#some of that ego and self-assuredness is already showing through

[joannasteez]

crying, laughing, loving, lying - australian merlot

pairing: roman reigns x angel (black oc) warning: no warnings. first date fluff. this is an alternate universe work of fiction, so no wrestling will be mentioned. authors note: this will hopefully, be followed by other pieces that show the progression of angel and romans relationship. get ready for hallmark movie realness. music inspo: crying, laughing, loving, lying by labi siffre word count: 3100

some restaurants are made for first dates. for habitual blind daters too skittish to reach beyond that hectic first circle of hell limbo called first base. the 'will it now? won't it finally?', of it all. this ceaseless punishment of lovelessness. and angel thinks that it's all more shitty than bullshit anyways. love is simply an accompaniment and not the whole damn tune. a cappella's are more fascinating anyways. love is more of an accessory. something like bracelets or anklets. a thing to put on that dresses up life a little more prettily. but there is a trouble to it. the labor of coordination far less rewarding than it's worth. and what of the fruitlessness? the defilement and scarcity that rottens the garden. a few ruined by many and now she's at her tenth blind date since the new year, already familiar with the taste of fucking bile.  

"you need someone". 

but she doesn't. because need implies the failure of survival without it and if after every date her stomach churns—with a fear that she refuses to acknowledge—then that wasn't something she wanted anyways. definitely not something she needed. 

but here, amongst white table cloth, she waits. 7:39 pm. slightly too early to be upset because he, whoever he is, isn't late yet. but she wishes very openly that he will be. it'd just be a strike against him. something that eases the guilt of ghosting him when he inevitably asks for another date. and please don't mistake the self assuredness for a too big ego, she just knows these things. it's based all on common occurrence. they bring roses because "all women love roses", dragging their feet in eased and so damn smiley despite being five, ten or even fifteen minutes late and it absolutely grinds her fucking gears. cleanliness is next to godliness but fuck it punctuality is too. he will come with a rose and he will be late and he will ramble about himself and he will stare at her cleavage and then imply that him paying the bill grants access to spreading her open and then the inevitable lump of bile. 

it was a song she'd heard and a dance done a thousand times and her head hurt from the thundering bass and her feet from trying to keep pace with such terrible rhythm. 

angel wants to leave. wants to finally grant herself the relief of no guilt by stepping away before the burden of ridding her tongue of the bile. 

but she can't, because he's here now. sitting down with no rose. 

what the hell? 

and he is beautiful. a huge mountain of a man. herculean with a directness to his eyes that makes it appear as though he is staring through her skin and into deeper, more vulnerable parts. heat scorching fast over nerves and bones till she grows warm and its concerning. because angel has gone on first dates with beautiful men before. sat with them, spoken to and at them, laughed with and at them, dined with them, but for some gut churning reason, this, feels different. the temperature of the atmosphere is warm. the life in his eyes, inviting. 

and for the love of God he doesn't have a rose and it makes angel laugh. small and to herself. 

he sits. confused and amused in that awkward way. where the idea of a joke itself makes you laugh, not privy to hooks, punchlines, sinkers and the like. 

and for the first time in a myriad of failed dates, angel is taken by his voice. a dark symphony. pitch low and smooth. strong and double bass like. 

"can i get in on the joke?"

she wants to shrivel into and like a ball. because it wasn't necessarily funny. it was more so the absurdity of the situation. of course after much complaining and internal deliberation she would be sent someone that would stick her foot in her mouth. at least in regards to the romantic gesture of giving roses.

her throat clears. "sorry, it's just...it's kinda weird. it's nothing". 

he squints and it feels like a hole is tearing through her skin. peeling away till its settling warm into veins.

"if you leave me in suspense i'm gonna make you feel like shit about it". 

"is that a threat?"

"more like a spoiler".

and now the laugh is bright and clear. nothing hidden and inward about it. and he loves the sound. wouldn't mind if he could hear it a few more times tonight. her sarcasm more laden in her words than the surprise of them.

"because you've never practiced that before". 

"in a mirror once or twice, but i got you all giggly so tell me whats funny". 

angel sighs. "you didn't bring a rose and for whatever reason, men show up to first dates with roses", waving her fingers away to express the un-seriousness of her amusement. "it's just a thing". 

"like... the bachelor". 

"yeah", snorting. "sure, like the bachelor". 

his fingers, long and thick and just downright massive, rub into his beard. mulling over her words with a bout of sincerity that she doesn't think she's seen in a while. like some actual consideration, and not a half-assed pulling together of thoughts into words to make conversation for the sake of filling in the silence. 

"never really approached it like that. it seems more like a burden than anything y'know?", his eyes slipping over the bottle of wine you ordered before he showed, before its doing the same to your face. "flowers do the dying thing and then what? just something else to throw away. feels odd". 

"i mean, theres ways to preserve them". because of fucking course she would say this, after making a fuss about always getting flowers. but it was just that weird thing, trying to see the upside in a situation. to heal the downtrodden idealism of it all. "but i agree with you". 

"sounds like you want a rose". 

"i don't. i just-...". she sighs. flustered. "can we start over".

and he smiles. at her awkwardness and her eyes and the crinkle in her brows as she gathers herself. 

"of course". 

eyeing the bottle of wine again, his hand reaches out to you. 

"roman". 

and it fits. encapsulates his everything. name and the air of him reminiscent of old statues built with marble and brow sweating patience. an easy demeanor inherited from stoic warriors of old. fine silk looking hair and a jaw she's sure she can cut against if not for the thickness of his beard. 

she takes his hand and shakes. thumb over his veins and wrapped up in the strength of his palm. 

"angel".

"are you?"

they both smile. teasing eyes and a playful air. 

"sometimes".

he hums short. the song of it uprooted from his chest. hand slipping away from hers but the impression of it leaves a stain on her skin. where his fingers squeezed in the midst of a mere cordial shaking. and his eyes are not shy. taking hers to hold steady and uncompromising. and never has a man held her gaze so well, not since-

"you been here before?"

and it is only the shame of so many dates in such a short amount of time that leaves her tongue dry and her thoughts partial to lying. "uhh", her eyes sweeping over the menu. "no. i haven't". 

"any allergies?"

"used to be pescatarian a while back but i stopped. why?"

"i don't want you to surprise me with a closed airways cause i recced you something with peanut oil". 

"you've been here before?"

"a few times". 

"on dates". more like a statement than a question. 

he's busy looking over the menu, like he's seeing it for the first time. "dates, work stuff, a night out. it's a cool spot. convenient". he takes the wine bottle, opening it to pour. humming in delight as he nose takes to smell. "you've been here before though".

"what?"

angels heart sinking way down till it's falling steady out of her chest cavity and into her stomach. taking something similar to a rolling tumble as it goes and it feels devastatingly awful. being caught in a lie has never been a smooth easy ordeal and the urge to get up and leave runs rife under her skin. prickling in a manner that taunts her till her cheeks grow hot white. she wants to hide and suffer in the silence of her own shame. and he's a complete asshole about it, because he lets her simmer into a scorched heat, struck and wordless as a grin plays through his lips. picking up the wine bottle once more. his fingers wrapping about it easy and familiar. 

"when i said your last name for the reservation, the waiter called you by your first. which means she knows you, because you've been here a few times". his lips smiling. much more amused than worked up by your little white lie. sipping the wine to taste again. "that and the wine. first-timers spend too much on wine. the merlot here is decent enough". 

a forced chuckle toughens up. angel sooting the bridge of her nose with a thumb. un-fucking-believable. "this is fucking embarrassing". 

"it's good wine though. cheap as shit but it's pretty good".

"look", she starts. a deep sigh before she makes the effort to meet him. his brown eyes soft still. void of scrutiny. amusement waning but still nothing of judgement. and the niceties unnerved angel. most men didn't take too kind to lies in such a formally romantic setting. it made for awfully fierce energy that led to a frigidness she hated to maneuver. not that she was a habitual liar, but still, it worried her. "i didn't mean to lie... well... i did but-"

"it's alright. i get it. i used to be the same way".

"a liar?"

"embarrassed". 

and she knew exactly what he meant without him having to say it. because this probably wasn't his first date of the new year either. the wait staff were probably familiar with him too. his familiarity with the taste of the restaurants stock of merlot making perfect sense. he'd probably, once upon a time, given his fair share of roses. the what do you do for work spiel and the sometimes awkward dance of wanting more after the first date and wrongly reading what he thought were obvious suggestions that a woman wanted him physically. and sometimes thats all they wanted, or at least that's what angel thinks, because some of her dates just wanted sex. no strings or some strings and then it got tangled and messy. always too damn messy. but he was over the shame of cycling through to find "the one". angel had yet to get there. 

she clears her throat. thumbs twiddling together. apologetic as she looks to him. "i'm sorry anyways". 

roman's silence is heavy. his eyes slipping over her face. noting the details that exist in their guilt. but still even in this, angel is a beautiful woman. thick lashes and slightly hooded eyes. cheeks high and plump. her lips full and surely kissable. especially when she takes them between her teeth in what he's sure to be her nerves overworking themselves with all his staring and his wordlessness. his smile warm and easy again, turning back to the menu. he's had enough of making her feel like shit anyways, for it dampened the mood far too much and he rather her smile again and for as long as the date lasts. 

"forgiven and forgotten. the real litmus test is how you take your steak". 

"who said i wanted steak". 

"one, you owe me for lying".

she gasps. lips pulling up and her knee knocking softly into his. "you said forgiven and forgotten". 

"and two", he continues, chuckling. "you said you were pescatarian, meaning you gave it up cause you realized that grass ain't green".

"why are you reading me so well right now, this is crazy". 

"wouldn't be good at what i do if i couldn't".

her mouth purses over the wine glass to sip at the sweetness of the merlot, waiting for him to continue. and when he doesn't she finds herself more interested in hearing a man talk than she ever has in all her time of dating. 

"which is?"

"i teach and coach". 

"okay", her eyes play and rolling. "don't leave me in suspense. be more specific". 

and here the fierceness of his features round out to a softness. but surely it cant be those few sips of wine, suddenly freeing up the tight collection of his resolve. the slightest dusting of pink at his cheeks and his mouth smiling smaller. humility bracing him harshly just before her. it was more obvious to her now, he hates talking about himself. 

"sports history and college football", barely meeting her eyes. the menu suddenly becoming so very important to him. his throat clearing as his palm reaches to rub up against the thick hair of his beard. " 'm not a head coach or anything, just for the defensive line but its...", and finally he looks to her again. "it's cool". 

"don't say just like that. it down plays your passion. i like passion". 

the sincerity melting a warmth into him. the air feeling less suffocating for the both of them now as they share a smile. 

and the dinner goes smoother than angel had expected. the food cooked immaculately  and the wine warming her belly. his passionate talks soothing to her ears and his jokes funnier. the knock of his long legs turning into less of an accident and more of a playful teasing. and by the end of their steaks they're both closer than they started, leaning in to hear more of each others voices. his freckles an endearing scatter against his cheeks. the slick lick of his lips as he talks catching her eyes and by the end of her wine glass she comes to the arresting realization that he's doing it on purpose. slowly but surely ingratiating himself through small touches and that hostage holding stare. 

angel, afraid now, feels a disappointment weighing in her. the ending of it all , this little world of quickly built intimacy, nearing quicker than she realized. both of them perusing through the dessert menu. more than slowly to stretch the time.

"you a dessert guy?"

he sets down the menu. her voice bringing him in again. "fuck yeah i'm a dessert guy. they make a bomb ass bread pudding here. best i've had". 

and maybe her eyes are suggestive. and maybe they sharpen to pierce through him a little more fiercely and maybe her knee knocks into his when her lips part to speak. but angel does well about pleading the fifth, even with herself. 

her eyes looking up through her lashes as she flits them from the menu to him. and she can track the trailing of his gaze straight to her plump lips. "you've never had mine". 

"is that an invitation to taste test?"

a shiver breaks over her skin. an undulating warmth at her cheeks. she pushes her menu to the side. 

"y'know pastry emporium? the shop on 4th and everling?"

roman's brows jump in an instant, before they pull together. the sudden realization exciting his nerves.

"thats yours?"

"half of it. i co-own".

"i'm stoppin' by there all the time and i've never seen you". 

and the tiny world they live in has just become slightly smaller. their existences dancing on the edges of one another for who knows how long before this faithful night of teasing smiles and blood sweetening sips of australian wine.

"i don't mesh too well with the front of house stuff". her knee taking a soft slow lean into his. and maybe the styling and placement of the tables and chairs are purposeful. for moments like these. "but i can make an exception". 

"you better". his lips spreading wide and his smile bright. nothing bashful left in his expression as its overtaken by the prospect of seeing you again. "cause you owe me a taste test". 

and for once there is no threat of bile to stain her throat, or even the cringing anticipation thereof. and when they're both finally, hesitantly ready for the bill, he takes the responsibility without words. fitting his card into the leather book. appreciation swimming to settle gently in her belly along with the sweet merlot. he tips well too, and his fingers catch soft against her palm, leading her out of the restaurant and into the balmy night spring air. the urge to stick to him creeping in her skin. but the same seems to exist for him because he stands just before her, eyes circling the city, searching and thinking, before they find her face. a small smile on her lips as she looks to him expectantly. his touch grows firmer, as if he's just come to the end of a pending decision. fully taking her hand as he begins to step. 

"walk with me". but theres no inflection that implies a question. more of a statement that softly wills her into following. 

his hand as warm as his smile and gentle even in its size. he strolls easy too, to help her keep up with the wide steps he takes. 

but even beyond the easy going tenderness of him, angel has never felt such a stillness in her nerves before. the city she's seen a thousand times suddenly appearing brighter and less overwhelming. the usual droning no longer a harsh symphony. the pitch and pace less grating. and maybe it's silly, because he's, despite his teasings and his suggestive eyes and interesting conversation, still a stranger. still a man with a world of a life she knows so little about. filled with hopes and dreams and secrets. but that feeling nags still. nestles deep under her skin as it attempts to force out the hesitancies. 

roman leads her to the front of a flower shop and her eyes play at rolling. 

she tries to pull him away from the entrance. "we spoke about this".

"we did". 

his smiling melting her resolve to mush. so bright and unapologetic in how it spreads. he takes her hand tightly, pulling her into the shop. 

he orders one rose exactly. giving it to her after he's paid for it. 

"why?", she asks. trying to fight the rising heat in her cheeks. 

"because i think deep down, you want it. you just don't want it to feel like an obligation. and this right here is all off the cuff. im sure of that”.

and angel's belly flutters. that cliche appearance of butterfly's. 

tagging: @333creolelady @harmshake @theninthwonder @gomussy @spritelucozade @venusesworld @thesamoanqueen @empressdede (if i forgot anyone who wants a tag for roman centered fics, my apologies! just remind me for next time)

[countenanceblog]

Chapter 16

Chapter 16

In the dimly lit, retro-style Gottaburger, Francisco Lobo sat across from his girlfriend, Rachel Blackwood, in an intimate corner booth. Francisco, a short man with an oversized ego, wore an all-black suit, exuding an air of self-assuredness. Rachel, with her blue eyes, lissome build, and blonde hair, sat calmly.

Their conversation revolved around their friend Raj's sudden abduction, which had sent shockwaves through their tight-knit circle. Francisco leaned forward, his eyes ablaze with concern and frustration. "I can't believe what they did to Raj, Rachel. A massive police force swooping in like that? It's like he was David Griffith or something."

Rachel took a measured sip of her milkshake before replying, her tone composed and calculating. "It was a calculated move, Francisco. The authorities aren't playing games; they're willing to go to extremes."

Francisco's ego bristled at the idea of being kept in the dark. "We need to find out what's really going on and clear Raj's name. What about his parents, what about the law?"

Rachel's blue eyes locked onto Francisco's, her determination mirroring his. "Agreed. But we have to be smart about this. We can't risk drawing unnecessary attention to ourselves. They already have the upper hand."

Francisco nodded, acknowledging Rachel's pragmatic approach. "You're right. We need to stay low and find a way to gather intel without getting caught in their web."

As they exchanged theories and speculations about Raj's sudden disappearance, the entrance of a mysterious figure caught their attention. Aleister Fawkes, dressed in black clothes adorned with zippers and belts, and sporting blacked-out round glasses, approached their booth with an enigmatic aura. Aleister was known to be well-versed in matters that transcended the ordinary, and his presence brought an air of intrigue to the conversation.

Aleister slid into the booth, his dark gaze locking with Francisco and Rachel's. "I heard you were discussing Raj," he said in a low, cryptic tone. "You might not believe this, but he was arrested by the Elite Tactical for having telekinetic powers."

Rachel's eyes narrowed, and Francisco's ego seemed to deflate momentarily as they tried to process this revelation. "Telekinetic powers?" Francisco scoffed, unable to hide his skepticism.

Aleister's thin lips curled into a faint smile. "Believe what you will, but there's more to this than meets the eye. Raj had abilities beyond our understanding, and the authorities saw him as a threat. You saw how many units they called in, it's like they were going after a monster."

Rachel, ever the pragmatic one, leaned forward, her curiosity piqued. "If he truly possessed powers, then why keep it a secret? Why not go public with it?"

Aleister's gaze remained steady. "Knowledge is power, my friends. Some truths are dangerous, and the powerful will do anything to control those who possess them. Raj's abilities posed a threat to the status quo, and they needed to silence him. They'll be coming for us next."

"That's what I'm thinking too," said Francisco. Rachel nodded in agreement. Aleister interlaced his long fingers.

"This is going to be a shit show," added Rachel. "Hey, Aleister, is it true you hooked up with Beth last night?"

Fawkes crumpled a bit. "Yes, it was very strange. Very, very strange. And intensely sexy. She asked me if I wanted to live forever, I told her of course not. Then she just left."

"Weird," said Francisco.

"Not really," Aleister replied. "She made it very clear that it was going to be an ejaculate and evacuate situation. Of course, now I'm in love with her." Francisco smiled.

Rachel almost spit up her water. "What?"

"Yeah, well, what can I say? Never had sex that good," explained Aleister. Francisco nodded.

"How old is she, anyway?," Rachel asked Aleister.

"Thirty going on twenty. She doesn't get any sun." Francisco almost spit up his water. His dark eyes bulged.

"She's going to look thirty when she's fifty at this rate. No wonder Rufus likes her so much," mused Lobo.

"Speaking of which, do you think we should find Rufus? Team up?," Rachel asked the two men.

Francisco and Aleister exchanged a glance, both considering Rachel's suggestion. "Rufus has a way of getting into trouble, but he's resourceful," Francisco said. "Teaming up with him might give us an edge."

Aleister leaned back in the booth. "I have my doubts about Rufus, but it might be worth a shot. We need all the help we can get in this mess."

Rachel nodded in agreement. "Agreed. Let's find him and see what he knows. But we have to be cautious, considering the forces we're up against."

As the trio continued to plot their next move, the retro-style burger joint buzzed with the chatter of other patrons, oblivious to the dangerous world unfolding within the confines of their booth.

[pynkhues]

Please tell me all your thoughts on Rio’s ego lol ♥️

Oh, anon, of course

As a continuation of this post, where I talked about the throughline of male ego on this show, Rio’s a really, really interesting one. I mean, this is a guy with a huge (ahem) ego, but unlike most of the other men on this show? That ego seems to be fairly earned.

He’s a powerful guy, who doesn’t lack in confidence or assuredness. Tragically, we’re still yet to learn much about his backstory, but I feel like what’s inferred from various lines of dialogue, plus Manny’s performance, is that Rio’s a self-made man. He’s come up through the ranks of this business and he’s built a name and a profile for himself. The implication of the 1.10 ep is that he killed the person who sat in the chair before him, so he’s lethal, a fact emphasised in a variety of ways across the series. Also he obviously inspires loyalty - the fact that Eddie didn’t rat even when everyone thought he had (and he was killed for it) is a pretty clear indication of this. 

The point is, Rio doesn’t have much to prove in the way that say, Dean or Gregg do, because he’s already done it. He’s gotten to where he is in life by proving himself, and in that sense, I think he feels very secure in terms of who he is and what he’s achieved. That said - as I talked about a bit in this post - I also think status and how he’s perceived is very important to him, and that’s definitely a huge ego thing - I mean, they’ve touched on that a few times in the show - think about the way he responded to Ruby thinking he was the grocery store manager back in 1.01 (can you even imagine how annoyed he’d be if he found out Beth pretended he was a bounce house guy for ages hahaha), the whole thing with the country club, the way he dresses and accessorises, the way he responds to certain hallmarks of status like Beth’s marble backsplash, even the neon corvette, which he seemed to view as an indication of classlessness as opposed to status. 

I’d even argue that the way he seems to completely think that he owns any space he steps into is a sign of how he views himself. It’s his world - everyone else is just living in it. He lets himself into people’s homes, cars or workplaces whenever he wants, drops by uninvited, interrupts schedules, makes business plans and cements partnerships without ever actually feeling the need to accomodate anyone else, and, of course, fucks other men’s wives. In his own words - he’s the king here. Everything is his. And I genuinely think he believes that he’s earned the right to it. Which is, well, indicative of a pretty huge fuckin’ ego. 

Rio’s not like Dean or Boomer, who are all ego with nothing to back it up, or like Greg, who’s insecure, or like Stan, who has the ability to put his ego aside for the people he loves and their needs. I think it’s a core part of who he is, and he doesn’t want to part with it. Because his ego is true to who he is, and is reflected by his competence, it translates differently on-screen into swagger (as opposed to like, being embarrassing to watch like Dean’s lol) and a powerfulness which Beth (and apparently a lot of us haha) obviously finds attractive. 

It’s also worth noting that that confidence really started to bolster and empower Beth’s own ego and confidence last season. Like I said in the last post, the show seems to be interested in how male ego impacts women in their orbit, and, at least in the case of Dean and Boomer, how toxic that can be. I’m not sure what Rio’s ego is going to mean for Beth - it’s meant both good and bad things so far, so it’ll probably continue to be some mix of both. 

[cinephiled-com]

New Post has been published on Cinephiled

New Post has been published on http://www.cinephiled.com/interview-costume-designer-anna-robbins-returns-us-sumptuous-downton-abbey/

Interview: Costume Designer Anna Robbins Returns Us to Sumptuous ‘Downton Abbey’

Like many diehard fans, I was beyond excited when I heard that Julian Fellowes’ popular British TV series Downton Abbey was following its six-season run with a full-length feature film. Taking place between 1912 and 1925, the television series had introduced us to the aristocratic Crawley family and their domestic servants who lived together in an incredibly grand Yorkshire home called Downton Abbey. Throughout the series, the Crawleys and their servants snaked their way through many of the big historical events of the early 20th century. As the film picks up the story in 1927, the Crawleys and their intrepid staff are preparing for one of the most important experiences of their lives: a royal visit from the King and Queen of England. This exciting experience will ultimately unleash scandal, romance, and intrigue that will leave the future of Downton hanging in the balance.

Among the joys in revisiting these beloved characters is seeing the amazing work of costume designer Anna Robbins (Emmy-nominated for her work on the series) which is even more spectacular on the big screen. This is a time just beyond the Gilded Age, entering the modern one, which is reflected in great detail in the costumes from Dowager Countess of Grantham Violet Crawley’s (Maggie Smith) pastel, formal Edwardian garb to the more flapper-friendly styles favored by Lady Mary and Lady Edith (Michelle Dockery and Laura Carmichael). For the latter pair, the silhouettes and color schemes reflect their outlook – Lady Mary in more angular blacks and whites for instance, and a beautiful gold flowing 1920s gown for Lady Edith, a gorgeous use of fabric and pattern and color where you can really see the texture and detail. I loved sitting down for a chat with the talented Anna Robbins about her work on the film, even if I did feel painfully underdressed.

Danny Miller: I so loved being with these characters again. And as far as I’m concerned, your work is one of the most important stars of the film. It was already so gorgeous on the TV series but am I correct in noticing that it all seems ramped up a bit for the movie?

Anna Robbins

Anna Robbins: Oh, yes, it is definitely ratcheted up a notch! We set a high bar for the show, with all the departments really pushing to elevate everything, but I think watching it on television we all thought it could be even bigger. And then along comes the opportunity to make it literally bigger which was so much fun to do.

I know, I just wanted to stare at the threads on the fabric seeing all those beautiful clothes on the big screen.

Yes, which is exactly what made it so challenging since I people would be able to see the threads and the quality of the craftsmanship in such detail. I like to use as many originals as possible and those had to be of a very high quality to withstand that scrutiny.

Wow, how on earth do you find 90-year-old dresses that are in good enough shape to look new?

For women’s wear I’d say it’s about half and half. I use more originals in evening wear because those dresses were often carefully preserved and they weren’t the kind of things to be worn every day so they haven’t worn out. Some pieces do require restoration, of course, and if it can be done to a very high standard, we do it but sometimes the fabric is simply too fragile so I might be able to re-imagine it as something else or take the fabric and rework it somehow. It’s a combination of a lot of things, but yes, I really had to raise the bar for the film and make everything even more sumptuous.

And, of course, this film includes the royal visit, so I’m sure that storyline also ramped things up.

Yes, that definitely upped the ante but it also meant you weren’t going to be exploring the most up-to-the-minute risky trends in women’s wear because there’s a very specific elegance and classicism to how you would dress to meet a royal.

I would imagine that you get to know these characters better than almost anyone. Do you have to think beyond the script to the whole of their personal histories? For example, Cora (Elizabeth McGovern) having been raised in America, do you think that influences her clothes?

Oh yes, where they came from is very important. The wardrobe’s got to say as much about the past as it does about the present day. It’s a very intimate process as well, working with an actor to find that characterization and it becomes a very important tool for them. But I have gotten to know the characters really well which meant I had a shorthand when I went onto the film that allowed me to work at pace right from the beginning without needing to do the huge amount of research that I did when I first came on board.

Shorthand like you could see something and think, “Oh, Lady Mary would never wear that.”

Yes. At this point I can walk into a vintage shop and see a Lady Edith dress across the shop and know it’s going to work.

Lady Edith is someone who really interested me in this film because, as we know, she had a big change at the end of the series. It did seem like her new status was reflected in her clothes.

I think Edith had one of the biggest journeys of anyone throughout the series. I remember in Series 5 her wardrobe was very restrictive and pared back, very autumnal colors during the period when she was estranged from her daughter and just very low emotionally. Then in Series 6 she literally blossoms as a human and finds her identity and she’s suddenly in this literary world so I created this London working woman’s wardrobe which was very different from her estate wardrobe. It still felt like the same person but she was far more adventurous and bold in her choice of prints and color.

You can literally see her self-confidence change over the course of the series and it was amazing to watch how her physical appearance reflected that.

Yes, I loved dressing her. And now in the film it was important that we didn’t lose that sense of style she had found even though now she’s no longer a magazine editor in London, she’s the Marchioness of Hexham and outranks all of them. So we took everything that she’s learned about herself including her self-assuredness and sense of style and moved it up into the position that she’s in now. But still always focusing on the level of craftsmanship in the textiles, it might be embroidery, it might be devoré, it might be printed silk. There’s always some sort of interesting surface to the fabrics that I use for Edith.

Was there at all a touch of rubbing her new status in Mary’s face with her clothes at all? A bit of showing off?

I don’t think so because I don’t think Edith has an ego like that. And she and her husband are very modern in their approach to their high positions. Remember — they arrive at Downton without a nanny. They call themselves “modern folk.”

I guess just the fact that she’s happy now is enough for her to stick it to Mary.

(Laughs.) Yes, exactly. I love dressing the two of them in their scenes together. Even when they weren’t at each other’s throats, there’s always a contrast, I always look to create some kind of dichotomy between them. Their dresses should always work with each other but create a nice contrast. And, of course, as individuals they’re very different.

I know the film takes place in 1927, which is a few years after the series ended, but do you have to think about certain characters like Violet (Maggie Smith) who may hold on to past styles in some way?

Well, Violet is a Victorian/Edwardian lady and that will never change. But the fabric choices may change. Where she once wore a fabric with an Edwardian pattern, that may become more art deco. You’re always looking for different micro trends that affected clothing manufacture, the way they were put together. And her jewelry might go from being more square cuts to show more modernity. I like to find ways to show that sense of modernity without changing her very recognizable silhouette.

Dame Maggie Smith

Did you know that there was a movie coming as the series was ending? Were things saved in a different way than they might have been otherwise?

No, we didn’t know. We hoped, but nothing was certain back then. Luckily, the main jeweler I worked with wasn’t organized enough to disband the collection and use it in other things so it was mostly intact.

Plus, the series was so popular, you could take the whole collection on the road!

Yes, we did work on a touring Downton Exhibition over the years so we’ve always been aware that there’s a life for the costumes after filming whether or not they ended up in a new film. But really getting to create new costumes for these wonderful characters was just a hypothetical dream that has thankfully now come true.

We’re talking so much about the women and my first instinct is to assume that costuming the men isn’t as interesting, but then I see their gorgeous clothes on the big screen and I’m totally fascinated.

Oh God, I love working with the men, I love tailoring. If you get that right, everything just looks so good. And the fabrics are fantastic. I was talking about using original pieces with the women, but it’s very rare that you’ll find any originals that you can use with the men.

Because men back then wore their clothes so much more often and they just wore out?

Yes, exactly, they just haven’t lasted. But the bits we do find are wonderful references for the cut and shape and how the pieces are constructed. I also work to make sure the men’s clothes complement the women’s and that all the scenes work together in composition. But the detailing in the menswear is just wonderful. And if you look closely in the film, the men change as often as the women do. I think Robert changes four times on the day that the Kind and Queen come to Downton. I was even able to design new dress uniforms for the livery staff with the Crawley insignia in the fabric, it was wonderful, those beautiful green tailcoats with silver frogging and lacing with the white breaches and stockings. Just brilliant.

Matthew Goode, Michelle Dockery, Allen Leech

So incredible. And then you leave work and go out into London and see people dressed like I am right now — it must be so depressing!

(Laughs.) I mean, I’m sure it was very hot and uncomfortable at times, so it’s good that we’ve moved forward, but those clothes do look so fabulous and I’m glad I get to spend such a huge proportion of my life with them!

Is designing for the servants more of a case of strict research on what the staffs of big houses would be wearing in 1927?

Well, there is lots of research and looking at what would have been worn but then you design touches for each character. For example, there is always a sort of very subtle floral pattern within the silk for Anna. And it may be more geometric for Baxter, with a more complicated cutting technique since Baxter is a dressmaker.

Is the implication that the servants would be mending their own clothes?

Yes, to some extent, so you’re going to see differences. They’re all designed to the character and to make them identifiable even if there’s a common look.

Lesley Nicol and Sophie McShera

I imagine at the first fittings for the film it must have been heavenly for the actors to slip back into these costumes to get back into character.

It was wonderful seeing them literally step back into their characters’ shoes. And it’s always been a very collaborative process working with them. It’s a joint effort to find the right looks. I lead it, for sure, since I have an overview of how the whole thing has to look and I know what’s going to work together in each scene such as they’ve got to start off in this setting which may be against red and then move into this room which might be green.

Oy, that seems like so much to keep track of. And it’s not like in real life we ever know the colors of every room we’re going to walk into!

Exactly, but I have to create these huge charts that allows me to painstakingly keep track of all those different elements. I work very closely with the director, production designer, the DP, and the actors. I have to think about lighting and how the colors are going to behave on camera.

I remember reading about the making of Gone With the Wind and how Selznick and costume designer Walter Plunkett tortured the actors with real corsets and other undergarments from the period even though they would never be seen. Are you a stickler period detail as well?

I am all about what makes the right silhouette but I might make the garments worn under the costumes more comfortable than the originals might have been. Remember, they didn’t have the luxury of stretch materials! Unless you actually see the underwear, as you do in some scenes in the film, then I absolutely insist on the real thing, of course.

Of course, the 1920s were more kind to women than previous eras in terms of undergarments.

Absolutely. You had underwear then that created a more boyish silhouette which could still be confining for some. But I also find that actors are quite keen to use whatever underwear creates the foundation that makes the clothing look more authentic and therefore more believable. And sometimes the underclothes affect posture and even the way you speak. I think it’s worth noting that while the girls lost the corsets, the gents were still wearing stiff-collared shirts full of starch with starch-fronted shirts. These are very uncomfortable, and you shouldn’t even be able to get a finger down the collar. So, rest assured, I still put the actors through the ringer.

I used to love the original Upstairs, Downstairs before Downton Abbey and I remember the actors talking about how they tended to be treated differently on set depending on what class they were playing. I remember Jean Marsh, who played the parlourmaid Rose, once said to the people on set, “Hey, I created this series, why is everyone treating me like I’m not as good as Lady Marjorie?” Did you ever notice anything like that on your set?

Oh, that’s funny. No, I wouldn’t say so. We were really like one big family and very equal. I think something the downstairs characters might get a bit of envy in terms of all the beautiful fabrics and costumes that the upstairs characters got to wear, but by the same token the upstairs characters had to do fittings week upon week upon week. The downstairs characters had a much easier time of it pre- and post-filming where they could just get into their cars and leave whereas I had to drag Lady Mary to do the fifth fitting that week for a new dress that she was wearing the following week.

I do feel inspired by your magnificent clothes in this film. As God is my witness, I want to start dressing better!

Go for it! The thing is, a bespoke suit can be very comfortable because it’s been made specifically for you. It molds to your body.

Thanks so much for chatting with me. I’m excited about all the Downton Abbey frenzy I’m seeing. This is definitely the movie that we need right now in this country, if you know what I mean.

Oh, trust me, we need it right now in the UK, too!

[lovelornlore]

Tony Stark's Guide to Martyrdom

Read it on Ao3: x

Tony’s had years to prepare for the inevitable invasion from beyond the stars, and he has, he’s thrown his time and money into the Iron Legion, his armors, his teammates, shoring up defenses where he can, and doing everything he can to be ready.  And he knows.  All his hard work?  His genius, his charm, his blind, teeth-gritting desperation?  It won’t be enough.

But he has to try.

Stark men are made of iron, and he won’t back down from a fight.

The battle comes all too soon.

Tony’s known terror plenty of times.  He was terrified when he flew a nuke into space, when a red mist dragged his worst nightmare out in front of him, when Ross threatened to issue a kill on sight order for his (former) teammates.  Watching Rhodey plummet from the sky and knowing, hating, how he wasn’t fast enough to catch him.  Watching Pepper fall, Extremis lighting up her body, and knowing he just wasn’t enough to save her.

It doesn’t compare to this.  Thanos, the Mad Titan himself, standing in the ruins of New York, surrounded by charred corpses, smiling amusedly at the forces gathered to stop him.  It wasn’t the only city hit, and Tony knows there are already countless others that are no better than charnel houses now.  Thanos is carrying the incomplete Infinity Gauntlet and his smile is the same, revolting self-assuredness that a lion would have when facing down some mice.

But when Thanos speaks, it’s not to the Guardians, Rogers’ team, the Asgardians, the Avengers, and anyone else who showed up to help.  No.  It’s to Tony, only Tony, and when the knowledge that this monster knows him sinks in, it’s like ice replaces the blood in his veins.  It’s like Siberia all over again, and he’s frozen (and look Dad, now he finally has something in common with Captain America after all).  Tony’s been in the limelight all his life, but not like this.

“Iron Man.  Merchant of Death.  How wonderful, to finally meet the one responsible for the death of one of my… smaller… armies.”  The nuke.  The wormhole.  But how does he know about Tony?  Thanos’ smile is wide and terrible, as if he can see Tony’s shock even through the faceplate.

Tony recovers quickly.  “Weird, I didn’t realize I left any survivors.  Now who could have tattled on me?”  The words are playful, mocking.  Half of it’s because Tony can’t help but be abrasive, the other half is dear god let him focus on me, keep the others out of it.

[Mobile readers, there’s a read more.]

“You piqued my curiosity,” Thanos replies in a voice like an earthquake.  Like a cataclysm.  “And what I learned was disappointing.”  Wow.  He and Rogers could start a club.  “You are not powerful, but what you have is influence.  Cunning.  But you never used them to reach your potential, and now here you stand, about to die for a world that never loved you.  How tragic.”

In a backhanded way, this is the nicest thing Tony’s heard in… a while.  Before he can reflect on how sad that is, everything goes to absolute shit.

As if Thanos’ words were a sign, the rest of his army descends to Earth.

Tony fires on solider after soldier, left arm twinging with every movement, but they keep coming.  A soldier gets him from a blind spot, Tony not quick enough to heed FRIDAY’s frantic warning, and suddenly his entire left arm’s not only stinging, it’s bare and dripping blood.  It doesn’t matter.  It can’t matter.  He shoots the bastard in the face with his remaining repulsor right when Gamora and Nebula manage to get past Thanos’ defenses just long enough to smack the gauntlet out of his hand before he knocks them both into a building.

But the damage is done, and the shock in the air is palpable.  The sisters haven’t drawn blood, but they came close enough to make a difference.  There’s a sudden lull in the action, and then it’s as if everything’s happening in slow motion.

The Infinity Gauntlet flies through the air and lands at Tony’s feet.

Tony?  Tony knows a game-changing opportunity when he sees one.  He picks it up.

Vision touches down a second later.

Vision’s hand is at his forehead before Tony realizes what’s happening.  There’s only one empty slot on the gauntlet.

Vision hesitates, looks Tony in the eye.

“No,” Tony forces out hoarsely.  No, no, no.

“Mr. Stark,” Vision says, because he’d still been enough like JARVIS to like that name for Tony best, “Mr. Stark, it’s been a pleasure.  But we both know this is the only way.”  They both know the risks, the Guardians passed on the stories of just what one of the stones could do to a person, let alone the entire collection.  But there’s no other choice.

It’s like Yinsen all over again.

One more time, Tony Stark’s too late, and Iron Man’s not enough.

Vision pulls the Mind Stone out of his forehead and holds it out for Tony.  Tony takes it, bloody fingers sliding around it, choking back tears as Vision’s body disintegrates.  “You too, Viz.”  Vision gives him a soft smile before it too disappears into embers.

The soldiers’ shock wears off and they lunge at him, and in the distance Tony can hear what might be Wanda’s anguished, enraged screams, or Thanos’ howl of suddenly impotent fury, but it doesn’t matter.  Tony quickly drags the Infinity Gauntlet over his left hand and snaps the stone into place.  There’s no time to mourn on a battlefield, but Vision’s sacrifice won’t go to waste.  He’ll make sure of it.

And then—

And then—

Time and space spread out before him.  He could remake it, change it, and destroy it.

He’s living his life over again, he’s living every life, every death, it’s all mixed up in his head: one second he’s floating before an imploding army, drowning in the starlight, watching the afternoon sun reflect off Pepper’s hair like fire, suffocating in water under the rough hands of the Ten Rings, relaxing on the couch with his team for a movie night that never happened but that he could make happen, and Obadiah is there, congratulating him, pulling his heart out; Steve comes up behind the man who was once his uncle to drive his shield down again and again and again—

And it’s killing him, he’s dying now.  It’s all too much, all at once, and the universe unfolds behind his eyes.  “Enough,” he says, pleads, takes a fortifying breath that ignites the galaxies that replaced his lungs, curls his hand into a fist and.  Makes. ��It.  Listen.

He could change so much.  Improve it.  But there’s…  For all that he’s been accused of having an ego, he knows he’s not a god.  And he doesn’t have much time.

For the first time since he became Iron Man, the path before him is clear.  Tony knows what he has to do.

And here’s the truth— Thanos is right, in a way.  Tony will die.  And it will save a world that never loved him, but it won’t be FOR that world.  The world never loved him, and he never needed it to.

When he sacrifices himself, it’s for Pepper, who loved him, who saw him through some of the worst, alcohol-drenched years of his life.  Pepper, who could take meaning from the contained chaos of modern art even if he never understood it for a second, who filled his home with color.

It’s for Rhodey, his best friend for decades, who never takes his shit but is the most compassionate man Tony’s ever known.  The man who’s his voice of reason but also the one right there with him in the lab when he’s on leave, making engineering happen with as many explosions as they can get away with.

It’s for Happy.  For Peter, Harley, Vision, his bots.  For the ones who stayed.

When Tony sacrifices himself, caught in the burning light of the Infinity Gauntlet, it’s for his world.

It’s for his family.

The next morning- because there is a next morning- New York wakes up.  They remember the Mad Titan, they remember the devastation, but it’s like a shared nightmare.  There’s no sign of him or the battle.

Vision’s eyes open, even though he never had a chance to close them.

Many people who didn’t have a chance to close their eyes are opening them right about now.  The buildings are exactly as they were before the ships touched down and torched everything.  (Later, the media around the world will call it a day of miracles and second chances.)

The heroes that gathered to fight Thanos are waking up in the same spots they were in when the battle abruptly ended.  All except for one.

“What… what happened?”  Mr. Rogers asks groggily from Vision’s left.

“We won,” Vision tells him quietly, and turns to look at Stark Tower.  He’s too far away to be sure, but he thinks he sees a solitary figure on the roof, looking out over the restored city.  It could be a trick of the light or plain wishful thinking, but...

Mr. Stark has died countless times, and always comes back.  He'd sacrifice himself for his loved ones, but he'd live for them, too.  Vision has no reason to believe this time will be any different.