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tundrainafrica · 4 years ago

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Note: Instead of posting a meta or a fic today, allow me to take a quick break from that because I think I really need to appreciate some people here and the fandom overall.

February 7, 2021.

Today, I turned 24 and my boyfriend surprised me with a gift I think I’ll be taking to heart for a very long time.

The story behind the gift was as precious (or even more precious) as the gift itself and I thought I’d share it since it turned out some content creators were involved in this gift and I very much want to express how much this gift has defined this day for me and will place my 24th birthday as one of those birthdays I don’t think I’ll ever forget.

Apparently, I had casually dropped both my tumblr and my ao3 account during one of our conversations and somewhere around November he had started looking through my bookmarks, my posts on tumblr and some of my interactions with people in the fandom.

I should have seen it coming. It had started with my boyfriend suddenly asking about my hyperfixation with Levihan.

Sav? Shipping? Sav? Binge reading ships and meta posts? Sav? Gushing about a fictional ship?

And I remember gushing about this with my seemingly uninterested boyfriend a long night after explaining what was oddly the most out of character thing for someone like me.

I was sharing with him my metas and hcs and maybe, I was dropping a few of my favorite quotes along the way and it turned out he was interested. Suddenly he was asking me about my favorite fics, my favorite scenes. Suddenly, he was rereading my favorite fics with me and a few times, he was quoting those same scenes. I did find out he was looking through my blog when I got a random message from a really sketchy tumblr telling me to open my facebook.

I suspected a few times that he could be planning something. December passed with nothing and eventually he stopped asking so I clocked that as a fevered dream or unnecessary assuming on my end and didn’t think too much of it after.

It turned out my boyfriend had messaged my favorite authors about their fics and he commissioned one of my favorite artists (if not my favorite) to draw a few photos and bound them into a Levihan Anthology

And it feels fucking amazing to receive something like this. To get Levihan which helped me through the worst of 2020, bound forever as a book I can just open up and read anytime. And I guess tearing up at receiving such a gift had me thinking of a lot of things at once (which were always at the back of mind) but I thought of sharing now.

The past year wasn’t easy. Actually. don’t think it’s an understatement to say this past year was dog shit. With the covid pandemic and all plans after that cancelled, I’m sure we can all agree we had our ups and downs.

I had a lot of my own plans completely thrown out the window for numerous reasons. I had plans of going to law school part time while building a career. And, I got a job right after college to make these plans come true. In September the law school I got accepted to (after working so damn hard the past year to get accepted) denied my appeal for night classes. I decided to drop my enrollment to focus on my career. A week later, my job laid me off.

And for once in my life, I wasn’t going anywhere. And I lived in a house where everyone was always doing something and as soon as I lost my job I was pressured to find another one. But as we all know, searching for a job during this pandemic isn’t easy. I was still reeling after having dropped my enrollment just to focus on my job only to lose that job the week after with no prior notice. Everyone around me was busy doing their own thing. I had no one to talk to and for a while, I was falling into this pit of depression.

My days consisted of me hiding under the covers of my bed in between the few interviews I would take day to day. Around that time, I decided to binge watch Attack on Titan as well

I was never one to get hyper fixated in ships. In fact, this was the first ship since Royai and Victuuri which I have been so passionate. And this is a whole new level of passion. I think this is the first time I’ve ever written so much in this small amount of time. It was slow going. Just like Levi and Hange’s relationship, my fixation with this ship was a slowburn.

Those days alone, I was reading fanfiction by the bundle, I was scrolling through the Levihan tag like a simp, leaving kudos in ao3 on a throwaway account and just scrolling through random people’s tumblr accounts.

What happened during the one month? And when I was alone, sad, lonely and stagnant with no one to talk to, when everyone around me was living their own lives, all I had alone in the bedroom was Levi and Hange’s stories to keep me company between interviews.

And the meta analyses and headcanons I had about their relationship were teaching me things. They were teaching me that life was never about how quickly you progress or how far you go. Maybe the real winners in life are the ones who can build good relationships, build relationships so mutually satisfying they keep each other growing and in those few moments reading, headcanoning ships, I did realize, maybe even as stagnant as I was at that moment, my life wasn’t dogshit.

No one’s life is dogshit for a few small bumps along the way. Sometimes it just is part of the process of growing, learning to get past the worse, learning to manage relationships. And maybe it’s these relationships which make life worth living. Maybe it’s these struggles depicted in these stories and the bounce back. Maybe it’s the love, the life, the emotions so carefully described and depicted in every single story which makes life, life.

With every single fic I read and every single fan art I scrolled through. Levihan was teaching my things about love, loss and life.

Sometimes, these fandoms are the things which can catch people before they fall too low into something. These works and stories authors and artists shared so generously were what pulled me out of this state and are what inspired me to explore this relationship for all the potential its worth and maybe share my own stories and headcanons which people may learn a thing or two from or maybe just find some comfort and hope in.

And these inspirations eventually evolved to writing. Writing 10,000 words in a day in between three interviews? I never was a writer but somehow, I found myself spending hours exploring the themes of love, loss and life with our favorite pairing

I didn’t start writing out of nowhere. I didn’t start making metas out of nowhere. I needed the right inspiration, the right content to get me into this point where I could continue writing, reading, meta-ing, appreciating, headcanoning and everything in between.

And I just wanted to express my gratefulness to every single person in the fandom who had made it possible for me to pull out of that blackhole. Fandoms are underrated and I believe there are so many lessons which can be learned from the right content and from the right people.

To the people who so willingly went along with my boyfriend’s little project:

@faerielleart I saved A LOT of your art and they’re sitting in my google photos under a folder called Levihan and maybe I did share a few of your photos (the cheeks one and the beast titan one and the les miserables) ones to my boyfriend unsolicited just to show him how beautiful Levihan can be. Thank you so much for these beautiful drawings.

@lizaloveslevihan You were one of the first people I talked with in this fandom and dreams really was one of those stories that fucked me up a little bit, had me make a few misses on the commute on the way home one day but maybe it did have me explore the angst genre a little more, maybe it did have me explore Levi’s character a little more.

@ariadneamare YELLOW. OH GOD. You know those letters? The ones which Hange left Levi at the end of the story? I ended up copying and pasting them and sending them to my boyfriend right after reading and I remember talking to him about this. We might be facing that same type of story in the future and I guess that ended up becoming a lot of foundation of our discussion and I guess, it’s just proof that there is so much to learn from fanfiction. There’s just so much to explore and fanfiction as a genre just does not get the credit it deserves.

@fanmoose12 I was exploring your works even before I started this tumblr up again. Maybe it was even your works which got me building my own headcanons from Levihan and writing from there. And I think I did leave a few anonymous messages telling you how I started exploring other genres because of your fics. Your works got my out of my dark place, it got me exploring a lot of other genres and for that I’m eternally grateful.

And somehow, my boyfriend picked that all up from late night discussions and one-on-one metas. Surprisingly, he wasn’t just playing along to humor his girlfriend. He was exploring the themes of love, life, loss and Levihan right along with me. (And got spoiled about Hange’s death along the way… Oops.)

And I am eternally grateful for that and I made sure to shower him with a lot of kisses after he kept me in the loop with what has been going on these past few months with his sudden interest in Levihan.

And this huge thank you goes out to all content creators (authors, artists, gif creators, shitposters alike). Sometimes you never know who’s thinking about your work, who’s shoehorning your works and quoting them to their best friends. Sometimes, you never will find out but your work had pulled someone out of a blackhole which they’ve been stuck in and sometimes you never know that your work has been that seemingly small thing that had taught them a lesson in love, life or relationships. Sometimes, that one work turned out to be an inspiration which got them writing and sharing their own stories or making their own drawings

And I guess, the point is, keep writing. Keep drawing. Keep sharing pouring your love, passion and emotions into works of art because you never really know whose heart you touched or whose life you changed.

I have a job now. I decided to push law school a few years back and maybe take the time to work on myself now and maybe spend the next months or maybe years writing metas and fanfictions. I was pulled out of my hole. I was inspired. I have my own stories to tell and I don’t think I would have been here if I hadn’t spent the last few months reading fic after fic, meta after meta, appreciating art after art,

So anyway, I just wanted to share some pics of my favortie fics, immortalized in one anthology, all organized by my boyfriend. And I think he made some great decisions with these.

(Bookbinding credits to @mayerwien)

#levihan #levi x hange #levi x hanji #lyf #life post

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vlindervin7 · 4 years ago

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All I really have to say about this is that, considering the fact that I spend all my time thinking of both druck and the get down, it’s a miracle this didn’t happen sooner. You don’t need to have seen the get down to read this, but I would recommend watching this because it’s pure art. Enjoy

Read on ao3

David closes the door behind them. Matteo doesn’t immediately register what he’s seeing. David hadn’t exactly told him where they were going, just that he had something to show him. This isn’t what Matteo was expecting.

He feels David come to stand next to him, but he can’t take his eyes off what he’s seeing. It’s a room, empty save for the lone mattress in the corner, and a few pots of paint and spray cans scattered all over the floor. And on the walls, from floor to ceiling, there is colour. Matteo immediately recognizes David’s signature art style that he’s been getting increasingly familiar with over the last few months, and it never fails to take his breath away. There’s so much of it, everywhere and Matteo’s eyes don’t know where to stop, each time they find something to take in, they find something else that demands their attention. It’s more colourful, bigger, and louder than most of David’s other art, almost like a living, breathing thing. It’s overwhelming in the very best way.

David shifts next to him and it snaps Matteo back to earth and it occurs to him that he should probably say something. It’s a testament to how overwhelmed he is that all he can find to ask is: ‘What do you do when there’s no more space?’

He looks at David for the first time since they entered and oh, in all his awe he’d momentarily forgotten the most beautiful sight he’s still ever seen is standing right next to him. He’s heard some people say that art is always more interesting than the artist, but Matteo has everything he needs to prove that claim wrong right here.

David breathes out a small laugh, looking a bit relieved to have Matteo responding, even if he’s amused at the direction Matteo’s thoughts have gone. ‘I paint over it.’

‘But then it’s all gone?’

The thought almost hurts, that all the beautiful things he can’t get enough of right now, might one day be gone because David needs to start over, and that he’ll never be able to see the however many layers that exist under this one. But then again, Matteo’s never been good with change.

David shrugs. ‘Sometimes I take pictures, but it’s never really been about that. This is where I come to just feel. It’s not about making something aesthetically pleasing or whatever. I have my sketchbook and other projects for that. This is just where I let off steam.’

And Matteo can sort of see that. There’s no real harmony or continuation between the art on the walls, it’s a mix of colour and figures seemingly placed at random. With a jolt he suddenly recognizes his own face, and that’s a lot, the thought that David comes here to let his feelings do the talking where no one can hear, and he painted Matteo bursting with loud colours.

Matteo reaches out to touch the wall closest to him, a sun or a big flower or maybe a disfigured face. He doesn’t know, but it’s pretty.

‘I’ve never brought anyone here before’, David says, making Matteo turn around. ‘Not even Laura.’

His cheeks are that lovely red colour they are sometimes, and he looks nervous, unsteady on his feet and taking in Matteo’s movements.

Matteo realizes how precious this is, how big of an honour it is to be shown this, essentially David’s soul on display, which is why he really doesn’t know what to say. He’s scared to say something that will ruin this moment that feels so delicate, or worse say something that won’t accurately convey how much this means to him.

He pats his pockets and says a silent thanks to his past self for not returning the bright purple marker he’d borrowed from Mia. David looks at him in question when Matteo steps closer to one of the walls again, but he doesn’t stop him so Matteo keeps going. He finds an unmarked space in between swirls of blue, and in blocky letters, writes down ICH LIEBE DICH, before putting the marker away and turning to face David, self-conscious suddenly. He didn’t even ask. He hopes he hasn’t ruined his one chance to read the book of David’s heart, but no. When he catches David’s eye again, he’s beaming, so wide, and powerful enough to wake the butterflies that have been residing in Matteo’s belly permanently since a few months now. It really hasn’t been that long, no matter how much Matteo feels like he’s known David for years, and saying I love you still feels new, exciting although a familiar warmth has joined that feeling lately, making Matteo think that maybe this doesn’t have to wear an expiration date he hasn’t found yet.

David doesn’t answer, not that he has to, it’s written all over his face and the walls around him. Instead, he bends down to pick up a red spray can. He shake it while coming to stand next to Matteo, an all black apparition contrasting with his bright art, and looks at the wall a moment before spraying, with such ease and comfort that it makes something hot unspool in Matteo’s belly, a bright red heart around Matteo’s words. It’s the sort of cheesy thing David himself would scoff at in movies, but coming from him it feels like the most special gesture in the world.

Matteo feels like he’s going to catch on fire with all the love he’s feeling.

For a moment they just stare at each other, laughing giddily. It reminds Matteo of that first time they hung out, like being a little kid again.

David shakes himself out of it, and picks up a brush this time, before refilling his colour palette. Matteo watches him do it, wondering where this is going, but knowing he won’t mind if it’s not more than David doing his thing and letting Matteo watch, but when he’s done he turns back to Matteo and makes a sweeping gesture over the floor. ‘You’re free to use whatever you want.’

He feels warm at the permission, again feeling the weight of David letting Matteo free in the place that’s most his in the world. He doesn’t immediately take him up on the offer, though, distracted by the flecks of paints that have started appearing on David’s hands, his black shirt. He’d thrown his jacket and beanie in a corner when he entered the space and Matteo wonders if he’ll be careful with the state of his clothes or if he doesn’t care if they get dirty.

He’s still just watching as David applies the brush to one of the blank spaces left, as he smiles without turning around and says, ‘Are you just going to stare at me, ‘cause you might want to get comfortable if that’s the case.’

‘Shut up’, Matteo mumbles, but he’s smiling at the smug tone David’s using.

He doesn’t really know where to start, but he does want to try something. It’s always seemed fun to him to do graffiti, except the whole hiding from the cops thing sounded like too much of a hassle. This seems like something close to it, enough to be fun, even though he has very little artistic talent. It reminds him of doodling in David’s sketchbook, knowing it could never add up, but figuring it might make David smile later, the way he did when he watched him that first time.

In the end he picks up a few spray cans and goes to sit down on the other side of the room where almost the entire lower wall is still a bright white. He shakes one of the cans like he’s seen people do in movies, and David earlier, and tries to vaguely spray the shape of one of the aliens in David’s movie. It’s not as easy it always looks to be, the easy way David had sprayed the perfectly shaped heart earlier. It’s messy and Matteo has trouble enough creating clear shapes as is, the can that feels too big in his hands not making any of that easier. He also didn’t know the paint would drip that heavily when holding the can slightly wrong. He tries his best, but the alien still comes out looking more like a grey green blue coloured blob than anything else. If anything, he gains a deeper appreciation for David’s art.

The paint has dripped all over the floor and his arms and hands.

Even if it was harder than it looks, Matteo was right in thinking it would be fun. He’s gone too long being in the same room as David without having his attention, though, and that’s significantly less fun.

When he pushes himself up and turns around, David has his back turned to him like Matteo didn’t just catch him looking at him, silently laughing before turning away. He’s not even painting anything, just stands there in front of that half-painted forest view, innocently holding the palette in hand.

‘Something funny?’

David slowly turns around, pretentiously holding the palette up with an innocent look on his face. ‘You talking to me?’, he asks.

Matteo pretends to play along, hoping to catch him in the act. “What do you think of my alien?”, he asks, pretending to be genuine.

When David sets eyes on it, he laughs like he can’t help it. At Matteo’s raised eyebrows, he tries to hold it in, and holds up his hands, but he doesn’t entirely manage. ‘It’s… It’s very cute’, he says, morphing his face into a serious expression again.

‘I’ll show you cute’, Matteo exclaims, launching himself at his boyfriend and smearing the paint on his hands all over David’s black shirt, and in the process accidentally knocking the palette over too, so that, now, the front his shirt is stained in a mixture of at least ten different colours.

Some of it’s even gotten on his pants. David gets very quiet for a moment, looking down at his clothes like he’s contemplating getting angry. Suddenly Matteo gets nervous. It had seemed like a good idea in the moment, something close enough to their usual play fighting, but maybe wasting David’s paint and ruining his clothes is taking it a step too far. After all, just because Matteo won’t spend more than five euros on an article of clothing, doesn’t mean David won’t either.

The noise he makes when David grabs a large paint brush and smears it all over Matteo’s face, he decides to blame on the fact that he was worried his boyfriend would suddenly decide to break up with him, and not that he’s a big baby. Once he’s over the shock, he doesn’t hesitate to retaliate, though, and before he knows it, they’re both throwing smearing aiming paint at each other. Matteo’s laughing so hard he feels light, lighter than he’s maybe ever felt before, like every new drop of of paint that lands on his skin lifts him that much closer to unperturbed peace and he can feel it approaching, that happy state of mind where everything else becomes a blur and he’s able to simply give himself over to it and live in this moment with David forever.

After a while, they’re not really battling anymore, instead have joined forces. They’re still using each other as a canvas, but it feels like art this time. The closest Matteo will probably get to making art as he picks out colours to addorn David with, and David does the same to him.

The walls aren’t spared in their outburst, they’re being equally pelted.

At one point, Matteo needs to stop because David, as lost as Matteo is in all of this, is almost dancing in the way he’s still creating beautiful things on these walls, all the while bringing his hands through his hair and messing it up, drawing Matteo close to him just to touch, and smiling through it all, never ceasing to smile. Sometimes he closes his eyes like he wants to soak in the rays of his invisible happiness, but he never stops moving. Matteo hasn’t prayed in a long time, but moving through this room with David, makes him think this is what it’s supposed to feel like.

It makes sense now, what he’d said before, about coming here to feel because that’s what he’s doing. Matteo is this close to seeing the walls he holds around himself when he’s outside this room fall away, can see him come alive in a place in which he feels free. Freedom found in between these four walls. It should seem like a contradiction, but it’s not really. What both David and Matteo have in common, is that burning desire for a home, a place to simply exist as they are without the weight of the entire world’s gaze on their back, where they get to be part of something bigger without having to explain.

That’s this room.

There’s a moment David opens his arms wide like he’s standing in a sudden downpour and all Matteo sees is that bird he’d shown him when they’d just met, finally taking flight.

He’s so full of light it feels like it should be dangerous to look at him directly, something that’s too bright to be observed by the naked eye, and a few months ago Matteo would’ve looked away in fear of catching on fire and having the whole world see him burn, but he’s not anymore. He’s so in love it feels like diving headfirst off a cliff, but he’s not afraid. Let the world watch as he falls and then, right when they’re all holding their breath watching him pummel to his death, take flight and surpass them all.

They end up making out on the mattress, and Matteo loses his shirt but he can’t remember how it happened. All he can think of is David and his all-encompassing need to feel him against him. He shivers and is about to start whining when David gets up for a moment, but then he’s back, straddling him this time. He brings the tip of a paint brush to his shoulder and traces all over his collarbones and neck before reaching the other one. Then he picks out another colour and starts tracing figures on his stomach, arms, ribs, chest, waist. The paint is cold against his skin and it makes him shiver, but David is holding him down gently with one hand, and looking at him like he’s the best thing he’s ever seen, and really he’s mostly shivering with the weight of David on top of him and what it’s doing to his body. There’s nothing except David that could make him move right now.

When David is satisfied with his work, he puts the paintbrush aside and lets his eyes sit heavy on Matteo’s bare skin, flicking up and down to his face, from his stomach, looking so serious like Matteo’s the piece of art he’s been working on for years, his magnum opus.

Then, after Matteo is this close to making a sound because the undivided attention is on the verge of being too much, David bends over and then they’re kissing again. Less hurried, less frantic than before, but soft like the gentle music that plays at the end of an action-packed movie when the heroes finally find the peace they’ve been fighting for. That moment after an impossibly high note when the audience is silent for fear of breaking the magic, right before the star receives all the applause they deserve.

It doesn’t last as long this time, a mutual declaration of trust. David settles his head on Matteo’s shoulder and they just breathe in the wake of all the beautiful chaos the room has had to endure. The toxic smell of the paint hangs heavy in the air, but Matteo feels like he’s never properly breathed until this very moment.

When he deems it safe to speak, he says what’s been on his mind ever since he walked into the room. ‘There’s so much colour.’

Compared to David’s sketches and the art he posts online and the one he hangs on his wall, this room is so bright. Matteo wonders if it’s because David thinks he can’t afford to show his inner colours to the world for fear of having them tainted or if it’s something else.

David must understand why Matteo decides to comment on that because he makes a small humming noise Matteo feels more than hears, before slightly turning his head so his mouth is free. ‘I’ve been really happy lately.’

They fall asleep right there, until hours later when they’ll have to face the outside world again. For now, they don’t think of what’s to come, though, too busy living in their homemade dreamscape.

#druck #davenzi #the get down #bc i can #my writing

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deathonyourtongue · 5 years ago

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Henry taking you on a carnival on your birthday hc?

Okay, so I took inspiration from the descriptions of the circus in The Night Circus, which is by far my favorite description of a carnival/circus I’ve ever read. Wish it existed in real life! The song I was listening to while writing this is Zoetrope by Joep Beving

You’ve told Henry a million times that theme parks and carnivals are a waste of money on you. You’re afraid of heights and falling, and that cancels out most, if not all of the rides. With most carnivals not having an extravagant budget for more complicated rides that use the latest technology, every time you’ve gone to one, you’ve been left wandering aimlessly, looking at games of chance that are impossible to beat, and food that is as overpriced as it is unhealthy. On a whole, you’d rather spend an evening watching a movie than watching others have fun.

Which is why, when Henry comes home one day with tickets to a carnival and an excited grin on his face, you can’t help but feel crestfallen. This is not how you’d planned on spending your anniversary with him and the fact that he’s forgotten your fears only makes you feel worse.

“Before you say anything, just know that I full well remember that rides are useless and games of chance are a waste of money. This is not that. This will be a night you’ll never forget.” He says, reading your body language in seconds, one hand lifted in defense of the barrage he knows is coming. Sighing, you stick out your hand, palm facing up, wanting to see the ticket. If you’re being dragged somewhere, you at least want to know where you’re going.

You’re surprised when the ticket placed in your hand has heft to it. Most tickets nowadays are the definition of cheap, with the print disappearing in weeks, and the paper ripping at the slightest glance. This one is different.

Printed on textured cardstock the color of midnight, it takes you a moment to realize the writing isn’t pressed, but handwritten in elegant, flowing script. The ink reminds you of fireflies in the garden, not quite gold, but not quite silver either. You spend far longer than you imagine entranced by how the light reflects off the letters.

Le Carnaval de L'éphémère

One night only. Never to return.

Opens at dusk and not before.

“Now I have your attention,” Henry smiles, knowing your obsession with stationery and calligraphy.

“Did you make this?” You can’t help but ask, even though the question sounds stupid the moment it leaves your mouth. Henry laughs and shakes his head.

“Bought and paid for. Like the card says, one night only, love.”

Your favorite part of October are the smells, and not for the first time, you’re grateful your anniversary with Henry falls nearly on Halloween. Every wonderful scent in the world–his included–is at full bloom right before the world falls asleep in Winter’s icy grasp, and summer aside, it’s the season where you feel the most alive.

Holding onto Henry’s bicep, you keep time with his long strides, his steps leading to Kynance, the mews not too far from the one you both live on, but far more idiosyncratic and interesting. The archway that marks the beginning of the street brings up a thought in your mind, and you can’t help but feel your curiosity yet again piqued in the same way it had been when Henry handed you the ticket.

“Isn’t Kynance a dead-end?” You ask, swearing you remember a dark brown double-gate at the end of the road. Squinting, you realize that the gate you remember is no longer there, replaced by a large iron gate behind which stands an old-fashioned ticket booth. Henry just shrugs, his smile broadcasting the same excitement you feel growing in you with each step you take closer to the end of the mews.

There’s a few people already waiting when you get there, bundled up in various degrees of cold weather gear. Knowing you have the advantage of living with a human furnace, when the two of you settle in your spot, you simply slip your arms in between Henry and his plaid jacket, instantly shielding yourself not only from the cold, but from the slight breeze that twists and dances through the narrow road in a way you’ve never felt in any other mews.

Henry graciously wraps his arms around you, turning you both so that you’re parallel to the gate and can take a moment to appreciate how the sunset plays off the gilded edges of the ticketbooth. You notice a large, meticulously-constructed clock at the top of the booth, the numbers replaced with only two words where 12 and 6 would normally be; Dusk and Dawn are the only markers of time on this particular chronograph, and you recall the words on the ticket with a smile. Whatever this is, they’re leaning into it hard and you appreciate it greatly.

You tip your head up to press a kiss to Henry’s lips, his arms squeezing you tighter as a breeze seems to wrap around the two of you like a tornado. Pulling away, you both look at each other like children on Christmas morning, adventure and wonder filling the air. Your eyes turn to the sunset, mesmerized by the waves of pink and purple in the sky; a sunset rare for this part of the country, especially with winter fast approaching. Resting your head on Henry’s chest, you can’t keep the smile from your face if you tried.

A deep tintinnabulation causes you to lift your head, and looking at the ticket booth, you realize the clock has hit Dusk. The carnival is open and your night has just begun.

When the curtain draws back on the ticket booth, you nearly gasp to see not a person, but an automaton behind the glass. Impeccably painted, the animated machine holds out a hand and takes the ticket, inspecting it briefly before stamping the back with the same ink used in the hand lettering and returning it to the waiting patron. With each person, it gives a different greeting, and when it’s yours and Henry’s turn, you eagerly await what it has to say.

Stamped and handed back, the automaton looks up at you and briefly, you wonder if there’s not life behind the glass eyes in its papier mache skull.

“Two lovers by a moss-grown spring: They leaned soft cheeks together there, Mingled the dark and sunny hair, And heard the wooing thrushes sing.O budding time! O love’s blest prime!”

The accent is appropriately 18th century, and you hear Henry snort above you, his face holding nothing but amusement. “The lady knows her Eliot,” he remarks with a raised eyebrow, taking his ticket back and keeping you close as you step forwards to heavy black and white striped curtain. You can’t help but smile when you feel Henry’s one-handed grip on you tighten as he peels back the curtain with the other hand.

A gasp does leave you this time, as you’re met with a narrow corridor, lit only by small flecks of light that dance around as though in their own orbit. Fog floats at your feet, and ozone floods your nostrils. You keep both arms wrapped around Henry’s torso as he guides you through, knowing full well you’re nearly night blind.

The corridor twists and turns in impossible directions given its geographical location, and for a moment your mind goes to the Bermuda triangle and alternate universes. There’s no way the city allowed them (whoever they are) to take up so much public space and alter it in such a way as to confuse the carnival-goers into thinking they’ve entered another realm. After what feels liked an eternity, you and Henry find yourselves at another curtain.

You watch the confusion and excitement light up in Henry’s eyes after he lifts the second curtain, bringing you into open square. Intricate parquet floors gleam from the rays of a moon that seems too close to be your own. Other guests mill about, all with the same slack-jawed expression of awe that both you and Henry are wearing. In the center of the square stands an iron cage with cutouts designed to look like trapeze artists, lions, tigers, and tents. Inside burns a fire that you swear changes color each time you blink. Henry has to physically move you towards the first tent.

With the same gilded lettering as the ticket, the tent is titled simply, and though you swear it’s your night blindness playing tricks on you, the lights around the sign seem to dance in circles around the letters.

Hall of Mirrors

Looking at Henry, you can’t refuse the boyish grin he gives you, letting him lead you in through another heavy curtain, into an even darker space. When your eyes adjust, you see each mirror is lit by a single, flickering candle and you can’t stop yourself from stepping up to the first one that’s at eye level to you. Rather than your own reflection, you find a scene that brings tears to your eyes immediately. In a grassy field sits the man you love, a warm creme-colored sweater setting him apart from the sea of green. In his arms is an infant, little hands curling around Henry’s chin as it coos and gurgles happily. Finally, you enter the frame, another infant held in your arms, the smile that lights Henry’s face one you won’t soon forget.

“You alright, love?” Henry asks even though his eyes don’t move away from the mirror he’s gazing into. You squeeze him tight and wipe your eyes, smiling up at him after giving him a little jostle. When he meets your gaze, you’re not surprised to see the same, sappy look on his features that you yourself are wearing.

“I love you,” he whispers, a breeze ruffling through his curls as he leans down to press a kiss to your forehead even as the air guides you out of the tent. You return the sentiment with a kiss to his sternum and a rub to his back, the scene still playing vividly in your head.

A scent catches your attention as you step back into the moonlit square, and without even needing to look up, you feel Henry tug you in the direction it’s coming from. Salted caramel and exotic spices mingle in the air, creating an otherworldly smell that you wish you could bottle up. Arriving at the stand, you marvel at the different offerings, all delivered by a different automaton dressed much like an 18th century baker would be.

Without a word, the doll hands each of you a bag of caramel corn, drizzles of chocolate and a sprinkle of cinnamon binding everything into one mouth-watering treat. The doll’s eyes indicate that the two of you should move and Henry quickly shuffles you out of the way and accidentally into another tent.

Though you miss the sign, there’s no question as to its contents the fur brushes your hand. Looking down, you’re met with a white Siberian tiger, its frost-colored eyes gazing up at you with curiosity. The animal chuffs and purrs, rubbing itself against you before moving on to another patron.

“Henry,” you whisper before moving your gaze and finding a veritable pack of large cats prowling the interior of the tent, none of them seeming all that interested in the prey that walked right into their space. You side-step when Henry gets nudged by a full-grown lion, its main a beautiful sunlit gold, the cat nuzzling against Henry until he gets pet. Henry laughs, the sound equal parts joy and surprise, neither of you understanding how it’s possible.

You get braver with each step, and soon you’re petting puma while Henry is crouched down, getting a tongue bath from a cheetah, the fear of being mauled all but a distant memory as you enjoy what seems like a dream.

When you finally step out of the tent, both of you have to pause short as a colony of penguins waddle past, some wearing bow ties. “Henry,” you look up, befuddled, “what is this place?” Again, you get a helpless shrug, Henry’s eyes catching the moonlight and nearly making you swoon for how icy blue they look.

You all but yank Henry to the next tent, excitement rushing through you like whitewater down a mountain.

Aquatic Life

Behind the curtain is a wall of water, and you flinch thinking you’re about to get caught in a tsunami, but the water moves only in gentle waves, never once losing its vertical shape. An automaton hands each of you a paper straw, motioning for you to go forward, into the unconfined aquarium. Placing the straw in your mouth as modeled by the doll, you and Henry hang onto each other tightly as you step through the threshold. Surrounded by an oceanic warmth, you look down to find your clothes not only feel dry, but that you and Henry are both encircled in a bubble blown simply by the two of you breathing normally.

A dolphin swims past, jarring you from your thoughts, and you look up to find a whale shark coming directly for you. Henry pulls you aside and you both stand completely still as the creature dallys past. Sea turtles, great whites, and jellyfish all move about, not caring whether they’re impossible or not. Reaching out, you touch the bell of the jellyfish, marveling when your hand comes back as dry as it went in.

Your last stop for the night is one of the few stands that offer games of chance. Though you have a rule about them, Henry convinces you to let him play once, and you give in, unwilling to say no when he’s managed to escort you on the most magical evening you’ve ever had.

The game is simple; on a luxuriant black velvet board, the same twinkling lights that illuminate the rest of the carnival dance. If Henry counts how many of them there are and guesses the correct number, he wins you a prize.

Sipping on the last of his cider, you watch as he readies himself. The automaton signals and Henry begins, moving in quadrants so that he doesn’t re-count the number of lights. When the time reaches its limits, he writes his answer neatly on a piece of cardstock, handing it to the automaton. A moment’s pause and the wall behind the ornate doll slide open, revealing a choice of prizes unlike any you’ve seen at other carnivals.

You take your time in choosing, the automaton seeming to watch you as you select between antique jewelry, smaller automatons, a framed painting of a headless woman, or a plush tiger which looks handcrafted and not mass-produced. Henry says nothing, but you can see his eyes venturing to the automaton of a ballerina, so realistic and graceful its as if they miniaturized the principal dancer of the Royal Ballet.

You point at the Ballerina, and when the automaton places it in your hand, you’re delighted to find that she sits on a jewelry case, dancing to a music box version of Gymnopedie. So admiring of it are you that you nearly trample a contortionist on your way out of the kiosk area. The woman smiles understandingly from her position, reaching up with one hand to give you and Henry each a small card.

On it, you find a fortune similar to the kind you’re used to getting inside of takeout cookies. You only read the first word before the contortionist catches your attention again, shaking her head from its spot between her knees. She indicates the music box, and without a word, you place the fortune inside, daring not read it just yet.

As you make your way out of the carnival, the first streams of sunlight filter through the starry sky, and you blink, trying to figure out how time seemed to slow inside the carnival. Just as you come to the edge of the cobbles, you hear the chiming of the bell once more, and looking back, are shocked to find the same old brown gate you remembered always being there. You say nothing to Henry, still held in thrall by the magic of the evening and not wanting to ruin it with chatter.

You very nearly forget about the music box and the ballerina once you get home, the ache in your feet from having spent all night walking around making itself known as you sit down for the first time in nearly six hours. It’s not until the familiar tinny music begins to play again that you remember the fortune you’d tucked inside. Standing, you pad over to the box and to Henry who still seems to be in a dreamlike state, his eyes transfixed on the ballerina.

“What did you see in the mirror?” You ask him quietly as you observe the automaton dancing on her platform. Henry’s quiet for a few moments, and when he speaks, his voice is soft and hoarse, as though he’s holding back tears.

“I saw you standing in our kitchen, swaying back and forth, wearing my favorite dress of yours. You were smiling and there was music playing off in the distance. When you turned, you were glowing. And…” he waivers, pulling you back against him, his face tucked into the crook of your neck. “You were carrying our babies.” The words are muffled and whispered, holding so much joy and anticipation, that it puts a frog in your own throat and you can’t help but reach up and card a hand through Henry’s curls in silent hope.

Reaching down, you open the box just as the music fades, winding it up to play anew before pulling out your fortune. You let out a wet chuckle when you read the words, and Henry squeezes you tighter, a snuffle accompanying the tears that darken the shoulder of your shirt.

On the same beautiful black cardstock are the gilded letters, the fortune cementing the night’s theme.

After winter comes spring, and new life it brings.

#henry cavill x reader #henry cavill #fic #deathonyourtongueoriginals #fluff

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woodelf68 · 5 years ago

Text

Turn On, Tune In, Drop Out

My long-promised homage to @worryinglyinnocent‘s Playtime ‘verse, because she managed to write fifty installments without doing hippies, and I had to rectify that. Also my contribution to @rumbelleishope. Rated E.

***

The large cardboard box bearing items from the estate sale was like a time capsule from the late 1960s. Gold sorts through the items, fond memories of his early childhood stirred by such things as the beaded curtain and concert posters and the heavy stack of albums, their cardboard covers worn along the edges but still bright with the distinctive graphics of the era. The Who, Jefferson Airplane, Country Joe and the Fish, Iron Butterfly. Donovan, too, Glasgow-born like himself. He can hear them in his head, like a soundtrack to the Summer of Love, and he wonders if Belle will like any of them. He’s fairly certain that she’ll like the clothes, and holds up a loose, flowing smock with wide sleeves and delicate flowers embroidered around the neckline and hem. It’s a pretty thing, and he can easily see Belle wearing it, hopes that she’ll want to.

Methodically he sorts through the contents of the box, dividing everything into three piles. One to be priced and sold – the two posters were what had drawn him to bid on this lot in the first place, and he knows that he can sell them for a pretty penny – one of things he thinks Belle might be interested in, and one of a few items of clothing that he looks at doubtfully, unsure if he wants them to fit or not. But he thinks of Belle in the short dress, thinks of surprising her with a scenario they haven’t played out yet, knows he won’t regret any temporary feelings of silliness at wearing what are, after all, fairly normal clothes compared to some of the things he’s put on for her. Making up his mind, he goes into the shop’s small bathroom and locks the door.

Several minutes later he’s studying his reflection, and surprisingly not feeling too ridiculous. although he would die of embarrassment if anyone other than Belle were to see him wearing a suede leather vest adorned with long fringes. But the undyed linen shirt with the open neck and band collar is soft and comfortable, and if it’s a little too big, it’s not overly so, and he can roll up the sleeves. Same with the trousers, he’s sure that the flare-legged rust denim was originally meant to fit a bit more tightly than they do on his frame, but although he knows that Belle would no doubt appreciate that, he’s gotten used to more freedom of movement. With a belt and the cuffs turned up if he doesn’t want them to drag on the ground, the jeans fit well enough. The clothes remind him of his childhood, those years after he had been taken in by his aunts, where he had learned the feeling of security, and being wanted, and what it was like to be praised and encouraged instead of constantly belittled. Whether it’s the warm memories associated with the era, or simply the fact that he knows his ten year old self would have loved to have had a fringed leather vest, he’s satisfied with his image. Now all he has to do is suggest a scene. He thinks about it as he changes back into his suit and tucks the vintage garments into a bag. The shop is small, and would be easily decorated, but far too public for more than a quickie. The large Victorian house filled with fine antiques is not right at all. That leaves the cabin, he decides.

Saturday morning, he drops Belle off at the library and hands her a box tied with string that he’d stashed in the back seat of the Cadillac. “Don’t open it until lunchtime,” he says, knowing the pleasure of an anticipated surprise. “I won’t be in the shop today; I’ve got some other business to take care of.”

“All right; see you later.” Belle watches him drive off, mystified by the package in her hands. By the time lunchtime rolls around, she’s more than ready to tear off the box lid and find out what’s in it. A piece of paper sits on top of some tissue paper-covered contents, with the heading “Playtime?” She forces herself to read the rest before folding back the tissue paper and seeing what awaits her. “It’s 1968. Fibre artist and co-founder of Storybrooke’s new “Enchanted Forest” commune “Rumpelstiltskin” Gold has agreed to an interview with the hip young reporter from the local newspaper. Please confirm interview at 6 pm Saturday.” Intrigued, she folds back the tissue paper and nearly squeals with delight, instantly picking up the beaded, white leather headband that lays on top of the other items and tying it around her head. She gets out her compact mirror to admire how it looks for a moment before texting Rum back.

“Interview confirmed. Looking forward to it.”

He must have been waiting for her reply; his return message is swift. “Dove will have the car there for you at five; I’ll see you later.”

Dove arrives with the keys to the Cadillac before she closes the library at five, and as soon as she locks the front door, she retires to the restroom to change into her outfit. It’s a beautiful day, warm and sunny, and she drives out to the cabin as instructed, deciding what she’s going to say when she gets there. Parking, she starts to head for the door of the cabin when she hears music coming from around the side of it and alters her course. Gold is there, sitting on top of the picnic table, his spindle hanging down and twirling as he spins a smooth yarn from the basket of wool roving in the basket beside him. He is dressed – well, he is dressed to match her, obviously, and it suits him. It suits him incredibly well. He looks softer, younger, his dark hair set off by the off-white linen shirt, feathering out over the band collar, the open neckline displaying the line of this throat and a string of love beads, mostly black with a few white and sky blue ones mixed in at regular intervals. The rust-coloured denim of his jeans sits low on his hips and flares out below the knees and the fringed vest…she’d like to see him move with it on, see the fringes flare out. She kind of wants to borrow it herself, and thinks about what it would feel like to wear it with nothing on underneath. Preferably while she was riding him in bed, rocking back and forth, the open edges of the leather rubbing back and forth against her bare skin… She swallows hard, and pushes that image back to take out and play with again later. Gold looks both snuggly, and sexy, and she wants nothing more than to go over to him and slide her fingers into his hair to hold him still while she kisses him breathless, but she has a part to play first.

”Mr. Gold?” she asks, approaching. “I’m Belle French, with the Storybrooke Mirror. You agreed to an interview.” She holds out her hand and he lets go of the dangling yarn forming between his fingers to reach out and shake it.

“Call me Rum, please.” He goes back to smoothing the spinning fiber into a smooth, even yarn, and Belle can’t help but watch his hands.

“That’s a nickname, right?” She takes out a pen and notebook from her purse, ostensibly jotting it down. “For Rumpelstiltskin, because of the spinning.”

“It is. I quite like it.”

“How did you get into spinning?”

“My aunts taught me. We had a wee croft, a few sheep, chickens, that sort of thing. Turned out that I was quite good at it. I like the rhythm of it, and there’s a lot of satisfaction in taking a bit of dirty, rough wool and combing it clean and spinning it into a strong, even twist of yarn that can be made into things.”

“Do you use the yarn yourself? Make it into things?”

“Aye, we do a fair bit of that here, at the commune. Granny’s our champion knitter, ponchos and scarves and mittens, they always sell really well at the Miner’s Day Festival. And my son and his girlfriend like to make dreamcatchers with the wool; they’re another popular item. And of course we make things for ourselves as well.”

“So is that part of your goal here? To be as self-sufficient as possible?” Belle drops her bag on the grass and sits down beside it, cross-legged, resting her notebook on her thigh and glancing back up after scribbling a few things down in it. It’s a lazy sort of day, and for once she isn’t in a hurry to rush to the sex, instead interested in the unusually detailed background story he’s made up about himself, and hinted at in the letter he’d written. She wouldn’t mind being a journalist if she wasn’t a librarian, she thinks, and wonders if the Mirror might be interested in her starting a weekly column about books.

“Aye, I suppose. It’s cheaper to make your own bread than to buy it, for example, and better for you. You’ll have to talk to Anton, our crops expert, if you want to know more about that side of thing. He’ll talk your ear off about beans if you show even the slightest bit of interest.”

Belle grins, thinking of the gentle giant who ran the local health food store, and knowing it was actually true. “You mentioned your son; tell me about him.”

Gold smiles fondly. “He’s an artist. Does portraits when he can get a commission, freelance political cartoons, sign painting, anything really.”

Neal is indeed a good artist, she knows, even if he has chosen the steady paycheck that came with a job at the hardware store over any artistic dreams, preferring to keep it a hobby. “You sound very proud of him .”

“I am.”

“What about those other people you mentioned? His girlfriend, and Granny. Do they live here, too?”

“Aye, Emma and her parents are fairly new here. Her mother’s our respectable member of society – she’s a teacher at the school – and her father can do just about everything around here. Good with the animals, construction work, anything that needs doing. And I can’t even be jealous of him because he’s so nice, too.”

Belle laughs; it really is a good summation of David.

“And Granny, well, she’s been here since the beginning.”

Belle makes a note, and looks back up to watch the whirling spindle, his fingers never still as he forms the yarn between his fingers. “Tell me about the beginning. What made you decide to start a commune?”

“Well, we didn’t, not really, certainly not at first. When my son was young – “ he hesitates, and then continues. “His mother left us, and there I was, needing to go to work and having a wee boy to take care of at the same time. We didn’t have any family, or friends. But I knew the woman in the flat across from ours had taken in her granddaughter recently and was raising her on her own – there’d been some scandal with the mother, from what Milah had gathered. But the lass looked hearty enough, so I figured that the woman knew how to take care of a bairn and I was desperate. I went knocking on her door, thinking she might be willing to look after Neal for what little money I could offer her, since it would be in the convenience of her own home. And he was a sweet, well-behaved boy, no trouble at all.”

Belle looks up at him uncertainly, knowing that he was talking about his own real life here; at least as far as Neal’s mother leaving them went, and wonders about it. He normally never talks about that period of his life, maybe this was one way he could do so? She isn’t sure about the Granny part; they don’t seem to have that sort of relationship. She stops herself from asking if Granny had really watched Neal, though, not wanting to break character yet. Rum has gone through a lot of trouble putting together a backstory for this particular scenario, and she doesn’t want to break the mood. She realises that she knows even less about Granny’s past, or Ruby’s parents, and makes a note on her pad to ask later. She squints against the sun, positioned behind his head and outlining the locks of hair falling forward into his face, and tries to think what would be the next question that a journalist would ask.

“Were you working as a spinner then?”

“Lord, no, an accountant. It’s only been in the last few years that people have begun appreciating handcrafted items again, enough to pay a little more for them than mass-produced factory goods. It was when the last of my aunts died that I took it up again. They’d left me their cottage, and everything in it, including their wheels and a good stash of both raw wool and spun yarn. I would have moved back to Scotland and lived there, but Neal had his friends and his life here, and wanted to stay, so I sold the place and brought as many of their things home with us as possible, things that I remembered from my childhood, even though I had to place most of it in storage. But I made Neal a scarf for Christmas from the yarn, and his friend Emma then asked if I could make her a hat, and paid for it with her allowance money, and then Granny’s Ruby wanted one, and pretty soon the boutique in town contacted me about selling some of my stuff there. I took a leap of faith and quit my job, but if I was going to spend all day at home spinning and weaving, then I wasn’t going to do it in my tiny apartment. This cabin was for sale, needed a lot of fixing up, but Neal was old enough to help by then and enlisted a bunch of his friends from woodshop at school as well. We had it fixed up and livable in quite a short amount of time, and well, that was the start of things.”

Belle mentally sorts out the facts from fabrication. His aunts had been real, she knows, but the cabin has never been more than a weekend getaway place. She is saved having to think of another question by the music in the background coming to a stop and Gold putting aside his spindle and going over to the record player to flip over the disc. A new song begins playing, with what she thinks is a bass line, a deep, thumping riff that gets under her skin and makes her want to move. She stands up, leaving her notepad and pen lying on her bag in the grass, and goes to meet Gold. “I like this song,” she says, beginning to sway in place as he turns back around to face her.

“Do you?”

“Mm-hm.” She takes his hands, trying to get him to dance with her. “In-a-gadda-da-vida, honey, don’t you know that I love you,” she sings, and nearly laughs at the way his eyebrows go up in surprise, biting back the remark that Storybrooke does have an oldies radio station, and it’s kind of hard to forget a song that seems to go on forever. “In-a-gadda-da-vida, baby, don’t you know that I’ll always be true?” She lifts his arms up, spinning beneath him, and smiling; he helps twirl her, her lightweight skirt flaring out around her.

“Oh, won’t you come with me,” she sings, and her mind completely derails in a sexual direction. “Won’t you take my hand?” With a filthy smirk on her face she tugs at his hands, backing away, and he follows, entranced, helpless to do otherwise. “Oh, won’t you come with me and walk this land? Please, take my hand.” She stops as they reach the picnic table, putting her hands on his shoulders, swaying to the music, forcing him to move as well, his feet staying planted but hips and shoulders moving to the beat.

“That’s it,” she encourages, and he smiles, drawing her close with his hands on her hips, pulling her flush against his body. She loops her arms around his neck, playing with his hair, her gaze drawn to the open collar of his shirt. “You look good,” she says.

“Do I?’ He tilts his head, grazes his lips against hers.

“Mm-hm. You should wear light colours more often.” She dips her head, pressing a kiss against his collarbone, mouthing against the warm skin.

“Have we moved into the second portion of the programming?” he asks, amused, leaning in to run his tongue around her earlobe.

“New questions. Like, do you believe in free love?” She runs her hand up his back, feeling each bump in his spine through the soft shirt, and then back down again, slipping up underneath the sun-warmed fabric.

“Oh, most definitely,” he assures her, his breath ghosting over hers as the music throbs in the background, a primal beat that makes him want to move against her, inside her. He debates the practicalities of just lifting her up onto the top of the picnic table and taking her right there.

“And is there a reason for that picnic blanket that you spread out so thoughtfully in the shade of the tree over there?”

“There are twigs and bugs in the grass,” he says, and Belle snorts. “And I thought, if any visitors should wish to recline in comfort…”

“Well, then,” she says, and takes his hand, leading him behind her towards the blanket. She sinks down upon it and he sits down beside her, facing her, and she can’t think of anything else to say, because all she wants to do is touch him. She slides her hand beneath his hair at the nape of his neck and draws him closer and he tilts his head and then they’re kissing languorously, need slowly building between them. Belle slips her hands up under the hem of his shirt, then back out again, tugging at the hem. “Off,” she instructs.

Gold breaks away from the path he’d been nuzzling along her neck to grin at her. “Run out of questions, have you?”

“The only thing I want to know is what you’re going to look like spread out naked before me,” she says, her voice gone a bit husky.

Gold sheds his vest first and then reaches back and yanks his shirt off over his head, his eyes darkening. The light breeze rustling the leaves above them feels good on his heated skin as he shakes his hair out of his eyes, reaching out to splay his hands over Belle’s ribs before she can touch him herself, very much aware that she isn’t wearing a bra and grazing his thumbs over her nipples. Her breathing quickens and her head falls back as he rubs them, back and forth and back and forth, feeling them tighten and swell until she moans and reaches down to grab the hem of her own shirt. Gold obligingly drops his arms so that she can pull it off and cast it aside, the motion lifting her breasts and stretching out her taut belly. She kicks off her sandals and Gold takes the opportunity to remove his own low cut boots and socks, shifting more comfortably now onto his knees, and drawing Belle forward to straddle one of his thighs before kissing her again, more urgently than before.

Belle begins moving, riding his hard thigh, rubbing herself against him. His belt buckle digs into her stomach, and she reaches down, tugging it open and free impatiently, and then going for the snap and zipper of his jeans, wanting only warm skin against her, feeling Gold slide his hands up under her skirt, his palms smoothing along her legs. She slips her hand inside his jeans, palms his growing hardness, and Gold makes a desperate sort of noise, pressing up against her and then pulling back, scrambling to his feet to shove down his jeans and underwear together, while Belle makes quick work of removing the rest of her clothes and tossing them to the side, where she spots his discarded vest and, with a small smile, pulls it on over her bare chest. It feels as good as she had imagined, the suede soft but with just enough of a roughness to its texture to make her very aware of it as it shifts over her breasts, the edges grazing her nipples. Gazing up at Gold, she thinks it’s a good angle, his cock already half hard and lifting away from his body, and she thinks about rising back onto her knees and taking him into her mouth, but as she shifts onto her knees and curls a hand around his ankle, he braces his hands on her shoulders and lowers himself back down to the blanket, stretching out above her, one hand supporting her lower back, and she lets him ease her down, enjoying the weight of his hips pressing her down against the ground. They kiss, long and slow, and then he begins working his way down her body, touching and tasting, fingers and lips and tongue as her head falls back and her body arches into him.

She buries her fingers in his hair and gazes up into the branches of the tree as he suckles at her breasts. Something glints there, catches the sun and magnifies it. She closes her eyes briefly against it, becomes more aware of the pulse of the music in the background, the pulse of her blood in her veins. She opens her eyes again as his mouth leaves her and he moves further down, leaving her nipples wet and swollen and aching. She looks down at her body as she lifts her hands to cup her own breasts, to tug and pinch at the nipples and sees small rainbows dancing over her chest, her skin dappled in light and shade from the sun filtering through the leaves. She looks up in puzzlement, and then smiles in delight and reaches up as if she could reach the crystals she spots hanging from the branches of the tree, their prisms catching the light and breaking it up into the bands of colour that paint her skin and increase the dreamlike quality of the moment. She knows at once where they’re from, thinking of the box in the shop’s back room full of dismantled chandelier parts, but the knowledge doesn’t lessen their magic. She traces one along her skin, then takes one of the vest’s long fringes and shifts it back and forth over her nipple, sucking in a breath as it catches briefly before rolling over. Gold runs a hand along her thigh and she lets her legs fall apart and half closes her eyes as his fingers slip inside her, drawing out her moisture and using it to draw slow circles over her clit.

He watches her rolling the fringe back and forth over her nipple, the flesh visibly puckering around the hardening nub, and his own cock hardens in response. He longs to take her into his mouth, but cannot look away.

“You would fit right in at Woodstock,” he says huskily. “Imagine us there, listening to the music, and I’m standing right behind you, and we’re swaying to the music. You’re wearing nothing but your skirt and that vest, and it’s open, and I’m cupping your breasts in my hands, and playing with your nipples.“

Belle’s hips jerk, as the image goes straight to her core.

Gold dips his fingers into her again, and feels the effect his words are having on her. There’s plenty of slick now, for his thumb to glide easily over her flesh, that light, grazing touch that causes her clit to swell and harden in response. His voice drops in pitch, his Scottish accent strengthening without him being quite aware of it. “There’s people all around us, but it doesn't matter, no one does more than glance our way.” He searches his memory for images from the documentary of the famous concert. “It’d been pouring rain earlier, and your shirt had gone drenched and transparent in minutes. Other people were stripping off their wet things, and you’d boldly done the same; there’s no shame here, no constraints. Bodies are natural, they’re beautiful, there’s no need to hide them. There’s people with body paint, offering their services. Perhaps we’ll ask one to decorate your breasts; would you like that?”

Belle can’t keep from squirming, her eyes wide as they rake over his smooth, lightly tanned chest and lower, his cock blatantly erect for her.

“If we could paint you, too. What about you? Is your shirt off?”

“Oh aye, my chest is bare against your back, and my jeans are clinging to me like a second skin, and my cock is straining against the zipper; anyone who looks at me would know how much I want you. I want to take you away from the crowd and find a place to lay you out on the ground and rut into you like a wild beast, but I need you to come first, come on my hands, come for everyone to see – “ He slid his free hand up her chest, pushing the suede leather of the vest aside, completely baring her front, and cupped her breast in his warm hand, his hips shifting and pressing down against her pubis as he leans over her, thumb being replaced by middle finger, changing the angle, rubbing relentlessly. “Come on, sweetheart,” he urges, kneading her breast, his touch rougher here where she prefers lighter down below.

The music pulses in time with her blood and Gold’s hair falls forward to hang in his face. He blocks out the sun, he is haloed by it, sun and shade and the scent of grass and incense and she is here and she is there at the same time and his cock is heavy and stiff against her thigh and the hard knot of pleasure bursts within her and she comes with all her muscles clenching tight and her fingers digging into his skin where she’d reached for him. His finger stills against her, knowing not to move again until she relaxes, the tension sagging out of her body, and she feels good but it’s not enough, there’s an aching emptiness inside her that needs to be filled. She sits up abruptly, tumbling him onto his back, and straddles his hips, taking hold of his cock and stroking it firmly.

“We’ve gone away from the crowd now,” she tells him. “Found a place by the lake, behind some bushes. They offer us some privacy, but we can hear people nearby, going down to the lake, to bathe, to swim. Someone could easily come upon us, if they came in just the right direction.” She rubs her thumb over his slit, coaxing out a bead of moisture, and he lets out a nearly inaudible whine. “I don’t care, though. I want you, and I don’t want to wait. Are you willing to risk it? Willing to risk someone seeing me riding you into the ground?”

“Hell, yes.” He can’t wait, either. “Let them see. Let them see a beautiful woman like you wants someone like me.”

“You say “someone like me” as if I’m not dripping wet for you, as if I don’t want to have you buried inside me more than anything in the world,” she says, and rises up, positioning him at her entrance so he can feel the truth of her words. “You have to be quiet,” she warns, mischievously, and sinks down.

Gold swallows down the noise that wants to escape his throat as she engulfs him. “I don’t know if I can promise that.” He splays his hands out on her waist, just under the edge of the vest, his thumbs brushing the undersides of her breasts. Hanging open as it is, the vest only half covers them, baring a lovely wide strip of pale flesh right down the center of her body, adorned only by the love beads she still wore around her neck. As she shifts above him, the edges of the vest fall back, just revealing her nipples, and his cock throbs in response. He bucks up, everything feeling tight, and hot, and urgent. “That vest is a good look on you; we should keep it.”

Belle grins. “I’m glad you think so; I quite like it myself.” She leans forward over him, resting her weight on her hands, and begins to ride him, deliberately shifting continuously in a way that keeps the edges of the vest moving and rubbing against her breasts, her nipples staying hard and sensitive from the teasing friction. She undulates; rising and falling and pleasuring herself on his shaft, the long fringes falling forward as she lowers herself above his body.

Gold arches up as the leather fringes trail over his belly and swing forward to drag over his nipples, driving himself deeper inside her as he seeks more of the teasing sensation. He cups his hands over her breasts, rolling her nipples between forefinger and thumb, and Belle moans. He grins. “I thought we had to be quiet.”

"I never said I would be." She lifts herself up until just the head of his shaft remains within her, glancing down to see the hard column of his flesh joining their bodies. She tightens her muscles around him, squeezing as hard as she can.

Gold's whole body jerks as he cries out, his balls tightening and drawing up. He drags her back down upon him and rolls them over, pulling back out just enough to slam forward into her, rocking her backwards. He thrusts into her again, all control gone, feeling his climax rapidly approaching.

"That's it." Belle braces herself with drawn up knees and urges him on. "Come on, Rum, give it to me." He is all lean, wiry muscle, and dark hair falling forward and shielding his eyes from her view. She arches up into his next thrust, digging her fingers into his lean buttocks and feeling him long and thick and solid inside her. "That's it, so good, come on, come for me."

He snaps his hips forward, driving deep again and again until his body seizes with pleasure and he stills, braced on his forearms with his hips sealed against hers while the hot flood of his release spills inside her. After a few seconds his muscles unclench and he lowers himself to lay atop her, panting and letting his eyes fall shut as he savours the fading rush of ecstasy, his cock twitching a few times in aftershock as he softens inside her. He feels her fingers run through his hair and turns his face into her neck, breathing in the scent of her skin and the smell of crushed grass beneath the blanket, the air moving lightly over his sweaty back. A bird chatters above them, and he realises that the record had stopped playing at some point, unnoticed. He takes in a deep breath and rolls off to the side, blinking up at leaf-dappled sunlight and rainbows dancing in the air. He turns his head to the side and the corner of his mouth quirks up as Belle does the same and meets his eyes. She looks as debauched as he feels.

"So, Rumpelstiltskin," she says, reaching out to twine her fingers with his. She feels thoroughly well-used and it is about all she has the energy for at the moment. "Do you have any final words for the readers of our paper?"

Gold's smile widens into a grin. "Yeah. Turn on," He draws their joined hands to his lips and presses a kiss to her knuckles. "Tune in, and drop out." He lifts his free hand and flashes her a peace sign, feeling utterly sated and stupidly happy. He thinks of the box from the estate sale.

Best buy ever.

#rumbelle fic #rumbelle is hope #worryinglyinnocent #ficwoodelf #turn on tune in drop out #AHAHAHA I FINALLY FINISHED IT #THE SMUT HAS BEEN FIGHTING ME FOR TWO YEARS #BUT I WAS DETERMINED TO GET THIS DAMNED THING OUT OF MY DRAFTS #i'll put it up on ao3 in the morning #i want to give the smutty half a better edit when my eyes aren't so burning and blurry #also i'm never writing anything in present tense ever again #but i wanted to match the style of the others #every read through i kept finding spots where i'd slipped back into past tense and had to change all the verbs #ugh

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the-desolated-quill · 5 years ago

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A Stronger Loving World - Watchmen blog

(SPOILER WARNING: The following is an in-depth critical analysis. if you haven’t read this comic yet, you may want to before reading this review)

When people read Watchmen for the first time, I’d be surprised if any of them expected the story to end like this.

A Stronger Loving World opens with the aftermath of the fake alien arriving in New York and slaughtering millions. Three splash pages of harrowing artwork by Dave Gibbons. Corpses littered everywhere. Blood in the streets. Giant tentacles wrapped around various landmarks. It’s an extremely unsettling opening and lets the reader know that Gibbons and Alan Moore are not fucking around here. Doctor Manhattan and Laurie arrive to see the carnage and deduce that Adrian was behind it before heading to Antarctica to confront him. After several confrontations involving Manhattan getting disintegrated again and Laurie pulling a gun on Adrian, it’s revealed that Ozymandias’ plan has worked. The nations of the world have put aside their differences and decided to cooperate for fear of an impending alien invasion.

This then leads to the big moral dilemma. What Adrian has done is despicable, but he has succeeded in bringing about world peace, and revealing the truth behind the giant squid runs the risk of dooming the world all over again. So what would be the heroic thing to do?

Well there’s no point asking these characters because as the graphic novel has been emphasising again and again, these guys are not heroes.

This is an extremely complicated moral conundrum with no real right or wrong answer, and I very much appreciate how Alan Moore doesn’t try to shove one down our throats. I also like how each character comes to their decision. Doctor Manhattan is of course a godlike being who sees beyond our world and so shares a somewhat similar view to Adrian’s. That the deaths were justified because the end result is peace. Rorschach on the other hand cannot square what just happened with his own rigid morality, and refuses to keep the secret, vowing to tell everyone the truth, which leads to Manhattan killing him. Nite Owl meanwhile, being weak willed and pathetic as ever, decides to go along with Adrian’s plan, but it’s less to do with him agreeing with Adrian and more to do with the fact that the moral implications are so hard to comprehend that he doesn’t even want to try, instead taking the path of least resistance. Finally Silk Spectre, so shocked by everything she’s learned and witnessed, clings to the one stable thing she has. Dan. The two then have sex, serving as a dark inverse of the sex scene in A Brother To Dragons. In both instances, sex is used as a metaphor for power, but whereas the motivation in the first was Dan overcoming his own inadequacies, the second is both Dan and Laurie desperately trying to retain whatever shred of power and independence they have left after such a shocking and twisted act of mass murder.

It’s great because it demonstrates just how well Moore understands his own characters and how well we’ve come to know them. They behave exactly as we would expect them to and there’s something oddly satisfying about that despite the moral ambiguity of their decisions.

In fact lets discuss Rorschach for a bit, considering he’s the only one that refused to keep the secret. Bit surprising considering the horrid things he’s done throughout the graphic novel. What’s so different about this? Well it could be the sheer scale of it. Could be that he didn’t believe those who died truly deserved it according to his own strict moral code. Except I’m not entirely convinced. In the extra material provided in The Abyss Gazes Also, there’s a letter written by a young Walter Kovacs about his father. Or rather the person he imagines his father to be because he never actually met him. Apparently his parents split up because ‘he liked President Truman and she didn’t.’ Interesting in and of itself that Rorschach, a right wing bigot, was fathered by a Democrat. But wait, it gets more intriguing. He then goes on to write about how he believes his father was an aide to President Truman before talking about the events of Hiroshima and Nagasaki when the US dropped atomic bombs, killing millions. Except here he expresses that he believes that Truman did the right thing because it ended the war and saved millions more lives. Curious, wouldn’t you agree? So, in Rorschach’s mind, what made the nukes in Japan morally justifiable while Adrian’s giant squid in New York wasn’t? We can only really speculate at this point. Some think it’s because Rorschach has realised that there is no place for him in Adrian’s new world order, which I guess is kind of true, but I think it runs the risk of romanticising the character again. It could be that the nukes were a last resort whereas the squid was preemptive... maybe? Personally I think it’s just good old fashioned racism. Rorschach had no issue with the millions of Japanese lives lost because they were Japanese. The enemy. This is different. This time millions of American lives have been lost. To him, this is more than just mass murder. It’s an act of treason.

We may never fully know the reasons behind Rorschach’s actions, but it’s nonetheless interesting to discuss.

I also appreciated that we do get a moment where Adrian questions whether he did the right thing, expressing his doubts to Doctor Manhattan, to which he receives a cryptic response about how ‘nothing ever ends.’ (does Manhattan know what happens in the future? We’ll never know). It’s a nice moment that helps to humanise Adrian a little bit and remind us that he’s as flawed as all the other characters. The arrogant bravado he displays when he succeeds in achieving world peace could easily have slipped into pantomime villain territory if there wasn’t just this small moment near the end, possibly as the scale of the things he’s done dawns on him. Like the pirate captain in The Tales Of The Black Freighter, Adrian means well and his intentions are noble, but his actions are either highly questionable or just downright villainous. This is basically what Watchmen has been talking about since the start. Once you start taking more frequent steps outside the bounds of what is legally and morally acceptable, it’s not long before you’ve effectively joined the criminals yourself.

There’s a lot to like about A Stronger Loving World, however I do have a few complaints here and there. Yes, lets talk about that giant squid.

If there was ever a moment where Watchmen jumped the shark, this is it. And quite frankly I have no idea what Alan Moore was thinking at the time. So Adrian wants to unite the world together using an outside force that will encourage everyone to put aside their differences and team up with each other. Okay. Makes sense so far. But the plan itself requires so many leaps of logic, it kind of loses all credibility. Take for example the idea that it was cloned from a psychic’s brain. Well that came out of nowhere, didn’t it? Yes this is a world where a giant naked blue guy can manipulate atoms, but the story explained to us how this was possible, allowing us to suspend our disbelief. Now suddenly we’re supposed to believe that human psychics exist with no build up whatsoever. It’s just dumped on us, which makes it feel more like a convenient excuse than an explanation. Yes they do kind of foreshadow it with Adrian’s pet lynx Bubastis, but it’s a bit of a leap, isn’t it? It’s one thing to genetically alter an existing animal. It’s another thing entirely to create an all new creature with psychic abilities as though this was Build-A-Bear Workshop.

Not to mention, in order to explain how in God’s name someone can go from inventing electric cars to creating aliens, Alan Moore has to resort to a gigantic infodump in order to make sense of the bloody thing. The initial teleport incinerates people, then the psychic ‘death throes’ or whatever cause others to go mad and start killing each other, and then those even further away have bad dreams or something. Presumably the person furthest from ground zero probably has a moment where they forget where they put their car keys and leave the gas on. It’s just overly complicated and way too daft.

Also I can understand Adrian kidnapping scientists, but why artists and writers? And why tell them the creature is for a movie? Was no one a tiny bit suspicious of the amount of work, resources and effort being put into this supposed ‘special effect’? What about the fact that they were taken from their homes and put on a tiny island? Don’t they have families? Are any of them concerned about how ridiculously secretive this film production is? And more to the point, why let the rest of the world believe them to be kidnapped? If you’re going to go with the Hollywood movie cover story, why not just tell people that’s what they’re doing? I guess you could argue that Adrian was concerned this would draw unwanted attention to his plan, but... what?... them getting kidnapped wouldn’t have drawn attention?!

And then there’s just the sheer randomness of it. Why aliens? He doesn’t even plant the seeds for this anywhere. Maybe have some fake UFO sightings or something. He just dumps a dead alien on New York’s doorstep. Also, if genetic engineering is common knowledge, why would people assume it’s aliens? Surely government scientists testing the thing will discover it’s of terrestrial origin. Which leads to the biggest flaw. Would this plan really have worked? Killing millions of people in one city? Would that be enough to unite the world? Perhaps in the short term, but there’s no way you could possibly sustain that lie for so long. Plus, call me cynical, but considering how quickly Russia mobilised when Manhattan left the planet, surely it’s more likely they would take advantage of the situation while America was reeling from this act of carnage. If Adrian is supposed to be the smartest man in the world, I’m amazed he didn’t consider any of this. Maybe he has contingency plans in place, but I don’t know. It all seemed pretty final to me. He genuinely believes that this will fix everything. It just makes him look a bit stupid.

The whole giant squid plot has got more holes in it than a colander. Which is why (and I know I’m going to get some flak for this) I much prefer the version in Zack Snyder’s adaptation than I do the graphic novel. I don’t want to go into too much detail because I’d rather save that for when I review the movie, but I do honestly think Adrian’s plan in the movie makes more sense than the source material does.

Another side effect of having to explain the alien is that Silk Spectre’s story never gets proper closure. There’s a moment where Laurie confronts her mother over the fact that the Comedian is her father, but it all just feels a bit rushed and unsatisfactory. Especially when she starts talking about wanting to change her costume and start using guns, implying she’s going to be more like the Comedian in the future. It’s just too big of a leap in my opinion. One minute she’s distraught that her father was her mother’s rapist, the next she’s following in his footsteps. It’s such a sharp turn, it practically gave me whiplash.

That being said, I did like the little detail of Dan taking Sally Jupiter’s porn magazine, which I think implies how superficial their relationship is. They’re together because of the power and sexual rush they feel in their superhero identities, not because they actually love each other. Maybe that was what drew Sally to the Comedian despite everything he did. Who knows?

I also really like the ending. I haven’t been talking about the New Frontiersman in these reviews because it’s largely been inconsequential up until now, which is kind of the point. Seymour, a downtrodden, inconsequential man working a soul sucking job at a right wing newspaper, is suddenly given the power to change everything. Will he reveal the contents of Rorschach’s journal and thus expose Adrian’s plan or keep quiet in the name of peace? I want to believe it would be the latter, but considering his livelihood depends on his racist editor having material to rant and complain about, it would seem the world is truly doomed.

As Doctor Manhattan said, ‘nothing ever ends.’

Hey guys! Thank you so much for reading these blogs. It took longer than I thought to write them, but honestly I think it was worth the extra time because there is just so much about Watchmen to unpack and I really enjoyed analysing this story. I’ve been wanting to review Watchmen for ages now and I’m very proud how these have turned out. I personally think it’s some of the best stuff I’ve ever written. Next I’m going to be reviewing the movie adaptation directed by Zack Snyder and then after that the HBO TV series. In the mean time, please feel free to like and reblog and share your own thoughts and feelings about Watchmen. Which character did you find most interesting? Do you think Adrian did the right thing? What would you do in Seymour’s shoes if you found Rorschach’s journal and discovered the truth about the giant alien squid? I’m genuinely curious :)

#a stronger loving world #watchmen #alan moore #dave gibbons #dc comics #review #spoilers

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anneesfolleshq · 6 years ago

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Bonjour et bienvenue! Paris welcomes you, our Diva, Anais Veilleux! May we say, you’re the spitting image of Annabelle Wallis! Please make your presence known within 24 hours, and do have a look at our checklist before setting out into the city on your own. À bientôt!

MUN

Name/Alias: Jos

Preferred Pronouns: She/her

Age: 22

Where are you located, and at what times will you be online? : PST, I will be on mostly in the evenings and into the night because I love to lose precious sleep to rping.

MUSE

Chosen Skeleton: The Diva

Muse Name: Anais Veilleux

Muse Age: 35

Chosen FC: Annabelle Wallis

Muse Occupation: Opera Singer

Muse Affiliation & Frequent Haunts: Anais has always loved the Seine. She could remember learning about the history of her great nation, of its early settlements, its origins, its fight for power, for land, for triumph. She remembered reading about the devastations its withstood, the wars, the famines, the politics, the bloodshed. And through it all, through everything France had seen, the mighty Seine ran, smooth, powerful, cold, and beautiful through history. And now it was being reduced to the border between in and out, fortunate, and fashionably lower class. She refused to dance to such frivolous ideas. Anais frequented Montmartre by day for she woke up there each morning in the Hotel Montmartre, and sat in the pews of Basilique du Sacre-Coeur hands clasped around a gold rosary like a good little Catholic girl praying for forgiveness. With its old world charm, and hidden gems, who wouldn’t be drawn to both the quiet streets, and lavish establishments? By day, Montmartre captivates her, but by night Anais is drawn across the sparkling surface reflecting the light of a living, breathing city to the left bank, to Montparnasse. It’s here, with the artists, and drunks, and young vivacious, progressive crowd that Anais feels young, feels alive. The Cafe E’toile is magnetic, and the slow rolling, and swinging rhythm of its jazz pulls her in time and again. Perhaps one day she’ll pull together the courage to take the stage.

Direct from Le Petit Journal: Breathtaking. Divine. Tragic. Audiences were left stunned by Anais Veilleux’ performance last night following her recent return to the Parisian spotlight. The city was left stunned after the death of young Claudine Artis, mourning the loss of such wonderful talent and the gentle soul that graced the stage. With such heaviness in our hearts, the opera seemed a place that would grow cold in the lack of such warmth, but Mademoiselle Veilleux enchanted each and every lady and gentleman in attendance with her heart wrenching tribute to the late Claudine. We have watched her beautiful face capture true emotion with elegance as she all but glides across the stage. Anais Veilleux reminded us once more that the theater is her throne, and we are but mere subjects, blessed enough to hear her voice. Welcome back, Mademoiselle, welcome back.

BIOGRAPHY

They say a true star is born not made, and anyone who has had the privilege of hearing her voice would assert that a star was certainly born on a cold night in early November 1887. The nursery had been empty for quite some time before Anais’ cries filled the Veilleux home. Gold rattlers, ivory mobiles, the finest materials to warm her plump thighs, and golden head– the youngest child and only daughter was given everything she wanted and more from the moment she entered the world. Her older brothers pampered her, her father spoiled her, and her mother coddled her, reminding Anais from an infant of her beauty and worth.

She remembers it vividly; the lights, the vibrant colors, the costumes, the men and women, larger than life. She remembers how their jaws seemed to come unhinged, mouths agape as the most beautiful sound poured forth reaching every inch of the cavernous theater. Anais sat in her blue satin gown, her legs dangling from her seat as she sat on it’s edge, rapt, wide eyes, and in awe of those who commanded the gilded stage. It was from that moment forward that Anais decided no other life would suit her, no other path was open to possibility, and the young girl, who had fallen hopelessly in love with the stage, opened her mouth to sing. Her parents, long time benefactors of the arts encouraged her every step of the way, hiring pianists to teach their daughter, hosting private ballet sessions. But still, money could only buy so much, and the dedication and persistence came from her heart and the young girl’s need to perform. She excelled, and her parents, proud of their talented young daughter, showcased her to their closest friends at a dinner party. All anyone expected to follow was a round of applause before sending her off to bed but what followed the eight year old’s performance was dead silence as everyone stared at her. Anais, red in the face, and afraid she had disappointed everyone, stared back. Her father was the first to stand, clapping, before the rest of the guests joined in. They all surged forward with praise, enveloping the girl in a circle of questions and invitations. Soon Anais found herself with a number of offers to perform at dinner parties among the circuit of her parents’ peers, and she happily obliged. Her passion had found a place in her tier of society, and school by day gave way to performing by night. A sheltered life in high society Paris might lead one to believe that innocence prevailed in the young eyes of those who sat quietly and watched adult’s socialize, but in fact it was quite the opposite. Anais though she was never a quiet girl, knew when to talk and when to listen, and was introduced the game in which they all were players at a young age. Politics, business, fashion, popularity. It was an intricate web of words, and actions, and her introduction to the nightly galas and gatherings led to an early understanding of the world in which she lived. The symptoms of fortune are unforgiving, and if not treated, can become fatal.

It continued for years, and it didn’t take long for buzz to gather, for the city of Paris to become privy to the young talent entertaining the rich and powerful. She was gaining popularity, and offers to perform on theater stages began to find themselves in her possession. Her mother, who had always considered her daughter’s talent a hobby and an asset in finding a husband, forbade her to continue, to take the stage, but Anais had long ago known she would not marry, would not tie herself to the role of a wife, and mother. She would dazzle, enchant, get lost in the music as she did each and every time before coming to to an appreciative audience. She beat her mother with the help of her father, hiring a voice coach, and taking offers to perform. But her mother put her foot down when Anais turned sixteen, forbidding any further dalliance as a showgirl. Her father could no longer stand behind his daughter, and without believing she would throw her fortunate life away, threatened to cut off her allowance if she continued. To Anais there was never too high a price to pay, and the girl took the punishment with swift acceptance.

Her relationship with her mother deteriorated as quickly as her fame grew, and by the time the young woman reached adulthood, she had wealth of her own volition. She traveled to America, England, Germany, Italy, Austria. She performed with renowned artists as she became one herself, beauty, grace, and talent. And when the war came, she continued to sing to keep morale high. She bought out all seats to host free concerts for wounded soldiers, and sang at the funeral of her brother when his Battalion was lost to the Germans. It was only after the war, when the country began to rebuild itself into a fresh new world that she began to see the world she held so dear slip from her grasp. Youth was like sand between one’s fingers, and her loss of it’s vitality was personified in the wonder of Claudine Arits, the girl who went from rags to riches as she took Paris, and France as a whole by storm.

She had gone over with the intention of intimidating the small, pretty thing, but the letter opener was lying there, shiney and impossibly sharp in the girl’s new, white apartment. Cold and metallic in her grasp, it contrasted wonderfully with the warm blood that rushed onto her pale hands as she slit Claudine’s throat. What a pity. What a waste of talent. But there could only be one, true star, and Anais would be damned if it was anyone but her.

POTENTIAL PLOTS/CONNECTIONS

So I have a few plots I’d like to have going, and one of them revolves around the murder of young Claudine Artis. Anais is no professional, and though she is smart, someone might just be suspicious.

Anais goes to te jazz clubs, and has an itch to perform. Perhaps someone could convince her to get up there and give it a try.

Anais fell in love with music a long time ago, and has failed to ever do so again. But that does not mean it isn’t possible.

Friends, enemies– she needs them!

EXTRAS

BASICS

Full Name: Anais Marguerite Veilleux

Nickname(s): Ana (close friends), Chaton (family)

Age: 35

Date of Birth: November 9th, 1887

Zodiac Sign: Scorpio

Place of Birth: Toulouse, France

Ethnicity: Caucasian

Nationality: French, American

Gender: Cis-female

Sexual Orientation: Heterosexual

Romantic Orientation: Heteroromantic

Religion: Roman Catholic

Occupation: Singer

Language(s) Spoken: French, English, Italian, some Chinese

Accent: Parisian

PHYSICAL APPEARANCE

Face Claim: Annabelle Wallis

Hair Color: Blonde

Eye Color: Blue

Height: 5’7”

Weight: 125lbs

Build: Slim

Tattoos: N/A

Piercings: Ears

PERSONALITY

Label: The Diva

Positive Traits: Charismatic, perceptive, resolute, gifted

Negative Traits: Calculating, envious, possessive, fiery

Fears: The ocean, spiders, being forgotten

Hobbies: reading, playing card games, painting, playing piano

Quirks: Ambidextrous, can’t stand even numbers, morning person

Likes: Coffee, art, cars, wine, chocolate, the color red

Dislikes: tradition, even numbers, spiders, hot weather, the British

FAMILY

Father: Bastien Veilleux

Mother: Lydia Veilleux nee Astor

Sibling(s): Jean-Luc, Victor, Emanuel

Pet(s): French Bulldog named Louis

Financial Status: Wealthy

#accepted

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theonceoverthinker · 6 years ago

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OUAT 1X07 - The Heart is a Lonely Hunter

We’re finally here: This episode. This is another one of those episodes that feels a little nerve wracking to touch upon for reasons you probably know. At the same time, I’m really interested to see how my perception of a character who I used to really like changes given how so far I’ve found his appearances to be lackluster.

I guess we’ll find out. Join me under the cut for a journey most heart-stopping because there was LOADS to unpack here.

Press Release One of the town’s residents begins to remember their fairytale past, and Storybrooke mourns the loss of one of their own. Meanwhile, in the fairytale world that was, the Evil Queen attempts to find a heartless assassin to murder Snow White. General Thoughts Past Okay, so I know Regina’s emotions were fake in that opening scene between her and Snow, but they have so much chemistry. I love the way that Snow trusts her. She really does see Regina as her step mother and you feel the friendship that they’re later revealed to have had in the past. And it’s a real testament to Lana’s acting how she can go from this sympathetic mother figure in one shot to vile and sinister in the next! We also get to see more of Regina’s cleverness here. The Huntsman is a really well-defined character. The way he’s shot by the cameras show his size and strength well and the way others view him characterize his loneliness. We see his skill and his heart immediately and how he has no shame over it. That’s so important to see with men in the media.

Additionally, I like how at first the Huntsman refuses to speak but when Regina calls him birth parents his “parents,” he wastes no time correcting her. It’s important that this was shown because while they do do a really good job showing the nuances of the situation in the struggles between Emma and Regina, the fact that the show and our sympathies are supposed to align with Emma can give people who aren’t paying attention the feeling of an anti-adoption sentiment to the show. In addition to reinforcing The Huntsman’s bond with the wolves, we get to see that adoption sentiment shown unwaveringly positive. But here’s what I don’t get. Why does The Huntsman agree that he doesn’t have compassion? He literally just killed two guys and a deer for his wolf friend and in that very scene, he shows compassion for his wolf kin. It’s not like he’s trying to prove he’s strong in front of Regina. She’s not holding anything above his head - not even pride. I feel like this would’ve worked better if we saw the wolves in danger of extinction or something, but as is, the very thing The Huntsman wants goes against the very reason Regina sought him out in the first place: She wants a being with no compassion, and The Huntsman’s primary motivation is compassion. And it shows. Snow’s actions that are supposed to be a big show to the Huntsman that she’s worth saving aren’t big enough to combat the way he expresses how he views humans and sincer there’s never been anything else to betray the words he says, it feels weird. I’m not sure if Snow is supposed to be shown as a woman so above the standards of humanity that Huntsy has been exposed to or that Huntsy is just too nice a guy to kill someone not threatening him or the wolves. If Snow had shown an appreciation for wolves, I feel like that would’ve been a good compromise, but as it stands, the relationship between Snow and Huntsy feels flaccid. Present While I detest the scene that brought it on, the journey of Graham recovering his memories is really well paced and is an interesting one to take. You can hear how Graham’s manner of speaking changes as he recovers his memories. The way he describes the wolf in his dream’s eyes “one was blood-red and the other was black as night.” That’s a very sudden, but interesting change, showing the impact of the curse beginning to crumble at his feet. Additionally, he gets to talk to a fair variety of characters and while it’s his final episode, it never feels like it’s too sudden or inappropriate. Everything - thanks to his bits of memories and the words of others - feels natural in that respect. I also found the counter journey Regina takes to nip Graham’s recovery in the bud to be fascinating too. You can see the subtle “oh shit” in her eyes as Graham states that his wolf dream was more than that.

I take issue with how Graham doesn’t feel things. Where is this coming from and why was it never touched upon earlier? I get that when your heart is taken, your emotions feel more dulled, but the show hasn’t done a good job showing Graham as having dulled emotions and this episode blatantly shows him feeling panic, lust, and curiosity in droves. This is the driving force behind his character in this episode, but the writing and acting aren’t doing a great job in selling that concept to me and it makes the primary driving force behind Graham’s journey not work. And the argument that the kiss he and Emma shared revealed those lack of feelings doesn’t work either because he was already talking about how he doesn’t feel things before they kissed. That scene with Emma and Mary Margaret was just adorable! Emma and MM are each other’s life coaches - MM is teaching Emma about trust, and Emma illuminates her on stuff like one night stands. And they’re very supportive and adult about the whole thing! That said, I do take issue with the direction it takes. I mean, relationship aside, Graham’s actions were pretty fucked up last night and flowers weren’t going to solve that. I’m going to leave it there because I have a space for both shipping and anti-shipping below. I’m torn between liking Graham decision to leave Regina and thinking that it came out of nowhere. Regina hasn’t done anything out of the ordinary that Graham would have heard about in this episode, so why is he suddenly blaming her. Hell, it’s not like he knows that she’s the Evil Queen! And even if he did, this scene is supposed to imply that he’s taking a point of view more founded in reality, and again - Regina hasn’t done anything strange that he’s heard of. In the scenes they’ve spent together and the scenes that he’s spent with other characters, he hadn’t learned anything new about his relationship with Regina or how that relationship relates to itself. For a story like this to work, the character should learn that while he can’t get what he thinks he wants (his heart), he gets what he needs (an understanding that he’s in a relationship that needs to end). However, since we never got to see point outside of the flashback where their relationship was bad - apart from not believing him about a dream, something Emma didn’t believe him about either - we don’t see a reason why he should end things off. Still, with the knowledge (that is only in hindsight because it wasn’t revealed at that point) that Regina took his heart, it is great to see him stand up to her. Insights “What the hell” is right! That dart scene just left a bad feeling in my insides. And then that loud public scene Graham makes of it. So there’s this letter that I found on TV Tropes from Graham to Emma, and it’s rather dramatic. I’m thoroughly convinced that it was made after this scene. Oh God! That CG deer! At least the one in “Snow Falls” looked a little real! This one looks like it jumped out of a PS2 game! “Since when do you want me to stay, anyways?” I have to wonder who was it that initiated their “relationship” (And don’t worry, we’ll get to how fucked up that is over at the “Darker Aspects” segment)? Did Graham just one evening show up at Regina doorstep raring to go? Gold, who gardens in the forest?! I imagine this was when he buried the dagger. I wonder, did Regina just happen to get a mirror’s view over The Huntsman at exactly the wrong time? He killed them because they were threatening to kill him and his wolf and he cries over his animal kills, not because he’s heartless! OR, do you think perhaps that she manipulated the guys at the bar to talk to him like that so she could scope his strength out? I wonder who this wolf was to Graham when he was growing up? A father figure? A mother figure? A sibling? Friend? Second cousin twice removed? “Those who kill and those who are killed.” Regina, you’re starting to sound like Flowey! Avoid golden flowers! Really, Isaac? A baby animal is the best illustration you’ve got for that desperately emotional encounter? Did they fire their artist and just use whatever the most artistic intern submitted? And then some of the other artwork in the book is so detailed and beautiful! Were there multiple artists for the book in-universe? Holy shit! I forgot about the physical fight between Regina and Emma! I actually shouted “FUCK” when it came on! Arcs Emma’s journey of belief AND Regina’s control over the town- While I take large issue with this episode, I do like that Emma actually had to suffer a loss here. Regina by this point had “lost” in every episode - maybe not the war, but certainly the battle. Emma had managed to earn the friends and relations that Regina clearly didn’t want her to obtain. And now, just on the cusp of another small victory, Regina (I apologize for the literal objectification of Graham to follow) takes it away. It reinforces her menace, something we’ll see in the next episode. This aspect of the episode - while unfortunately used through a really terrible love triangle - does give the emotional impact necessary. Favorite Dynamic Graham and Henry. This dynamic was the only one in the episode for me that almost fully worked. GRAHAM-ted (I needed a joke after this episode), it was a short scene, but here’s why I like it. Both characters are in the perfect place to be having this conversation. Graham is on the verge of mental collapse and is in desperate need of both validation and answers. And Henry is able to give those answers. I only wish he had been more enthused since someone was finally believing him. However, their moment together brings a level of calming insight as well as a genuine connection between both of the characters. Writer How the mighty have fallen. After two stellar episodes, A&E give me this dud. It’s weird, this episode - like the prior successes - is focused externally. Graham, Emma, and Regina are the focal characters, with MM, Henry, and Gold serving as supporting cast members. However, where it different is that there’s no internal focus in either plot or continuity. Problems with Graham arise out of nowhere and aren’t expanded on in a comprehensible way and Huntsy’s motivations and feelings in the flashback are frustratingly unclear. Since he’s the main character of the episode, because of these faults, it feels sloppy.

That and the issues in the next section really weaken this episode, to say the least. Darker Aspects Trigger warning for rape and consent issues discussion below.

I didn’t hate this when I first watched it. However, it’s been over three years since I’ve watched it and “the villain can do terrible things like that because they’re the villain” doesn’t fly any more in my book. Now, watching those kisses between Graham and Regina in both realms makes my skin crawl. And the fact that it never gets touched upon again set a shitty precedent for non consensual sex that would repeat itself a number of times and will remain as an unwavering black spot on Regina’s redemption arc (Which otherwise worked for me pretty well).

Just...why would they do that? I’m not a rape victim, and I don’t feel comfortable telling anyone - victim or not - how to show it - if at all - in media. I have my own opinion of it, but that’s neither here nor there. Still, I will say this: This just isn’t the way to show it - never giving the victim a lucid moment to reflect on their own rape is fucked up. What’s worse is that I remember reading A&E deny that it was rape in Storybrooke, and that’s just doubly awful. Rating 3/10. This was a genuinely terrible episode, and not just because of the *ahem* Darker Aspects, although that really didn’t help. Thematically and from a character perspective, I wasn’t sold on either Graham or Huntsy’s journeys. In the past, there was no focus and in the present, there was no establishment, and in the case of both, they had the beginning and endpoints of the episode down, but clearly didn’t know what to do with the middle to get them there. The two parts are a cluttered mess vaguely threaded together, but bereft of the meat that a journey needs to entail to work in terms of storytelling. The only saving grace of the episode - in addition to the acting, which is always good - is the line of characters that Graham interacts with while on his journey to...breaking up with Regina. Dark Side of the Ship Normally, I have another segment here called “Flip My Ship” and it’s supposed to be a place for all things “shippy goodness.” However, today, I have no “shippy goodness” to flail about. In fact, I have negative thoughts about the ships here, and unfortunately, while I try to keep anti-shipping out of my episode rewatches, this pairing is frustratingly story relevant and I feel like I need to touch upon them. If you like Gremma, I suggest ending off here. You have been warned. Now that I’ve fully seen Gremma for a second time, I can fully say that I hate it.

It’s weird. I used to like it. Before this rewatch, it was up there in my favorite Emma ships. However, I despise it now that I’ve taken a closer eye to the series and his character. While I’ve had negative feelings towards their relationship for the entirety of episodes 1-7, I’ll do what I can to focus on this episode specifically.

I hate how the ship bastardized that scene with Emma and MM because where do we see feelings between Graham and Emma to the point where her rejecting an advance that didn’t even happen was a problem? The most I can see is her rejecting the hot chocolate because those are just her walls, and a bit of banter. They’ve known each other for maybe a month and we’ve barely seen them interact. I think they’ve spoken fifteen lines to each other maximum. With all of the good Emma dynamics out there, this is the only one so far that is bad because it tries to tell much more about Emma than it’s bothering to show. If this episode was happening in episode 14 or something after a couple of episodes of Graham and Emma working on cases together, that would work. I’d believe it. But they haven’t. The only bits of police work they’ve done together have had Emma interact with other characters (MM in “Snow Falls” and Regina in both “Pilot” and “That Still Small Voice” and if there’s a crush at all, it’s only been shown on Graham’s side, and shoddily at that. It just feels unearned for the focus and buildup they’re trying to give this couple. I liked them a bit more towards the end of the episode, but that’s only because Graham had stood up for himself and protected Emma so I can actually see there being some romantic chemistry there. But that’s right before he dies, and far later than I was supposed to feel for this couple.

()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()()

I never like writing negative reviews. No one does, and unless they’re based on comedy, reviewers who say they like writing negative reviews are to be avoided. It broke my heart that an episode that I formerly liked disappointed me so much upon my second viewing of it and I hope that future shitty episodes are few and far between. Thank you again to the fine folks at @watchingfairytales for putting this project together, and I’ll see you next time.

Operation Rewatch Archives Season Tally (56/220) Writer Tally for Season 1: A&E (23/70) Liz Tigelaar (10/20) David Goodman (9/50) Jane Espenson (6/60) Andrew Chambliss (8/10) Ian Goldberg (8/10)

#watching fairytales #ouat 1x07 #ouat #ouat rewatch #jenna watches ouat #ships mentioned #anti-gremma #anti-graham #rape tw #tw: rape #consent issues tw #tw consent issues

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edream93 · 7 years ago

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I don't know if you are still accepting prompts but here it goes: write a prompt inspired on what's my name but like Uma and Harry are singers and their record label have the idea of releasing a song Uma feat. Harry Hook and they just meet on the video clip day. Also Uma is Harry's celebrity crush...

Hi anon! Thank you for being so patient! When I first got this prompt, I actually laughed because I had been thinking of something similar literally days before. I’m glad that I was able to put some of those thoughts into an actual prompt. I do want to apologize though, if you’re a Mal fan, there’s a bit of Mal bashing in this one (I don’t necessarily hate Mal. I actually think she’s has the potential of being a really great character, but the last movie just dropped the ball on that. It was just the only way I could think of to make the story work).

Anyway, I hope you still enjoy and obviously, you should totally listen to “What’s My Name” at some point before, after, or while you’re reading.

After the media horror show that followed after Mal very publicly broke up with him (who the hell breaks up with someone right in the middle of an interview, he thought), singing artist Harry Hook wanted nothing to do with collaborating with another wannabe diva.

(He and Mal hadn’t even been dating, but when Mal had hinted that after their last project together - which had been an auto-tuned disaster - that they were something more than just colleagues and one time collaborators, his manager - also known as his harpy of a sister Harriet - had told him to neither confirm nor deny the rumors. After all, Mal’s manager/mother had been in this business long enough to squish his blossoming career with one snap of her red manicure fingers if he angered or insulted her daughter. With her beautiful features but caustic personality, Maleficent made The Darkest Fairy, sound more like a fact than a former stage name.)

“I’m not doing another song with some harpy who doesn’t even know the difference between B flat and A sharp,” Harry murmured darkly as he followed his oldest sister into the elevator that quickly took them to his record label’s, Second Star, recording studio.

“You’ll do what I tell you, little brother,” Harriet growled, over her shoulder, her black with red accented business attire doing nothing to lessen the air around her that practically declared that she was not one to be messed with. “And stop being a pretentious emo music nerd.”

Harry rolled his eyes but kept his mouth shut. Harriet may be annoying, but she had made a promise to help him reach his dreams when they were just wee tots and as she always did, she kept her promise. There weren’t many people in his life that Harry could trust but Harriet was one of them, despite how much she nagged.

As they entered the recording studio where Jonas was already setting things up, Harry took a moment to glance at the music that Harriet had handed him. He held in a groan when he saw the song’s name.

“What’s My Name? Seriously, Ettie? How self-entitled is this lass? This…Uma?” he questioned annoyed before he paused. “Wait. Uma? Where do I know this name from?”

“She’s Mal’s former ghost writer, man,” Jonas supplied from where he was checking sound levels. “The one that hacker, Son of Hades, revealed was actually behind all the award winning songs that Mal claimed to have written herself. After he broke into Spinning Needle Records database, he revealed all their fraud and creative theft they’ve been doing of small independent artists for years.”

Harry nodded. He vaguely remembered that. It had happened while he and Mal had still been “dating”. He did remember Mal stomping around in a rage after her stylist, Evie, sent her a message, muttering something about shrimp and “That bitch thinks she can go against me? I’m the fucking queen!” (The fact that this Uma seemed to inspire so much anger out of Mal definitely gave her a point in Harry’s book.)

“Maleficent let Uma go immediately despite how much obvious success she could have brought to their record,” Harriet continued, not looking up from her phone. “But her loss. Our gain. Uma left with a book full of songs she never showed that dragon bitch and Second Star swooped in on the opportunity and signed with her just a few weeks ago. The process is going a bit faster than usual for a new artist,” his sister said glancing up at him, “but Pan wants to capitalize on the media controversy, hoping that’ll help put Uma out there as a singer and give Mal some real competition.”

“And he loves messing with Maleficent,” Jonas added.

Harriet nodded, a wicked grin on her face. “Who doesn’t?”

Harry looked down at the music again, this time looking past the song’s title and to the actual lyrics.

“Not bad,” he muttered shifting the pages as he continued to glance at the obviously handwritten song sheets. “I’m guessing this is a big ‘fuck you’ letter to Mal?”

“You could put it that way,” Harriet shrugged before frowning. “Though not in public!”

Harry grinned, mischief woven into his smile as he headed towards the sound booth. “Maybe this collaboration won’t be so terrible after all.”

—

“This is terrible,” Harry moaned.

Unsympathetic giggles responded back as Dizzy Tremaine, his stylist, leaned around him to also take a look at the mirror in front of him.

“Didn’t you tell me that you wanted to be a pirate, once?” she continued to giggle.

“When I was a wee lad!” he exclaimed turning around to face the much younger woman. “Not now! This is just ridiculous!”

“It’s Pan just being cheeky,” Harriet said stepping into his dressing room, unannounced. “You know. Because of-

“Because of Da,” Harry said cutting her off. “I know, I know,” he sighed trying to not imagine what type of scathing criticism their father, the lead singer and guitarist and also co-founder of the of The Jolly Rogers along with Second Star current executive producer Peter Pan (and thorn in Harry’s side), would give him if the man was still alive.

He sighed, taking care to not wrinkle his pirate inspired costume. A production assistant had just stopped by a few minutes earlier to let them know that Uma’s makeup was taking a bit longer than expected and that he had a few extra minutes before he was needed on the set. He pulled out his phone and earbuds to tune Dizzy and Harriet out, quickly scrolling to a downloaded audio file. It wasn’t the best quality since the audio had been taken from a recorded video but Harry had found himself listening to it almost religiously every day since that day in the sound booth.

The audio was from a recording of Auradon Got Talent that was done years ago. As he closed his eyes and listened to the music, Harry imagined the stage in the video and the young and oh so small girl with teal hair that came onto the stage as if she was born on it. Her voice then had been powerful for such a small lass and now…he couldn’t help but shiver at the memory of her voice that he had heard when he was recording his part in her new song a week ago. Her talents had definitely been wasted forced into Mal’s shadow.

He felt an earbud being pulled from his ear and for a moment he thought it was Harriet who always had a bad habit of wanting to know what he was listening to, mother hen that she was despite her preferred edgy style.

“Huh. Haven’t heard this song in a long time,” a voice that was definitely not his sister’s startled him to open his eyes to look at the calculating expression of his current collaborator (and, if he was being perfectly honest, his current crush). He glanced around the room, seeing that Harriet and Dizzy were no longer there. (Damn, them.)

As he scrambled for something to say, Harry couldn’t help but appreciate how breathtaking and not to be messed with Uma looked in her own costume. Once he had taken her in, he nearly wanted to smack himself for staring but if the small little smirk on her face, as well as her own appreciative look she threw him, she didn’t mind and also liked what she saw.

“Uh…hi?” Harry squeaked under her gaze, wondering where the hell his usual smooth, suave bad boy persona went.

“Hey,” she returned. “I just wanted to introduce myself and thank you for agreeing to do this, especially with, ya know, me not being on the best of terms with your ex, currently.”

“We never dated. All just a rumor,” Harry found himself saying before he could stop himself. (Harriet was so going to kill him.) He had the strongest urge to tell her everything, to fall to his knees at her feet and assure her that there was nothing between him and Mal, ever.

Uma surprised him though.

“I know,” she said simply and it was like a weight he hadn’t been aware was on his shoulders was lifted. “That’s why I asked for you specifically. I’ve always wanted to work with you. Even before Mal. I’ve…I’ve kind of been a fan of yours for awhile. Even before you and Jay went separate ways musically,” she continued and it was like she had both drowned him and allowed him to fly. The experience was dizzying and wonderful all at the same time. And were his eyes deceiving him or was she…her cheeks had definitely looked like they had darkened, right? “Besides, Jay was adorable but he could never tell the difference between a B flat and A sharp,” she smirked, trying to hide her embarrassment by flipping her hair casually over her shoulder.

That was it. Harry’s brain seemed to implode at that moment as he sighed adoringly, “Will ye marry me?”

Uma’s eyes widened, caught off guard, and it took everything in Harry to not just walk out of the building where they were currently in and just hop into the trash where he belonged.

Before he could salvage things, he heard the most beautiful sound: her laughter.

“Sure, but let’s get through this music video first, first mate,” she winked cheekily using the song’s character description for him.

A beat didn’t even past when he responded back with “Don’t you mean, first date, Captain?” he grinned back.

The two both broke out into loud boisterous laughter, that seemed to follow them even when they made their way onto the set where their other collaborator DJ G3., or Gil, who they were both surprised to find out was a mutual friend to the other, was waiting in his own pirate inspired garb.

And the laughter from that day followed them all the way to “What’s My Name” rising to the top of the charts, beating even Mal’s most popular songs for weeks on end (it was so satisfying seeing Mal’s newest song barely even make it on the top 100 list only to be pushed off after a week) to years later when, once they both had multiple Grammy’s and other various international music awards under their belts, Harry got down on one knee, his mother’s ring held in his hand.

All Uma could do was grin. “I already said yes the first day we met,” she said before kissing him deeply, and not for the first time Uma made his heart sing.

(AN: Also, if you’re wondering, there’s no difference between an A sharp and a B flat. They’re the same note.)

#edream93 answers #edream93 fanfic #disney descendants #descendants fanfiction #huma #harry hook #uma #descendants au #uma x harry hook #mal #harriet hook #jonas #gil #dizzy tremaine #Peter Pan #what's my name #singer/celebrity au #edream93 fanfiction

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jaymarawrites-blog · 7 years ago

Text

LIKE RATS - 9 - Grease Paint

Echo Eclipse had made themselves comfortable in the cramped dressing room. I didn’t know them yet, not even well enough to match the person to the instrument, but I’d developed visual mnemonics to differentiate. The one whose head was shaved underneath a long sweep of brown hair and the one with the round face sat in folding chairs, hunched over a phone, sharing earbuds. The small one was sprawled out on a ripped leather couch, playing a game on his phone. The young one stood in front of the wall-sized mirror smearing his arms in black grease paint.

Chris was squatting on the floor when I entered the room, hunched over a pile of bags and rumpled clothing, drinking from a bottled water. I knocked on the open door to avoid having to announce myself.

I couldn’t find a place for my hands on his body that felt natural when Chris greeted me with a casual hug; he was so tall, so long in the torso. I couldn’t reach around his neck easily but I avoided hugging him around the waist. I lifted my arms underneath his and pressed my palms between his shoulder blades, into his sleeveless T-shirt.

He reintroduced me to the rest of the band, which I appreciated. I’d only recently been able to recognize the band to tell them apart from the crew, and I was shit with names.

Kyle with the round face shared earbuds with Adrian with the long sweep of hair.

Tyler, smearing black over his body, smiled at me in the mirror.

Smith gave a single wave without looking up from his phone.

None of them paid further attention to me.

I shoved my makeup case onto a folding table amid Subway sandwiches, loose cords, tape, and bottled water.

“You brought makeup?” Chris asked.

“It’s my job.”

“Right.”

I gestured at the sleeveless tee he wore. “This is what you’re wearing onstage?”

“Nah, I got another one I’ll put on afterward.”

“You should put it on now. I don’t want you smearing your makeup or getting it on your shirt.”

He shrugged, opening his palms to me. “It’s usually fine.”

“Look, am I doing this or not?” I half-smiled to hide slight exasperation.

“O-kay,” he drew out in concession. “I guess we’ll do it professionally then.”

Chris pulled the sleeveless tee over his head, tugging it over his face by the front collar and pulling the back collar all the way over his head. I caught inked plumage along his ribs before averting my eyes. I stared hard at a snag in the gray-green carpet though my attention remained on his skin; my eyes focused on the floor but saw only skin rippling over his ribs.

“Can I sit here?” he asked, now wearing a black sleeveless tee that wasn’t much different from the first, placing himself in a plastic avocado-colored chair in the middle of the room. “Since the smallest fucking person here is taking up the largest piece of furniture?” he called louder, reaching over and smacking the toe of one of Smith’s black boots with his massive palm.

Again without taking his eyes off of his phone, Smith saluted him with a middle finger.

“You’re fine if you sit up straight.”

Chris rolled his shoulders back and sat on the edge of the chair, at seated attention. I unrolled the fabric case I’d tucked my brushes into, unzipped my pouch and started pulling out the various tubes, jars, and palettes.

He gestured at my set-up. “Did you study this or something? Like, go to cosmetology school and turn someone’s hair purple?”

“Only if they wanted it. Put this around your neck.” I threw one of Michael’s old towels at Chris before dabbing my fingers into the blue-tinted primer. I started in the middle of his face, underneath one cheekbone.

“No, actually, it’s all kind of self-taught trial and error kind of stuff. Now there are all these tutorials on YouTube, it’s easy. I’m old enough that I just missed all that. I had to learn by making myself look like Pennywise a few hundred times first.” I finished adding primer to his forehead, then continued on to his chin.

“I hope you’re done learning then.”

“Never,” I snorted. “I promise not to learn too much on you, though.”

I screwed the top back onto the primer and Chris maneuvered in his chair trying to see his face in the mirror, past Tyler smoothing the black paint over his neck.

“There’s nothing to really see yet. It’s just primer.”

He sank back down into the chair. “I don’t know what that is. I definitely never used it before.”

I poured foundation onto the back of my hand. “It’s just like getting your face ready for everything else. It helps it stay on better. Sit up.”

“I don’t use brushes when I do this either,” he said, noticing the brush I’d swirled through the foundation before I began buffing it over his nose.

“Can you do some kind of makeup magic to make my nose look smaller?”

I smiled despite myself. “You don’t want that. Your nose is fine.”

He was quiet for a moment while I buffed the foundation around his lips. I buffed around his forehead and temples and he asked, “Does this mean if this goes well you’ll do my makeup again?”

“I’m certainly not going anywhere. Close your eyes.” I dusted some iridescent eyeshadow over one lid.

“How did you get suckered into doing this again if you’ve done it once already? I mean, how did you fall for this if you already know what touring is like?”

Now the other lid.

“The bus helps.” I feared it was an obvious lie.

“Enough?”

“It helps.”

I began coloring in one eyelid with a black eyeliner pencil and jumped when Kyle suddenly roared with laughter over the phone.

“What are they watching?”

“Martyrs.”

“Oh?”

Chris waved one hand dismissively and opened his eyes while I reached for a stiffer brush to rub in the eyeliner. “Yeah, there’s something wrong with him.”

“Let me believe it’s the American remake and I can forgive the laughter.”

He closed his eyes again while I worked. “No shit, though, I wish we had a bus with a shower and all. I’ve definitely had a set or two that were pretty ripe because we didn’t make it to the next stop in time for a shower.”

“That sounds miserable.”

I suddenly flashed to Erica Jong’s so-called “zipless fuck” and the Fear of Flying heroine’s desire for the artist even after seeing the skidmarks in his underwear.

Chris continued, “And there’s been times when I did shows in the same clothes without washing them, worn the same makeup the next night.”

“Good thing you’re in a band. The glamor overrides the smell, I assume.”

“I hope?”

“I mean, I’m sure it doesn’t bother the Echo Eclipse groupies.” I wasn’t exactly sure whether or not Echo Eclipse even had groupies, but surveyed the face in front of me and thought that they must.

Chris laughed good-naturedly, showing his teeth. “Groupies? I don’t think any band had groupies since the eighties. I know we don’t.”

“None at all?”

“No way. ‘Stans’ sure, a few. But nowadays it’s like you never heard of a band, you basically follow them on tour, or they’re getting a restraining order against you.”

“Any restraining orders, then?”

“Someday, maybe,” he said, comically wistful.

I began blending a darker brownish shadow into the crease of one eye.

“What about you?”

“What?” I stepped back, puzzled.

He opened his eyes again. “Any stalkers? Isn’t that a thing?”

“I’m a woman in the internet age and I’m married to Michael March.”

“Too many to count, then.”

He shut his eyes as I began blending again. “But a fraction as many as Michael, and mine are a little less scary.”

“Yeah? I can’t even think about the shit he must see over the years.”

“The young ones are some of the scariest, too, which is funny since he’s in his forties. He likes to say that in the beginning, before all this social media, the worst thing a fan did was cry or scream or try to forcibly kiss him at a signing, and that’s a relief now.”

“Yeah.”

“But we disagree about the worst thing a fan has done.”

“What is it?”

“I think the worst thing fans do is when they cut themselves and send Michael their razors. Before we met he actually received an envelope once, but it was tucked inside a small, like, courier envelope. The envelope inside was brown all over, just covered in blood. Michael didn’t handle it himself, obviously, but they told him the bloody razor was inside and a Polaroid of where this fan had carved ‘Michael’ into her arm. Big ropey scabs.”

Chris was silent for a moment, then said, “Not the point, but with all that blood how could they make out the Polaroid? Didn’t the blood mess up the picture?”

“I said the same thing! We actually had a big fight about it when we were dating. I laughed at the fact that it was obviously staged, not like some fan put this together in an act of desperation. And I swear to God it’s like he was insulted! He got all mad at me for like interpreting his life or something like that. But that was the most offensive part to me: the fact that it was all kind of staged like that. So manipulative. This person’s desire to create this scenario was more offensive to me than if it had been real.”

“Yeah, that’s pretty sick.”

“Right?”

“So what does Michael think is the worst thing a fan has done?”

I rolled my eyes and reached for the eyeliner again, this time to line his eyes. “This has happened more than once, but sending used panties in the mail.”

“That’s some Motley Crue shit.”

“It definitely happens. Like, still.”

“Do you think they ever just buy them and send them, or do you think it’s real? Like, do you think they really wear them around and send them?”

“Some of them, absolutely. Some actually arrive crusty.”

Chris widened his eyes.

“Stop, I don’t want to poke you. One fan sent these crusty panties - like crust dusting the envelope and everything - and I swear to God the smell will stay with me forever. But that wasn’t even the worst part! She included this letter that was just a detailed description of her maturbating to the ‘Solace in Silence’ video, but it went on for three pages.”

“Most of the time I couldn’t fill a postcard.” He shrugged and I couldn’t help laughing. “That’s pretty groty, though. I’m surprised you’re not as bothered by that as he is, or more bothered by that than the bloody razor.”

“Oh, God no. I don’t care about the panties. I totally get it.”

“You get it?”

“Fuck, yes.”

“Really.”

“Absolutely.” I lifted the lid on the loose translucent powder and grabbed the fluffiest brush. “I get the idea about being absolutely infatuated and having no outlet for it. I get being so tortured by these unrequited feelings, and you feel like you’re going to burst, and it’s so ridiculous and impossible that all you want is for them to know. And it builds to the point that you want to make it known in the biggest, bravest way possible, make as much of an impression as you can. And making an impression on a celebrity isn’t easy. If I were them, I would’ve done the same thing.”

“Too bad you’re not an Echo Eclipse fan, then,” he smirked.

“Who says I’m not?”

“What, you did your homework for the tour or something?”

“I did my homework for your makeup. I’m into it. The videos are intense.”

Chris released a breath that was half laugh and half embarrassed sigh.

“No, stop for a second so I can do your lips.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“That’s still talking.”

He parted his lips obediently. I ran a liquid black over his lips, tipping the silver rings in his lower lip first one way, then the next. I painted under his two rings with a lipliner brush. His lower lip was full and I was careful to cover it all before making clean edges. I made points at his cupid’s bow and slid carefully along his upper lip, and without thinking I glanced up at his closed eyes. When they opened on me I looked away quickly.

“One more thing.” I pulled a tissue from my purse and draped it over his lips, then brushed more of the loose powder over the tissue. “It should stay better like that. But let me know if I need to touch it up.”

“So you’ll be around then? Are you going to watch our set?”

I hadn’t thought about it, but now I suppressed a smile. “I can do that if I’m won’t be in the way.”

“If there’s room for randos that won radio contests there’s room for you. I’ll be all high-maintenance, like ‘I need my makeup artist on standby.’”

I laughed.

“So I’m finished then?”

“You should be good.”

Chris jumped out of his chair and elbowed Tyler out of the way to study his face in the mirror. I cringed as I noticed Tyler smearing the black grease paint around his eyes. Chris widened and narrowed his blackened eyes, stretched the skin over his upper lip and examined either side of his nose in the mirror, then sneered.

“This is sick.” He turned back to me and laughed, delighted, and his teeth were shockingly white against his black lips. “This is fucking sick!”

~~~

Begin at the beginning: LIKE RATS - Prologue

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keeperofthelilacs · 7 years ago

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Detailed Character Meme (aka Cae goes overboard)

Detailed Character Info: Cae’saries Songbless

Appearance:

Gender: Female Race: Miqo'te, Keeper of the Moon Height: 4 fulms 11 ilms Eye Color: Blue/green Hair Color: Pastel Purple

The Facts:

Name Day: 24th Sun of the 4th Astral Moon Occupation: Adventurer, Healer, Treasure Hunter Allegiance: None, a bit anti-Ul’dah/Monetarist Sexual identification: Female Romantic identification: Hetero/Demisexual Alignment: Neutral Good Criminal History: Jailed for wrongfully after being charged with harassment/assault on guard for touching her inappropriately. Relationship Status: Married happily Sweet On: Kaladin Stormbless

Favorites:

Favorite food: Meats, cheeses, nuts Favorite drink: Cold clean water Favorite artist: Mother nature Favorite scents: Cold Autumn mornings, Mountain Air, Lavender Favorite person: Kaladin Stormbless

Ten Facts:

1. Shopaholic. Cae always lived a fairly minimalistic and basic life of traveling with her mother. They strayed from well traveled places, seeking ever further reaches of Eorzea. However, Cae has started to settle into a real home, and with it a real tendency for the latest fashion. Her closet has made a name for it’s self, sometimes it even seems to be living... Be careful around it.

2. All that Glitters is Gold. Treasure hunting is both a hobby and a source of income for Cae and her husband, Kaladin. The puzzles, the daring, the challenge, the reward of finding valuables bring the two of them closer together.... and funds certain shopping tendencies.

3. If the Crown Fits. Cae was an only child growing up. Her mother and her were very close, only occasionally traveling with her sire and father. That being said, her parents seemed to be dearly in love, and loved her dearly. She was and is good with dealing with the harsh realities of travel. The weather, the exercise, the dangers of traveling are nothing new, that being said, upon finding her mate, things changed. She adores being doted on, she adores being taken care of. If there isn’t any real benefit for her to do something, she will balk at doing it, often poofing in times when chores are being talked about. She enjoys petting, praise, and getting her way. She makes a good leader and often mixes, being a good leader with being used to leading her own life and getting her way. She is both a princess in caring and leadership, and a princess in being picky, self centered.

4. Patience is a Virtue. Probably one of Cae’s greatest strengths and weaknesses. Cae has a natural talent for teaching and helping others. She has an ability to reach others, often being able to explain something in various ways as she understands that not everyone learns the same way. However, outside of teaching or being helpful, she’s incredibly impatient and instant gratification is a huge driving force to her every day life. She hates when people repeat things or when she feels the outcome is something she already knows.

5. Find What Feels Good. Cae is incredibly hedonistic. Silks, cashmere, velvet, miqo’te tails, if it’s soft, she wants to touch it. She luxuriates in fine (high quality) things, she lives for them. While she doesn’t mind being dirty, her bath routine when she’s home is quiet extensive, with a variety of flowers, oils, and soaps for use. She loves smelling good and feeling silky.

6. Keeper of the Lilacs - Cae’s signature color is pastel purple. From her hair color, to clothing, to the lavender she picks for her rooms every few days, to the flowers she bathes with, it’s a larger part of who she is. It’s not a purposeful choice for some of it, the sunlight having bleached her hair to a light color, the lavender being readily accessible in Gridania, the flowers that leave her feeling silky. It just happened to come together.

7. It’s the eye of the...Hawk. Adventuring is a never ending job, meaning long days, weeks, months alone in the wilderness. With 20 plus years of experience, it’s not too much of a challenge, but being able to ease the journey is important. In her travels, Cae ended up learning Falconry from Ishgard. She now has a hawk named Faile that is trained to both help her hunt and to carry packages/letters to her friends and family. She often uses Faile to carry rare herbs for medicines to her contacts to speed up her process. She also enjoys her bird’s company and will often talk to her when she’s around.

8. Life and Death. Cae’s talents mainly lie in healing. Having a need to help, especially the wounded, has led her to study various avenues of healing methods. She has gained an aptitude for healing with herbs and potions. Having traveled extensively she considers her self an expert in various fauna, knowing when a plant could be helpful down the road. Because she’s familiar with herbs to heal, she also knows those that can be poisonous. She’s not above using poisons to disable people if work calls for it, or a serious situation arises. She has also picked up some of the healing arts of Astromancy, already feeling she had a connection to the night sky via her love for Menphina as a Keeper. Relying less on cards and more on the stars and herself, she is able to heal more serious wounds, but only does so if she is out of potions/salves or the wound is more dire than a potion can heal. In extreme cases of exhaustion and mana depletion and in a life or death situation of people she loves, she will use her life force to reach out to those around her to heal them. Her life aether manifests in the form of aetheric butterflies, and her family and friends who’ve seen/been affected by phenomenon reported a flash of bright light and they felt for a moment they walked among the stars. After this rare aetheric outburst occurs Cae will be in a coma for any where to a few days to a few weeks. She would much rather sacrifice her own life to save those she loves, than live with out them.

9. Not your Forte. While healing is where Cae’s main talent lies, she is apt with a bow. Having used one from the time she could lift a small one made for her by her father, she has been using it to hunt and on occasion, as self defense. She is not a master markswoman, as her desire to use it outside of necessity hinders her desire to use it as a weapon. That being said, she has killed with it, and can hit a fair amount of targets should the need arise. She occasionally tips her arrows with poison from plants, mostly to paralyze opponents. Many of the more legendary archers have been dubbed Bards, something she is sometimes referred to, more as a joke, than in a serious nature. Cae can not sing AT ALL. She is both tone deaf and does not at the voice that one would find appealing. So why call her a bard? Because she has one hell of a loud voice and can throw out a speech in the midst of battle able to arouse the fires of passion in the most morally deplete men. She inspires them to hold their ground, to fight until the last breath. She may not be a traditional bard, with a dreamy voice and masterful storytelling, but she can light the fires of people’s vigor and spirit when called for. You’ll probably have a good chance of winning with her as your moral, just don’t ask her to sing you any victory chants...

10. The Secrets of a Smile. The Calamity hit everyone hard and in different ways. For Cae, it caused her to both lose her parents and her memory of them. Being struck be falling debris during the event while traveling alone, she only has a vague inclination of her parents. She remembers things like feelings, some facts, like her first bow being given to her by her father. But names and faces are beyond her. She looked for them but not being able to describe anything about them to anyone leads her to believe they died in the Calamity. As the years pass it’s only been reinforced as they have not reached out to her as well. She also harbors extreme guilt over not being with them when it struck, and over living when they did not. She has some complicated issues with being left alone. She is not fond of cities and often leaves for solitude of nature, however loneliness is a huge fear for her. She has not confided in her friends and family (her fc, husband, etc) about her parents death and the issues she has with it, which have lead to depression, so she puts on a smile and goes on with life.

Five Things:

They like-

1. Her Husband & family & pets 2. Praise, feeling appreciated 3. Silence of being in far away places 4. The sound and smell of rain 5. Feeling clean, soft and lovely

They Dislike-

1. Being touched on her tail + ears by anyone but a select few 2. Pointless violence & belligerence 3. Not getting her way 4. Ul’dah + Monetarists 5. Fish

Good Traits:

- Fiercely Loyal - Understanding - Patient teacher - Caring and Motherly - Leadership

Bad Traits:

- Self Centered - Stubborn as hell (it takes a lot to change her mind) - Argumentative - Impatient with most things - Bossy as hell

Fears:

- Losing her loved ones - Her husband dying - Large natural disasters - Spiders - Not being able to save someone with her healing - People being mad at her

#ffxiv #cae #my rp #rp info #rp

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neureaux · 6 years ago

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stuff i learned/rediscovered whilst i was away in bordeaux; a brutally honest letter to myself

- It doesn’t matter if you sound bad/‘embarrassing’ speaking the language, just speak it. Think of how many people come to England and speak with an accent or words missing, but you can still communicate and understand them, it’s better that you try rather than shut the door to communication completely and they will try too. When you shrug off your pride and your fear of failure or imperfections in front of others, it is rewarding and you can share a moment with someone that you might not have if you didn’t try to connect with them in spite of your fears. You may even come up with words that you didn’t realise that you knew whilst trying, because in that moment you aren’t afraid to fail and you can access your stores of memory instead of blocking it, shutting it down and saying ‘no’.

- Sometimes, things happen that you don’t understand and some of them aren’t fair, but there can be things that you can take from them if you look at them hard enough. Even from the things that aren’t fair, there are lessons to be learned. You may not feel lucky every time that you learn these lessons, but if you make yourself stop to look for them and look at them anyway when you can, you’ll see that usually they evolve you just a little, they increase your emotional intelligence and broaden your perspectives in various ways if you let them.

- Sometimes, things happen in life that you genuinely think that you won’t survive, and it can feel like there’s no way out but you have the strength to continue, sometimes there are reserves of strength within you that you don’t even consciously know are there waiting, but they just might be in that final moment if you push yourself to look. You must try to tap into them, especially in the moments when you think that you have nothing left to give. Those are the moments in which you must try the hardest to access the strength within and harness that fire in your belly.

- At times, you think that you need certain things to be content, but you don’t. These things are just extras and you have proved that without them, when you are genuinely comfortable with yourself even for a moment and being with yourself, the simple things are enough to keep you level and see you through. When you are despairing over something that you don’t have just because you think that you should have it, often because others do, the truth is that you may not actually need those things. The expectations that you personally have for life can also become your own worst enemy and your greatest pain and they have on multiple occasions, your expectations can hurt you more than you are already hurt when you do have yourself and you have proven to yourself that just you, a good book, a clean, organised space and some peace are enough sometimes. When you think, ‘I need this thing.’ ask yourself, do you really? Or do you just want it because you think that’s what you should want and that’s what is conventional? Is your desire for conventionality or what you perceive as ‘normalcy’ stemming from your experiences being so abnormal to you actually affecting your life negatively and causing you more distress than it is worth, when, regardless of whether you actually like unconventionality, you know that you can adapt to it and survive it? This is applicable across life.

- Water brings you some peace, when you feel overwhelmed seek it out, you don’t always have to cross the world to find it. Get out of the house, go to the river. Or get on a train, and go to the sea, you can hang out there for a bit and then come home, nothing is stopping you. You know you’re fine on your own now and independence is valuable in all forms.

- Kind people are everywhere, for every unkind person there is a kind one somewhere even if they’re not nearby right now. Know this when you have a poor experience and stop allowing unkind people or unkind actions ruin your day. When it matters, kindness will find you.

- You’re good at cooking the way you like to eat and you’re aware of it now, so don’t be lazy. Stop eating out and then complaining that you don’t have enough money, you like the feeling of making a satisfying meal and you know it.

- Keep reading, it is a good escape when things get on top, so seek out writers that resonate with you and take in the worlds they create when you need a bit of a break from your own. Reading is healthy and harmless, you don’t need wine to relax.

- Keep on top of writing about your processes. Not everyone will understand or agree with it, and I know the medium/platform you use sometimes feels juvenile or silly but on the grand scheme, it doesn’t matter. You know that it genuinely helps you untangle difficult experiences and even to make sense of or explore the key points of normal or good ones, so keep writing. You’re always able to exhale or make some progress after you do it, so don’t stop because you’ve convinced yourself that nobody wants to hear you or people will think badly of your thoughts and emotions. So what if it’s also peppered with pretty pictures and things you like? The core point is the fact that you’ve found a process that works for you in moving through life and breaking down experiences and really looking at them in plain text helps you understand them and how you feel about them. You need to do what helps you, and it will help you avoid doing things that don’t.

- Keep knitting, it chills you out so don’t be lazy! I know you secretly don’t like doing stuff that you’re not perfect at straight away, but stop being so hard on yourself and inflicting your high standards on yourself and everyone else. You can make mistakes knitting but they are easy to correct, and don’t you love a puzzle? So nut up, and use the outlet that you know works. You have the tools, so no matter how simple they seem you need to utilise them all so don’t be an idiot.

- Sometimes it’s okay to dress comfortably instead of ‘presentably’, I know you can do both but you’re not a performance artist, you don’t exist for the people you pass in the street. Be comfortable and dress for the weather instead of trying to project things to people that don’t know you unless it’s actually important to do so. You need to try to work through this inherent idea that you aren’t good enough for society because of your origins and so you have to prove something to it, you don’t.

- A little goes a long way, let’s start utilising your organisation skills within your own life and let’s finally focus that on finances. You know that you sometimes think that you need things that you don’t already, so you can keep that in mind when spending month to month. A rainy day fund is a good idea, you’re an adult now and unforeseen circumstances need to be considered as you know that the rug can be pulled from under you at any age, but you must acknowledge that now and do something about it, not just words. When things settle, affordable bits of money will be put aside from each payday. Annoying now, but it’s time to look out for yourself - and it will stop you from having to indulge your fear of burdening others because you will be able to support yourself in times of need and you should have done this long ago considering your family/support system circumstances.

- Stop emotionally avoiding/sidestepping the fact that you don’t have a biological family to be your support system, so that you can appreciate normal amounts of emotional support as and when people that come into your life by choice feel emotionally able instead of (previously) subconsciously expecting everyone to pull from their emotional reserves every time you need it when the truth is, it’s not their responsibility to stand in for your family. They didn’t do this to you and they didn’t have a hand in you not having one and that’s just the truth and nobody can be there as much as you need it (in an as-and-when fashion) to stand in for even a small family let alone your large one, you’re all busy adults and nobody but a suitor/life partner should be in such a large role in the way of emotional support and wellbeing so lower your expectations for god’s sake. Your friends go above and beyond as you do for them, but they can’t be perfect and neither can you. [i removed a chunk about emotional dependence and fiscal responsibility here] this is an example of you making your high expectations the problem of others without realising, because there’s a void there that you’re scrambling to fill in terms of your ideas of how your life should be that you should be evening out and coming to terms with as much as you can before you involve others in the first place and you simply aren’t finished doing that, though i know you’re working on it. You can’t make people that haven’t signed up for it your safety net, and now that you realise that you sometimes reflexively pull/tug on people when things get tough you need to take precautions to look after yourself so that you can be more self sufficient even during your lows - and you can figure out how to allow people that do sign up for it to help you when they can without your opinions of yourself getting in the way, you can figure out how to say what you need without feeling shame or like you’re wronging them.

- In the same way that you identify how you could be doing better with your expectations and the pressure you can put on loved ones, you need to (with the help of the upcoming therapy) come to terms with and really take in the idea that your peace is important too. Too many of your actions come from inherent ideas about yourself, you overdo things and overload yourself because you’re used to the things you do not being enough to save you, you won’t try some things because you’re (irrationally) scared of failure confirmation, you overcompensate and overtolerate because you don’t think you’re good enough to want any better from those around you when they do make really big mistakes; you think you’re lucky that anyone should be around you this long let alone be good to you too, and you have high expectations of everyone but yourself because you inherently believe and have ‘accepted’ that everyone is better than you and you get (irrationally.) confused and upset when they display that they aren’t. Your ideas of the world are so strong from years and years of fantasy and escapism practised consistently and intensely during a period of being trapped. At some point, you will have to learn to make concessions; you’ll probably be doing it for the rest of your life but therapy can help you understand when it’s okay to dream, wish and want and when your expectations and desires match reality perfectly fine. Sometimes though, people will actually try to pass their bigger missteps off as your expectations being high instead of theirs of themselves being low, effectively exploiting that loophole in your reasoning. You, inherently do not always properly understand the boundaries and differences between this yet and it distresses and embarrasses you. Sometimes the humanity in others can upset you, because you thought your own humanness was a sign of otherness, a sign of weakness or something detestable because that’s how you were raised, by a parent that hid their imperfections and raised you to believe yours to be many, grievous failures - but it’s time to unlearn, even subconsciously. I have realised gradually that the high expectations vs self esteem issue is a deep rooted issue that affects everything within me and my actions, everything within you. What shall we do with that information? I think, it’s time to explore that issue during this upcoming therapy block this spring. It’s all well and good focusing on the trauma itself, but what about you! How have these experiences affected you as a person, and how you interact with others and yourself? I think, that realigning this process will be an uncomfortable, but consistent and thorough way to quiet some of the constant, buzzing anxiety that you experience as a ptsd survivor and if anything, it will help you know yourself better, and what you want. Because if there’s anything you know, it’s that oftentimes you think you want something so bad, but really it’s coming from somewhere else - so figuring out a chunk of that mess at the core might be something to look at.

- You’re disabled, like... Try not to travel alone anymore. You’ve done it, and you know you can now, but there were some things that you found quite difficult when you know it would have been much easier with just some company and a bit of normal, shared support and adventure there.

- You know this one, but that sense of ‘now, now, now’ needs work. Not everything needs to happen right this second, you’re not dying. The sense of urgency stresses you out and sometimes stresses others, and it can increase the amount of stressful situations you encounter when you could just focus on being patient and trying to figure out how to wait and maintain your happiness when you’re waiting. I think many different fears of yours give you this sense of urgency, and the unpredictability of life (especially yours.) scares you so much that you rush - but at the end of the day, we can’t control everything. We just can’t, sometimes when things feel like they’re getting away from you a bit, you have to try to remember how to enjoy today, this moment instead of frantically trying to plan tomorrow when who even knows if you’ll see it? Bring your mind back from the future sometimes and remember to try and enjoy right now. Sometimes you’re so busy planning that you ruin your present moment, and this is your youth. Don’t take it easy, but definitely take it easier! Just do your best to focus on the right things.

- Your focus for the year needs to be on your stability, your education and your inner peace. Everything else will fall into place so remember to relax sometimes, focus on a few things at a time, use the healthy tactics you know to get you through and do your best to understand yourself. Your relationships and your points of happiness will either fall into place, or let you know what you need to do next.

#v personal/raw post for my progress for the year #removed tags since it’s some pretty deep rooted shit #but that’s what personal blogs are for! and one of the points does tell me to stop being embarrassed by things i write ironically #tryin’ it out

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placetobenation · 4 years ago

Link

Inductees:

Depeche Mode (Inducted by: Charlize Theron)

Doobie Brothers (Inducted by: Brad Paisley / Nancy Wilson)

Whitney Houston (Inducted by: Alicia Keys)

Nine Inch Nails (Inducted by: Iggy Pop)

The Notorious B.I.G. (Inducted by: Sean “Diddy” Combs / Lin Manuel Miranda)

T. Rex (Inducted by: Ringo Starr / Billy Gibbons)

Ahmet Ertegün Award:

Jon Landau / Inducted by: Bruce Springsteen

Irving Azoff / Inducted by: Don Henly / Joe Walsh / Jackson Browne

A nice video tribute to Eddie Van Halen was shown which was touching. It wasn’t about his family or his band or anything. The piece focused on his music and and his playing – which really is what changed the world. It was hosted by Slash and Tommy Morello and they did the Guitar God proud. I mean, you simply can not dispute the greatness and the extremely heavy influence Eddie Van Halen had on music and on guitar playing.

What is so terribly sad is the In Memoriam part of the show – you just have no idea how many tremendous musicians died this year. I don’t know if it was because of Trump grabbing headlines every single day over the stupidest things – or if these people were just easily forgotten. Kenny Rogers, Little Richard, Leon Redbone, Art Neville, Dr. John, Charlie Daniels, Neil Peart, Frankie Banali, Eddie Money, Mac Davis, Ric Ocasek – these are no small names, these are icons, and I completely forget about most of them. Ugh 2020 is such a terrible year.

This year The Rock N Roll Hall Of Fame had their ceremony – with no live performances and in no rock arenas or any other kind of public space.

Dave Grohl kicks it off with a speech saying how this year would be different, and that this year’s ceremony will not include a massive jam or any other kind of performance. Which is nice, because it’s not live – they made his self serving rambling as least boring and offensive as possible. We know Dave loves to be a part of this thing and if the Foo Fighters could be the house band, you know they would just salivate at the chance.

Since you know most of the performers, let me just tell you about the ones you don’t know about.

Jon Landau is an inductee, but not a performer. He was a writer for Crawdaddy magazine and also for Rolling Stone. He is the critic who published the famous quote – “I’ve seen rock and roll’s future and it’s name is Bruce Springsteen.” Jon followed Bruce around from small club to small club, and fell in love with the guy and his E Street Band. Jon had been looking to get involved in producing music and saw Bruce as his golden chariot. Bruce said yes and the rest was history. Jon became his manager and co-producer from that day forward, and their first project together was Born To Run. The two are still inseparable, in fact, if you watch Bruce’s documentary, A Letter to You, on Apple TV, Jon Landau actually makes a brief appearance in the studio and everyone there hails him like a king. So it is very safe their relationship is going strong. Bruce himself took the time to tell the story and it is a good one, a positive one, and a heartwarming one. In fact those 5 minutes or so is more heartfelt and touching then Bruce’s entire Letter To You documentary.

Irving Azoff is not a performer but a huge huge fan of music and the business. So much so that he allowed, if not started, change in the industry itself. Irving comes from the midwest – went to Los Angeles after college and began working for Geffen-Roberts Management. In 1972 he was assigned to help out with The Eagles. Well he helped out, he hung around, he became their friend, he told them truth about everything, and they are still friends to this day, almost 40 years later.

Irving was more then a manager of an artist, he was a fan, and that showed in all the ways he cared for his clients. Most notable in music publishing. He wanted artists to get their fair shake – and he always told them the truth of the matter and the truth of the position they were in. Irving started to dabble in movies like Urban Cowboy and Fast Times At Ridgemont High, but it was his service in music that is most appreciated. Fighting for the artist, helping them in their relationship with the big bad record company. Irving was and still is trusted by many big names to help them not get cheated or taken advantage of. His story is one of the good ones in the biz.

The list of inductees goes on and on and you all know the performers are – Trent Reznor and NIN, the goth industrial revolutionary band. No man or band has made that genre more popular or more accessible then Trent has. It proves once again, like Bob Marley – when you are great at your genre, it breaks down all barriers. In other words – when you’re good, you’re good.

Depeche Mode, B.I.G., T. Rex, Whitney Houston, I think they all belong here and I’m glad they were all inducted. The ceremony this year was not a party, but more like a tender Zoom moment. I think it should be done like this every year – and then show the live performances and the big jam at the end.

No musician wants to stand up there and give a 5 minute speech to a live crowd – let them do their speech on video, like they did this year – so it’s not frightening or awkward, and then they can just perform live to the arena like they do normally. I think they would be a lot more comfortable doing that.

I really do love this new format – plenty of old pictures, old videos, behind the scenes footage, and a simple narrator guiding us all through it all. It goes faster, it’s not awkward, and no one is fumbling over the words or burying their head into 10 pages of handwritten notes.

If you get a chance to see it, I would highly suggest viewing this year’s format and show- it is great to see great artists, especially relaxed in their homes, talking about the old days and all the battles they went through. It was personal, intimate, smooth, and went by in a flash. I believe the entire program is only 2 hours and 5 minutes. A huge improvement over the 3 or 4 hour fiasco’s we are usually subjected to.

Check it out, these artists are legendary and it’s great to see and hear them again. And catch me here every Thursday on PlaceToBeNation.com. Thanks for reading.

#IFTTT #Place to Be Nation

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theconservativebrief · 6 years ago

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To All the Boys I’ve Loved Before, the deeply sweet Netflix rom-com that has conquered hearts across the internet since its premiere, is a beautiful throwback to the 1990s. It speaks to a time when the characters of teen movies were constantly faking relationships for a bet or a dare or revenge, only to end up falling in love for real, and to a time when the teen movie and the romantic comedy were solid bets at the box office.

And the first way To All the Boys signals what kind of throwback movie you’re about to watch is through its costumes. The film’s wardrobe is pure ’90s revival. Our heroine Lara Jean runs across her high school campus in Clueless-style plaid skirts and platform combat boots; the mean girl slinks into a party in a slip dress and choker like she’s walking right off the set of Jawbreakers. The clothes are nonstop Looks, and they’re also fundamental to the film’s world building and character development.

To understand how To All the Boys I’ve Loved Before achieved its look, I called up costume designer Rafaella Rabinovich. Over the phone, we talked about the dream of the ’90s and why it would have been too easy to dress Peter Kavinsky like a jock, and — service journalism — I found out where Lara Jean’s perfect pink toggle coat came from.

This interview has been lightly edited for length and clarity.

Netflix

Constance Grady

This movie spends so much time paying homage to the teen movies of the ’90s, and one of the things that immediately places you in that world is its ’90s revival costumes, with all the slip dresses and chokers and combat boots. Was that the aesthetic you always had planned, or did it emerge more gradually over the course of development?

Rafaella Rabinovich

If I look at my original mood boards, there definitely was a ’90s inspiration there, because there was also a bit of a vintage touch to it. There was never a question that we were giving homage to the ’60s, and maybe ’70s, and maybe ’90s. I definitely always knew that was going to come up. But it really came to fruition while we were working on it, while we were reading through the script, finger-pointing certain elements and starting to collect the items and seeing how they fall together into this collection that we call a closet.

So It was absolutely in the back of my mind that it was going to come up, but I don’t know if I knew in the beginning how potent it was going to be.

Constance Grady

Where there any looks from the ’90s you specifically wanted to reference? I know Jenny Han [the author of the book that To All the Boys I’ve Loved Before is based on] has said she wanted to get a little bit of a Clueless vibe in there.

Rafaella Rabinovich

Oh, absolutely. Alicia Silverstone in Clueless was a huge inspiration. Not necessarily in the exact colors and cuts, but something about the texture and something about the vibe, and just the different choices that had been made in those combinations were inspiring.

I also looked at Claire Danes in the ’90s, at Winona Ryder in the ’90s. I also looked a little bit, even though it went into the 2000s, at Sex and the City, especially the first season. There’s such beautiful work there of, yes, following fashion, but at the same time following your inner instinct and style and where it is that you come from.

Constance Grady

In the books, Lara Jean is someone who thinks a lot about her outfits and the look she’s aiming for. Did you use the aesthetic of the books in putting together her closet, or did you want to develop something more different for the movie?

Rafaella Rabinovich

We did a little bit of both. We definitely tried to stay true to what the book had to offer to give us a base.

One of the things about making something based on a book is that you’re essentially basing it on what imagination has to offer you. There’s moments that are very specific, but you can also take a twist on it because everyone sees it differently when they read it. We wanted to offer something that everybody can connect to. It’s just looking at a bigger picture and at the same time giving it personality.

Netflix

Constance Grady

One of the details I love is that in Lara Jean’s fantasies, Josh is always wearing a leather jacket and Peter’s in a button-up and a tie, but in real life they’re both very dressed-down. How did you develop the idea of what they’d look like in her head versus what they’d look like in the rest of the movie?

Rafaella Rabinovich

The interesting thing about dressing high school students in general, when it comes to movies, is trying to find the type without making a joke out of it, so everybody who’s watching it can really find themselves in it. I think that’s one of the things that makes a movie into a popular movie: if you can see yourself in it.

It was too obvious to make Peter into a jock, right? We wanted to give him an essence of being the really cute guy who puts some energy into what he looks like, but being really approachable. It helped having Noah Centineo in that position, because he already had so much presence to him that we really didn’t need to overdo it. And the same goes with Israel Broussard. Just his facial expressions were so accurate that we didn’t need to do much.

To me, costumes are a part of a toolbelt. They’re there to serve the characters, not to take them over.

Josh and Peter are both dreamy in their own way, so we wanted to create two different types. We wanted the dreamy rock ’n’ roll guy for Josh, but without making him into too much of a punk or too much of a bad boy, because that’s not what it’s about. He’s the artist; he’s sensitive. And that’s versus what Lara Jean sees in Peter, who is this dream of a guy who she kissed when she was younger in a game. It’s two dreamy guys who she wrote letters to, and the difference is in how she sees them.

Constance Grady

What were your favorite looks in the movie?

Netflix

Rafaella Rabinovich

I have so many favorite looks. I have a lot of favorite pieces. Certain looks have become more favorites because I can see how they affected people who watched the movie.

I’ve received an overwhelming, humbling amount of love toward the movie about the costuming, on social media or even through my private email and my agent. I’ve received beautiful emails from costume students, from people who have just watched the movie, younger and older. It’s a really amazing amount of love and appreciation, which is so humbling. And it’s made certain moments in the movie — I recognize that the appearance of them was of significance to those people.

The people that we obviously get the most amount of emails about are Lara Jean and Kitty. I say “we” because it obviously takes a village, and I’m very grateful and humble for the people who have worked with me to get to where we did. We get a lot of comments about Chris, about Lucas as well, from a lot of young men who really appreciate the sense of style.

One of my favorite pieces is Chris’s leather jacket, which I have a personal thing with. I made that jacket for another show with [the production company] Awesomeness that hasn’t come out yet, and it ended up going on camera on Chris. It’s a custom-made piece that we modified a little bit for this show. I love this jacket, it was a lot of work to get that one made.

The pink toggle jacket that Lara Jean wears belonged to my sister.

Constance Grady

So many people have asked me to ask you where they can get a coat like that. It’s got its own little following.

Rafaella Rabinovich

It’s a very sweet piece. I bought it for my sister a couple of years ago in England. It’s by Gloverall, which is a UK-based company.

Other pieces that are my favorite: Kitty’s gold shoes. She has gold boots, which I love.

I really think the devil is in the details, as they say. There was so much thought behind every piece that was put on camera, in every combination, in order to create a mood and a feeling and to really show the arc of the characters, so to me, the wardrobe is significant for each piece.

The girls’ jewelry shows a really important connection between them. Lara Jean has this heart locket that she wears often throughout the movie, and Margot has a key, and it’s a play on the fact that she’s the key to Lara Jean’s heart. When Margot leaves to go to Scotland, she wears an Aries necklace, which is a bit of a play on the fact that she’s going off and Aries are known to be free-spirited and playful. Then when she comes back, she has a compass necklace on for coming home.

Netflix

One of my favorites, actually, I have to say, is Lara Jean’s homecoming look, for both her and Lucas. It’s a pretty small scene, but it’s significant. There was a lot of altering of her costume. It was originally a longer skirt that we cut short, and we added sequins to it to just make it more va-va-voom, in a sense. It was just a second that we were going to see it, so we wanted to make it specific. And there’s this really cute striped shirt that we cut short that was originally a tunic. She ended up wearing a vest that we took from Kitty’s closet, because we wanted bare hands because she was dancing. We put a gold choker on her, which was very much a reference to the ’90s.

And Lucas was in this really cool bright patterned button-up, and he wore this great pair of suspenders and cravat. I love that. I think it speaks to their friendship in a sense, to see how they look at the world in a very romantic, dreamy way, but at the same time they’re each to their own way, and they’re different.

Original Source -> The ’90s fashion of Netflix’s To All the Boys I’ve Loved Before, explained by its designer

via The Conservative Brief

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toddrogersfl · 7 years ago

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Lalique celebrate their 130th year

Lalique are celebrating their 130th year – and so, to mark this marvellous occasion, we’re sharing an article from The Scented Letter on the man himself, to share with you.

René Lalique was far more than just a maker of fineries. He was an innovator, a maverick, a trendsetter. He also changed the way we see perfume today. So: read on to find out more about our visit to the epic Musée Lalique, below…

Carson Parkin-Fairley paid a visit to the Musée Lalique to check out the world’s greatest collection of the legendary glassmaker’s bottles and objets d’art

Lalique was not only a maker of fine crystal, a fabulous jewellery designer and an innovator within those industries. In his time, he so influenced the fragrance world that we would almost certainly not be sitting back and spritzing in the way we do, if it were not for René Lalique’s role in popularising perfume.

The very best way to marvel at his contribution to glassmaking and perfumery (and where the two meet) is to journey to Alsace, France, for a visit the Musée Lalique – as I did recently. The museum houses an exquisite collection of over 650 pieces – jewellery, drawings, vases, chandeliers, 230 antique perfume bottles and pretty much every other item of crystal finery one could fantasise about – all showcased in one resolutely modern structure. In the setting of the Alsatian town of Wingen-sur-Moder, where René Lalique set up his first glassworks in 1921, the Musée Lalique‘s aim is to show the extensive range and diversity of his work. And it succeeds brilliantly, following a timeline of Lalique’s career that will fascinate any perfume-lover and bottle collector.

Left: The Musée Lalique in Alsace, France. Right: The vast collection of 230 vintage perfume bottles

Born in 1860 in Ay, in the Champagne region, René Lalique was a notably skilled young man from the word ‘go’. By the age of 16, he had already been awarded prizes for his drawings, later working for brands like Cartier and Boucheron, before setting up his own atelier at the age of just 25.

This was a man who sought to innovate in everything he did. He once recalled: ‘I would work tirelessly (…) with the will to achieve something new and create something that has never before been seen’. He was a true pioneer in the glass world, and later, the world of perfumery.

Widely regarded as the inventor of modern jewellery, Rene was audacious with his designs. These introduced elements like enamel, horn, ivory and later – which he would become famous for – glass, into a world of fine jewellery. Delighting in an item for its beauty, rather than for the luxury it exuded, Lalique often combined glass with gold or precious stones – with the feeling and beauty of an item taking precedence over materials.

It was his unrivalled talent with glass which eased Lalique’s path into the perfume world. In 1905 René opened a boutique at 24 Place Vendôme (the square which remains the heartland of Paris’s world of haute jouaillerie), where he exhibited his jewellery alongside other glass objects. In 1907, perfumer François Coty visited the atelier – and was so impressed by his works, he invited Lalique to collaborate.

Left: A portrait of René Lalique. Right: The first bottle designs for François Coty.

Coty’s philosophy was simple. ‘Give a woman the best product you can make, present it in a perfect flacon with beautiful simplicity and impeccable taste, ask her to pay a reasonable price, and that will be the birth of a business such as the world has never seen.’ And boy, was he onto something.

That idea, however, was revolutionary. Before Lalique and Coty got together, perfume had been sold only in costly crystal flacons that were immensely expensive to produce, often far more pricy that the juice within. Fragrance was most definitely only for the wealthy, rather than for everyone. But Lalique found a way of producing affordable glass bottles, with just as much beauty and finesse as their expensive counterparts – transforming the perfume world. From that moment on he worked increasingly on designs for the fragrance industry, many of which can be seen at this museum – including the magnificent drawings for the first bottle Lalique ever created for Coty, alongside the finished flacon itself.

As so many of his designs for bottles and stoppers show, Lalique was a man who appreciated and celebrated nature, his main inspirations being flora, fauna and women. He developed a highly technical way of creating textures on glass: swirls, butterflies, insects, swallows and more. Observing these creations in a museum setting induces a kind of awe – like looking at a piece of history that for me, forever changed my perception of the industry I love and work in.

Left: Leurs Ames bottle for d’Orsay by Lalique. Right: Le Baiser de Faune bottle for Molinard, by Lalique

Flacons range from those for Le Baiser du Faune (created for Molinard, delicately depicting a woman and faun embracing), to Leurs Ames (created for fragrance house d’Orsay, the stopper of which is adorned in an ethereal image of women swinging from branches of a flowering tree). With a breathtaking collection of 230 beautifully illuminated perfume bottles – alongside many other items that so perfectly illustrate the man and the artist, including his designs for ocean-going liners and luxury trains – the Musée Lalique is a (crystal) window into his world, keeping the history and heritage of a remarkable man alive.

During my visit, I was lucky enough to visit the Lalique factory nearby to watch how the crystal is made – sadly not an opportunity extended to the general public. (Health & Safety strikes again…) But along with a small band of fellow writers, I gained an insight into why Lalique items come with such a hefty price tag.

We were shown around the factory by a man introduced as ‘Amen’, whose passion for his work shines through as clear as the crystal he has devoted his life to producing. Amen told us of the rigorous processes required to create these items of sheer perfection. The furnaces themselves are container-sized: vast, fiery, blasting out heat. Within these are placed smaller ovens-within-ovens: clay vessels which take three weeks to construct (and over a year to dry), housing up to 12 crystal moulds in each – for a statue, a vase, perhaps a centrepiece. These are filled with sand, lead and water to form the crystal, then placed within the furnaces. After just three months, the clay will have degraded, requiring these smaller ovens to be replaced.

Then there’s the challenge of staffing; trialling new workers is a lengthy process with serious vetting – because, as Amen observes, ‘It takes a long time to find someone who can basically create gold with their hands…’ The art of blowing glass can take five to 10 years to perfect, using artisan methods that have endured for hundreds of years. And as Amen explains, ‘It is impossible to make it fast. You have to go at the speed of the crystal.’ Today, Lalique employs many of the people of the town it’s situated in, passing the tradition of crystal-making down to the youth of today. (Hands are never idle: alongside their own bottles and limited edition flacons, Lalique create special designs for brands like Tom Ford, Nina Ricci and Bentley.)

For limited edition bottles (for instance, the gilded flacon for Living Lalique), resin moulds must be created – the final steps of which are always done by hand, taking up to six weeks to complete. (This is an industry where robots will never be able to compete with human skills.) A trial is done in wax, and finally, crystal; 50% of all glass produced will be disposed of for imperfections at this stage.

Left: Lalique vases on show at Musée Lalique. Right: A limited edition flacon for Living Lalique

As I learned about the immense amount of work required, about the fact that a minimum of 20 people will have touched and worked on any piece that reaches the shelves, Lalique’s price tags suddenly didn’t seem so hefty. Whether you collect crystal or not, these these are things of beauty and perfection. Holding a vase or bottle, its journey suddenly seems very tangible. The hands that have held and sculpted it, the rigorous checks it will have been through, the love and care with which that item was made.

Artist, innovator, perfectionist, visionary. Visiting this museum, it’s clear why – over 72 years after his death – Lalique remains relevant in the perfume world. There’s surely no better place to experience Lalique‘s crystal creations in all their glory – and appreciate the finesse and precision that goes into them.

One word of warning: don’t blame me if you come away wanting to own one of their exquisite pieces yourself. You may have to mortgage your house for one –but at least you’ll understand why.

A visit to Musée Lalique is priced 6 euros per person; family tickets are available for for 14 euros (one or two adults and one to five children), and is free for those under 6 years old.

Musée Lalique, Rue du Hochberg, 67290 Wingen-sur-Moder (open 10am-6pm daily, except national holidays)

The Villa René Lalique Hotel and two Michelin-starred Restaurant

WHERE TO STAY

For those seeking opulent surroundings, the Villa René Lalique is nearby, surrounded by Alsatian forest and decadently furnished with Lalique items – from lamps to coffee tables. Even the hotel’s bath surrounds are adorned in crystal. A two Michelin-starred restaurant offers exciting gastronomic experiences, all outfitted with the finest Lalique crystal ware. (During dinner, our party heard a glass smash – and couldn’t help but wince a little.) Opposite the museum is the Chateau Hochberg – slightly less grand, but equally stylish, with 15 rooms and another fabulous restaurant.

Villa Rene Lalique – rooms for two cost from 350 to 1,300 euros per night villarenelalique.com

Chateau Hochberg – rooms for two cost from 140 to 320 euros per night chateauhochberg.com

CLOSER TO HOME

You don’t have to go all the way to Alsace to revel in the delicate treasures of Lalique. Head to their equally beautiful flagship store, in Conduit Street: a serene shop that sings of luxury, with incredibly knowledgeable staff. You’ll find the full range of Lalique fragrances (priced £59 to £230), including the exclusive Noir Premier Collection. Explore them at your leisure while surrounded by some of the most dazzling crystal the world has to offer. (The luxury limited edition fragrance flacons start at £1000.)

Lalique, 47 Conduit Street, London, W1S 2YP/020-7292 0444

Written by Carson Parkin-Fairley

The post Lalique celebrate their 130th year appeared first on The Perfume Society.

from The Perfume Society https://perfumesociety.org/lalique-celebrate-their-130th-year/

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connorrenwick · 7 years ago

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Where I Work: Hans Bølling at Brdr. Krüger

Danish architect and designer Hans Bølling is going strong at 86 years young, spending a majority of his time since the 1950s working with the family-run, Danish design house Brdr. Krüger. His attention to detail and whimsical style are perfectly paired with the Brdr. Krüger brand, who focus on solid craftsmanship and mid-century Danish modern aesthetics for contemporary users. You many remember both names after we featured Bølling’s TRIIIO Table launch in 2017. In this Where I Work, the acclaimed designer lets us into his workshop within the Brdr. Krüger’s offices and showroom for a look at his surroundings and his work style. Take a look.

What is your typical work style?

My studio is my base where I collect inspiration, from there I can venture out and work on projects. I have always enjoyed getting ‘hands-on’ quite early in the design process, preferring to prototype my ideas in wood. I believe I do my best work when I get my hands dirty, and for this I go to my longtime partners at Brdr. Krüger, with whom I have collaborated since the 1950s. Brdr. Krüger is a family-run furniture producer in Denmark, established in 1886.

What’s your studio/work environment like?

It is quite raw and reminds me of a growth house, placed inside a warehouse.

How is your space organized/arranged?

It has a big elevation worktable in the middle, surrounded by low shelves with handy tools and inspirational items. At the end wall there is a pinboard and there is also a sewing machine. It is both inspiring and practical. And just next door is the production, so we can materialise our ideas quite fast.

How long have you been in this space? Where did you work before that?

Brdr. Krüger recently opened their showroom, so this space is quite new. I have been in my old studio for 33 years. Before that, I worked in the centre of Copenhagen with other architects.

If you could change something about your workspace, what would it be?

More space for more models.

The Kay Bojesen monkey

Is there an office pet?

Not really, though we do have company of a Kay Bojesen monkey, that Brdr. Krüger produces for Rosendahl Design Group.

Do you require music in the background? If so, who are some favorites?

I love listening to Mozart and Bach when I draw.

How do you record ideas?

I always carry a pencil with me, to sketch ideas. I sketch on whatever I have at hand; the backside of a shopping list or a receipt from the gas station. At home, I have a notebook on my nightstand – I often wake up and am compelled to take notes, otherwise they are forgotten in the morning.

Do you have an inspiration board? What’s on it right now?

Some drawings, cut-outs and material samples. I also have a small quote pinned there: “Words are the source of misunderstanding”, by Antoine de Saint-Exupéry. There is something profound and inspiring about that quote that I can relate to. My wife always says “you don’t work, you play”, and she is right. I am 86 years old but I have an almost childish approach to design; navigating mostly by my intuition. I believe my designs connect with people through sensitivity.

What is your creative process and/or creative workflow like? Does it change every project or do you keep it the same?

No, the process is the same, but I do enjoy working with wood and it has always been a part of my designs and development. Before I became an architect, I trained as a carpenter and my love for wood has remained the same throughout my career. When I work at Brdr. Krüger’s workshop, it is like a playground for me – the wood, the machines and the design-lab all throw up endless possibilities. I love to be hands-on and make decisions on the shop floor.

Art by Farshad Farzankia with Hans Bølling’s Tray Tables

What kind of art/design/objects might you have scattered about the space?

At Brdr. Krüger everything becomes an inspirational object: the tools, the wood, even the woodchips on the factory floor. In the design-lab, there are old wood-turned objects from the past, they inspire me too – I cherish traditional craftsmanship. In the showroom there are big beautiful oil paintings by an exciting young Danish artist named Farshad Farzankia. I think his modern art goes very well with my Tray Tables.

Old tools on Hans Bølling’s Tray Table in black

Are there tools and/or machinery in your space?

There are lots of old and new tools in the workshop. Brdr. Krüger is working with traditional craft and new design and this is a great inspiration to me. I keep getting new ideas by being in this environment and I am in constant dialogue with Jonas Krüger (who is the 5th generation to work in the family business) about adjustments and new developments.

Hans Bølling at the lathe

What tool(s) do you most enjoy using in the design process?

Without a doubt it is the lathe – I have one at home. I designed my very first Bølling Tray Table on a lathe, without any drawings. The idea just came to me and I went directly to the workshop and made it overnight. This was in 1963 and today I am told, the Tray Table has become a Danish design classic.

Let’s talk about how you’re wired. Tell us about your tech arsenal/devices.

The only electronics I have are a photocopying machine and a calculator. My mobile phone can only make and receive calls and text messages, and I write letters. No email.

What design software do you use, if any, and for what?

None. I use my father’s old red fountain pen.

Hans Bølling sitting at his TRIIIO dining table in walnut

Is there a favorite project/piece you’ve worked on?

I have many favourites, but a recent great piece I want to mention is the development of the TRIIIO table series. It has been an immense joy to experience a sketch and prototype I made when I was 27 years-old (in 1958) in the hands of the skilled craftsmen in Brdr. Krüger’s workshop; to see them work their magic and witness how simple and elegant amendments have transformed my original prototype into three present-day tables with a timeless quality.

The original prototype of TRIIIO side table from 1958

Do you feel like you’ve “made it”? What has made you feel like you’ve become successful? At what moment/circumstances? Or what will it take to get there?

The fact that my designs are still appreciated after so many years, and that I can continue doing what I love, is a great joy and privilege. I started working with Brdr. Krüger in the 50s, with Jonas’s grandfather, then his father and now, most recently, with Jonas on the TRIIIO tables. We have evolved and achieved success together. I feel like Brdr. Krüger are family to me. I have a great life and I am very grateful.

Tell us about a current project you’re working on. What was the inspiration behind it?

Right now, we are collaborating with HERMÉS on a bespoke version of the TRIIIO dining table, for their new flagship store in Copenhagen. We are working on some custom details and alternative materials, which suits the architecture of the HERMÉS store.

What’s on your desk right now?

Samples and different test shapes as part of our research for the custom-made TRIIIO dining table for HERMÉS.

Do you have anything in your home that you’ve designed/created?

I have the Bølling Tray Table, of course…

via http://design-milk.com/

from WordPress https://connorrenwickblog.wordpress.com/2018/01/16/where-i-work-hans-bolling-at-brdr-kruger/

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