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banditnoo · 3 years ago

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My Castle of Ships {1/2} - Merlin One Shot

Summary | {A strange phenomenon had occurred when Arthur had been born by magic. He now had the ability to read minds. Nobody knew of his gifts. Arthur knew from a young age that sorcery was not welcomed in Camelot. With fears that his own father would banish or harm him, he kept his piece of magic to himself. A piece of magic that had become much less of a burden after he had been crowned king, and for moments like these; While he was bored and Merlin daydreamed.}

Tags | {Merthur, Magic Arthur AU, mind reader AU, Major Character Death}

Warnings | {Like one swear word? Angsty, but not as gut wrenching as 5x13}

a/n | {I’ve finally worked up the courage to post some of my writing on Tumblr! This has been cross posted to AO3 (Legendary_Julia) and Wattpad (GreaserGal19). Maybe one day I’ll get my usernames in order, but today is not that day. Part 2 will come out... at some point. This was suppose to be a stand alone story, but our boys deserve better. Thanks for checking me out, happy reading!}

~~~

{A strange phenomenon had occurred when Arthur had been born by magic. He now had the ability to read minds. Nobody knew of his gifts. Arthur knew from a young age that sorcery was not welcomed in Camelot. With fears that his own father would banish or harm him, he kept his piece of magic to himself. A piece of magic that had become much less of a burden after he had been crowned king, and for moments like these; While he was bored and Merlin daydreamed.}

~~~

Merlin was a daydreamer, he always had been. He'd often find himself thinking of Ealdor while he puttered about Arthur's chambers. Sometimes he would imagine what it would be like to rule his own kingdom, to make his own rules. While he scrubbed away at Arthur's hunting boots, he built his own castle. The citadel would be magnificent. The walls would stand tall, glittering with a hint of magic. Beautiful tapestries would hang from every wall, depicting anything the passerby's wished. A series of tunnels would wind throughout and underneath the stone walls, eventually connecting to water. Yes, the castle would have to be by the ocean. Merlin smiled to himself as he pictured it. The birds, the sound of waves crashing against the rocky shores, and the ships. Merlin loved the idea of having ships. With a boat like that he could sail anywhere, do anything. That's what it could be, his castle of ships.

Arthur had to smile at the name. He too pictured the castle from his spot at his desk. He could only imagine the beauty of a kingdom Merlin could build with his magic. The Castle of Ships.

"Has a nice ring to it," Arthur muttered to himself, to caught up in the image to realize he had said anything aloud.

"What was that?"

"Hmm?"

"You said something."

"No, I did not."

"Yes, yo-"

"You're hearing things Merlin, go back to whatever it is you where doing. Maybe scrub a different spot before you muck up my good boots."

Arthur stood up abruptly, leaving a confused Merlin watch him briskly walk out of his chambers.

"He really has gone mad." Merlin muttered as he began to clean the other boot.

~~~

Merlin knew someone was listening. He's felt the presence in the castle for a long time, but could never quite pinpoint it. He had tried to call out many times. Perhaps there was a Druid somewhere within Camelot trying to communicate, or an evil doer with a presence too strong to ignore. But there was never an answer. He was always left alone with his thoughts, which he was slowing getting scared to think.

When the presence felt strong, Merlin would busy his mind with his daydreams. He would think of home, or add details to his imaginary kingdom.

He did his best daydreaming during round table meetings. The presence would always be strong in the throne room, the magic almost danced through the air. It was here that he added the finer details of his castle.

He constructed a grand portrait hall as Leon droned on about the months finances. The long room would have the most brilliant red carpet, lined with an intricate gold and black pattern. He could almost feel himself walking through the grand hallway as he leaned against the cold stone of the throne room walls. As he imagined himself walking along, he thought about whos portraits he would put on display. He would have his mother, of course, and Gwen, his first friend in Camelot. He could picture the cocky smirk on Gwaine's portrait and the valiant yet understanding look on Lancelot's. His eyes scanned around the round table, imagining all of his friends in their best Camelot red, striking wild poses for the artist. They eventually landed on Arthur, whose head was resting lazily against his hand, trying his best to listen to Leon. Merlin hummed to himself, placing Arthur's portrait at the end of the hallway. It would be the only place fit for his king.

He had heard once of a spell that made the portraits move within their frames, adopting the personality of its subject. He studied Arthur's face as he thought, committing every detail to memory. The way his golden hair fell across his forehead in soft wisps, and how his nose came to a gentle point, complimenting the rest of his face. His favourite feature of Arthur's has always been his eyes. A piercing blue that found him in any room they were in.

They were the same blue eyes that were staring at him now, Merlin realized, staring back, not daring to look away now. Their shared a million words with just a look, a conversation no one else would hear.

Are you as bored as I am?

When is dinner?

When will Leon stop talking?

How's the castle of ships coming?

Merlin's heart dropped. He was imagining things, right? He had to be. They weren't really talking to each other, after all. It was all in his head, somewhere Arthur most definitely was not. He was quickly becoming aware of the overwhelming sense of magic flowing through the room.

I know you're in my head. Make yourself known. I don't know what you want, but you won't be getting it.

Arthur was taken aback by the threatening tone in Merlin's voice. He hadn't realized that Merlin could sense the presence of his magic, or that he was so threatened by it. His eyes dropped quickly, looking at everything but Merlin in the corner of the room.

"Is everything alright, Sire? You looked concerned." Leon's address took Arthur by surprise. Sitting up as fast and as straight as possible, he voided his face of any emotion as he shook his head.

"Yes, yes. Everything is fine. We must ensure that patrol around the citadel continues. I've caught wind of a potential threat. A sorcerer."

"Are you sure, sire? I haven't heard of such a thing."

"Certain. I trust my sources," with a final glance at Merlin, he nodded at Leon, urging him to continue with the meeting.

~~~

Arthur's eyes followed Merlin around his chambers. He could hear his thoughts going a mile a minute as he absentmindedly straightened the pillows on the bed.

"There is something on your mind," Arthur said, not moving his head from where it rested in the crook of his elbow, all but laying on the table.

"What makes you say that?"

"I can see it in your eyes." Their eyes connected from across the room, but Merlin looked away quickly, shifting uncomfortably on his feet. There was a moment of silence before he spoke again,

"Something is troubling you, and I want you to tell me. Please, Merlin, there is no need to lie."

Merlin was fighting with himself, and Arthur didn't need to be a mind reader to see it. They stayed like this, Arthur looking at Merlin and Merlin looking at the floor. They both felt the heavy magic in the room, but neither acknowledged it.

"Have you ever missed a place you've never been? A place that never really was?"

"I never took you for a philosopher, Merlin," Arthur couldn't help the smile that crept onto his face, or the fondness in his eyes, "if this is about your mother, I've told you. She is more than welcome here. I know how much you think of her."

"No, it's- that's not quite it."

'Not thinking of running away, are we?" Arthur's smile grew bigger as he spoke. He knew that's what it was, Merlin had been thinking about it for weeks. He wasn't worried, though. He knew Merlin would never leave without a goodbye, and a chance to convince him to stay. The guilty look in Merlin's eyes confirmed what Arthur already knew.

"I would never! Who would deal with your royal ass everyday if I left?"

"It's a simple fix, really. I would just have to come with you. Make sure you don't get yourself killed."

"Arthur Pendragon on the road? I don't believe it for a minute." Merlin smiled as he spoke. He imagined the two of them running away, into the castle of ships.

Many sleepless nights had allowed Merlin countless hours to add onto the castle. In the late hours of the night, he added gardens and ballrooms, imagined the wind on his face as he held tightly to the mast of a massive wooden ship. Those same nights, Arthur would lay awake in his own chambers, halfway across the castle, and imagine the beauty for himself as he listened to Merlin describe his castle grounds in a way that a child listens to his mother read a bedtime story.

"I am perfectly capable, thank you," Arthur rose form his spot at the table, making his way over to the bed and trying his best not to sound too amused, " and put some wood on the fire, would you? We've got an early morning tomorrow. We're travelling to Annis' land. She wishes to discuss the safety of both our borders villages."

"Is there a reason I was not told of this sooner?"

"It's simply business, Merlin. There's no need to worry. Get some sleep, you'll need it for the journey."

"I have a bad feeling about this," Merlin muttered as he left, shutting the door tightly.

"I heard that!"

"Go to sleep!"

~~~

The knights laughed loudly as their horses carried them down the well-beaten trail. An agreement was reached between Arthur and Annis about the protection of the border villages, making it much safer for villagers in each kingdom to travel through the border forests.

"Smile, Merlin! We're celebrating!" Gwaine gave Merlin's should a rough pat as his horse rode up alongside Merlin's. He held out a water skin, no doubt filled with ale, and gestured it towards Merlin.

"You're always celebrating, Gwaine." He took a long sip before handing back to Gwaine, nodding his thanks. He would need a drink if he was going to deal with the knights for the ride back to Camelot.

Merlin turned to his daydreams as their journey back continued. He was picturing a beautiful courtyard, lush with apple trees and all kinds of flowers, when his magic started to tingle. He hardly noticed it at first, brushing it off as the change in the wind, but the feeling kept growing stronger.

Someone was watching them.

They were just leaving Caerleon's borders through a valley, the perfect place for an ambush. Merlin looked around, uneasy. His body tensed at every little sound as the forest came into view. He was fighting with himself. If he told Arthur, would he believe him? What if it really was nothing? No, his magic wouldn't deceive him like that. He looked at Arthur, who was riding a short distance in front of him.

Merlin didn't even have to call his name for Arthur to turn around. As soon as their eyes met, a look of concern filled his face. His hand came up, signaling the group to stop. He looked toward the tree line, signaling for his men to do the same. Much to Arthur's horror, it was deathly quiet. The birds stopped chirping and the wind seemed to stop howling. The air around them was still as the group looked around.

"Did you hear something, sire?"

"No. That's exactly the issue."

"If we are quick, we can make it to the trees. Find safety in the forest."

Despite Leon's suggestion, nobody moved a muscle.

They continued looking towards the trees, before Merlin gave Arthur a hard nudge. Getting ready to tell him off, Arthur turned quickly on his horse before following his line of sight. Standing atop the rocky hills on either side of the valley were dozens of men wearing loose black and brown clothing, swords and bows drawn, pointed at the much smaller group of knights.

"AMBUSH!"

The horses started going crazy, whinnying and thrashing in an attempt to throw off the knights. Swords were drawn as the bandits began to yell, running down the hills at all angles. They were outnumbered, far too outnumbered to stand a chance against even the weakest opponents. Arthur unsheathed his sword, trying to regain control of his horse.

"Head for the trees!"

Picking off only the first attackers, it was a race between time, the bandits, and making it to the cover of the woods. Taking a sword from one of the bandits bodies, Merlin was quick to follow Arthur. With his heart pounding in his ears, he could no longer hear the commotion of the fight. He could only hope he was losing them.

~~~

Merlin's head was spinning as he stumbled through the thick underbrush of the forest. He had lost his horse when he lost sight of Arthur. He dragged his stolen sword loosely behind him as he tried to ignore the searing pain in his shoulder. The bandits had been quicker than he thought, and had much better aim than what he'd like to give them credit for. He had barely cleared the trees when the arrow struck his shoulder, no doubt coated in a poison that his mind was too foggy to identify.

Things had gone downhill very quickly after that. The sun had set what Merlin could only guess was hours ago. The forest was so dark he could hardly tell which way was up. He was ready to give up finding the others. He had wandered for hours, they could've been halfway back to Camelot by now.

Merlin had stopped for a moment, leaving heavily against a tree to try to catch his breath, weighing his options as he grimaced at the pain shooting through his arm. He stayed there for a few minutes, waiting, listening to the forest. He heard the magic in the forest as it flowed through every tree, every leaf. There were owls in the distance, and the sound of insects flying by. And footsteps? Although the sword was in his good hand, Merlin was weak as he swung blindly behind him. Hearing the dull thud of metal on metal, and a familiar grunt, Merlin dared to turn around.

"It's a good thing you've got sticks for arms," Arthur huffed out a weak laugh as he took the sword from Merlin.

When Arthur pulled him into a hug, Merlin was ready to defend himself, but he was to tired too do anything but lean into the cool metal of Arthur's chainmail. A gentle 'hmff' was all he could manage.

Arthur took Merlin by the shoulders and held him at arms length, giving him a once over. It was hard to see in the dark, but he could see the blood that coated Merlin left shoulder and arm, and now his own hand.

"I would never leave you behind! How could you think that?" Arthur sounded heartbroken as he gripped onto Merlin's good arm tightly.

"I didn't- how-"

"You didn't need to say it out loud for me to hear you."

Confusion was evident in Merlin's eyes as he scanned Arthur's face, looking for any trace of a joke, but he found nothing.

"It's you, isn't it? That presence, that magic... It's you?"

"It always has been."

The magic danced between them, like it had a thousand times before, but there was no fear behind it, not this time.

"You're hurt."

"I noticed."

Merlin leaned into Arthur's arm, trying to stay steady.

"Can you walk? Let me take you to the others. We've set up a camp, we'll be safer there."

"Only if you carry me. Like a damsel in distress."

"Absolutely not," Arthur scoffed as he picked Merlin up bridal style, slinging his good arm around the back of his neck, making sure not to move him too much.

"Hey! I was kidding, you prat! Put me down!"

"Would you rather I drag you? Quit your complaining. If your swing at me was any indication of your strength, you wouldn't have made it another step." Arthur tried to hide the growing concern in his voice. He looked down at Merlin's face, which was now rested against his shoulder, and he could tell it wasn't good. He only now got a good look at what had happened, and his heart sunk. He had had knights that couldn't recover from a wound like that, where the arrow was haphazardly ripped out in an attempt to get rid of the poison it was laced with.

"Merlin?"

"Hmm?"

"Tell me about the castle. The castle of ships. I'm sure there's parts that I've missed. I can't be in your head all the time."

Merlin smiled, closing his eyes as he shook his head against Arthur's shoulder,

"It's a stupid idea."

"It can't be that stupid, you put a lot of thought into it. Have you ever thought of becoming a storyteller?"

The laugh that came out of Merlin was short and hoarse, but Arthur needed him to keep talking. They were still a long walk away from the camp, and Arthur was willing to do anything to get Merlin there alive.

"I didn't realize I had such a way with words."

"Please?"

"What would you like to hear about, my lord."

"I won't hesitate to drop you."

Merlin let out another laugh, much rougher than the last one, that quickly turned into a fit of heavy, wet coughing. Arthur continued to walk, the only sound being his boots hitting the ground for a long time before Merlin began to speak.

"The grand hall, it would stand alone from the rest of the castle. It would have a long, stone pathway for guests to walk along as they gathered for feasts and balls. It would be lined with rose bushed and allium flowers, the dark purple ones."

There was another coughing fit before he continued, "the double doors, they would be engraved. With dragons, fairies, things of magic. Did you know your shoulder isn't very comfortable?"

"I wouldn't imagine, with it being covered in armor and all. Tell me about the boats. They are my favourite part."

"What about them? I've never seen a ship, only the pictures in Gaius' books. They're fascinating, aren't they?"

He could hardly finish his sentence before he started coughing again. It shook through his whole body, making him ache.

"Come on, Merlin. Keep talking. Give me something, a thought, anything. It's not long until we'll be back with the knights. Elyan will fix you right up. Good as new, right?"

Merlin gave a weak smile, "good 's new..."

"Why do you find ships so interesting? They are just big, fancy boats."

Arthur could hear Merlin's thoughts, still going a mile a minute despite him thinking almost nothing at all.

" 's exactly it. They're big, they're fancy."

"Is there a spell for that? Could you create one?"

"A spell for what?"

"Building things. Constructing this castle, making ships."

"I'm sure I could figure it out."

Merlin shifted in Arthurs arms, trying to make himself more comfortable before hissing out in pain and trying to reach for his shoulder.

"Are you trying to bleed out? Quit moving!"

Arthur's words came out harsher that he intended, though there was sadness in his voice. Merlin continued to wiggle until Arthur dropped his legs. Keeping one hand around Merlin's waist, he used his other hand to keep a firm pressure on his shoulder. Against Merlin's protest and Arthur's better judgment, they continued walking through the dark.

"We're not going to make it in time." Merlin was leaning heavily into Arthur's side, barely keeping his footing at he stumbled over another tree root.

"We're going to make it. You're not going dying on me now Merlin. That's an order."

"When have I ever listened to those?"

Merlin stopped walking, forcing Arthur to stop next to him. Letting himself fall to his knees, he landed with a small 'thump' on the cold ground, the blanket of pine needles and leaves welcomed him. Arthur lowered himself after him, keeping one hand at Merlin's side, his other hand reached out to rest against Merlin's cheek, keeping his head steady as he closed his eyes.

"Keep your eyes open Merlin. Come on, looks at me. Say something."

"Remember my story, won't you? You've heard me tell it a thousand times. Built that castle of ships. For me?"

"I won't build it unless your there to see it. Open your eyes, Merlin, please." Arthur felt hot tears roll down his face as he looked at Merlin. His friend, his best friend, his only friend, was going to die.

Merlin opened his eyes slowly, only getting them halfway opened before they became to heavy to move. Arthur moved the hand on Merlin's waist to his back, gently pulling him into another hug. They sat like this, in silence for a long time, Arthur not daring to pull away.

Arthur started to hum a gentle tune in a last ditch effort to break the silence, not trusting his own voice to not break if he spoke. It was a tune he had caught Merlin humming hundreds of times. It reminded him of the warmth of the castle, how comfortable he was when he watched Merlin go about his duties from his spot at his desk, listening to the story of a magnificent castle being built and the mighty ships that gave it it's name. It reminded him of all the times he had to stop himself from revealing his piece of magic to Merlin, to tell him that he wasn't alone, that he wasn't hated.

The quiet song came to an end and Arthur stopped, listening to the sounds of the forest and hoping to hear a voice amongst the gentle rustle of trees, but he heard nothing. There wasn't a cough, nor a cry or a snarky remark, not even a thought. It was quiet, deafeningly so as Arthur began to cry. Long, ugly sobs were the only sound as he pulled Merlin closer to him, begging, pleading for him to move, get up, say something, kick him, yell at him, anything.

But alas, there was nothing. Only silence as Arthur continued to cry. He cried for the loss of his friend, his dearest friend. He cried for the loss of the kingdom they never got to create with each other.

He cried, sobbed, begged, and bargained. But that too, only ended in silence.

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clotpole-art · 3 years ago

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Retrospective: Illustrated Merlin Alphabet Challenge

Finally finished the Merlin Alphabet Challenge, so here's the artist notes no one asked for! See below the cut for comments on each piece by order of creation. Be warned folks, it's a long post.

Before we begin: credit to @merlin-gifs for the challenge, which can be found here. It's awesome, go do it.

First thing you should know is I did probably 80-90% of these while on phone calls or in Zoom meetings and that's reflected in the simplicity of most pieces -- the compositions aren't complicated, the lines aren't refined, the coloring is slapdash. If you noticed variation in quality of the pieces, that's why!

Second: I tried to focus on trying something new for each drawing. Didn't always happen, but this challenge did succeed in helping me push me out of my own comfort zone.

Without further ado...

A is for Arthur Pendragon

Textures, baby! Brushed metal of his armor, scratchy linen texture of his shirt, wispy softness of hair and skin. I'd recently gotten my tablet out of storage after a year of figuring out where the hell I was going to live and this was one of the first pieces of digital art I spent time on. Glad it was Arthur kicking us off!

B is for the Beginning of the End (1x08)

Fun fact, I did not draw this with my tablet. I drew it with my work computer's touchscreen. It was awful, would not recommend.

C is for Camelot

I wanted to get used to different brushes, so landscape of the castle it was! There are brushes that help with drawing grass; I did not use said brushes and my wrist hurt afterward. That being said, I really enjoyed working on this and it was one of the few pieces I didn't do while multitasking.

D is for Daegal

Also drawn on my work computer's touchscreen, not my tablet. I didn't learn my lesson from B and the experience was even worse. This is my least favorite piece which sucks because it's Daegal so I'm slated to redo this sometime in the near future. Gotta do our boy justice.

E is for Elyan

Oh, I adored drawing this. Elyan often gets shafted in terms of fandom appreciation so I made sure to choose Elyan for this prompt and to participate in the Elyan fest. Plus, I love a good ghost story and figuring out a way to include the druid spectre was fun. Didn't multitask on this piece because Elyan deserved my full attention.

F is for Freya

Ho boy. This piece. I have such mixed feelings on this drawing. Really really didn't like it after I'd decided it was done and very nearly scrapped the whole thing. I had a vision in my head that I just couldn't render into reality and it frustrated me SO MUCH. Looking back, I like it much better than I did when I first created it.

G is for Gwaine

What can I say, he's pretty when he's cold. I didn't stretch too much with this one -- it's my normal drawing style, I was just trying to find a brush that mimicked the softness of pencil.

H is for Hunith

Another one that didn't stray too far from my comfort zone. I was stupid sick and slammed at work, so a motherly Hunith manifested herself. I blame the bad brush choice on the cold medicine.

I is for Isolde

I woke up and chose violence! Tried to vary my figure drawing style a little in this piece but my brain resisted, resulting in... this. Not mad at it, but not happy with it either. Poor Isolde.

J is for Juggling

Ah, this lovely piece was drawn during a particularly vexing meeting at work. Fun fact, there's another version of this line art that's less about Merlin's stress and more about mine.

K is for Knights of Camelot

Continuing the theme of doodling through bad news and shit meetings. Like I said above, normally meeting doodles aren't complex because I'm concentrating on something else. This one was more involved because I didn't want to concentrate on the meeting. I have a few issues with this from a technical standpoint (perspective, my nemesis) but it's still one of my favorites. Tried some funky coloring technique, didn't hate it.

V is for Vibrant Colors

And here is where we said fuck the rules and started going out of alphabetical order! This one was really fun to do and I loved kicking off Albion Party with this as my first submission. The colors were a challenge (as I hoped they would be) and this is the first time I had to do some color tweaking midway though and after finishing the coloring process. Vibrant Arthur, my beloved. This started as a multitask doodle but took dedicated time to finish.

O is for Old Religion

The concept for this one was buzzing in my head for a bit before a quote-prompt solidified it. I adore the thought of more visible, tangible representations of Merlin as the son of the elements, of "magic itself" -- not just sun-gold eyes, but sea-water hair and sandstone-skin. A complement to the vibrant Arthur portrait.

S is for Sorcerers

When I said I wanted to challenge myself, I wasn't kidding. Ho boy, this was fun but frustrating. I wanted to completely illustrate a gif. So I did. Will I do something like this again? Maybe. A while from now.

M is for Morgause

See above -- same illustrated gif style so at least I was able to reuse some drawings. Poor Morgause ended up looking a little wretched here because I was mentally done with this when I was drawing her. Love the concept of tarot cards + Merlin but others are doing it so I won't continue this series.

Z is for Zzzz

This one was specifically done to test out some custom brushes I made in Krita to make abstract background drawing easier for me. I think they turned out well! Plus who doesn't love bb iridescent Aithusa.

L is for Leon, P is for Percival

Quick, minimal doodles of the boys! Mentally, I was going for a Brady's-style retro ensemble cast TV show credits feel. Not mad at it! Some boys look closer to their actors than others (I think my brain broke drawing Percy, my apologies to Tom Hopper).

T is for Tristan

It wasn't until after I posted this that I realized there was more than one Tristan in Merlin. Could have drawn Isolde's bf but I drew Ygraine's dumb jock undead brother instead. Had some fun with dark greys and blacks here regardless.

Q is for Queen Annis

Best royal in Albion, bar none. I tried a different coloring technique here and I kinda like it! may make it my go-to but we'll see. Old habits are hard to break. Also: our queen deserved more badass clothes.

X is for Arthur X Merlin

Oh, be still my shipper heart. Doodled and colored during a meeting. I had hoped to spend more time on it outside of multitasking but alas, work is a bitch. This one is slated for a rework sometime in the future; I adore the concept too much to let it go without creating another version of this that isn't an utter mess.

U is for Uther's Ward

And here's my attempt at forgoing line art. Not fun, do not like.

Y is for Young Warlock

Channeled some pain into this one. Those are the dead eyes of someone who had been told that he'd succeeded when his friend died. That the destiny he'd been expecting to carry on his shoulders into old age was done and dusted before he turned 30. Grief plus the existential dread of the aimless immortal. Oof. One of my favs.

N is for Nimueh, R is for Rising Sun, W is for Will

And we end on this sorry offering. I was away from home for a while without my tablet and I just got tired of waiting. So, pen doodles at the airport. This was a challenge in its own right because 1. pen only and 2. I wasn't able to pull Netflix up for a reference on the fly. Which is why Will's face is obscured and Nimueh looks.... not like Nimueh lol.

In summary: this was a goddamn joy to do. I finished 26 letter prompts in approximately 21 weeks, which exceeded my own unspoken goal of filling one letter per week. I found a good, happy corner of the Merlin fandom after a years-long hiatus away from being a fandom creator. If you did make it this far with me, thanks for reading my inane comments and giving this little project even a moment of your time -- I'm so grateful.

#merlinalphabetchallenge #clotpole art #long post #merlin fanart #merlin #bbc merlin #bbc merlin fanart

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evilovesyou · 3 years ago

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SHOW YOUR PROCESS

To continue supporting content makers, this tag game is meant to show the entire process of making creative content: this can be for any creation.

RULES - When your work is tagged, show the process of its creation from planning to posting, then tag up to 5 people with a specific link to one of their creative works you'd like to see the process of. Use the tag #showyourprocess so we can find yours.

I was tagged by @whatagreatproblemtohave who did a really interesting explanation of her Louis portrait in oil here!

Anni tagged me to show my process on making the dress I’m wearing in this post. Above is a nice BTS picture from the photoshoot I did (not using the actual pictures, but I’m sure if you snoop around a bit you’ll find them on my instagram.) Luckily, I have a million pictures of the process and tumblr won’t let me put them next to each other so they’re all full size. More under the cut.

1. Design

So I made this when I was in the master’s class for costume design and the theme, obviously, was fashion in the rococo era. I made this mood board for it first.

So this was about general shapes, themes, fabrics and colours in a way? Then I did a bunch of quick sketches and sorta settled on this one.

Then I picked fabrics and drew a more detailed sketch.

2. Pattern Cutting / Understructures

Listen. There’s a lot to know about patterns and I really don’t wanna bore anybody, with it all, but I’ll say this: The way this was made is not historically accurate. It’s meant to be a stage costume, so it’s supposed to be as easy to put on and change as possible. (Which in this case is not very ahahah)

-- Underskirt with boning. It’s basically a lot of tunnels on marquisette fabric with metal planchettes inserted (not sure if all the terminology is right in English, sorry if it’s not). All the planchettes are numbered and you have to kind of sand them down so they don’t damage the fabric and then poke holes in them so you can fix them where they need to be.

There’s a bunch of layers on the skirt which I will illustrate with pictures. It’s dacron cotton and black satin. Basically it’s draped, marked, cut and then sewn on by hand.

-- Laced stays. I’m not gonna give a lot of detail with the pattern here because that would really take it too far, but... pictures! The boning is marked in the pattern before it’s transferred to the muslin and this is also done with metal planchettes instead of actual whale bone.

These are the planchettes for the corset and how they are sanded down.

3. Overgraments / Final Touches

Again, I don’t wanna go into too much detail. The next couple pictures how the devant (front part of the dress that peaks out from under the manteau) is made and the beading on the stomacher.

With the patterned fabric I chose, there was a lot of figuring out how the patterns will align and a lot of stitching things together to see if it will work. These are just satisfying to look at.

Here’s me trying on sleeves and hand-applying lace to the back part of the Watteau pleats and the train in the back.

Then there’s hemming and actually hand-sewing the skirt to the corset, which is A LOT, because you have to hold it all in place and get the needle through a lot of layers and it’s really heavy. My fingers still hurt thinking about it. Anyway. After trying this on the other day, I found out that it’s pretty big on me now so if I ever want to wear it again, I should take it in which will be annoying. We’ve reached the end. Goodbye.

Tagging @dependsonwhospitching for this awesome edit!

@londonfoginacup for this drawing and the fic that goes along with it!

@halosboat for this drawing of hariel!

@fallinglikethis on this fic that she co-wrote with @wait4ever!

@so-why-let-your-voice-be-tamed for this fic!

#showyourprocess #tags #rococo dress #18th century dress #dressmaking #historical costume #mine #personal

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oingo233 · 4 years ago

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Rapture is a Boy (3)

Summary: Remus and you have always had a playful, loving relationship but his behavior around the full moon leads you to assume the worst. A huge fight ends with the two of you heartbroken. Will Remus reveal the truth behind his behavior? And will you still love him afterwards or has he truly lost you forever?

Young Remus Lupin x Reader

Warning: angst, cuss words, self-doubt, angst, cheating, angst (but not as much as there will be later mwhahaha)

Authors note: I try to keep my writing(self inserts) gender, body type, ethnicity and house neutral/not specified. If I ever slip up please let me know so that I can change it.

Part One - Part Two - Part Three - Part Four - Part Five - Part Six - Part Seven - Part Eight

Word Count: 3k

Part Three

****After All This Time, There is No Love****

The common room walls seemed to pulse with the vibrations of the song, every ear in the room being invaded with music, cheers, laughter, and somewhere for some odd reason, screaming. Screams of joy of course. The party was alive and everyone had large smiles and butterbeer slipping through giggles or being shared through a kiss. This party would surely be talked about in the weeks to come.

But I was having a harder time of letting loose, and it would seem Lily is too. For our very reason for throwing the party could not make it, so what the hell was the point? Remus was off studying, James was off studying, so we had no lips to lock with our own, no body to dance and grip to, no one to have fun with in the way we wanted to tonight. Lily was sipping on a butterbeer, staring at the portrait with me, hoping they’d walk through.

“Ladies...” A hufflepuff named Paul collided into our sides, looping his arms around our shoulder. Lily to his right, I to his left. He was staring drunkenly at the portrait with us, his eyes going large and then small, as if he was searching for something. “What are we doing?” He chuckles to himself.

“I mmmeann seriousllyy, if-if you’re waiting for a snnog anny onne here will step up. Lilyy that is, she’s sinngle. I’d snnog you though (y/n) but Remmuss might tear mee apart-a-apart me.” He slurs, leaning in close to my face. “Pre,’ He mutters to himself “pretty,” he laughs again and saunters off, swaying his hips to the music, declaring he’ll chug another jug of butterbeer. I look at Lily and she stares back at me, mouth open and my own fighting a smile. Before we know it, we’re cackling like the bunch of witches/wizards we are.

“This is the worst, mission failed! M’ sorry Remus couldn’t make it,” Lily says, huffing hair out of her drink. The fire burning only brought out the red of her hair, she looked apart of the flame herself. I see why James was in love with her, she got her wits, charm, beauty, and kindness. So why would he miss this time to be with her? Does Peter really need the whole lot of them?

“mmmh,” I agree wordlessly, “M’ sorry James couldn’t.” She sighs into her drink, cheeks burning and she looks up at me.

“Me too.” She mumbles. I’m taken aback to say the very least. I was always just teasing, I mean I had a hunch sure, but for her to really admit it. Well, I’m not proud to say that I stood there like a daft cow for roughly 5 minutes before she groaned and bumped her shoulder into mine. Hiding her smile and embarrassment with a final swig of her drink.

“I- you- James?” Is all I can seem to get out of me, shock makes ya useless it seems. She nods slowly.

“Yes, I thought you knew already.” She shrugs, turning towards the raging crowd of drunk witches and wizards.

“Well, yeah..” I shrug just as cooly and she laughs, pushing me with her arm again.

“Stop, you did not because Remus doesn’t know, and you tell him everything.” She points out, but soon regrets it as my smile grows wickedly large.

“(y/n)!” But I was already half way through the portrait, muttering to myself just loud enough for her to hear.

“Remus! Remus, I’ve got to tell Remus!” I’m laughing hysterically as she chases me through the corridors, our robes trailing behind us like a little sea of black rolling by our angles.

“No! Please, don't!” She yells after me, both of us out of breath by the time we reach the same corridor as the library. “I’ll hex you...” She glares at me as we walk swiftly up to the library doors. Now, of course I would never ever snitch such a thing to anyone. This is Lily’s long kept secret and when I had my unrequited love for Remus she didn’t go blabbering it to him or anyone else, so of course I would return the favor of silence. My plan was to simply lead her to James, where they can now confess their undying love for one another after the secrets already out. But she didn’t know this.

“You won’t hex me Lily dear, you’re not that against James knowing. Why don’t you tell Remus yourself, or better yet, James!’’ I exclaim, smiling to myself for my own genius. God, Remus will be in more of a shock than I, all the boys will, no one more than James. She tilts her head in disappointment directed at me, we raise our hands and together we open the doors.

We are first greeted with an indifferent glance in our direction from Pince. We smile at her and nod our heads in her direction, then walk slowly (as in I’m matching Lily’s pace which is practically the march of dread) to the table the marauders usually sit. The table has all of our names scratched into the bottom.

I wish Lily would walk faster because I was bouncing to see Remus, he quickly apologized to me once again for being dismissive and it led to quite the kiss (or two) and left us with some unfinished business. We turned the corner of a large bookshelf and where we were expecting to see the boys, we instead saw no one at all.

“Where are they?” I ask Lily, she shrugs beside me, just as confused. Though her shoulders are slumped with either relief or disappointment, from the look on her face I can tell it is a mix of both. “Come,” I say wrapping my arm around her shoulder, “They’re bound to be here somewhere, yeah?” She mumbled back a yeah to me, and together we searched the entirety of the library.

But it was a waste of time. Hardly anyone was there, and certainly not the loud (yes, even when they study) boys we came here for.

But we did find someone of interest, walking back along the corridors we found someone perched by the window, staring out towards the forbidden forest, towards the shrieking shack. Lucy. Lucy is girl by the window. She looked worried.

I swallowed my pride and my anger. It’s irrational, I told myself, my emotions talking, not fact. I did all of this just to take two step towards her and ask a simple question. But the answer was anything but.

“Are you okay? And before you lie to us, you should know that we genuinely are good listeners and I like to think quite non-judgmental and-” Though I swallowed so much, I could not swallow my stress ranting, the one that spawns when I am put in uncomfortable situations, such as this one. A curse truly. But thankfully Lily cuts me off.

“Yes, so uhm... are you?” Lily asks. Lucy doesn’t even turn to us, she bites her lip and continues to stare out the window. We almost go to ask again, thinking she hadn’t heard us. But she starts speaking, her gaze never leaving the shack before her.

“I guess it’s always good to talk about our problems,” She laughs to herself, “Remus tells me that, says bottling things up only make it worse. I’m worried about him actually. Remus, do you know hi-” Her words fall short as she turns around and sees the expression on my face. Remus. She is worried about Remus, my boyfriend. Why was she worried? Why was he not in the library where he said he would be? What does Lucy know that I do not?

Why does she care about Remus enough to sit and stare out of a window for hours? I quickly came back the conclusion that Remus was lying to me, about where he was, and who he loves. He has been cheating on me.

I stager backwards and Lily grasps my hand in hers, giving it a squeeze.

“Are you two friends?” She asks, without venom or even a quiver in her lip, but I felt like my world was crashing down. I was thankful she asked the question because I wouldn’t have been as composed.

“Yes, er- sort of, closer than friends actually” She smiles to herself like she just said the sweetest thing. But it was just another stab to the heart, another hand constricting my throat. Not very convincing Lucy, I think to myself. Lily squeezes my hand again and goes to lead us away but Lucy begins to speak again.

“You’re (y/n) right?” She knows me. She knows me? I nod numbly and Lily quickly says goodbye for us, and rushes us away. She partly carries me through the portrait, I trail lamely behind her, not able of thought. She trudges us up the stairs to her bed where she promptly lets me sit and breakdown.

“Lily...” I don’t get to finish the sentence before she pulls me in for a hug, I didn’t realize how hard I was crying until my sobs made our shoulders hit into one another. She hugs me tighter, running her hands through my hair. Shhhsing me softly, and whispering sweet things in my ear.

“I love him, I love him so much,” I cry out, fisting her shirt in my hands. I think I feel her wipe away a tear of her own. God, I must be such a mess to make Lily herself cry. But I am a mess. I feel as though my very home has been taken away from me. This boy I gave my heart to, this boy I gave my very own body and love to, was giving it all to someone else. I confided in him, I trusted him, hell I’d even die for him. But he was playing me, he was using me. I have been loving a stranger.

“He doesn’t love me...”Is all I can mumble to myself again and again, rocking in Lily's embrace. We lay there until sleep takes us. None of the girls wake us up whether I belonged in Lily's bed or not, they noticed the way my face seemed blotchy and I was frowning in my sleep. But more than that they saw the tired look in Lily’s expression, and the rage hidden deep within.

I woke up to the sound of rustling clothes, and parchment. The sound of the girls dormitory coming alive, and everyone preparing for the schools day ahead. I didn’t want to wake up. I wanted to lie there until I grew the strength to face my worst fear. Until I grew the confidence to walk out there, to love myself again when I felt anything other than beautiful or good. I felt disgusting, what was wrong with me that would make Remus feel the need to be with another? No, I didn’t want to get up until I was healed, until time would reverse itself completely.

But nonetheless I got up, because Lily was worried and Lily was watching and Lily was there to hold my hand and reassure me that I was wonderful, and worthy of love. That it was Remus. My Remus. Lucy’s Remus, it doesn’t matter. I love him, I still do. After all that happened, I wish love was something I could tear from me and leave behind, but it was at first a beautiful flower in my heart and now it is just a dead weed stuck in cracks. I will never be able to get it out.

Lily silently sits me on the edge of the bed. She fixes my hair for me, and wipes at my cheeks, and gives me a tissue. I blow into it, she throws it out. She kisses my cheek and waits for me to get dressed.

At last, we make our way through the sea of students and staff to the great hall. The laughter of fellow students makes the lump in my throat all that much larger. My hands begin to shake and so Lily holds it within her own.

“Look at me love,” She says, “Remus does not deserve ya after the shite he pulled. Ya need to talk to him love, you need to break up with him yeah? Feel the freedom in your new single life and get out there. Paul said he’d snog ya, yeah?” I know she was trying to make me feel better, and it almost worked. Almost. But I was still very much in love with him, I don’t know if I can move on. After knowing Remus so intimately, how could I? Nonetheless I swallow my despair and nod slowly to her. She lets go of my hands and we walk straight to the Gryffindor table. Straight to the boys.

My heart swallowed itself whole when I caught sight of Remus. He looked tired, exhausted even. His skin pale, and he looked in pain. The other boys didn’t look any more alive, but they were laughing with one another, though in a more sedated way. Remus was in his own world, reading a muggle book I gave him a while ago. He promised he’d tell me all about it and that we’d find a way to watch the muggle movies when we can. We never will.

My sadness is suddenly replaced with an intense anger. With rage and hurt I walk right up to the table, I stand behind Remus. The other boys look up at Lily and me with easy smiles, but they drop as they soon further dissect our appearance and with it our mood. Sirius goes to wolf whistle as if he was excited by the fact one of the boys were about to get hounded into, but Lily raises a hand and stops all sound at the boys part of the table.

I clear my throat. He is still reading, he smiles to himself as he reaches a rather humorous part of the book.

“Remus,” I call, my voice sickly sweet, it seems to shock Lily. She begins to walk back, not wanting to be in the middle of the spitfire. But the boys seems to soak in the scene with amusement. Remus hums in response, and puts his thumb near the edge like he does when he is about to finish a line and then close the book, but I was above waiting now.

“Could you Remus, for 5 seconds perhaps give me more attention when I speak to you than some fucking book. It’s like I’m talking to a godamn wall!’‘ I lose my temper near the end, and now half of the table was staring at us. Remus doesn’t even bother to mark the page, he places the book down and whips around to me with wide eyes. The boys no longer looking humored at all, everyone is giving me odds looks. I’ve never once acted this way with Remus, all our previous arguments were resolved rather quickly.

“Great,” I smile too big at him, then turn to the boys. Every word dripping sarcasm and fake calm. Remus only frowns more, his eyes darting across my face and than to Lily searching for an answer.

“Now, could you all leave us be or are you going to be obnoxious flies on said wall while I speak to my boyfriend for the little amount of time I have managed to grab his attention?” I grit out every word, as if fighting my anger, I did not mean to be so hurtful but I am very hurt myself. Did the rest of boys know about Remus cheating? Instead of leaving, they stare at me in shock, after some time of staring James goes to ask why I am being so rude but I cut him off.

“You know what?” My voice cracks, I am losing my resolve. With every second I spend staring deeper into Remus’s eyes my anger fades into sadness. A great sea of sadness. “Never mind, I am being rude. All of you can continue to ignore me completely, Remus, my love,” My voice cracks once again and I will my anger to come back so that I may do what I have to next. “You keep reading that book of yours and for the love of god don’t stop for anything, I mean don’t ever stop because what on earth could be of a more pressing matter? And boys, keep your sweet asses locked in place because I do always forget how much of fucking arseholes the whole lot of you are!” Remus stands up abruptly and caresses my forearm, he wishes for us to talk somewhere more privately but I jump back at his touch.

My lips curl up in a snarl “We’re over Remus! You cheat! You fucking liar!” I yell loud enough for the whole of Gryffindor table to hear, my anger has run from me completely and now nothing is left but Remus’s eyes staring deep into mine.

His eyes, as they well up with tears and dart around the room. His eyes growing red and defensive at all the people looking back at him. His eyes meeting mine once more, his mouth falling open and closing again. He goes to speak, but at last, I watch as he can’t hold the tears back anymore. He rubs aggressively at his eyes, and rushes out of the great hall. His friends racing after him, not before Sirius shoots me a dirty look and James questions Lily with his eyes.

And then it was done. The students begin to whisper behind hands and poke their fingers in our direction. The great hall filling up once again with chatter and gossip, I feel the color drain from my face and every feeling I previously had becomes overtaken with grief. It is over. I have lost him. After all this time, there is no love.

Lily catches me before I fall. She is now the one to rush me through the doors of the great hall, but we are stopped short. Stopped by the sound of horrible, horrible sobs and 3 boys trying their hardest to silence them. To comfort him. No pain in that moment would come to compare to the miserable feeling I’d carry around after that night. After seeing him lying there, body racked with sobs because of me.

Sirius looks up, he looks as though he is in pain as he bounces his leg and runs a hand through his hair. He looks around, anywhere but his broken friend. But then our eyes meet.

He begins to walk over to us, Lily stands as my guard. But nothing could protect me from the onslaught that is an angry Sirius Black...

Taglist:

@crazylokonugget @beyondprincess @1975weasley @goto-hi-this-is-my-brain@nicodoesntexist

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itslieutenanthawkeye · 3 years ago

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Beyond the Sea of Pain

Day 3 of Jeankasa Week 2021: Family

AO3

A peaceful life for the girl who longed for love and the boy who gave her it.

Sasha Ackerman had never been one to pry. She carried her mother’s quiet, observant personality, or so her father said. Whenever conversations became for adults only, she excused herself, she never asked too many questions unless it was something that involved her loved ones.

Lately, Sasha had begun asking more questions, simply because most matters revolved around her mother, her mother and the child she carried. At seven years of age, Sasha knew a new baby implied many changes for the family. Both for her parents, and for her. Her whole life, everyone around her had gone to great lengths to make her happy, make her feel loved, and above all, to keep her safe.

All she was surrounded by were protectors: her grandmother who had taught her how to make the omelets her dad liked, uncle Armin and aunt Annie who came to visit the island with hundreds of presents each time, uncle Connie who bought her ice cream and candies whenever he babysat her, and uncle Levi with his perpetual frowns.

This would be the first time she had someone smaller than her, someone to take care of, someone to protect. Her mom had said in conversations she wanted three children, so Sasha had always known that sooner or later she would be the head of a triad of Ackerman children. She would be the eldest sister.

“Sasha, help me, please,” her mother called from the door. She was almost seven months in her pregnancy and still carried out her daily routine as usual. Her father had gotten angry at the beginning, when he caught her carrying things from the market on her own. But her mom was strong, stronger than her father even, and each time she had reassured him with a sweet smile that she could handle herself.

Sasha didn’t want to imagine the level of anxiety in her father during their first pregnancy.

“Where’s dad?” Her mother asked as they laid out the market bags on the kitchen counter. The queen of the island had given her parents a beautiful apartment in the new Shingashina district years ago, for helping bring peace to the world, although her mom always joked that all she and her father had done was work numbers in a library.

“He’s finishing up the baby’s room.” Sasha informed her mother, smiling at the sight of the chocolate biscuits she had bought for her. Her father always said that perhaps names came with traits. And Sasha had certainly inherited her namesake’s appetite.

“Have you helped?” Her mother asked, putting both hands on her waist. “He was up all night setting that crib. Did you paint with him?”

Sasha shook her head. “Dad didn’t let me.”

Her mother sighed. “That man needs to let other people help him.”

“Are you mad at him?” Sasha asked, kind of hoping she was. She had really wanted to help him paint the new baby’s room.

“I don’t think I can get mad at him,” her mother said, smiling as she wrapped an arm around her shoulder. Sasha put her hand on her mother’s belly, drawing in a breath in awe as she felt the baby moving. “The baby know it’s you saying hi. They’re saying hi back to you, you know.”

“Does the baby like me already?”

“The baby loves you, sweetheart.” Her mother replied, placing a kiss on her forehead. Sasha took a hold of her mother’s right arm, her fingers lingering on the ink markings on her wrists, the tattoo that had always been covered by bandages in the pictures from her time in the military.

“Mama, when am I going to get this?” she asked. A crease appeared between her eyebrows then, and for a moment, Sasha feared to have upset her. Her mother crouched to be at her height, with surprising grace despite her advanced pregnancy, and ran her thumb over her cheek.

“My mother gave it to me years ago. She said I had to pass it down to my children,” she said, her hand holding Sasha’s, which still lingered on the ink markings of her skin. “But back then, the world was smaller, honey. We thought this crest was the only thing we had left of our heritage when it wasn’t. There was a whole country beyond the island, and a huge clan with the same emblem and people who shared our blood.”

“That means I can’t get this marking?” Sasha said, feeling a little disappointed. Despite having her mother’s dark hair, she’d inherited her father’s structure; at her age, she was taller than most kids at school, and her eyes were of the same hazel as her father’s. The tattoo would’ve given her another thing in common with her mother, another thing to share that was just theirs.

Her mother seemed to notice the change in her expression, and she cradled her face with one hand. “You can decide to get it or not when you’re older. You’re still going to be my sweet little girl, whether you get it or not,” she said, kissing her cheek. “But I didn’t want to mark you with the emblem, at least not offer it until you became old enough to decide for yourself.”

“I wanted it to remember you,” Sasha replied shyly. “This is how you remember grandma, right?”

Her mother smiled, bringing her closer to embrace her. “You’ll be able to remember me in many, many more ways, Sasha darling,” she said, pulling her apart to face her before she continued speaking. “First of all, your dad and I are going to live for a long, long time. We’re going to take a million pictures, and your dad is going paint a thousand portraits of us. And when those are wrinkled and old, and you’re wrinkled and old, you’re still going to remember our love for you. Because you, dad, the baby, and I are going to live long lives together, okay? We’ll make memories together.”

Sasha nodded, wondering why her mother’s speech had filled her eyes with water. She passed a chubby hand across her face. “I love you, mama,” she said, hugging her again. “I swear, I’ll protect you and dad forever.”

“I love you so much, honey.” Her mother said. Her father always told her she didn’t need to protect them, but it seemed her mother understood her personality a little more in that regard. She understood that drive to protect and remember her loved ones, perhaps because Sasha was much like her.

“Want to go see how dad is doing with the room?” her mother said after a moment, with her usual smile.

Sasha held her mother’s hand as they walked to the baby’s room. The apartment would be small with another child. Their house would be finished in ten months; it had taken a while for his father to convince queen Historia to sell them that land by the river, and a little while longer for them to get all their financing for the house from Hizuru. Her mother had friends there, although Sasha had never met them in person. They would eventually move, Sasha was sure, but in the meantime, dad wanted to make their apartment as child friendly as possible.

“Hello, dad,” her mother said, knocking on the door threshold. They found him finishing up the far wall, the one next to the window. Sasha stared at the paintings on the walls, realizing why her father hadn’t let her help. She would’ve ruined the landscape he’d painted so thoroughly across the walls: it was their summer meadow, the one by the river, the place where they went most weekends to fish and eat and sing. The place that would be their new home in ten months.

Her father turned to look at them with a wide smile on his face. He was tall, taller than most, and had long hair and a stubble on his chin that itched when he kissed her cheeks. “Hello, darling,” her father said, walking up to her mother to give her a kiss on the lips. Then, he gave Sasha a kiss on the forehead. “Hello, little darling.”

And then, her father kissed her mother’s pregnant belly. “Hello, tiny darling.”

Her mother gave him one of those adoring smiles Sasha loved to see. Her mother was beautiful, the most beautiful woman ever, and when she smiled like that, Sasha almost thought she was looking at a doll. It was a look reserved only for dad; it had always seemed her eyes were full of sunlight when looking at him. “Jean, you shouldn’t have done all this.”

“What do you mean?” her dad asked. “Do you not like it.”

“I love it, honey. I absolutely adore it,” she said, grabbing his face to kiss his cheek. “But we’re moving at the end of the year, and you’ve barely slept…”

“You know I like doing this,” her father replied. “Besides, it’s so the baby can get used to the scenery before we get there.”

A low giggle escaped her mother. “Also, Sasha wanted to help you here.”

“She’s a kid, Mika. It was a lot of crouching, a lot of tracing, too much smell of paint,” he said, giving her mother another kiss. He was never shy about showing his love, but the closer she got to the end of the pregnancy, the more did her father kiss her. Sometimes it felt as if he kissed her every second of the day. “I didn’t want her to get all tired.”

“She’s strong, Jean,” her mom replied, smiling still. “She can help you out when I’m not here.”

“I’m sure she’s as strong as her mother,” he said, bending to kiss Sashas’s cheek and then her forehead. “I’m sorry, okay, little darling? I promise you’ll help with the next baby room.”

“Let me have this one first.” Her mom said with a low giggle. “Will you, lover boy?”

“I waited seven years for our second one, didn’t I?” Her father teased.

“Let’s not pretend you haven’t been trying for another one the past seven years, Kirstein.”

“You know I love trying for one, Ackerman.”

Sasha walked over to his set of paints, her eyes on the mixture of colors but her ears on their banter. She liked watching them go about life together; there was such an easy happiness between them, an easy, almost-perfect happiness that could only come from the love they had for each other. A love they poured onto her, a love that filled Sasha with happiness.

Sometimes, when she saw her mother smile at her father, she could barely believe she was the same woman as the one in the pictures from her days in the military. The woman in the pictures was stoic, untouchable, a perfect figure of strength, a statue with the sadness in her eyes as her most defining quality. Her mother, the Mikasa Ackerman Sasha knew, was all smiles, kisses, and kind words; she was low conversations about butterflies, she was warm hugs after a day at school, she was adoring looks for her father when he cooked dinner.

It’s not that her mom didn’t get sad every now and then. Of course, whenever they visited the graveyard where her namesake rested, or when she and her father spoke of the past in hushed whispers in the living room. But still, sadness was not all of her. Her mother had turned into sunlight, that’s the only way Sasha could describe it.

“Why are you frowning, sweetie?” Her father asked.

“You two are being corny again,” Sasha replied. “You’re doing your kissy faces.”

Her mother and father exchanged a look and a smile, and soon her father had lifted her into his arms. “Mikasa, we just made little Sasha jealous,” he said as he twirled her around. It didn’t take long for Sasha to start giggling. “She wants all the kisses to herself!”

“You are too corny! Your beard is itchy!” Sasha laughed. “Mom, help!”

Her mom took her from her father’s arms and gave her a thousand kisses on her cheeks and forehead in the lapse of a second. “All the kisses must be for my sweet little girl,” her mother teased. Her father took her back in his arms, not wanting her to carry Sasha’s full weight so far into the pregnancy. “She deserves them, don’t you think, Jean?”

“Yes, she does,” her dad agreed. “She is the best older sister in all of Paradis. Your little brother already adores you.”

“Or little sister.” Her mother said, giving Sasha another kiss and leaning into her dad to get a peck on the cheek from him.

“Or little sister.” Her dad agreed.

“When do we know?” Sasha asked. “When do we know if it’s a boy or a girl?”

“We need to wait until baby’s born,” her dad explained, using the paint on his thumb to draw a little white star on her cheek. “It won’t take long. We need to be really careful with mommy until the baby’s born, and then some more after.”

“Mommy is top priority,” Sasha agreed, nodding seriously. “Then after the birth, mom and baby will be top priority.”

Her dad chuckled and looked at her mom. “She really does take after you, doesn’t she, Mikasa?”

“I’d say she takes after you,” her mother said, tucking a strand of hair behind Sasha’s ear. “All that concern for my well-being could’ve only come from you.”

“How are we going to name the baby?” Sasha asked then.

“If it’s a girl, we’ve decided it’ll be Carla, right?” Her dad said, and her mother nodded.

“And if it’s a boy?” Sasha asked. Her father exchanged a look with her mother, both at a loss from her question. Sasha figured they hadn’t considered the possibility of having a boy, and the matter of a name for a boy hadn’t come up until now. She shook her head in exasperation; Aunt Annie called them a pair of idiots and although Sasha would never truly consider them a pair of idiots, she could see why she’d granted them that nickname.

“How about dinner?” Her mother said.

“I’ll get to it.” Her father said, kissing her mother again.

Her mother crossed her arms over her chest and let out an exasperated sigh. “Jean, let us help you. Honey, nothing bad will happen to me. I can make dinner for three.”

“I’m sorry,” her father said, frowning, cradling her mother’s face in his hand. “You’re just so pretty. And I can’t believe you’re carrying our child sometimes. I don’t want you to lift a finger, I don’t want to risk you at all, Mikasa.”

“Jean,” her mother said, placing a kiss on his lips. “I love you and I promise I’ll be fine, alright?”

Her dad nodded. “I love you too, Mika.”

“You two are too corny,” Sasha said, jumping from her father’s arms and walking towards the kitchen. “I’ll just eat biscuits while you kiss.”

“Sasha, wait!” Her mother said.

“Young lady, do not fill up before dinner.” Her father called.

Sasha smiled for herself as they followed her into the kitchen. Part of her felt a little bad for interrupting, but if they’d kept being all lovey with each other, dinner would have taken ages. And Sasha cared more about her appetite than letting those two be lovey-dovey. Besides, those biscuits did smell great.

__________________________

It wasn’t until Sasha had gone to bed that Mikasa had the time to sort through the clothes for the new baby. Some had been sent by Levi and Armin, alongside letters promising to visit them after the baby came to help Jean with the house. Some had been made by her own hands; she’d learned knitting from her mother when she was a child, but she hadn’t gotten back to it until she’d met Jean’s mom. All the socks had been knitted by Jean, a fact of which he was proud about.

Mikasa smiled to herself. Of all the things he’d done for her, for them as a family, his biggest pride was that he’d managed to have time to knit a couple dozen pair of baby socks.

“We got a package from Hizuru this morning,” Jean informed her as he walked towards her across the hallway. “Who gives a baby a golden reliquary necklace?”

“Really rich royals.” She said, turning to look at him.

Jean made a disgusted sound as he sat next to her. He leaned his back against the couch and stretched, and Mikasa’s eyes were drawn to the muscles straining against the fabric of his shirt. “Alright, that’s Sasha back asleep.”

“Was it a bad nightmare?”

Jean shook his head. “She keeps dreaming a giant baby’s chasing her.”

Mikasa snorted. “She’s just like you were when she was going to be born.”

“Hey, I wasn’t that nervous. I was just excited.” Jean said, grabbing her gently and bringing her close to his side. Mikasa hugged him, resting her head on his chest for a long moment. She took in a deep breath, enjoying the scent of him, thankful for the constant beat of his heart, for his presence, for his immense love.

Her life had been quiet grief up until the moment they’d returned to the island. She’d never thought she would love anyone ever again as much as she’d loved Eren.

But, apparently, she’d been wrong.

The growth of her love for him had been the thawing of her life, slow but inevitable, leading surely towards what seemed to be an eternal spring. Her constricted heart had gotten used to his presence little by little after his return; in the deep darkness that the rumbling had left her in, Jean had offered his hand to her, and they’d spent peaceful, quiet, love-filled days together.

Their friends had been there for her, but it was his presence, their conversations, their time in silence together, what she came to enjoy the most, what she looked forward to. Soon after, she noticed his appearance, that stirring he caused in her chest. And next thing she knew, Mikasa had been looking at him with the same loving eyes as she’d looked at her first love.

She’d fallen without trying, without expecting to, but she’d fallen irrevocably. And now she couldn’t imagine her life without him, without his kind, gentle presence by her side, always so certain she had the answer to any issue, always so confident in her strength.

The fire, the hatred that had fueled her first love was nonexistent in him; Jean was peace, spring, he was the promise that the world could be rebuilt after being ablaze. And she loved him; she loved all of him, and the fact that he’d given her a child –two, now– had only deepened her love for him. She didn’t regret her past; she didn’t fear the horrible memories, not with him by her side.

“About the name if it’s a boy,” Mikasa said, looking up at him. “I was thinking Marco.”

Jean raised his eyebrows in surprise. “I was thinking Eren.”

Now, it was her turn to raise her eyebrows. Just as he knew how much Eren had meant for her, Mikasa knew how much Marco had meant for him. “But I thought you would’ve wanted to honor him, because of your history together and—”

“I thought the same.” Jean said, brushing her hair back. He liked her hair; on their wedding night, he’d told her about how his crush on her had started, and Mikasa still liked hearing the story every now and then. “I thought you would’ve wanted to have a child with his name.”

“I thought you would’ve wanted to have a child with his name.”

Jean smiled again. “Well, great minds think alike, don’t they?”

“Jean,” Mikasa said seriously. “You’ve done so much for us already. If you were to pick the name, I don’t want you to pick one just because you think that’s what I want.”

“And I don’t want you to think I do all the things I do just to pick a name.”

Mikasa shook her head. “I didn’t mean—”

“I know. Come here.” Jean said. Mikasa finished closing the gap and their lips met. And, like every other time, her chest filled with warmth. She was drawn to him like a magnet was to metal; the comfort his skin offered was unparalleled by anything else she’d ever felt. True, she always teased that he’d been the one to try over and over again for a second child. But, in truth, the one who always seemed to want him on her was Mikasa herself.

“I still think Eren has a good ring to it.” Jean said after a while.

“He’s gonna get teased in school.” Mikasa said, thoughtfully. “What if he travels out of the island, Jean? People out of here don’t like that name. Have you given that idea any thought?”

“Maybe we could call him Aaron or something.”

Mikasa snorted. “You’re silly.”

“And you are gorgeous.” Jean said, kissing the side of her head.

“I still like Marco better for a name.” Mikasa admitted, wrapping both arms around his neck.

“Ah, are you trying to seduce me to get me to agree?” Jean said, placing kisses along her neck, reaching the curve of her ear to whisper hoarsely. “Because it’s going to work wonders, and you know that, Mrs. Ackerman.”

“I’m not,” Mikasa giggled, letting him kiss her neck and chest a little longer. “I just think we need to make up our minds soon. It might be a boy, you know?”

“Why do I feel we won’t make up our minds?” Jean said, his hands searching for the buttons of her shirt.

“I have the same feeling.” Mikasa whispered back, working on the buttons of his shirt as well.

“Well, then, in that case I guess we have only one option.”

“Which is?” Mikasa said, straightening to look at him in the eyes. She enjoyed looking at his hazel eyes; she adored seeing his overflowing love for her in them. Once she’d started to recognize it, she hadn’t been able to keep herself from looking for it.

Jean smiled. “We hope for a girl.”

“Or twins,” Mikasa said as he resumed kissing her lips.

“Or twins.” Jean agreed, kissing her a little more.

“I love you, Jean.” She whispered, going to his ear to kiss him.

“I love you too, Mikasa.”

_______________________

Sasha brought out the tray and smiled proudly at the cookies. They all had perfect shapes, just as she wanted them. The clock on the wall told her she had a couple of hours to decorate and place all the snacks out on the table; her husband said he would be getting everyone from the airport, which was a whole hour and a half away from their small town, and her brother and sister would prepare everything in the garden for the party.

As the eldest sister, she’d always been the one to boss them around, to help them sort out their problems and protect them from whoever tried to bully them. However, the past four years, Marco and Carla (or Charlie, how Sasha liked to call her since her birth, twenty five years ago) had become more than helpful for the little matters she and her husband didn’t notice.

It’s not that they were fools, no. It’s just that they’d been prepared for one child only.

Little footsteps resonated across the hall, and Sasha smiled knowingly as the twins appeared, holding hands as usual, on the threshold of the kitchen. “Sora, Oliver,” she said, wiping her hands on her apron, noticing the mud stains on their legs and faces. She crouched in front of them, using a piece of cloth to wipe the mud off Sora’s face. “Kids, weren’t you going to take a shower?”

“Where’s Jeanbo?” Oliver asked as she went to lean his cheeks.

“Huh?” Sasha replied.

“Jeanbo and Mika,” Sora said, pouting. “They were going to help us choose our clothes.”

Sasha straightened, putting her hands on her waist. “Does grandpa know you call him that?”

“He laughs!” Oliver replied, looking outraged.

“Those two spoil you guys too much,” Sasha replied, shaking her head. “You should be calling them grandma and grandpa. It’s disrespectful to call them by their names.”

“But Mika said it was alright!” Sora said, jumping a little in her spot. “She said it’s cute!”

Of course, her mother thought it was cute. She was the main culprit when it came to spoiling the twins. They were her first grandchildren, and neither of the two had inherited the Ackerman’s serious traits. It was all Jean’s, Sasha’s mother often said…from their cheeky smiles and hazel eyes to their loud, proud voices and talent to become the leaders of any group of children. Perhaps that was why her mother found them so incredibly adorable.

Although, to be fair, Sasha thought, they were incredibly adorable.

“Where are they, mama?” Oliver asked.

“They went out for a walk five minutes ago.” Sasha said, looking out the window. “Mom likes feeling the sun, and dad likes holding her while walking.”

Oliver and Sora exchanged an outraged look with each other, then looked up at her. Sasha couldn’t help but to smile wider at the sight of their childish indignation. “They didn’t wait for us!” they exclaimed at the same time.

“Let them be, kiddos,” Sasha said, taking off her apron. Decorating the cookies would have to wait, maybe she could ask her father for help. He’d always been better with art, after all. “Those two will be with you all afternoon. Let them have their romantic time together, okay?”

Oliver and Sora smiled cheekily, showing her the two dimples on each of their cheeks. That one trait, they’d gotten from Sasha’s husband. She adored seeing that tiny part of him on their faces. “What is it, you two?”

“They’re always having romantic time, mama.” Oliver pointed out.

“That’s because they love each other very much.” Sasha said, walking forward. The two let go of each other’s hands and allowed her to stand between them, to hold their hands and lead them upstairs, where a warm bath waited for each.

“Have they always been like that, mama, all lovey-dovey?” Sora asked.

“As long as I remember, yes,” Sasha replied as they went up.

“Will they be like that forever?” Oliver asked then.

“I’m pretty sure. They’ve still got plenty of years ahead, don’t they?” Sasha said, and her children hummed yes in response, at the same time.

Sasha smiled; she’d grown to know their story gradually, how much they’d lost, all the sorrow, pain, and death, and all the light that had followed afterwards. Her mother and father had taken all the little broken pieces of their souls and created a kaleidoscope that reflected in beautiful rays of light in a myriad of colors upon their family. They’d created happiness out of sorrow, and they deserved so many more years together.

They deserved to live through the happy times, the sad times, to grow old together. They deserved to love each other, love their children, their grandchildren, their friends. The family that had bloomed from disaster and pain.

They deserved to live. They all did.

#jeankasa #jean x mikasa #jean kirschtien #mikasa ackerman #jeanmika #Jeankasa Week 2021 #jeankasaweek2021 #fanfiction #ao3 #fluff #Family #Day 3 #shingeki no kyojin fanfiction

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ladyonfire28 · 4 years ago

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Fashion and cinema interview with Noémie Merlant, star of French cinema at the Deauville Film Festival

By Eugénie Trochu l September 7, 2020

A César nomination for Best Actress for her role in Céline Sciamma's Portrait of a Lady on Fire, a notable performance in Jumbo, the original first feature film by Belgian director Zoé Wittock, and now the interpretation of a trans man in Marie-Castille's new film Mention-Schaar, 2020 is dedicated to actress Noémie Merlant. Telling the story of an out-of-the-ordinary couple's desire to have a child, A Good Man was presented at the Deauville Film Festival 2020. The actress, who climbed the steps of the Festival in a Louis Vuitton creation, opened the doors to her preparations. The opportunity for a fashion and film interview, with red carpet tips, best-dressed personalities and celebrities, and her relationship with Nicolas Ghesquière and Louis Vuitton, of whom she is a fan.

You came to Deauville to present the film A Good Man by Marie-Castille Mention-Schaar, what attracted you to this project?

Noémie Merlant: The film tells the story of Benjamin, a trans man and beyond that, the fight of a loving couple to have a child. When I discovered the screenplay, it seemed to me that Marie-Castille's film dealt with a subject that we don't talk about much. An important, delicate and urgent subject.

I didn't know much about trans-identity and today, thanks to this project, I continue to learn, to question and to dialogue.

I find it primordial and urgent to give a voice to those who do not have one or too little, to always be able to question ourselves, especially as cisgendered, white, hetero-normed people, in order to then be able to take action. All this is a long journey.

When I started this film, I wasn't necessarily aware of all the questions it raised. It allows for dialogue. being able to talk freely is the first step in breaking away from stereotypes.

How did you choose the outfit you were going to wear at the Deauville Film Festival?

I'm in collaboration with Nicolas Ghesquière, he works with me in different events. I admire his work, trust him and appreciate him artistically. His team is also excellent advice and we chose this outfit together. I wanted something strong, powerful and elegant. A mix of feminine and masculine that breaks the codes. I like to choose an outfit that tells something, that gives an emotion in accordance with myself and with the moment that is going to be lived…

What are your favorite looks from the latest Vuitton collection, in which movie would you have liked to wear them?

It's hard to choose! What's for sure is that I love my look from the premiere, which by the way is a look from the fall-winter 2020-2021 collection from the last Louis Vuitton fashion show at the Louvre. The details of this jacket are simply incredible! Knowing Nicolas's passion for cinema, I would love to wear his creations in a sci-fi movie.

Is the fashion aspect important to you behind the screen? Do you pay attention to the clothes your characters are wearing?

My relationship to clothes in movies is different, I don't try to find out if they fit me, but rather if it's something my character would wear. Clothing is what allows me to embody it but also to make it alive and credible on screen. It goes through the clothes of course but also through the hairstyle, the expressions, the attitude. It is a whole. The choice of the costume designer is always important in a film.

One or more fashion tips to give before going up on a red carpet?

Always surround yourself with a trustworthy team that will never let you go out in costume or in a look that doesn't suit you.

The detail that changes everything on the red carpet?

To dare, to but still be yourself.

What's your favorite movie genre?

I like all genres, I don't have a favorite one! From fantasy cinema, to independent realist cinema, to thriller, social film, blockbuster, romantic... In short everything.

What is the best dressed film character in your opinion?

I have several. Legendary outfits that have left their mark on cinema and fashion... I think in particular of :

1- Carrie Fisher in Stars Wars.

2- Audrey Hepburn in Breakfast at Tiffany's

3- Kate Winslet in Titanic.

4- Mireille Darc in The Tall Blond Man with One Black Shoe

5- Grace Kelly in Rear Window

6- Diane Keaton in Annie Hall.

7- Jane Fonda in Barbarella.

8- Martin Carol in Lola Montès.

The best-dressed personality on the red carpet according to you and why?

On the red carpet I really like the naturalness and power of Kristen Stewart... I feel a lot of emotion when I see her. Or the elegance and strength of Cate Blanchett and Léa Seydoux. I am also a fan of Timothée Chalamet's red carpets. He plays, he dares, he seems himself.

#noémie merlant #noemie merlant #sometimes i translate things #not the most interesting and groundbreaking interview but anyways aha #vogue

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operationcavill · 4 years ago

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Professionals 4 - August Walker

August Walker is hired by Parker Industries to protect the companies most important assets; Mr. Stephen Parker himself and his workaholic, do-it-all executive assistant.

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3

“Wayne?” He knows that’s not all; he can see it on her face.

“He called her a few days ago to see where I was, but she didn’t know. Now, no one can get a hold of him.”

August stands up and starts pacing, “You were right.” She scrunches her nose, “I’m fucking pissed.”

She tries to stay positive, but the doubt is grave in her voice, “It’s ok.”

“No, Y/N, it isn’t.” He runs a hand through his hair, “Last night, someone tries to get onto the property and your ex-boyfriend, who happens to be a threat to you and the company your family owns, is missing!” He gets dressed in a hurry and leaves her bedroom without saying another word. She feels like a scolded child until he comes back, angrily stomping back in to kiss her forehead, “I’m sorry,” then quickly leaves again.

It isn’t until around noon that Y/N sees August. She’s sitting in the study with her uncle, talking about Jack, “Did you tell Walker about Jack?”

“I told him we were together,” she shakes her head.

“But did you tell him what he did?”

Y/N takes a deep breath, “No, I can’t imagine he’d take that news well.”

“Gin, you need to tell him.”

“What’d he do?” Oh, no, this was not the setting she planned to tell him; she knows he’ll be angry. He sits across from them, elbows resting on his knees.

Parker nods at her, assuring her that he’s there for her, “Jack isn’t a good man.” August’s eyes narrow at her, urging her to continue, “I didn’t want to mention what I went through because honestly, I refused to believe it.”

He’s tilts his head to crack his neck, “What are you telling me?”

Y/N fiddles with the hem on her shirt, and Parker speaks up, “He beat the shit out of her, Walker.” The harsh words cause Y/N to shift in her seat.

August stands in an instant, walking over to her and immediately going from investigator to soldier. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

Y/N has tears in her eyes, and she reaches for his hand but pulls back as Parker continues, “She broke it off with him, and the prick didn’t take it well.” Y/N leaves and heads to the kitchen; she doesn’t want to hear it nor talk about it. “She agreed to meet him at her apartment to talk about things, but he had other plans. He just left there. She begged me not to tell the police or take her to the hospital. The only way I could get her to go to the doctor was by promising her I wouldn’t contact authorities.”

August is fuming, his face turning red, and his hands are in tight fists, “You could have told me about this!”

“Mr. Walker, it is not anyone’s place to talk about abuse if the victim isn’t ready to speak on it. You will not turn this around on Y/N or anyone else, you hear me? This is Jack Waynes doing.”

August relaxes, realizing his temper is getting the best of him, “I needed to know this. I needed to know this to keep her safe.”

“You do, August. You’ve been incredible to us all, but you do need to understand that Y/N keeps a lot to herself, she’s always had trouble with it. She needs her family right now. I want you to meet with your team and increase measures. Wayne has money, more money than I do. And when men like him have money, they know no bounds.”

“I should go check on her,” Parker perks his head up, “I need you to call Annie, tell her to pack a bag. I’ll send her a car; I think if Y/N needs someone right now, it’s her. Call Jacob and check on him and Joey.”

It clicks with Y/N’s caring and nosy uncle that there be something else going on, “She’s more than the job to you, isn’t she?” August doesn’t respond; he straightens his posture, “If I were a younger man, I’d happily punch you in the jaw.”

“I understand.”

“We’re going to talk, sit down.” August sits across from him, hands clasped together. Mr. Parker is not an argumentative or particularly angry man, but he would fight until nothing left in him when it comes to his niece and nephew. “You know Y/N is a strong woman, I’m sure that was part of the attraction. She is strong, but she is vulnerable, and I will not have any man wrong her or take advantage of her in any way, ever again.” August nods but doesn’t get a chance to speak, “Whatever it is that you think you feel for her or whatever you’re doing with her, end it.”

“I can’t.”

“Excuse me?” No one usually dares to tell Stephen Parker ‘No,’ and they certainly do not disregard what he says about his family.

August shakes his head, “I can’t do that.”

He huffs, “You can, and you will.”

“I love her.” His admission takes them both by surprise. He hadn’t intended to say it aloud; he hasn’t even said it to himself.

“What?” They both jump, and August stands, shocked to see Y/N standing there with a glass of water and a handful full of ginger candy.

“I—uh,” He has no idea how to react, and her expression is unreadable.

Before they can say anything, Parker speaks up, “I need a drink,” Y/N looks at him but still can’t muster up any words.

She stands there wholly frozen, “Did you just say you love me?”

“Yes,” August speaks shyly.

“No, you don’t.”

He’s taken aback, “Sorry?”

“Shut up,” Y/N snaps at him.

Parker addresses Walker, “Good Luck,” then leaves the study, allowing them to have a moment to themselves.

Auguste clears his throat, “Well, now you’re just being rude.”

“No, I mean, What?” She finally sets down her glass and candy on a table beside him.

“What do you mean ‘what’?” His arms slightly raise in frustration.

“We barely know each other.” While this is true to an extent, August is a studier. He learns until there is nothing left to learn.

“You’re forgetting that I know everything about you. That’s the job,” Y/N picks at the polish in her nails, “I don’t expect you to feel the same. I don’t,” he stops and tries to think of the right thing to say, “I’m not someone who, who just allows himself to do these things.”

“I’m not sure what to say.”

“You don’t have to say anything. You can tell me to fuck off if that’s what you want, but I’m still here to make everything as safe as I can, to make it safe for you. How I feel won’t get in the way.”

“I think, uh, I’m just going to go back to my room, ok?”

He nods, “ok.”

Y/N sits at the window seat in her bedroom, trying to take in everything. She was overwhelmed and couldn’t ignore it, not this time. Jack was missing, and he knew how to get to her. He knew how to hurt her in more ways than just physical. She tries to focus on the rain tapping on the window, but nothing can drown out the sound of August’s voice. I love her. And in classic form, he knocks on her door. She opens it to find a somewhat disheveled looking August. His hair is in his eyes, his shirt is untucked, and he looks tired.

He sighs and begins to ramble; “I went into the system at 6 when my mother died. I graduated high school early, and went into the marines. I can speak French, Spanish, and Japanese,” he gives a small shrug, “I hate sweet potatoes,” he walks into her room, settling on the foot of her bed, “I’m a music snob, and I don’t know why. I have a mustache because I’m too tired to shave it. I’ve ignored relationships because I don’t want distractions. My whole life has been about a job. I have been left and alone in every sense of the word, and it’s mostly my fault.” He finally looks up to see Y/N in tears again, “I’m sorry, bun. I’m sorry. You know that?”

She welcomes his embrace when he goes to her. “I’m not crying because you love me,” He’s confused but can’t bring himself to let her go, “I’m crying because of everything else.”

“I will fix this, I promise.”

“Gin?” Their eyes go towards her door to find Jacob, who also looks like he’s seen better days. “Are you ok?”

She reluctantly pulls herself away to greet her brother. “I’ll be ok,” then it hits her, “wait, why are you here?”

“Steve called. He said it was best we come here until things settle down.” He nods toward August, her eyes landing back on the handsome yet pitiful looking man in her room. “Joey’s asking about you guys. I can tell him you’re asleep.”

She shakes her head, “No, no, I’d love to see him.” Y/N takes a deep breath and makes her way to the stairs as the two men follow her.

Joey smiles and holds up a picture he drew. It’s no doubt a sweet portrait of her an august in stick figure form, “Daddy said you and Mr. August were sad, this is for you!” She wraps her nephew in the tightest hug and kisses his forehead, “Why you sad, Mr. August?” Joey looks at him with such concern.

August Walker, a man who takes pride in not showing emotion, has tears in his eyes, “Sometimes things get a little sad is all.” Joey shuffles towards him and puts his arms up. He hesitantly picks the boy up and wonders what happens to us, when do we lose the sweetness that children have?

His small hand rests on August’s cheek,” Don’t be sad. I brought my trucks. You wanna play trucks?”

He pats his back, “I would love to.” Oh, how he would have loved to have been like Joey.

Y/N steps aside with her brother, trying not to melt at the sight of her sweet nephew, “Where’s the nanny?”

“She quit weeks ago. I told her I liked her but unfortunately, her girlfriend was not too happy about that.”

“Oh, sorry, how’s Joey handling it? He loved her.”

“Thanks to your video calls, you and Walker are all he seems to talk about these days.”

“Really?” She asks in genuine curiosity.

“Walker doesn’t come off as a kind person, but I guess you shouldn’t judge a book by its cover.”

“That’s for sure,” Jacob gives her a questioning look,

“So, what’s going on there?”

Y/N tries to play dumb, “Huh?”

“That shit’s not gonna work with me. What’s up with you and the soldier?”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

He rolls his eyes, maybe a trait that’s genetic, “You’re doing the whole I-don’t-need-anyone thing.” Y/N scowls, “I’m not going to pretend to understand what you went through, but I know it was hard.”

“Fine, I’ll talk to him later.”

He hits his shoulder with his own, “He must not be all that bad.”

He points toward August and Joey on the floor, where joey shows him all of his favorite trucks. “Daddy said you like my Y/N.”

“I do like your Y/N,” He trades him a yellow truck for a red one.

“You’re nicer than Jack.”

“Oh, I am?” August tries his hardest not to react.

“He never played trucks, and he made her cry.” His small finger points to Y/N.

“Was Jack ever mean to you or your daddy?”

He shrugs his little shoulders, “No, but he pushed me down at Uncle Steve’s birthday party and told daddy I fell.”

August can barely muster up words, “What?”

“He said I was in the way.” Joey shrugs it off, not realizing that the incident wasn’t an accident.

“I’ll be right back.” August smiles at him before stomping toward the siblings. “Did you know that mother fucker knocked Joey down?”

In unison, they (almost) shout, “What?”

“Joey just told me that Jack fucking Wayne pushed him down at a party Parker had.”

Jacob walks over to his son, “Joseph, did Mr. Wayne hurt you? Why didn’t you tell me he pushed you?”

Joey’s bright eyes become glassy with tears, just as most children’s do when asked such tense questions, “I don’t know.”

“It’s ok; I just wish I knew.” Jacob hugs his son and pokes his nose.

Finally understanding that something is wrong, Joey wipes his eyes, “Is he scary?”

All of them have a brief moment of heartbreak for this child, he’s having to learn that there are scary people in the world. Y/N sits with Jacob and her sweet nephew, “Sometimes people can be scary, but you don’t need to be scared of him. You know why?”

Joey smiles, “Cause Mr. August is here.”

She wasn’t going to answer with that, but he’s rights, “Yes, August is here.”

A familiar raspy voice comes from the hallway, “Where the hell are you guys?”

Oh, Annie to the rescue, they could all used her right now, “And so is your Yaya, go get her!” Annie adored this house and the children within it. She quickly and gladly took the role of Joey’s Grandmother. She loved him as if he was her own.

Joey runs, tripping over his toys, “I’m ok!” and hops back up to meet Annie. “Hi, Yaya!” They all can’t help but grin at the precious resilience of a child.

“Hello, my little love. I see you’ve been having some fun in here.” She spots the small trucks and dozens of crayons strewn about, “Why don’t you draw me something, eh?”

He nods and runs back to his disaster area. “Now, you, come over here.” August looks toward Y/N and expects her to walk forward, “Huh-uh, handsome, I’m talking to you.”

[Tagged: If you’d like to be tagged, just shoot me a message or ask!]

@igotkatiepowers @xxxkatxo @lunedelorient @heartfelt-pen @omgkatinka @viking-raider @summersong69 @hell1129-blog @lilzebub @mansaaay @henryobsessed @harrysthiccthighss @cavillshmavill @wheretheriversrunintothesea

#my posts #text

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oopshidaisyy · 4 years ago

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July Fic Recs

a little late but here we go!

praying for sparks in the dark (in the heart) by susiecarter "Him," the Bat repeats, in a low and deceptively soft growl. "I don't know who he was," the man says immediately, taking this cue and running with it. "I don't, honest. Honest, I swear to god. Nobody did. He just showed up, that's all. Asking about you, asking everybody what they knew, if they'd ever seen you, what you'd done. Metropolis," the man adds belatedly. "He had that look, you know? Clean. Said his name was—Carr, or Kemp, or something. Something like that." (Or: in a universe where Bruce becomes aware that someone's looking into the Batman, he goes to the effort to track down Clark Kent. It doesn't play out quite the way either of them expected.) Clark/Bruce, 20k, E

having let go forever the fallacy of ever being alone by gyzym This time there are shitty dogeared paperbacks Arthur wouldn't be caught dead reading piled on the coffee table, and half-finished crosswords tucked into the bookshelves, and the far wall is hung with that tapestry they'd bought in a shit part of London on a whim. This time they've spent all day fixing their sink and there's a mug of yesterday's tea sitting on top of the television and it's not just Arthur's living room at all. Arthur/Eames, 16k, E

A Sure Thing by lightgetsin "Okay," Peter says, and there's a rasp in his voice. "Repeat after me: theft is not foreplay." Neal/Peter, 3k, E

perfect strangers by susiecarter Batman and Superman are fucking. Bruce Wayne and Clark Kent are a great cover for fighting crime, and also might be dating. Bruce and Clark have no idea what they're doing; but they definitely aren't going to be able to talk themselves into stopping. Clark/Bruce, 15k, E

run to the river (dive in) by susiecarter MoS AU: With one successful fishing season already under his belt, Clark's finally getting comfortable on the Debbie Sue. He just wishes this guy Dixon hadn't signed on with them, because the way he watches Clark is really starting to give Clark the creeps. (Or: Bruce goes undercover looking for enhanced individuals before BvS instead of after—and finds one.) Clark/Bruce, 5k, M

Took Me By Surprise and Then by thehoyden After the second surgery in New York, Charles doesn’t anticipate anyone keeping vigil by his bedside — and certainly not Tony Stark. Charles/Erik, 5k, T

as to which may be the true by susiecarter It isn't difficult to go on in the wake of Superman's death. His resurrection, though, poses a problem—especially when it turns out there's no such thing as the right moment to explain that Martha Kent's obnoxious billionaire friend? Is also the man who tried really hard to shove a kryptonite spear through Clark's face. Clark/Bruce, 53k, M

Blue Devils by VillaKulla /blo͞o ˈdevəl/ noun, inf: a feeling of despondency, depression, or low spirits origins: Old American West Billy/Goody, 4k, M

Spree by thingswithwings "So, okay, Britta," Annie says, "this thing you gave me is seriously just a scrap of ripped looseleaf that says 'IOU one shopping spree at A Woman's Touch.' I do not even know what that is." Britta does an excited little leap in the air and claps her hands. "It's me deciding to help you discover your true womanhood." Britta/Annie, 4k, E

embroidery appreciation by Annie D Written for an anon on tumblr who requested Natasha and Tony as brotp, or Steve/Tony being schmoopy in love. This is a bit of both. Tony & Nat, 1k, T

and every map is blank by gyzym It's -- topography, Carlos thinks, of a person, of two people, it's so complicated, it's so much easier to just go it by yourself. He doesn't want to hurt Cecil but he doesn't want to keep any part of himself from Cecil, either, and it scares him that that's true, and it scares him to know it's what Cecil wants. Carlos/Cecil, 7k, T

trothplight by arriviste “What a metaphor,” Grantaire said bitterly. “I may dress your windows, but no more. We’ll greet each other in the streets, but you won’t admit me to your chambers or your hearts. I know all the words, all the empty speeches one needs to mouth for membership – I can rattle them off as well as you. Want me to prate Hébert or praise the Supreme Deity? Quote Rousseau or Marat? I can mum them; I don’t, because I don’t mean them, and because I’m an honest sceptic, I’m untrustworthy.” Enjolras/Grantaire, 4k, E

A-Wing, X-Wing, Y-Wait, B-Mine (Please) by ester_inc Finn keeps finding himself in situations where – no, wait, let's start over. Poe keeps ending up shirtless, nearly shirtless, or soaking wet, and somehow Finn is always there when it happens. The universe is either taunting him with what he can't have or rewarding him for good behavior, and Finn can't decide which is more likely. Either way, he's emotionally unprepared for, oh, let's be honest here: Poe's entire existence. It's fine. No big deal. He's working on it. Finn/Poe, 7k, E

Just Give Me Moments by barricadeur Enjolras comes home from a protest to a not-empty apartment. --- "What happened?" Grantaire says. His other hand grips Enjolras's shoulder, as if to keep him from pulling back, but Enjolras is so tired that the energy necessary to break away seems monumental. He lets Grantaire inspect him, says only, "I hit my head." "On someone's fist?" Enjolras/Grantaire, 1k, T

The Rare Gift by triedunture The prompt was "Dean receives an . . . unusual . . . Christmas gift from Castiel." The gift turns out to be wings. Dean/Cas, 4k, M

i love you now like i loved you then (this is the road and these are the hands) by theappleppielifestyle Somewhere in their phone calls after Derry 2.0, Richie and Eddie had decided to finally take that road trip. Richie would fly in from LA, then they’d drive back there from New York. It’ll be just like it could’ve been, Richie had said once. (Or, Eddie and Richie resume.) Richie/Eddie, 6k, M

i guess i should say thanks or some shit believe it or not, charles has a well-thought-out moral philosophy. he doesn’t follow it. but he has thought it out. alternatively: charles and erik douche it up in amsterdam. Charles/Erik, 17k, M

this is your sword, this is your shield by susiecarter Post-BvS, Diana and Lois start to develop a habit of protecting each other. But sometimes habits become ruts, and every now and then it's a good idea to break out of them. (Or: a whole bunch of times Diana and Lois looked out for each other, plus the time Lois ended up feeling like it might be worth it to be just a little less careful.) Diana/Lois, 9k, T

Family Portrait, c. 1840, oil on canvas by littlerhymes Lestat's latest favourite is a painter. Lestat/Louis, 2k, T

get religion quick (cause you’re looking divine) by brinnanza So it was fine. Even if Crowley couldn’t love him, he clearly liked him well enough, and that was almost the same thing. It no doubt would have continued to be fine, or at least fine-adjacent, were it not for a narrowly averted apocalypse and several bottles of a really quite nice Riesling Aziraphale had found in the back room of his newly restored bookshop. Aziraphale/Crowley, 4k, G

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pynkhues · 5 years ago

Note

I’m sure you’ve already gotten a bunch of asks since Manny’s Crime King interview! I’m just like confused about him saying he’s enamored by her world but honestly like how is his different (besides his obvious commitment to the game) he lives in a nice loft, takes his kid to baseball, drives a fancy car, and plays tennis at the club. It’s not like he’s living the life of a thug. I guess I’m not getting the exact contrast of their worlds.

(Rest of my ask) I’m probably missing some obvious point here which is why I’m asking you lol helllppp

I do think Rio’s enamoured with Beth’s world, yes! I think that really boils down to the fact that while on paper Beth and Rio aren’t living dissimilar lives in terms of their roles as parents, and while they obviously now share parts of the criminal world, I do think the show is actually pretty specific in how it represents those worlds, particularly in terms of the masculine / feminine, and how a part of the curiosity around each other is in viewing one another as a key that both compliments their own world, while also unlocking the other’s one for them.

The gendering of spaces in storytelling – but particularly films and TV is, hilariously, a topic that I’m incredibly passionate about and have both written it a lot in my original work, and written about it a lot for magazines, journals and media sites (I’m actually writing an essay at the moment for a literary journal about LGBTQI cinema and how lesbian romances are highly domesticised [i.e. Portrait of a Lady on Fire, The Handmaiden, The Favourite, The Kids are Alright] while gay romances are usually very pointedly about keeping away from domestic spaces, moving and traveling [i.e. Brokeback Mountain, The Talented Mr Ripley, Moonlight, Midnight Cowboy, even Call Me By Your Name is heavily focused on being Americans abroad aka away from home] but that all feels like a different story, haha).

Luckily for me, Good Girls is actually about as obsessed with the gendering of spaces as I am. It’s a major, major throughline throughout the show for many of the characters, but particularly Beth and Rio, and their intrigue with the other’s spaces – her interest in his powerful, highly masculine one, and his with her deceptively innocent, strongly feminine one – is really central to their intrigue with each other more broadly.

So to talk about this, we probably need a little bit of context.

(Under a cut because this is literally 4,000 words)

Gendering Spaces in Cinema

It’s probably not a surprise to anyone here, but places and spaces in stories are about as gendered – if not more gendered – as they are in daily life. In particular, cinema’s visual and textual language has historically been very clear:

The inside is female. The outside is male.

This concept has really been around since the beginning of cinema but became very popularised through Westerns in the late 1920s onwards, and really underlined by war films particularly during propaganda cinema in WWII. Men are outside, battling the elements and other men, claiming land, building outwards, while women are at home – either literally or figuratively (if they’re actually out at war, like in the utterly fabulous So Proudly We Hail!, they’re at the ‘home base’ as nurses) – building inwards. Men protect the home while women create it.

Westerns feature these images very potently and very literally. Almost every single western dating back to the 1910s will have some combination of these two shots:

a) Woman at home, looking out into the wild:

b) Man leaving home, stepping out into the wild:

(These two stills are from John Ford’s The Searchers which is generally regarded as one of the greatest Westerns of all time. It’s………very racist and misogynistic, as many were and still are, but in terms of technicality and visual language, it’s a very well-made film, albeit not one I enjoyed).

The purpose at the time, of course, was steeped in historic sexism and invested in maintaining that culture, particularly westerns and war films which are heavily devoted to ‘macho’ narratives. Women were passive, men were active, but these images really set the stage for how the ideas of ‘space’ continues to exist in cinema. A fact that’s bolstered by broader social discourses that still exist today – schools, grocery stores, laundromats are inherently ‘female’ spaces because they are seen as an extension of the home, while police stations, car dealerships, warehouses, are inherently ‘male’ spaces because they’re about work, protecting and providing for a home, and being pointedly outside of that domestic space aka ‘the wild’. It’s not an accident that the girls are robbing grocery stores and day spas, but I’ll get back to that, haha.

These ideas of gendered spaces underpin everything we watch, no matter the genre.

Sure, these ideas can be subverted to varying degrees of effectiveness (often it’s steeped in my least favourite trope – the ‘not like other girls’ heroine), but you can’t subvert a trope without actually acknowledging it exists. Sometimes these subversions are done brilliantly too – like in Legally Blonde which was not just about Elle existing in a space that was quintessentially coded as male, but embracing her femininity and womanhood within that space; and often brutally too in films like Winter’s Bone, Room and The Nightingale which all brutalise women in ‘male spaces’ while simultaneously weaponizing female spaces against them – usually the home. The lead character of Winter’s Bone is going to lose her house unless her absent father shows up in court, the lead character of Room creates a home that is simultaneously a sanctuary and a mockery of a sanctuary to try and protect her son from reality and survive, the lead character of The Nightingale has her home invaded, her husband and baby murdered, and is horrifically raped within that home.

Hometown Horror: a divergence

This is a slight aside to where I’m going with this overall, but please indulge me, haha. I’m a big fan of horrors and thrillers, which explore this in a really stark way. In that, the invasion of a home or a domestic space – whether by ghost, demon or serial killer, is, generally speaking, synonymous with the invasion of a woman’s body and the violation of her as a person.

Films that focus on a female survivor or a ‘final girl’ are very generally focused on the invasion of her home as much as it’s focused on the invasion of her body. Think The Exorcist, Rosemary’s Baby, Scream, The Babadook, Hereditary, The Conjuring, Nightmare on Elm Street, Halloween, Panic Room. The violation of a woman’s home is the invasion of her, because cinema relies on over 100 years of movies telling us that a house and the woman who lives in it are symbolically the same thing.

Horror films that focus on men are very rarely centred in the home. It’s men travelling, or men visiting a woman’s home, or men who’ve been taken. Think of the first Saw movie which takes place in a mysterious basement, Hostel which is at a hostel, Dawn of the Dead at a shopping mall, An American Werewolf in London while two men are on holiday, The Evil Dead is in a cabin, Get Out is at his girlfriend’s family home.

There are exceptions, of course! Family home invasion films like The Purge, Funny Games and The Strangers are rooted in the violation of that home, but still. You’ll generally find that it manifests differently narratively speaking for men and women. Rear Window too takes place entirely in a man’s apartment – but it’s interesting to note that most of the ‘horror’ comes from him spying on somebody else’s home – notably a woman’s, The Descent too is very much about women and is set during cave diving. Still! These are all exceptions, not the rule.

Good Girls and Gendered Spaces

Every single space in Good Girls is gendered. It’s actually one of the things I seriously love about the show because it’s thoughtfully done, and it is deliberate. We know it is, because they tell us explicitly in the writing multiple times. I mean – hell, think of Ruby telling us (well, telling Rio, haha) way back at the end of 1.04 when they’re selling him on the idea of washing cash through Cloud 9 – “Nobody thinks twice about a woman buying her husband a TV or new tires for the minivan.” A store like that is gendered, and Ruby’s reinforcing it by saying it’s a place women go to build a home. It hasn’t been weaponized yet - - but our girls know how to weaponize it. They’re playing on the fact that people think women’s spaces are effectively impotent, and they’re telling Rio – and us as an audience – that they’re going to exploit it.

This is an idea the show revisits frequently. Women’s spaces are – both in life and in storytelling – spaces that are viewed as passive because they are representative of women, and what the show is – I believe – very invested in, is showing how those spaces are fundamentally active. If you want a house to represent a woman – well, okay. Then you get to see what’s under the rug, y’know?

I’m going to come back to the home thread – because I really do think it’s very important, and I think the way the show depicts people in those spaces (and invading those spaces) is significant – but it’s not just homes that are looked at in this way. The show is very specific about having feminine spaces and masculine spaces, with only a few in between (and usually those in-between spaces are very specifically for Stan and Ruby, showing just how in-sync they are with each other and how much they operate within a shared space). Beyond the women’s homes, there are the kids’ schools, Fine & Frugal (very important here to note that Annie emasculates Boomer in what is an associated female space and that he retaliates by attempting to rape her in her own home aka not only another female space, but a space that is symbolically Annie, something he repeats later with Mary Pat – a violation on essentially every character, narrative and symbolic level, again), the waxing salon, Nancy’s day spa, Jane’s dance recital (and actually the physical object of the dubby – being a highly feminine object lost in a very masculine space), and already what we know of s3, with Ruby being at a nail salon and Beth being at a paper / card store.

The show also has very masculinized places – I’d argue Boland Motors is one of the biggest ones – very much about ‘boys and their toys’, which is why Beth pointedly feminising it when she takes over is so significant and symbolically indicative of Beth’s claiming of that space; but also spaces like the police station, the drug dealer’s house in 2.07, the hotel suite Boomer briefly occupies, even to an extent the church. When the girls are in these spaces, there’s a distinct feeling of encroaching on territory that isn’t theirs, or being in spaces that they don’t belong in. This is often done as a two-hander too – the police station and the church Ruby doesn’t belong in anymore, not necessarily as a woman, but as a criminal.

Nothing though, from a technical standpoint, is more masculine than the spaces that are shown to be Rio’s. From the warehouse spaces to the bar to his loft to his car, Rio’s ‘places’ are distinctly masculine and generally placed in direct contrast with Beth’s femininity. But I’ll come back to that point too.

Home, Identity and Invasion

Almost every female character on this show has a very defined domestic space, from Beth, Ruby and Annie, to Mary Pat, Marion and Nancy. These spaces are representative of not just who they are, but who they are as women, and really comes to routinely represent the interior lives of these characters. This is probably the clearest in 2.09 when Beth is uncharacteristically messy following Dean taking their kids, and in 2.06, when Beth and Dean switch roles, and Dean is incapable of maintaining that domestic space because it’s not his. But let’s not start there.

Let’s start with Annie.

Annie’s apartment is fun, feminine (but not overly so), youthful, sweet, and generally a bit of organized chaos. It’s often underequipped – there are several mentions of the pantry being understocked – but it’ll always do in a pinch. More than anything though, Annie’s apartment comes to life when her son is in it. She’s happiest when he’s there, and when he’s not, her loneliness drives her to pulling people into the space with her, whether that’s the electronics guy, Greg, or Noah.

This is particularly significant when Annie’s forming bonds with people. The show has symbolically relied very heavily on Annie’s moments of vulnerability and connection being grounded in her apartment or an extension of it – usually her car. There was her reconnecting with Greg over YouTube videos in s1, there was Nancy and her talking about pregnancy in 2.02, and there was Noah settling in across season 2. These are all substantial moments in terms of Annie’s interior life that are represented through her home – she lets them all in. Which is why it’s significant what people do when they are in. Particularly the show marrying Noah getting to know Annie while simultaneously rifling through her belongings, trying to know specific things about her.

This is only reiterated by Noah’s scenes with Sadie later in the season – always at home, reiterating just how much Noah’s invaded Annie’s life, how much he’s inside her, how much he’s using everything and everyone who’s important to her, and how much he’s a threat to all of that too.

Ruby and Stan are a little different. Ruby’s house is the only one that’s genuinely shared with somebody, and the show represents this across the board – Ruby and Stan wear similar colours, the house feels like theirs, and the parts of their worlds that are separate are still frequently pretty defined by each other (even when Ruby’s acting away form Stan, the show makes it clear that Stan’s at the forefront of her mind, and vice versa). This indicates their partnership, but the house really still is symbolically tied to Ruby. This is particularly represented by the effect of having Turner in the house, but, more than that, it’s underlined symbolically by Turner arresting Stan at home. If the home symbolically carries the meaning of the woman, Turner arresting Stan there is starkly about Turner taking Stan away from Ruby. That image would not hold the same weight if he was arrested at, say, the park or the police station, because the locations don’t hold the same meaning.

It’s also why there’s significance in Stan and Turner’s showdown narratively speaking happening at the police station. It needs to, because symbolically it should occupy a masculine-coded space, because that showdown isn’t just about who they are as people, but who they are as men.

Beth and Beth’s house is very, very different to Annie and Ruby’s, and holds a more substantial narrative and symbolic function. From the very first episode, the potential of losing her house is key to her arc, and key to her identity as a character.

Beth is a lot of things, but a recurring image with her as a character is that she is invested in projecting a dated idea of ‘perfect womanhood’, and, within that, actually pretty perfectly creates parts of it for herself. For Beth – as somebody who was a housewife for roughly twenty years – her house really is her in every sense of the word. Every threat to that house, every disruption, every wrinkle, every intrusion, every theft, every invitation is personal. Dean might have at least two rooms in the Boland House, but that space is Beth’s on almost every symbolic level. When people pop into it, it’s a direct invasion of her.

This is something that the show has revisited time and time again, particularly when it comes to Beth’s bedroom. When people want to be close to Beth, that’s where they go. Annie slept there across season one when she was vulnerable and lonely, despite Beth telling her to go home, Jane broke into Beth’s closet there when she felt she was being neglected, Dean’s constantly trying to sidle into it (and – pointedly – only really in it when they’re fighting and Beth is revealing something / letting him in on something – that they’re out of money, that she has Rio’s money, that she knows about his affairs). When Beth has been at her most vulnerable, she lets Ruby and Annie into it. That said, the only character who’s been explicitly invited into it has been Rio – significantly both in fantasy, and in the show’s reality.

It’s not just about inviting people in though – when she kicks somebody out of it, the act is loaded.

She’s not just pushing somebody out of a space, she’s pushing them out of her.

It’s not just her bedroom of course (although I do think that’s the most significant space on perhaps the whole show). Rio and Turner between them have regularly invaded Beth’s living room, dining room, her kitchen, her yard. These are often distinctly tied with her doing something domestic and / or distinctly feminine. She’s bringing groceries home, she’s baking, she’s trying on jewellery, she’s mothering her children. Symbolically, this is often when Rio and Turner both are at their most masculine and their most threatening, which just serves to underline the invasion of Beth’s space.

It’s not just the girls though, as I said above. Female domestic spaces on this show are significantly coded as belonging to women, even if they share those spaces. Think about Nancy and Greg’s house – which is Nancy’s space, not Greg’s, and throughout season 1, Annie was pitted as the outsider to that. She’s a smear of hair oil on Nancy’s perfect couch. It’s made all the starker when Nancy kicks Greg out, and when Annie helps Nancy give birth in that house – a distinctly female, intimate act, that not only operates as a significant feminization of that space, but also about Annie fighting for Nancy to let her in again.

These spaces all keep secrets for the women they belong to too – Mary Pat’s husband’s dead body, Boomer’s very much alive one – because, again, symbolically, they are these women.

Rio’s loft is a really interesting one to look at in this context, because not only is it hyper masculine, but the show underlines that it does not hold the same significance that the girls’ places have for them. Beth does not learn Rio by being inside him – something made stark through their game of twenty questions. In fact, being in Rio’s loft, in his space, only serves to point out how much Beth doesn’t know him. Not only that, but Beth’s inability to lose her house (which is really central to her arc) is paralleled exactly with how easily Rio can separate from his.

The domestic space is not male.

Rio exists outside of it.

Beth x Rio and the Feminine x Masculine

Rio and Beth are basically at polar opposites of the masculine / feminine spectrum, and it’s something that this show often casts in a really stark light through dialogue, visual language, character coding and symbolism.

Beth epitomizes the old archetype of femininity and the female world in a way that I don’t think Annie and Ruby do (although I do think Ruby does in some respects). This is coded into almost every part of her character – from her long history of domestic servitude and marital submission (letting Dean control their finances, not working, keeping the house, etc.) to her fertility (four children!) to the way she dresses in floral, bakes, to certain traits, namely her nurturing tendencies, overt empathy and guilt (not being able to kill Boomer). Even in terms of the casting – Christina is somebody who has a very distinctly feminine body.

On the other hand, Rio, in many ways, epitomizes the old idea of masculinity and the masculine world. He’s coded that way almost as much as Beth is coded as feminine – he’s physically strong (beating up Dean, holding Beth up while they were having sex), assertive, dominant, capable and collected. That’s not even touching on the fact that the golden gun is incredibly phallic, haha.

The show loves to place Beth’s femininity in direct contrast with Rio’s masculinity in a way that it doesn’t do with the other girls or – in fact perhaps more notably – with Beth and Dean (if anything, Dean’s frequently emasculated around Beth, but that feels like a whole other thing, haha), and it does this frequently, and often even in the same shot.

Most notably, think of her pearls on the warehouse door handle:

Their cars parked side-by-side:

Her necklace, his gun:

Her light, his darkness:

Her floral, his solid colours:

Interestingly though, these things are very rarely in competition or combative (although occasionally they are – Rio trying to use her femaleness and his maleness / their sexuality to literally bend her over a table in 2.06 being the clearest example of that). Generally speaking, the show’s visual language though shows us how these things compliment each other. They occupy different gendered spaces, so they can ‘crime’ in different ways – Beth using the big box stores, the secret shoppers, robbing the day spa, are all things that are highly feminised, and give Rio by proxy access to a world he ordinarily wouldn’t (albeit it’s not always a world he’s interested in – like it wasn’t with the botox), and the reverse of that is that Rio gives Beth access to spaces that are highly masculinised and that she ordinarily wouldn’t have access to (again, not always a world she’s interested in either). It’s why when they’re working together, and acknowledging they have different departments, they actually become something really whole, comprehensive and effective.

It’s the exploration of this that I find really intriguing generally, and particularly a thread that I think is reiterated where Beth’s usually at her worst and her most ineffective when she’s trying to emulate Rio’s masculinity. We saw that at the end of 1.10 and the start of 2.01, and I think we saw it at the tail end of season 2 too. When Beth’s succeeding, she’s typically doing something that revels in the strength and power and the underestimation of femininity and female spaces, and turns places that are typically viewed as passive into active ones.

The Secret Shoppers (which worked briefly! And fell apart because she couldn’t handle Mary Pat. Notably almost every scene with them was inside Beth’s house):

The day spa heist:

The Boland Motors takeover / reclamation that focused on feminising the place:

Pretending to be somebody’s mum to get into the kids’ space (which would’ve worked if Beth and Ruby hadn’t started fighting):

Breaking into Rio’s loft:

Again, this is something that seems to be being teased out already in s3 with the paper store and the nail salon, and I’m sure we’ll see it coming up again and again beyond that.

But yes! Your question, haha. I think Rio is enamoured with the strong, feminine space and the untapped female world that Beth exists in, and the ways that she is actively capable of utilising her femininity and her womanness in a way that is completely impossible for him. She can manipulate these spaces – either those already female, or those she makes female aka Boland Motors – in ways that he can’t, and in a way that, at the end of the day, lines his pocket, in the same way that giving her access to his powerful, masculine world lines hers. It’s market development, y’know? But it’s also something that could be a true and successful partnership if they could stop, y’know, playing games and trying to kill each other, haha.

I think it’s worth noting here too that the show has shown us explicitly that Beth absolutely gets off on Rio being highly masculine, and while I think Rio absolutely gets off on Beth being a boss bitch too, it’s also important to note how he responds to her when she’s displaying vulnerability in a way often defined as very feminine – namely crying – and how that display of femininity not only affects him, but often makes him want to touch her (and more and more, follow through on touching her).

Basically I think they’re as obsessed with the contrast between the two of them as we are, haha.

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snk-smartpass · 5 years ago

Text

Good Night, Dear and Sweet Dreams Vol. 10 Mikasa Ackerman

"…You don't smile, do you, Mikasa?"

In the few moments at the Survey Corps* barracks before sleep, Sasha tilted her head and stared at Mikasa.

"It's not like I'm doing consciously."

"Why not try making the biggest smile you can, just once? Like this, a big old grin!" Sasha said, sticking fingers into both sides of Mikasa's mouth and forcing it to go as far as it could. Before Mikasa could brush her arms away, Annie mumbled something as she passed by.

"Keep it up and you're getting sliced."

"Eeek!"

Sasha pulled her hands back in a hurry.

"We all have our own times when we feel like smiling. Why don't you leave her alone?" Annie continued.

"I know, but…"

When we feel like…smiling…

As Mikasa wiped her mouth, she thought about her facial expressions.

******

It's true…I feel like I rarely laugh out loud, too, but…

It was after lights out now, but Mikasa's mind continued to be occupied with what just happened as she stared at the ceiling.

When did that start…?

While it never got in the way of her training, there did seem to be something different about it now that it had been specifically pointed out. You could simply call it being asocial if you wanted to, but Mikasa had never thought of herself in that Wai.

I feel like…I was different as a child…

With her mind tired and unfocused from training, she muttered the following and closed her eyes.

"…When…did I smile…?"

******

"Mikasa. Help out with the vegetable harvest, okay?"

Mom!

The bright sky stretched to the horizon. Mikasa knew immediately that she was a child because of her low vantage point. The young Mikasa wore a straw hat and a dress.

She heard a nostalgic voice call out to her.

"Look what I got. We're having poultry tonight."

"That's amazing, Ackerman."

My father, and…Mr. Yeager?

She was at home with her parents, but when she saw the people whose care she would later come under, Mikasa felt that something was strange.

"Hey, Eren! You just nibbled on dinner, didn't you!"

"Ow! Why would you hit me over that?"

Eren! And Mrs. Yeager, too.

Mikasa found it even more strange when she looked back toward the fields, but it was a joyful sight nevertheless. The people who loved and cared for her were living their regular lives.

"Heh heh… I think it's fine, it shows he's an energetic boy."

"Hehe…"

Her father's laughter was contagious, and Mikasa found a laugh coming from her mouth, too.

"What's your problem, Mikasa? Why are you laughing when people are getting mad at me?!"

"Hehehehe… Well, it's just…!"

A broad smile appeared on the face of the pure girl as she laughed with everyone, still ignorant of the smell of blood and the cruelty of the world.

It'd just that my whole family is here!

******

"…Hey, get someone who's good at drawing, we need a portrait of this."

"Really, Ymir? Mikasa's right in the middle of having a nice dream. There's still some time before we have to get up, so just leave her alone."

Mikasa slight grin was visible on her sleeping face. The others looked on in surprise as they whispered to one another.

"That must be a really nice dream. Maybe it's about meat."

"She's not you, Sasha."

"But that's the kind of expression anyone would have when they see their favorite thing, right?"

"Her favorite thing, huh… I wonder what that might be."

The answer to that question could only be found in the girl's dreams and her heart. As the sun's rays began to make their way into the barracks, they slowly began to wipe away her brief, blissful fantasy.

SOURCE: Attack on Titan: Short Stories

*There might be a little error here by the Official Translator, Ko Ransom. The Fan Translation by Yusenki [ LINK ] translated the word as "Cadets' Domitary" and the presence of Annie shows that this story occurs during their Training Corps days.

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kamccormickhnd1b · 4 years ago

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A New Photographer

Annie Leibovitz a photographer best known for her engaging portraits—particularly of celebrities—which often feature subjects in intimate settings and poses. Leibovitz took painting classes at the San Francisco Art Institute as an undergraduate, but found herself deeply attracted to photography after taking pictures on a family vacation. She switched her studies to photography, and began working on commission for Rolling Stone while still in school in the early 1970s, when the magazine was in its first years of publication. At age 23, Leibovitz became the chief photographer of the magazine; over the next 10 years, she photographed figures such as Bob Dylan, the Rolling Stones, and a particularly famous photograph of John Lennon and Yoko Ono, just hours before Lennon was killed in 1980.

In 1983, Leibovitz became a photographer for Vanity Fair, and encouraged many other celebrity subjects to choose poses revealing the intimate, playful, and expressive aspects of their personalities; portraits included celebrities in the nude, in stunning gowns, covered in paint, and in tanks of water or baths of milk, often with dramatic lighting.

Her photographs have been published in several books, and have been used in many ad campaigns. Her work was the subject of a major exhibition at the National Portrait Gallery in Washington, D.C.; she was the first woman to receive a solo exhibition at the museum. Leibovitz currently lives and works in New York.

This photo I rather liked is of Mick Jagger, in Buffalo, New York, 1975, by Annie. I liked this image because it takes on a rather different image of Mick Jagger that most people think of when they hear his name. I think of Mick Jagger as a big musician with a confident attitude, and to me, this image displays a slight childlike appearance.

This image is Arnold Schwarzenegger, in Malibu, California, 1988, by Annie Leibovitz.

I liked this image because of how mighty Arnold Schwarzenegger is posed. Like many people, when I think of him as an actor, I think of Terminator, where he walks around in leather jackets and rides motorbikes. I liked this image because it's a big change from that main image people know of him.

I really liked this image of Whoopi Goldberg, in 1984, by Annie Leibovitz.

I know Whoopi Goldberg for many movies in my childhood, such as Sister Act, The Lion King, Bogus and Ghost. Each time I saw her, I loved how full of life and energy she is, she was one of the actresses I fell in love with because of how down to earth she is. To me, she never let fame and wealth get to her and continued to work hard to achieve her goals. I liked this image because I felt it captured her personality.

#annie leibovitz #photographers that inspire me #inspiring photographers #portraiture #celebrities #seeingthelight #seeing the light #preproduction #pre production #pre-production

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allytem · 5 years ago

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Talent Swap AU (Withering Hope Survivors ONLY)

Before I continue, go follow @jadespadegames the author! Also, SPOILERS (probably but still look out) for Withering Hope ahead! (Most probably) Keep reading with caution!! https://www.wattpad.com/231608808-withering-hope-dangan-ronpa-minecraft-youtubers << Link to read btw! Alright! Continue on!

So I was talking to the people in the Withering Hope discord and mentioned a talent swap for the survivors! Its a weird idea because “Why would you want to make a talent swap au? Because that isn’t original-” Come on its a Talent Swap AU! Talent Swaps are F U N! So here is the original owners of the talents, then the next one is the swap. So you guys won’t get confused! ^^ Original: Seto: Ultimate Sorcerer Tyler: Ultimate Actor Annie: Ultimate Archer Bodil: Ultimate Traceur Bonks: Ultimate Artist Talent Swap: Seto: Ultimate Archer Tyler: Ultimate Sorcerer Annie: Ultimate Artist Bodil: Ultimate Actor Bonks: Ultimate Traceur A little thing I mentioned in that specific server was that not only the talents get swapped, but the person with the newly swapped talent will get the original owner’s personality. So basically is a pseudo Personality Swap AU as well but hush- Here’s the personality swap summarized! Seto: Us WH readers know that Annie is a bit... harsh at some times. This gave me an idea that Seto’s sass would amplify. We also know that Annie is generally known to be a bit of a fighter at some times so his fight or flight actions would definitely activate. Also I do want to mention that he still has magic though his current magic after the swap is low level.

Tyler: If we observe Seto’s behaviors in the book we know that he is a bit cold and secretive. This applies to Tyler for the swap. He shows less emotion and keeps to himself (about his secrets, personal life, etc.) sometimes but still is talkative. His motive now is to (KILL nah jk jk he would never kill anyone) reverse the swap and get everything back on track. Also he now big brain so ye.

Annie: So we know that Annie is sort of a fighter and Bonks is a calm person. So Annie’s temper mellowed out A TON. She doesn’t have a tendency to draw actual people. She likes to draw more landscapes and scenery. Since her temper mellowed out, she is technically a mini therapist(??) for the group. She would help them calm down. If she was drawing the RIP portraits of her friends I think she would draw a scenery the people who died liked in my opinion.

Bodil: Ok so you know how he was basically crying (and most likely crying inside as well) the majority of the time, and more cautious? Well throw that shit out the window bc he is now confident in himself so YAY! Still he is SHY but more in a Stage Fright way. Would tend to voice act more tho- He was the first one Tyler went to so Bodil could help Tyler resolve this yada yada you get the idea. Also can we just agree that Bodil being happy for once in this story is actually great?

Bonks: Oh boy here we go. Her happy-go-lucky(ish) personality is nearly gone and she lost her confidence. She still wants to help a bit though. He new traceur skills definitely help her get away from stuff “scary” easily. Smiles a bit less more (poor bby) but can still fight! All she wants to do is be happy and make people happy okie. She tries her best and thats all we need! Also she wants to see Brice again more than ever uwu. I made designs but I’ll probably post them another time lmao. Aight see ya!

-AllyTEM

#Talent Swap AU #Withering Hope #AU #setosorcerer #munchingbrotato #vengelife #bodil40 #deceptibonks #Seto's design is done but I'm struggling on Ty;er's design rn. Idk how to make his design hgnnnnnnnnn

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marymccartneyphotos · 5 years ago

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The McCartney Family Album

April 6, 2008 -- The Guardian

To mark the 10th anniversary of Linda McCartney's death, Paul and daughter Mary have selected the best of her photographs for a revealing exhibition. Here, Mary tells Sean O'Hagan why the pictures are so special to her.

When I ask Mary McCartney to describe her mother's photographic style, she thinks for a long moment and says: 'She approached photography the way she approached everything else - with quiet confidence.' You can see that in the photographs spread out before us on the table of the west London members' club where McCartney has met me to talk about a forthcoming exhibition of her mother's work. The show, which opens at the James Hyman Gallery on 25 April, is the first major retrospective of Linda McCartney's photography, and has been timed to coincide with the 10th anniversary of her death from breast cancer. The photographs have been selected by Paul and Mary McCartney, with input from Hyman, from 4,000-odd contact sheets.

'It's an incredible archive,' says Mary, herself a respected fashion and portrait photographer. 'Mum never stopped taking photographs, though it may have seemed that way to the public. It's about 30 years' worth of work. The only gap is around the time when Stella and I were born when, as she said, she was up to her neck in nappies. Otherwise she always seemed to have a camera in her hand.'

To many people Linda McCartney was known, first and foremost, as the wife of a Beatle, and then as a vegetarian-cum-animal rights campaigner. Yet it is her career as a photographer, which waned as she embraced motherhood, music and activism, that is her lasting legacy.

'She was an instinctive photographer and always unobtrusive,' continues Mary. 'She wasn't that interested in straight portraiture or art photography - the images she caught were nearly always intimate, relaxed and oddly revealing.'

You can see that intimacy in her shot of John Lennon and Paul McCartney working on lyrics in the corner of a recording studio. Both are immersed in the task, but obviously having a good time. McCartney, his biro poised over a sheet of paper, may just have amended the lyrics. Lennon obviously approves. They seem almost conspiratorial and to have the intimacy of a long-term couple. Which, in a way, they were.

With the Beatles, Linda's access was assured. Before she met Paul, though, she had worked with many of the icons of the Sixties pop scene, including Jimi Hendrix, whom she famously captured mid-yawn. He didn't seem to mind.

'It was a different time,' says Mary, 'before PRs and image makers took over. Back then, she told me, the manager would often be a friend of the band. If you were cool and they liked you, you could friend hang out.'

Mary's younger sister Stella, now a celebrated fashion designer, is in one of the most intriguing family snapshots. It was taken at Paul McCartney's cottage in Scotland, near the Mull of Kintyre, which he famously hymned on one of Wings's more mawkish songs. Paul balances on a fence in dressing gown and slippers. He is watching with some concern his young son James, who has just leapt off the bonnet of the family Land Rover. Immune to the drama, Stella is kneeling on the grass in the foreground, immersed in some private reverie.

'That's Poppy, our family dog,' says Mary, pointing at a pooch in the background. There is also a sack of logs, or maybe potatoes, in the foreground near Stella. It is a detailed photograph but intricately composed: the dark, looming cottage on the right of the image, the fence that arcs away to the horizon, the tall figure of Paul echoed by what appears to be a ring of standing stones in the background on the left.

It is also a perfectly rendered moment, a deceptively casual portrait of a family caught up in one of the small dramas of the everyday. The age is given added resonance by the fact that it is a glimpse into the private life of the McCartney family at a time in the early Seventies when Paul had fled the media-fuelled madness that attended the Beatles, and by the fact that Linda is the invisible, guiding presence.

'I love that photograph,' says Mary. 'It's so weird - the dog, my brother jumping into the air, and Stella in a world of her own. I could look at it for ages. It's not set up at all; it's all about watching and timing. I bet she didn't even change the lens to take it, just used the same old 50mm lens she always did. That's what I mean about instinctive. There's a faith that it will be alright and it is. She just gets it.'

She stares at it some more, and the photographer in her gives way to the loving daughter. 'We used to walk that fence all the time to see how far we could go before we fell off. So it has all those memories, too. Our lives are mapped out in our mum's photographs. I found out her and Dad's story just by looking through the contact sheets: her rock'n'roll stuff, then her photographs of the Beatles, then her meeting Dad. It's like her diary, really, a record of her life.'

Linda Louise Eastman began her career as a photographer almost by accident. While working as a receptionist for Town & Country magazine in Manhattan in the mid-Sixties, she picked up an invite for a press party on a boat on the Hudson. It was for the Rolling Stones, newly arrived in America. She charmed the bad boys of rock as she later charmed Hendrix and Jim Morrison.

Soon afterwards, she forsook the genteel concerns of Town & Country for the more earthy delights of the Fillmore East, a celebrated but grungy New York rock venue, where she became the house photographer, capturing live images of Bob Dylan, Janis Joplin, the Doors and the Who. Before Annie Leibovitz became Rolling Stone magazine's favourite snapper, Linda was the first woman photographer to have her work on the cover - a portrait of Eric Clapton.

'Mum liked doing music work when it was all free and easy,' Mary says, 'but when the lawyers and the accountants took over, she lost interest. She was independent always. She did it on her own terms or not at all. Plus, she had children. Children take over your life.'

Contrary to received wisdom, Linda Eastman was not an heir to the Eastman Kodak empire, but she did come from wealthy American stock. Her father Lee was a music-business attorney, while her mother, Louise Sara Lindner, inherited the Lindner department-store fortune. She died in an aeroplane crash in 1962, when Linda was just 20, precipitating in her daughter a lifelong aversion to flying.

'I think Mum and Dad were close because they both lost their mothers when they were young,' says Mary. 'It was one of the things that bonded them. You could glimpse it when certain songs came on the radio, and they'd both be suddenly sad at the same time. I also think it's what made them so family-oriented.'

Family life, one suspects, is also what grounded Paul McCartney after the craziness of the Beatles years - though blissful domesticity also seemed to soften his musical brain. For a long time Linda stopped being a professional photographer to become a musician of sorts with Wings, and had to contend with the wrath of Beatles fans who blamed her and Yoko Ono - but mostly Yoko - for the fall in quality in both Paul and John's solo work. She later admitted that she sometimes sang out of tune on early Wings songs.

Paul met Linda in the famed Bag O'Nails club in London in May 1967, where the new rock aristocracy hung out, and where she was taking shots of Georgie Fame for a feature on Swinging London. That same week, they met again when the Beatles unveiled their Sergeant Pepper album at a party in their manager Brian Epstein's Belgravia pad. In September 1968 Paul asked Linda to fly to London for a date. They married six months later. Mary was born in August 1969. On the back of her father's first solo album, McCartney, she is the curious infant peeking out of her father's jacket straight at her mother's lens.

'It's a beautiful moment, isn't it?' Mary says. Does she remember much about her childhood in Scotland? 'Oh God, yeah! I remember we'd go off exploring a lot, Stella and me, and we didn't have to be watched all the time.' It's a revealing memory, a reminder that they were still the children of one of the most famous pop stars in the world and had to be protected accordingly.

How big an influence is her mother on her own photographic style? 'I'm not sure. It was more her attitude I admired. She was feisty in her own way, but not in a big, in-your-face way. I suppose she was quietly persuasive. It took me a long time to even get to that point. I used to be so green when I started, almost apologetic. I'm more like her in the way I approach my personal projects: just me and the camera and a few rolls of film. She gave me loads of advice all the time and I really miss that, chatting and arguing over the contact sheets. I remember when I used to moan about missing a great moment, a great photograph, she'd say: "Oh, don't worry, it's in your soul camera." I think she really believed that.'

Was it hard to be the child not just of famous parents, but parents who were seen as alternative types - hippies, vegetarians, animal rights activists? 'Well, my friend Josie used to call us hippy convoy kids,' she laughs. 'We were tomboys, that was down to Mum. She was a bit anti-authority, a bit rebellious. At the local comprehensive in Rye I tried to blend in but Mum and Dad would turn up in the Land Rover with the rainbow-stripe fabric on the seats. The rock hippy parents! I did the whole thing of being embarrassed as a teenager. I'd look at her odd stripy socks and go: "You're not going out dressed like that, Mum!" Now I think it's beautiful. Like the way she cut her own hair. It's quite cool, really.'

There is a powerful self-portrait of Linda towards the end of her life in Francis Bacon's studio. I ask Mary if this was the last image taken of her mother before she died. 'No,' she says haltingly. 'I think I took the last photographs of her. I was working on the press pictures for her cookbook. I think the very last one was a close-up where she is looking deep into the lens. Really intimate and poignant. The thing is,' she says, tears welling up, 'I don't think she ever saw it.'

As she composes herself, she sorts through the images. 'That's the thing about photographs,' she says. 'They are wonderful reminders of things, but they also carry memories, sadness.'

It must have been an emotional experience to sort through her mother's archive for the show. 'In one way it was, but in another it was satisfying. Me and Dad have a proper grown-up relationship now. I feel I was a kid for so long, but now we have both been through a lot. We're both divorcés, for a start,' she says, laughing mischievously.

Though I had been warned that the words Heather Mills were not to be even mentioned, it seemed an opportune moment to utter them. Did you, I ask, gritting my teeth, ever do a portrait of her? 'No,' she says, looking perplexed at the very thought. 'No. Not really. I didn't.' Funny that, I say, but she does not respond. The silence, though, says enough. In more ways than one, she is her mother's daughter.

Linda McCartney's photographs will be at the James Hyman Gallery, 5 Savile Row, London W1 (020 7494 3857) from 25 April to 19 July

#mary McCartney #article #Photography #Linda McCartney #Paul McCartney #Stella McCartney #James McCartney #Heather Mills #family

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