figure things out alone. this time, though, dorothea's not sure she can handle it. so she does the only thing she can think to do: she goes to manuela with her tail between her legs. manuela's a little pissy at first as dorothea's been blowing her off for a while now, but she's also worried, because dorothea has never come to her like this. not once. and she's offered for her to, a lot.

when manuela hugs her, dorothea breaks. she ugly-cries into manuela's arms. tells her how bad she's fucked up. how much she hates herself. how sorry she is for being a dickhead when manuela's only ever wanted to be there for her. manuela comforts her. chastises her for being an asshole, yeah, but shores her up, too. tells her if she's really sorry, she'll figure out how to change. tells her that she's there for her, and she'll keep being there for her, so long as she tries. dorothea's blown away. she thought she'd lost her shot at having love in her life, but she was too blind to see there are other types of love she's been shutting herself away from, too.

dorothea leaves manuela's, still feeling like shit, but with plans to get lunch or at least call each week, and with the promise that she's going to do better, be better.

she makes an effort, too. she cuts ties with the skunks. changes her business practices. starts being more charitable, less ruthless, less aggressive. it’s a slog and it sucks and she’s bad at it but fuck she’s going to try. even if petra never takes her back, even if petra just thinks dorothea’s trying to cover her own ass again and protect herself from the impact of the story, it doesn’t matter. she’s going to be better. she’s going to try to do things right, because someone believed in her, someone thought she could be better. and she’d never thought so highly of herself, never thought she could be more until petra came into her life and saw the potential in her.

petra releases the story a week or so later, unrevised. she texts dorothea before she does. says she’s sorry. dorothea says it’s alright. she understands.

the story drops and it’s a clusterfuck. an absolute PR disaster. the scummy company folds overnight. a bunch of related fashion companies, including dorothea’s, are in huge hot water. dorothea’s on the press circuit, doing damage control. petra’s watching an interview with her, listening to her spouting off her PR beats. fully expecting dorothea is going to deny everything, throw everyone she can under the bus to keep her shit afloat. so she just about has a heart attack when dorothea admits she’s fucked up. admits she made the wrong decisions, did stuff she knew was scummy. takes accountability. is honest for once. honest in a way petra didn’t think was even possible for her.

dorothea outlines her plans for how she’s going to be better, the changes her company’s making, how things are going to be different. says she’s making a commitment. if it all folds, so be it. at least she’ll be able to sleep at night.

because capitalism is the way it is, the company doesn’t go under. they’re in the red for a while and the "Controversies" section of her wikipedia page is now significantly longer, but the news cycle goes on and consumers forget and a few months later, pieces from dorothea’s summer line are all the rage with the kids on tiktok. petra’s more than a little bitter about it, but mostly she doesn’t give it any thought. she did her part. wrote honestly. spoke the truth. kept her integrity. she’s become a big name since that scoop, too, with her career really taking off. she's writing books and shit, appearing on tv, what have you, doing the investigative work she's always dreamed of doing.

she’s in london one night on the final leg of a press tour, sitting in her hotel room, when she gets a call.

it’s dorothea. she’s in london too. would petra like to get brunch tomorrow?

yeah she would. bitch loves a mimosa.

they get brunch and it’s tense. they try small talk but don’t really know what to talk about. dorothea makes it more awkward by cracking a joke about petra writing an article about her after this brunch and petra only kind of laughs.

but then dorothea apologizes. earnest. honest. like she’s never been with petra. tells her she’s sorry. tells her how she changed her life and made her think about herself differently, made her think she could be a better person. made her Want to be a better person. convinced her it’d be worthwhile to try. and she has. she’s made so many steps since they last saw each other. doing better. living kinder. living true. says she doesn’t expect anything from petra at all. just wanted to say sorry, and thank you for seeing the best in me.

petra says you’re welcome.

dorothea pays for brunch and they go their separate ways. dorothea holds it together until she gets to her hotel room and then she loses it, bawling her eyes out like she has never ever done, like she’s never let herself do. but it’s okay. she loves petra, that hot journo with the cute accent and more morals than sense, but dorothea knows she doesn’t deserve her, and she’s going to be okay with that. she’s going to live better anyway, for herself, because she’s worth it.

act 5

a year and a half goes by before dorothea and petra run into each other at a formal Thing. they talk, cordial, business-like, just catching up. dorothea makes a crack about the tmz photos of petra with three or four different high-profile supposed gfs over the past year and a half, calling her a heartbreaker. petra laughs, a real laugh. says dorothea's one to talk. asks if she's been keeping up with her? how often does she google her? dorothea says she does it more often than she'd like to admit. petra blushes, laughs again, flattered.

she asks if dorothea's been breaking more hearts lately herself and dorothea says nah. she's been focusing on her business. she's got this non-profit going now too, and it's been taking off. just landed some pretty big investments that will bring arts programs to schools that don't have funding for them. she looks proud of this. she is. she's actually spending more time doing that these days than her fashion stuff, which makes her a little sad, but it's not so bad because it's given her a bit of a mystique: the designer whose work was once Everywhere, now dropping limited release lines every few seasons instead of keeping up with the fast fashion whirlwind. it's different but it's good. she likes it. she's happy.

petra says she's glad to hear that. that she's happy for her. makes a reference to the new line dorothea's rumored to be dropping this fall. dorothea's eyes almost pop out of her head. you know about that? yeah, petra says, i google you. she's known about the non-profit, about everything dorothea's been telling her about. she's a journalist. she likes knowing things. but she likes knowing about her. knowing that she's doing well. and it's really good now, knowing that she's happy. she tells dorothea she's happy for her. that she's proud of her. that she knew she could do it.

dorothea doesn't cry. just says thank you. she gets called away by somebody else, and petra does too, pulled in the opposite direction. dorothea thinks about hugging her first. almost touches her hand. elects not to. says it was good to see her. then they're both whirled elsewhere and they don't see each other again.

but that night when dorothea's in her hotel, she gets a text. it's from petra. would she like to get coffee tomorrow?

FIN

#fe3h #fire emblem #doropetra #dorothea arnault #petra macneary #sterge.rtf #journalist x fashion designer au #long post #thinkin about them girls #wish i could do this idea justice #i just wrote an edeleth fic and Need to get back to hpnd as i miss those fellas #plus there's the matter of old man clod who is the albatross around my neck at this point #but now i've got this doropetra situation on the brain and it's gonna be the death of me.#apologies to arrow and caller as i literally vomited this entire au at them this morning #copy and pasted chunks of this from discord bc i'm lazy and spent Too Fucking Long writing this up anyway #might write the first part as a one-shot for funsies #i like exploring the ruthless side of dorothea. the side of her that is focused wholly on self-preservation #yeah she's funny and flirty and sweet but she's also Very Aware of how the world works and Will get what she wants out of life #also love petra's determination and drive. her self-sacrificing nature #her integrity and her commitment to doing the right thing even if it's devastating for her personally #as y'all will eventually find out in hpnd i'm a sucker for a journalist #but even if i had time i could not be arsed to learn enough about the fashion industry to do this justice #realistically this is far enough departed to be its own book but what do i care. i'm not gonna end up actually writing the thing anyway

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