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superhaught · 1 month

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You Hang the Stars in the Sky

Pairing: Reneé Rapp x Reader

Warnings: none, just fluff

Word Count: 1400

Reader replaces Towa Bird at the Oscars after party as Reneé's guest. Established relationship.

Just a short little thing I wrote while depressed post-Oscars because I like hurting my own feelings.

The only thing that was keeping you grounded in this moment was her pinkie finger twined tightly with yours. You stood side by side with your girlfriend as you waited in line to have your photos taken at the Vanity Fair red carpet for the Oscars after party.

Reneé, of course, looked stunning as always. She was in a gorgeous white dress with an intoxicating plunging neckline, black heels and her trademark simple, yet elegant, smokey makeup. She had hair extensions that went down to her mid-back and you had been absentmindedly playing with her hair all night, whenever you could.

You felt fine with how you were styled. You were in a flattering suit that complimented Reneé’s fit well, your hair done just so, light makeup to just conceal and brighten… but this whole experience was so far beyond anything that Nae and her team could have prepared you for.

All around you were blinding lights and flashing cameras, people yelling, celebs everywhere you looked. Even Reneé was feeling the anxiety and she was much more familiar with how to navigate these events than you were.

You knew that your life was going to flip upside down when you started dating, you weren’t foolish in that regard. Being with Reneé for the duration of her Europe tour the past month meant that people had been looking your way and starting to talk, but you felt assured by the fact that Reneé wasn’t pressed about making a big deal out of going public. She just wanted you two to live your lives together and she didn’t want you to worry about things that were outside of your control.

Europe was a whirlwind. What was once just a lifelong friendship between you and Reneé suddenly exploded into more shortly before she was getting ready to leave for tour. Her asking you to travel with her was a spur of the moment decision, but one that neither of you regretted in the slightest.

She had said that you were her saving grace during it. You took care of her when she was sick, made sure she was resting enough, encouraged her to say something about the less than ideal signs that had started showing up at the shows, and just generally loved her and looked out for her. You had said, “I’m just doing what anyone would do for you.” But she insisted that, “no, they wouldn’t.” There were depths to that statement that hit hard for you both, and you realized that she was just as deeply into this relationship as you were.

Now that you were back in the states and things between you had only gotten more serious, your famous girlfriend had warned you that the attention on you might get crazy really fast, and she was right.

You weren’t famous. You weren’t even famous-adjacent. You were just Reneé’s person. And now, you were standing on a red carpet with her and doing everything in your power to not completely dissociate.

You stood at her side and warped your arm around the small of her back as she gently settled her fingertips into the hair at the back of your neck, moving them in soothing circles, letting your hair twirl around her fingers to calm and ground you. You echoed the motion with your hand on her back, falling into old habits of wordlessly comforting each other through moments of anxiety.

You tried not to look dead in your face. You tried to look light and joyful and grateful. But every camera flash stung your eyes and every single photographer was screaming at your girlfriend in a way that made your blood boil.

You could hardly tolerate the way that these people speak to Reneé. And frankly, Reneé was much more prone to flying off the handle than you were so you couldn’t really fathom how she could get through things like this.

You glanced over at the blonde and quickly got an inkling for how she managed. She was dissociating, as best as she could anyway. She had learned to master the facial expression that wasn’t really a smile but still looked pretty. She kept her eyes loosely focused and her mouth relaxed. She ignored the shouting photographers and just took things at her own pace, posing the way that she wanted to, not really giving thought to whether the photographers got the shots that they wanted.

In that moment, you made the conscious decision to switch tactics. You gave up looking out at the cameras and just started to look at her. Everything got easier, then. Everything was easy when your focus was Reneé. You just looked at her gorgeous blue eyes and the highlight on her cheekbones and the softness of her lips and the slope of her shoulders and everything was all right. Your genuine smile formed on your face and when Reneé caught your gaze on her, she couldn’t help but smile genuinely, too, laughing sweetly at your expression and taking a second to nuzzle her face against yours as if no one else was there.

She guided you through the rest of the whole ordeal which you desperately needed. When you finally exited the red carpet area, you both took deep breaths and squeezed each others’ hands. You kept a hold of her hand and guided her down some steps, being careful to watch her footing so that the combination of her heels and floor-length dress wouldn’t trip her.

She sighed at the bottom of the staircase and finally spoke to you, now that it was just the two of you and her agent, “well, that will be a hard-launch if I’ve ever seen one.”

You raise an eyebrow, “what do you mean?”

She giggled, “at the end there, you were looking at me like I hang the stars in the sky. I don’t think anyone will be doubting our relationship anymore.”

You smile and nod your head, “ah…” suddenly, you felt panicked, “wait, is that okay? I didn’t-”

Reneé cut you off, “baby, of course it’s okay. Don’t worry,” she squeezed your hand, “I want everyone to know that you’re mine, and I’m yours…”

You nod again, feeling the anxiety ease a little, “okay… are you sure?”

Reneé stopped walking and turned her body to face you directly, pulling you forward by your hands so that you were close to one another, “I’m sure, c’mere.”

She reached out and placed a hand on the side of your neck. Shivers raced down your spine from the touch of her fingers and the cool metal of her rings. She pulled you in and kissed your lips gently, lovingly. You melted into her like always, your hands instinctively finding their home at her hips and lightly tugging her even closer to you. She smiled in the midst of the kiss and caressed her thumb over your skin, and rubbed her other hand along your upper arm.

She was everything. At the end of the day, she was all that mattered. You would brave any storm for her, and you’d never want anything about her career to change for your sake, but you were very lucky that Reneé valued your personal lives and your security as a couple a lot. You knew that she wouldn’t jeopardize what you had together, and you promised her that she would never have to choose between you and her work.

When the kiss you shared came to an end, you met each other's eyes and smiled adoringly at one another.

“I love you, Nae,” you state, “thank you.”

“I love you too. Thank you for being here with me.”

You nod and lift her hand to your lips, placing gentle kisses on the back of her hand and her knuckles. She smiled and fixed some of your hair, inducing a flood of butterflies in your stomach. She could always do that to you, without even trying. And when she was trying, forget it.

You met her eyes and said, “for the record, you do hang the stars in the sky.”

The blonde rolled her eyes at your cheesy line and then pecked a kiss onto your cheek, “you sap,” she joked, “now come on, let’s go party and enjoy ourselves, yeah? You up for it, baby?”

You crack a smile and nod, “of course, angel.”

#renee rapp #renee rapp fanfiction #real person fiction #fanfiction #my writing

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omgthatdress · 1 year

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Josefina’s Christmas dress is another one of my all-time favorites. It fits the popular silhouette of the day, and it appears to have been inspired by this German fashion plate:

While Mexican women of the 1820s mostly wore outfits that today would be considered ethnic wear, the fashion popular in Europe was still very influential. Looking through historical photographs of Mexican women throughout history, you see a lot of traditional and contemporary fashions being mixed:

The mantilla she’s wearing comes from Spanish tradition, originating in the 16th century. I’ve read both that it comes from the influence of Muslim head-covering, or Catholic tradition of women covering their head during prayer. It’s worn by Spanish women during formal occasions.

(The Met Museum)

Also, if you want to make some bizcochitos for yourself, here’s an official recipe from the state of New Mexico.

#1820s #Josefina #American Girl

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usafphantom2 · 3 months

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This Is What It Took To Defend A B-17 Bomber

Manning the .50 caliber machine guns aboard a U.S. Army Air Force heavy bomber was a tough and at times terrifying job.

Thomas NewdickPUBLISHED Jan 31, 2024 5:00 PM EST

World war two aircraft: B-17G Fortresses of the 381st Bomb Group in flight, Summer 1944.

(Photo by PhotoQuest/Getty Images

With the first episodes of Masters Of The Air having received considerable praise for their air combat sequences especially, the story of the U.S. Army Air Forces (USAAF) in World War II is very much back in the public consciousness. In its initial review of the series, The War Zone noted its attention to detail, especially in the terrifying scenes of B-17s flying into flak or being attacked by Luftwaffe fighters.

The combination of simulated concussive blasts, shrapnel, and machine gun rounds very effectively summon up the chaos of the daytime bomber offensive. Meanwhile, the frantic efforts of B-17 gunners to defend their aircraft from enemy fighters that seemingly press home attacks from every quarter are also a signature motif within this drama.

With that in mind, it’s worth looking at what went into these defensive measures and how they changed as the bomber offensive developed, taking the war ever further into Nazi Germany and occupied Europe.

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In the interwar period, proponents of the bomber were convinced that, according to the words of future U.K. Prime Minister Stanley Baldwin, speaking in 1932, “The bomber will always get through.”

With no truly effective defense against bombers, the defenses that armed the bombers themselves were understandably neglected.

In an expression of the “bomber will always get through” mantra, the initial service test version of the B-17, the Boeing Y1B-17, was armed with just five 0.3-inch machine guns in flexible mounts. Public Domain, U.S. Air Force

Broadly speaking, it was this thinking that saw the bombers of the U.S. Army Air Forces go to war in Europe without fighter escort. The British, for their part, had learned the hard way about the vulnerability of daylight bomber operations without escort and had switched primarily to nighttime raids.

As it was, the USAAF heavy bombers that began flying raids over Europe from their bases in England in the summer of 1942 relied on a combination of formation tactics — primarily the ‘combat box’ and variations of it — and the crew-operated 50-caliber machine guns that armed the B-17s, numerically the most important bomber of the Eighth Air Force flying from England.

A depiction of a combat box formation for a squadron of 12 B-17s. Annotations show: 1. Lead element 2. High element 3. Low element 4. Low low element. Anynobody/Wikimedia Commons

The growing realization that a heavy bomber operating in daylight, regardless of formation, could swiftly fall victim to an enemy fighter is reflected in the steady increase in the defensive firepower on the B-17. Defense of the B-17C model was initially entrusted to just four of the ubiquitous 50-caliber Browning M2 machine guns and a single 0.3-inch machine gun in the nose. The ultimate B-17G bristled with 13 50-caliber Brownings, firing at a rate of 750 rounds per minute out to an effective range of around 3,500 feet.

In the B-17G, these guns were located in a twin chin turret, a twin top turret above the fuselage, a twin ball turret below the belly, a twin tail turret, plus single trainable guns in ‘cheek’ positions on either side of the nose, in the radio compartment in the upper fuselage, and in ‘waist’ positions on either side of the rear fuselage. Typically, the ball turret and tail turret were manned by dedicated gunners, while the other guns were operated by other members of the crew as needed.

A B-17G of the 306th Bomb Group, fitted with a chin turret, from a photograph dated November 1943. The original caption read: “The new chin turret — so-called because it is fitted under the ‘chin’ of the aircraft — is the latest addition to the armor of the Flying Fortress.” United States Army Air Forces

A gunner sights his machine gun through the Plexiglass hood that was introduced over the radio compartment in the upper fuselage, amidships on the B-17, in a photo dated September 1944. Photo by PhotoQuest/Getty Images

The top turret and ball turret were electro-hydraulically powered and could bring the guns to bear on a target rapidly, traversing at some 50 degrees per second and electrically fed with ammunition. The tail turret was manually operated while the remaining trainable guns were on pivoted mounts, meaning the gunners had a limited field of fire and had to wrestle with the slipstream as they tried to get the enemy in their sights. Those sights were initially of the primitive ring-and-bead type, later superseded by reflector sights, making deflection shooting more reliable.

Bomber crew in the nose of a B-17 in the run-up to World War II. The limited traverse available on the gun mounted in the nose transparency is evident. Photo by Ivan Dmitri/Michael Ochs Archives/Getty Images

Despite the impressive concentration of firepower, an individual bomber remained highly exposed, especially during its run-in to the target, when it needed to fly straight and level.

A gunner sitting at his action station in a B-17 ball turret, September 1944. Photo by Mondadori via Getty Images

A wartime illustration of a Sperry Ball Turret, of the kind that armed versions of both the B-17 and B-24. The foetal position of the gunner and the ammunition feed mechanism are seen to good effect. Alfred D. Crimi, illustration for United States Army

The combat box was therefore soon developed to provide mutual protection, with interlocking arcs of fire provided by bombers flying in formation and staggered at different levels. This presented Luftwaffe fighters with a bigger problem and helped ensure that bombs were delivered close to the chosen target. This latter point was especially important bearing in mind the high altitudes from which these raids were typically flown. However, these tactics also required the bombers to stay in rigid formation if it was to be successful — counterintuitive when coming under attack from fighters or anti-aircraft fire from the ground.

Ultimately, as formations grew in size, the combat box was refined to become the ‘wing box,’ comprising three staggered 18-plane boxes for a total of 54 bombers. This was especially challenging for crews, with closely packed bombers running into each other’s turbulence and with a risk of bombs from a higher stack hitting aircraft flying below. When it worked, however, the wing box provided roughly 700 defensive machine guns that could be brought to bear on fighter opposition.

The view into a multi-ship B-17 bomber stream during World War II. These examples are purportedly from the 493rd Bomb Group, 3rd Bomb Division. U.S. Air Force photo

As well as falling bombs, there remained the risk of fratricide of another kind, too. While bombers’ gun turrets were designed to fire on arcs that ensured the aircraft’s tail, for example, would not be shot off, the same was not the case for other bombers flying nearby.

Other changes to the combat box tactics followed, including looser formations of 27 or 36 aircraft once flak superseded fighters as the primary threat to the bombers. The need for more spacing was driven by the fact that the detonation of a single anti-aircraft shell from a flak gun could potentially knock out more than one bomber. Once radar-guided Pathfinder groups became available, this also allowed bombers to operate with greater separation between them and still hit their target reasonably accurately, even in poor weather.

A B-17 crew of the 306th Bomb Group stand underneath the flak-damaged wing of their B-17, nicknamed Holy Hellcat, in 1943. United States Army Air Forces

Whatever the tactics, the process of getting bombers into compact formation was also far from easy. Considerable training was required beforehand and, for the missions themselves, assembling the bombers in their boxes needed a lot of time and energy on the part of the crews and consumed precious fuel. Some accounts suggested it took roughly an hour to get into formation at the start of a mission. Flamboyantly painted ‘assembly ships’ were among the initiatives developed to make the process easier.

At the same time, the Luftwaffe was adapting its tactics to deal with larger and better-armed USAAF bomber formations. In particular, German fighter pilots made high-speed ‘slashing’ attacks.

A model of a B-17E/F with latticework showing the directions of fire from its defensive machine guns, for the aid of a Luftwaffe Fw 190 fighter pilot, circa 1943–44. German Federal Archives

Despite the lack of fighter opposition at the start of the USAAF bombing campaign, it was far from easy for the Luftwaffe to bring down a big B-17 or B-24 bomber.

One Luftwaffe report indicated that around 20 hits from 20mm cannon shells (far more destructive than the bombers’ own machine guns) were needed to destroy a USAAF heavy bomber in an attack from the rear. At the same time, the average Luftwaffe pilot would hit a bomber with only around two percent of the rounds they fired; that translated to a requirement of 1,000 20mm rounds to ensure a bomber’s destruction. A Luftwaffe Fw 190 fighter carried only 500 rounds.

A Luftwaffe Fw 190 is loaded with 21-cm-Werfergranaten (WfG. 21) rockets, to be used to attack heavy bombers, in 1943. German Federal Archives

It’s notable, too, that as well as adding more defensive guns, the bombers also received more and improved armor, making the Luftwaffe’s task harder still.

Attacking a bomber head-on provided better odds for the Luftwaffe pilot, since the bomber’s forward-firing defensive armament was more limited, and its armor less effective. Destroying a bomber from head-on could be achieved with four or five 20mm hits, according to Luftwaffe studies. However, this was also addressed in the program to up-arm the USAAF ‘heavies,’ including the B-17’s chin turret.

A Focke-Wulf Fw 190 shoots down a USAAF B-17G during an attack on the AGO Flugzeugwerke Aircraft factory at Oschersleben, Germany, January 11, 1944. U.S. Air Force photo

Once again, as the USAAF bombers added guns, the Luftwaffe in turn increased its firepower, adding more ammunition, cannons in ever-heavier calibers, and later even air-to-air rockets. These initiatives may have been driven primarily by the requirement for heavy-hitting weapons that would be more likely to destroy a heavy bomber in a single pass, but they also increasingly out-ranged the bombers’ defensive guns. Fortunately for the Eight Air Force, the 21-cm rocket, despite its large warhead, was less than reliable.

In action, the 21-cm-Werfergranaten (WfG. 21) rocket proved relatively ineffective. “It downed few bombers, but it often damaged planes sufficiently to force them out of formation so that other fighters could finish them off,” the aviation historian Alfred Price recalled.

In October 1943, an Eighth Air Force raid against the ball-bearing production center at Schweinfurt, in southern Germany, demonstrated to USAAF leadership that a different approach would be needed if the bombers were to survive.

USAAF B-17Fs in formation over Schweinfurt, Germany, during an earlier raid on the ball-bearing production center on August 17, 1943. U.S. Air Force photo

By this stage, fighter escorts were available to the USAAF bombers, but, as the Schweinfurt raid of October 14, 1943, demonstrated these protective assets were too few in number and their range too short to ensure adequate protection.

The second Schweinfurt raid saw 291 B-17s sent against the target, of which 60 were lost outright, 17 damaged beyond repair, and another 121 damaged to one degree or another. A staggering 22 percent of the bomber crews involved — around 650 out of 2,900 men — were killed.

A B-17 of the Eighth Air Force heads back from the raid against Schweinfurt, Germany, on October 14, 1943, an operation that came to be known as known as ‘Black Thursday.’ U.S. Air Force photo

The USAAF responded by suspending unescorted daylight bomber raids deep into Germany until February 1944. When they recommenced, P-51B long-range escort fighters were available to provide the bombers with the close defensive protection they so badly needed. Flying ahead of the combat boxes, the P-51s would ultimately wrest control of the skies from the Luftwaffe’s fighter force. They would be aided in this by the tide of the war turning against Germany more generally, depriving it of the resources it needed to try and blunt the Allied bomber offensive.

Between February and June 1944, this combination of factors finally saw the B-17 emerge as a survivable asset. After the successful ‘Big Week’ raids of early 1944, Berlin was now in the USAAF’s sights. The first Eighth Air Force raid on the capital of the Third Reich came in March.

Tika IV, a P-51D flown by Lt. Vernon Richards, serving with the 374th Fighter Squadron, 361st Fighter Group. United States Army Air Force/361st FG Association, via Al Richards

The Luftwaffe’s response, from now on, was fairly tokenistic. The jet-powered Me 262, armed with heavy cannons and also rockets, was a formidable bomber-destroyer but fielded in numbers too small to be meaningful and its operations were hampered by shortages of pilots and fuel. The rocket-powered Me 163, on the other hand, offered blistering performance that allowed it to pass through bomber streams unscathed, but was arguably more lethal for its pilots than the Eighth Air Force.

Until the Eighth Air Force finally got the upper hand over Europe, survival had very much been down to the bravery and skill of the bomber crews themselves. While they were aided by the ability of the B-17, especially, to absorb a significant degree of battle damage, their machine gun armament was more than just a morale-booster.

“Hitler would like this man to go home and forget about the war. A good American non-com at the side machine gun of a huge B-17 bomber is a man who knows his business and works hard at it” — the original caption of a staged wartime propaganda photo showing a B-17 waist gunner. Collection Library of Congress, Transfer from U.S. Office of War Information, 1944

The bombers’ defensive armament and the tactics designed to best exploit it forced the Luftwaffe to change its approach. Gunners also achieved success, with the Eighth Air Force claiming 6,259 enemy aircraft destroyed by bomber gunners, more than for its fighter pilots. There is no doubt, however, that attributing fighter ‘kills’ was tricky in the heat of combat. Often, multiple gunners would open fire on the same target, observation of confirmed wreckage was far from guaranteed, and there was no gun-camera footage. Limited recognition of gunner aces reflected these realities, but at the same time, their enlisted status (for the most part), meant they were often also omitted from official lists of USAAF aces.

B-17s from the 398th Bombardment Group fly a bombing run to Neumunster, Germany, on April 13, 1945, less than one month before the German surrender on May 8. U.S. Air Force photo

Regardless, their job was a vital one and their mission among the most hazardous imaginable.

“When he was not shooting or being shot at, the gunner’s prime concern was survival,” Bruce D. Callander wrote in the April 1, 1991, issue of Air & Space Magazine.

“Missions lasted up to eight hours, with much of the flying taking place above 25,000 feet. Temperatures dropped as low as minus 60 degrees Fahrenheit in bombers that had no insulation and little heating outside the flight deck. Fleece-lined flight jackets were scant protection. The earliest electrically heated suits often shorted out and burned their occupants. Waist gunners worked through open windows, suffered frozen fingers, and slipped on the spent shells that piled up at their feet. Turret gunners had slightly more protection from the elements, but their cocoons allowed little room to move an aching arm or to stamp a cold foot.”

With hindsight, it’s clear that the availability of high-quality long-range escort fighters in sufficient numbers was the decisive factor in reducing Eighth Air Force bomber losses to a more acceptable level. But until those fighters were fielded, the bomber crews themselves more often than not provided their aircraft with the first and last line of defense.

1st Lt. George H. Heilig waves and gives the okay sign from the cockpit of the General Ike, a B-17 from the 401st Bomb Squadron, 91st Bomb Group, Eighth Air Force, England, circa 1944. Photo by PhotoQuest/Getty Images

Interestingly, there was a school of thought in the United Kingdom, at least, that suggested that the Royal Air Force might have been better off removing defensive guns from its World War II bombers altogether.

The theoretical physicist and mathematician Freeman Dyson, in 1943, proposed removing at least some of the gun turrets from Lancaster bombers, to provide what he claimed would be a 50 m.p.h. increase in cruising speed. The unarmed Mosquito relied on its speed for protection from Luftwaffe fighters, but it was a far higher-performing aircraft in general and it seems highly unlikely that an unarmed Lancaster would have been much more survivable.

August 1943: United States Army Air Forces bomber crewmen with their B-17. Visible are the left-side waist machine gun, as well as the ball turret and the gun protruding from the radio compartment in the upper fuselage. Photo by Hulton Archive/Getty Images

This brings us again to the morale factor and the very important fact that USAAF and Royal Air Force heavy bomber crews were able to fight back with defensive armament, even if their guns were still at a disadvantage against the Luftwaffe in terms of destructive power.

While precise tallies of the Eighth Air Force gunners’ successes can never be determined, their legacy was continued in the postwar U.S. Air Force, which continued to arm its strategic bombers with guns, finally only in the tail, right up until the B-52H. The B-52H still serves today, albeit with its tailguns now deleted. Fittingly, the B-52 and the service’s other strategic bombers come under the command of the Eighth Air Force — the very same formation whose gunners fought so valiantly for the liberation of Europe back in World War II.

Contact the author: [email protected]

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oldshrewsburyian · 2 months

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Dear friend with infallible literary taste: I don't suppose you would happen to know of any books with an espionage & romantic drama plot reminiscent of "Notorious" (1946)? I suppose Le Carré's "Little Drummer " is one option, but I haven't got the stomach for it. Many thanks for any recs!

Dear friend of graceful and gracious sentences! I have suggestions, although I feel that Notorious sets an extremely high bar, not just by virtue of Cary Grant and Ingrid Bergman smoldering at each other.

If you're up for Le Carré at all, Silverview would be a good option, I think. Or The Russia House, if you haven't revisited it recently. But other than that, I'm leaving the master of the genre to one side. Romance happens, but mostly he is there to wring our hearts and our consciences in very good prose. So, alternatively:

Alan Furst. My confession/concession is that these are just formulaic enough that some of them blur for me. I have been sitting here wondering "what is the one where the protagonist's reputation is haunted by a propaganda photograph centering a personally traumatic moment?" (I did not find the answer.) But Furst's prose and plotting and characterization are all good, and I never mind the formula while I'm reading it. I like the formula a lot, in fact; it is "man gets caught up in antifascist espionage in 1930s Europe, and this affects his love life in some way." Two of my favorites are Dark Star and Mission to Paris. The first, Night Soldiers, is also good; it's more brutal than many of them, but I think this is a strength. The Spies of Warsaw also fits your criteria well, I think.

Helen MacInnes. My confession here is that I have never warmed to MacInnes the way I would like to warm to woman-authored mid-century spy novels. The generally placid acceptance of gender roles bugs me. And I think of them as sentimental in a way that may be unfair. But they are espionage novels that center romance. I would recommend While Still We Live, Assignment in Brittany, The Salzburg Connection, and Pray for a Brave Heart. The Salzburg Connection has Rilke in it, which is strongly in its favor.

I hope you find things to enjoy here!

#book recommendations #alan furst #helen macinnes #spy novel #espionage #asks and answers

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barbucomedie · 1 year

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Quetzal Feathered Headdress from Mexico dated around 1515 on display in the Weltmuseum in Vienna, Austria

The first known reference to this feathered headdress in Europe occurs in 1596, as the "Moorish Hat" in the inventory of the collection of Archduke Ferdinand II of Tyrol at Schloss Ambras. Ferdinand collected objects of cultural signigficance for his castle to make a museum that was part of his efforts to promote the Renaissance in the Empire.

Before this it was thought to have been the headdress of Emperor Moctezuma Xocoyotzin II of the Aztec Empire however the provenance of this is uncertain. This is due to it not matching any other illustrations of such headdresses.

The headdress arrived in Vienna in the early 19th century. During a restoration in 1878, feathers and metal elements were supplemented. Since at that time it was assumed that the object was originally a type of standard rather than a three-dimensional piece of headgear, it was flattened to fit that image. Due to it's fragility there can be no further interventions and this is the reason given by the museum as to why it cannot be repatrioted back to Mexico. Activist, lecturer, writer and dancer Xokonoschtletl Gómora has campaigned for it's return to Mexico.

Photographs taken by myself 2022

#archaeology #art #history #aztec empire #mexican #mexico #fashion #16th century #weltmuseum #vienna #barbucomedie

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assortedseaglass · 1 year

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The Seamstress & The Sailor - Chapter Eight

Tom Bennett x OFC

[Masterlist]

Warnings: Language, injury detail, World on Fire spoilers

Word Count: 5.8K

Note: It’s a long chapter! The last one got a lot of love that I wasn’t expecting, so thank you! If anyone has any suggestions or things they’d like to see happen, give me a message!

December 1939

Dear Tom,

You’ll notice there’s no photograph enclosed. There are numerous reasons. 1. The last person a group of lonely sailors want to look at is serious old me, 2. We can barely afford our groceries, let alone a trip to the picture parlour, 3. I have some self-respect and shan’t be “oiling myself up”. Besides, I’m sure you all got plenty of entertainment on shore leave, though what makes you think I have any interest in your exploits I don’t know, seeing as I never have before.

How was shore leave? Did you have much time to relax? And answer properly this time! I hope for Norman and Terry’s sake, you were gentle with them! And you’re right, Norman sounds like a bit of stuff for Dot. Now Cora has Roger, maybe I could have Vic? When are you bringing him to Longsight? Is he handsome?

It’s a dreadful thing to say, but sometimes I envy you. Out there, seeing the world. At night, when I’m thinking of you and Albie, I dream that I have the cold wind and salt spray on my face. Tell me what it’s like. Has this been the making of you?

We found out yesterday that Albie will be back for Christmas. Dadda and Dot are beside themselves. Cora and I, of course, can’t wait to have him home but the three weeks between now and Christmas seem like such a long time for so much to happen. I shan’t be happy until he steps through the door.

I must admit, Dot has been insufferable recently. She was eighteen on Sunday and has taken her official arrival into adulthood rather too seriously. She has an opinion on everything, though sadly I think it’s what she has heard some of the older women spouting at the factory. She’s becoming such a snob – no one can do any right in her eyes. Nothing is “proper” or “civil”. We had hoped the war would give her a dose of reality but it seems to have done quite the opposite. Dadda’s drinking is getting worse again, though he isn’t as angry as he used to be. Sometimes I wish he’d shout at us, at least it would show someone is living in there. Now, he’s like a ghost, wafting between the house, the dockyard and occasionally the pub with your dad.

Speaking of, your dad said he’d written to you recently. I don’t know if he mentioned it, but I’ve been spending a lot of time with him. You know I’ve always likes the quiet, and your dad might just be the quietest man in Longsight. It all started when Walter Watson tried having a go at him for giving out the Peace Paper. Well, your dad didn’t back down and Walter Watson went on his way. You should give your dad more credit. I know you don’t always see eye to eye but you’re more alike than you think (stubborn). Anyway, since then we’ve been handing out the Peace Paper together outside the factory, and he gives me a lift home on the bike. He loves you so much, Tom. Sometimes, I catch him through the window doing nothing but sitting by the wireless. I miss mam and Albie, but at least I have Cora, Dot and dadda. He’s haunted by all this love he has nowhere to place.

They’ve moved me onto making the Lancasters at the factory. I don’t know if you’ll have seen them, they’re mostly flying over Europe. Enormous things, they are. The foreman had us line up on one of the wings to see how many it would fit. Almost thirty of us! I’m enjoying the work, but I can’t help but feel so detached from the war. I never see the work we do in action, and I think of you and Albie, even Lois, out there and feel like such a fraud. They’re advertising nurses training at Manchester Royal and I thought I might apply. What do you think? Maybe it’s spending all this time with your dad – I so admire Cora and Dot and Roberta, but I want to be patching people up, not making the things that hurt them in the first place.

Speaking of the girls, Hattie and Jude are back this weekend so we’re going dancing with Roberta, C and D. Can you believe it, Hattie has a fella! A young farmer she met in the Land Army. Glen, he’s called. I don’t think she’s bringing him with her, her mam would have an apoplexy. We’ll have to make do with the few men we’ve got and each other. Speaking of which, since when did you get so defensive of Queenie Warren? Last I remembered you were avoiding dances and saying she’d go for “anything with a pulse”. You know I’d never say anything to her face, but you and I were always in the same mind about her. Cora always saw far too much good in her, Dot far too much bad. You and I saw the real Queenie. Charmingly nonsensical.

I miss having someone to confide in. I sometimes thought you and Albie were the only people that understood me. I wonder how you and I got to talking and why we never do anything in the day. Just sit in our kitchen at night and chatter. Are we friends? Or just two people whose lives correspond? I hope we’re friends, Tom. I know you aren’t one for sentimentality, and I’m silent as the grave but, as I said in my last, letters seem to be my medium. Every thought I’ve ever had comes pouring out with ease. Believe it or not, I can’t wait until you come into the kitchen at witching hour and sit with me while I sew or play piano. It’ll mean the world has gone back to normal. Please take care, for me, and God bless.

Your friend,

Bess.

Tom finished reading the letter that had come with the latest resupply from the auxiliary vessel. From the netting that hung above his bunk, he grabbed pen and paper.

“Can’t keep your sweetheart waiting.” A low voice teased from the opposite bed. Tom balled up a piece of paper and threw it at Vic, who smirked and shut his eyes. They were on shift in less than an hour, enough time for him to get some rest and Tom to reply to the letter. He lay it next to a fresh piece of paper and began to write.

Dear Bess,

I was glad to get your letter but sorry to see no photograph inside. I’ve told the lads all about the dark haired Vaughn girl and they’d love to get a look at you. You know you’re gorgeous -

Fuck. Did he really just write that? Well, no going back now.

You know you’re gorgeous - I saw those men clambering to dance with you before I left. And you had Walter Watson and Frank Smith fighting over who got to dance with you first. Lucky girl.

Tom looked back to the letter Bess had written him. “What makes you think I have any interest in your exploits I don’t know, seeing as I never have before.” He blanched with embarrassment.

Shore leave was fine, though Port Stanley isn’t much. Picked up a lovely bird while I was there. A real one. Bright yellow, she is. Called her Vera. Norman and I are taking bets on when she’s going to lay an egg. And I know you’re already thinking that I’ve swindled the lads out of pocket by buying a male, but she really does lay eggs. First one came just as we left Port Stanley. I think Norman and Terry enjoyed shore leave more, though Terry nearly lost his stomach next morning. Tell Dot I’ve got a fella for her, and that I’m keeping him safe.

He looked at her letter again. “Maybe I could have Vic? When are you bringing him to Longsight? Is he handsome?” Soft snores came from Vic’s bunk, and Tom observed him from the corner of his eye. He was handsome, Tom supposed. Tall, bonny face. Hatred bloomed momentarily in his stomach.

Vic is handsome, I’d say. But you’d make a boring couple, you’re both too serious.

Funny that you envy us, Bess. I envy you. What I’d give to be tucked up in bed, smelling a fresh pot of coffee and bacon from downstairs. Cook keeps us well fed, but it looks like slop. On my down shifts, I’ve taken to standing on the stern and watching the horizon. Sometimes it feels like if I just stood on my toes, I’d see you all on the other side. Stood there, cold wind and water washing over my face, is the smallest I’ve ever felt. Was always scared of that before. I wanted to feel big but out there, my insignificance is calming. Does that make sense? Certainly makes me less scared of dying. I’m just one bloke. How about, when this is all over, I take you on a cruise? That way you can see what it’s like for yourself. Bet you’d love to make yourself dresses and suits for sailing. Like Bette Davis or Marlene Dietrich.

I’m sorry Dot is giving you grief, and tell her I’m sorry for forgetting her birthday. She’ll grow out of it soon. She’d better or she’ll have you and Cora to answer to. And crikey, Bess, the list of people I’m going to have to sort out for you is getting longer by the day. I know you said you wished your dad would shout at you, just so he seems human, but you and I both know what he gets like. He’s not himself when he’s drinking and if he lays a finger on you I’ll be back from the navy quicker than you can say Hitler’s Only Got One Ball. Think you should release him back into my Dad’s care, that way someone can keep an eye on his drinking and it doesn’t have to be you.

Dad did indeed tell me that you’ve been spending time together. I don’t think much of your taste in men. Will I be calling you “mum” soon? From what he told me, it sounds more like you were the one to send Walter Watson packing. Thank you, for spending time with him. When I’m home, I can’t bear to spend more than an hour with him but when I’m away, I worry. Lois always knew how to handle him, handle both of us.

I know you won’t believe it, but I’m glad Hattie has a fella. It means the rest of us won’t have to put up with her appalling dancing. Seems like everyone is getting paired up. Hattie and her farmer. Queenie and Frank Smith, if that’s still happening. Cora and Roger. Your Dot and my Norman. We’ll be the only ones left. Though, by the time I get back, you might be in training and I’ll be on my tod. I can imagine you as a nurse. Just seeing you would make the fellas’ day but heaven forbid they try anything. Not if you treat them like you did Walter Watson. I think it would suit you. And it’d be good for you to get away from Longsight. I know it’d only be a few miles, but you could have your own life there. You loved it at the tailors, and this might give you some of that life back.

I’d miss you though. I do miss you.

Tom paused his writing and stretched is hand.

I hate that you question our friendship. You’re the only person that treats me right. Dad and Lois think I’m a lost cause. Maybe I am. But I never feel that way with you. Sometimes, when I can’t sleep, I imagine I’m sat in your dad’s armchair listening to you play the piano. It became such a routine that I think I find it hard to sleep now without it.

The auxiliary boat is leaving soon so I best give them this letter. I’m sending with it all my care for you and your sisters. Give Dot a birthday kiss from me and tell her that when I’m back I’ll take her for a dance.

Don’t worry about me,

Tom.

He jumped from his bunk, straightened his uniform, donned his cap and grabbed Vera’s cage. On deck, Campbell was bidding farewell to the auxiliary ship’s captain.

“One for the post!” Tom called.

“Cutting it fine, Bennett,” Campbell said, but allowed Tom to hand over his letter and ignored the birdcage. “Shift in twenty minutes.”

“Yes, sir.” Once the letter was sailing towards Bess, Tom made his aways along the various decks rattling the coin purse in his pocket. “Time and date she lays an egg,” he called to his fellow sailors, holding up the little birdcage. Somewhere, along the way, kind and gentle Norman joined him. Below deck, Terry was tapping away at the wireless operations table.

“Y’alright Terry? Name the day, name the time Vera lays an egg. Nearest time wins, threepence a bet.” Tom said, leaning against the doorframe as Norman handed over the betting book. Terry removed his headphones and scribbled down his prediction, turning it to the little yellow bird.

“Today, eleven-hundred hours.”

“Hey,” Tom interjected. “No coaching. Good lad, Terry.” The boys moved to the mess hall, and Tom made a beeline for Vic, now awake and ready to start his shift. Tom rattled the money purse at him while Norman took more bets.

“Time and day she lays an egg,”

“Sure it’s a girl?” Vic scoffed.

“She laid an egg at Port Stanley,” Tom quipped back.

“Bet she looked surprised,”

“I wouldn’t know what a surprised bird looks like,”

“Find that hard to believe!” Vic said good-naturedly. Tom turned to look at the room, a roguish smile on his face. His eyes landed on the man leant against the deck frame.

“Ginger?” Tom shook the coins. The man turned, barely looking at Tom until he came near level to his face. Mistrust was written across his pale features.

“Why would I want to line your dirty Manc pockets?” Men sat up in their hammocks and stooped in the doorway. The whole room stilled to watch the men square up.

“Dunno,” Tom smirked. “Maybe you’re saving up for a whore in Argentina.” A few people sniggered.

“Alright Tom, simmer down,” Vic spoke over his shoulder. “He gets over excited, Henry.”

The ginger man took no notice, but averted his attention to Norman, who laughed next to Tom.

“You laughing at me lad?”

Norman stopped immediately, eyes shifting from Henry to Tom.

“No, Henry.”

“No, sir.” Henry asserted.

Tom could feel his piss curdling. Fucking prick.

“Don’t have to call you “sir” now, does he? Same rank.” He leant to Norman. “Don’t call him sir, Norman.” There was a long pause while Tom surveyed the room and everyone waited for Norman to speak. Henry got there first.

“No, sir.”

“No, sir.” Norman said softly to the ground. Tom nodded. Of course. Before Henry moved away, he looked Tom in the eye, smug that he had won the altercation.

“’SIR’” Tom said cruelly in Norman’s face. The quieter man went pale.

“Come on, Tom,” Vic warned. “Play nice.”

Every atom in Tom’s body was starting to thrum. Two months he’d been at war without so much as a sniff of a fight, and here Henry was kindly offering up his services. Tom straightened his shoulders and squared his jaw. He felt like a prize fighter, ready for the first punch. Vic watched his friend’s nostrils flare and knew what was coming. Tom turned lazily on the spot and watched Henry walking away. Cocky git can’t get away with it that easily.

“You’re lucky you get called Henry.” Men around them hissed with expectation, and he heard Vic issue another warning. Henry immediately prowled back towards him.

“So what is it you’d like to call me?” His tone was calm but his posture was anything but, fists balled and face looking up at Tom’s jutting jaw. Norman edged closer to Vic.

“Spoilt for choice really.” The circle of men was closing in, anticipation wending through the air. “Let’s just say it wouldn’t be a word a mother would use. Although,” Tom sniffed and looked the smaller man up and down. Here came the first blow. “Your mother might.”

For a moment, it looked as though nothing would happen. For a moment.

Henry slammed Tom into the store cupboard and Vic jumped in front of him.

“You want some!? You FUCKING WANT-”

CRACK

Henry’s fist made contact with Tom’s jaw before he had time to finish his sentence. No sooner had Tom hit the ground was he trying to get up again, grappling with the many hands attempting to restrain him. Henry walked away, shoulders hunched in frustration.

“OI! Take your hands off me!” Tom shouted, straining to be unleashed.

“Stay down!” Vic shouted. “THAT’S ENOUGH!”

Tom checked his nose for blood and smirked at Vic. Calm and measured Vic. Not anymore. “Hey! What is wrong with you? Why do you have to go around winding the rest of us up? Why can’t you just do your job like the rest of us?”

“I’m standing up for Norman ‘cos he can’t stand up for himself.” Tom shouted. Norman shuffled his feet, not having moved from where he stood.

“You don’t give a sherbet about Norman. Think you’ve made his life easier by making an enemy of our Henry?” Tom sniffed at this, trying to ignore Vic’s astute rebuttal. “’Standing up for Norman’. No, you used him to get at Henry because that’s what you do-”

Tom had no chance to respond. The lights of the mess hall cut out and red flashed all around. The emergency alarm wailed, men scrambled to their stations. This was it. Exercises and drills had led to this moment. Vic stood and held is hand out.

“Come on, mate. Take my hand.”

“Nah, mate.” Tom stayed on the ground. “Better get on with my job like you say.”

With one last annoyed glance, Vic ran out of the mess hall. Tom launched into action. He sprinted down the narrow corridors of the Exeter as other sailors hurried past. The cry of the siren faded as blood roared in his ears. Skidding to a halt at the end of the corridor, Tom jumped the stairs of the gunroom and began removing his boiler suit. Campbell, dressed in his cap and overcoat appeared at the hatch.

“What’s the story, sir?” Tom called up, tying his sleeves around his waist and watching the others get to work.

“All you need to know is that she’s sunk nine of ours and we’re not going to be the tenth. Get on with it!”

“Got it.” Tom sped into the gunroom and stared up at the turret. Henry and Vic were already preparing the missiles for loading. They placed them in their barrels and Tom lifted each into the gun, listening with intent as they were fired beyond the steel of the ship. All around them came bangs and clatters. After the firing of three missiles, Tom’s arms were throbbing but he continued the work. All at once, the ship shuddered and an almighty bang rang deep through the gunroom. The lights flickered off.

“Fucking hell,” whispered Vic. The screams of men echoed above them.

“If that took the canary out, nobody gets a refund,” Tom laughed, trying to ease the terror in his stomach, the terror reflected in Vic’s eyes as he looked at him. More screams rent the air.

“Fucking hell,” Tom looked up and saw fire curling down the turret. The world stilled. As ash began to fall against his face, Tom watched the flames fade against the darkness and was reminded, irresistibly, of Bess’ hair. The image of her sat on the front step of her house, smoking a cigarette and lit by the setting sun was just racing through his mind when the air was sucked from the gunroom and he was thrown into the steel wall. Heat swept across Tom’s body and the ship was silent.

He was back in the Vaughn’s kitchen, watching Bess sewing Robina Chase’s red suit. A cigarette hung loosely from her lips and every so often she glanced at him, as though checking he was still there. His eyes felt heavy, and Tom felt himself drifting into sleep as the fire crackled in the grate, Bess humming along to the wireless. The snap and pop of the flames became louder, and the smoke of Bess’ cigarette stung his nostrils.

He woke with a gasp. With lungs of fire, Tom crawled to his knees and spat black tar against the ground. The room was silent but for the hum of flame.

“Vic,” His voice was hoarse from the polluted air. His friend lay next to him, unmoving, and Tom tapped his foot. “Vic,” He rolled him over and bile rose to his mouth. Vic’s once bonny face was charred beyond recognition. Plasma oozed from the cracked skin and his teeth were bared in a grisly smile. Is he handsome? Tom fought the urge to vomit as his breath came in ragged rasps. From across the room, an agonised moan sounded. Tom stood and dragged is heavy body towards the noise. It was Henry.

“Got four dead here,” Tom called out. “What about you?”

“I’m not dead,” Henry groaned, and as Tom rounded the corner, he froze. Henry was slouched against the gunroom’s loading dock, his right arm missing below the shoulder, grizzled skin dripping blood onto the floor.

“Don’t you worry, you bastard.” Tom’s mind seemed to take over his body as he grabbed a cable from the wall and crouched by the man. “You ready? Right, this is gonna hurt.” He paused for Henry but he said nothing. “Right? We’re gonna get this tied off. I’m gonna count to three-”

“Just do it,” Henry murmured as Tom placed the makeshift tourniquet around what was left of his arm.

“Right,” Tom braced himself. “One-” He tightened the tourniquet and Henry screamed as Campbell raced into the room.

“We’re gonna need a medic down here, sir.” Tom growled, looking at the bits of body strewn around him.

“The medic is in worse shape than the able seamen,” Campbell wiped his dirty brow. “We’ve lost a lot of men but we don’t seem to be sinking.”

Tom hung his head and looked at Henry. “This’ll have to do for now. Let’s get you up.” He threw Henry’s remaining arm over his shoulder and hauled him to his feet with Campbell’s help. Henry cried out and shuffled towards the ladder. “We’ll get you up these steps and, if you slip, I’ll catch you.”

Once they had carried Henry to the sickbay, Tom made his way through the ship, checking for other casualties. He moved through the smoke-filled corridors, hand in front of him as torchlight pierced the smog. Terror was sinking into his bones. Vic’s face flashed in his mind and he blinked. At every turn he feared tripping over another body. Breathing heavily, he fumbled his way around until a faint twittering pricked at his ears. There on the floor, cage upturned, was Vera. Tears filled Tom’s eyes as he righted the cage and peered in. In the corner, freckled and inconspicuous, lay an egg.

✼　　✼　　✼　　✼　　✼　　✼

It was a typically crisp and overcast Wednesday in Manchester. Bess took the early shift that day and was sitting in the window of her bedroom, hair dripping as she dried it with a towel. Dot and Fergal were still working and, downstairs, she could hear Cora beginning dinner.

A flurry of movement caught her eye and she looked down the road to see Douglas Bennett pedalling furiously towards his house. He dropped his bicycle by the door and hurried inside. Best check on him later, she thought.

She moved from the window to the bed and lay her head on the pillow. From beneath the it she pulled out a small biscuit tin and lifted its lid. The letters she exchanged with Tom could no longer be contained in Bess’ books, and so she hid them under the bed with her box of buttons and ribbon. Tom’s face peered up at her from the top of the pile and she reached out for him. A violent shiver ran down her back and her blood ran cold. Bess stared back at him as ice prickled at her skin.

“Bess? I’ve been knocking,” Bess jolted and slammed the lid of the tin. Cora held the bedroom door in a white-knuckled grip, her doe eyes wide with concern. They glanced momentarily at the biscuit tin but she said nothing.

“What is it?” Bess’ voice was barely above a whisper.

Cora swallowed. “The Exeter,” her voice wobbled. “It’s been hit.”

Neither spoke. Not for a while. Not until Bess choked on the air. “Oh, my darling-” Cora made to move towards her sister but Bess was faster. She pelted from the room and down the stairs, slipped on her work boots and Albie’s overcoat before running into the yard. She wrestled her bike from the fence and cycled to the only place she could think of.

“Dadda?” Bess called out when she reached the dockyard, frantically searching for her father. A few people gave her pitying looks, and one man whistled at the sight of her in her nightdress and overcoat. “Dadda? Fergal Vaughn? Has anyone seen Fergal Vaughn?”

“Bess?” The voice came from behind her. She dismounted from the bike and watched her father emerge from a cabin, cup of tea in hand. He took in her ashen face and his cup fell to the floor. “My God,” he was striding towards her, hands outstretched. “What’s happened? What’s happened to my boy?”

“Nothing, Dadda,” Bess whispered weakly and her body slackened in front of him. Fergal caught her before she fell to the ground.

“What is it then, my girl?” He cupped her face in his large, calloused hands. “Tell me, my darling.” Concern overcame his face as he watched her.

“It’s Tom-” An ugly sob ripped her throat. “The Exeter-” And another. She had no need to say more, for Fergal had wrapped her in his arms and begun rocking her back and forth.

“Come. Let’s get you home.” The few onlookers watching the scene retreated as Fergal picked his daughter’s bike up from the ground. “Sit on the saddle, I’ll wheel you home like I used to.”

The night had darkened by the time Fergal wheeled the bike onto their street. Lampposts were flickering into life, and his daughter’s sobs had subsided. She sat limply on the saddle, breathing deeply though still shaking. They came to rest outside the front door and Bess moved to stand. Cora opened it before Fergal could retrieve his keys, and behind her Bess saw Dot perched on the staircase.

“A pot of tea, I think.” Fergal stepped inside and removed his coat. Dot moved to the kettle. One of Bess’ booted feet was barely over the threshold when a muffled cry caused them all to freeze. What followed were a series of loud crashes and more shouting.

“STOP! STOP IT” The voice was shouting. More crashes sounded.

“Douglas,” Bess whispered and ran across the street. The front door was unlocked, and Bess entered in time to see Douglas pick up the wireless and throw it against the table, copper wire spilling from the splintered wood.

“I want him back,” Douglas’ voice broke as he shouted. “I want him back! I want my boy back!” Bess ran to him and gripped his arms. He folded into a chair and his body heaved as tears mingled with the salty tracks already coating his face. She held him tightly, cooing and soothing him as he shook.

“Douglas.” Fergal’s voice was firm. Bess watched as her father entered the kitchen and placed a hand on his friend’s back. “You’ll stay with us tonight.” It was a statement, not a question. Douglas nodded in Bess’ arms and stood to be led away. Bess turned down the paraffin lamp and followed her father back into the house. Cora was already pouring five cups of tea when Douglas slumped into the armchair. Dot ran downstairs with a blanket and draped it across his shoulders, before wrapping her arms around him. Bess joined her, as did Cora. The Vaughn girls took Douglas in their arms, and Fergal watched with pride as fear for his own son worried his nerves.

✼　　✼　　✼　　✼　　✼　　✼

The HMS Exeter juddered through the South Atlantic, aflame but afloat. Tom Bennett made his solitary way along the upper deck, glancing at the debris of ship and sailor as he did so. Coughing, he came across a row of tarpaulins. Hammocks. Each was bundled and he knew that beneath were the bodies of the crew. The breeze from the water had blown one away and Tom paused as he looked down at the man. It was Vic.

“I’m sorry.” Tom said as he knelt beside Vic’s body. “I should have shook your hand.” With bloodied hands, Tom covered his face and stilled for a while.

“Didn’t have you down for the praying type, Bennett.” Campbell approached him with a cigarette. He didn’t offer one to Tom.

“I wasn’t praying sir.” Tom stood. “I wouldn’t give God the work. He’s got enough on his plate sorting this shit out.”

Campbell nodded. “Hell of a crew. I’m proud of every one of you. You took part in a famous victory today, Bennett. You should be very proud.”

“Yes, sir.” He felt sick. “I am, sir.” Campbell left him to his thoughts, and Tom looked around. Bloodied and battered men lined the deck railings, and he could barely distinguish one from another. One sailor still had his cap on perfectly and was attending to some of the wounded.

“Oi, Terry. Your winnings mate.” Terry watched Tom approach, bemused. “You were as near eleven hundred hours. Well done, yeah?”

Terry didn’t move. After a moment, he said “I can’t take this. Half the lads who bet on it are dead.”

“Well, you can do what you like with your half. All the lads put in fair and square. It’s our money now.”

Terry eyed him. “Well, I think we should give it to the widows. Or the chaplain or something-”

“We’re in the Atlantic.” Tom wanted to scream. “Off a country I’ve never heard of, chasing a ship I can’t even fucking pronounce.”

“What has any of that got to do with the money?” Terry asked in disbelief.

“Vic’s dead,” Tom said simply. “And I never got to shake his hand. The world’s fucked mate, so look after number one.”

Terry laughed bitterly and thrust the coin purse at Tom’s chest. “Keep the fucking lot.” Hot panic flushed Tom’s cheeks and his chest began to heave. He had to get out. One way or another.

✼　　✼　　✼　　✼　　✼　　✼

“Our Father, who art in Heaven, hallowed be thy name,” the crew chorused in solemn unison. Those who remained uninjured hadn’t slept through the night, working to put out the fire and prevent the ship from sinking. Tom stood by the gun turret, eyes bloodshot and unmoving as he listened to the men praying. He didn’t join in. Despondent and weary, when Campbell had finished the memorial service, he made his way below deck to the sickbay.

He glanced around but could see no sign of the man he was looking for. Cap in one hand and coin purse in the other, he moved through the cramped deck, between injured men and those assisting them. Someone passed him a cigarette and he took a puff. As he handed it back, his target came into view. Arm bandaged, and gazing sadly through the porthole by his bunk, was Henry. He seemed to sense someone’s eyes on him, for he inclined his head as Tom moved forward and placed the money in his lap.

“I know it won’t go far, but you need it more than me so-” Tom trailed off. Henry watched him. He’d never known Tom Bennett so quiet.

“Thank you for seeing me right after it happened,” he nodded to the covered remnants of his arm. Tom shook his head as though saving another man’s life was nothing.

“Graf Spee has sunk,” he said finally.

“What, did we hit her?”

“Nah, captain scuttled his own ship so we couldn’t take her. Shot himself. Don’t know if that counts as one for us, what with it being an own goal-”

“Shut your noise, will you?” Henry hissed, though it made Tom smile. There was a moment’s more silence.

“Don’t tell anyone I’ve done this,” Tom said softly to Henry.

“Yeah, I’ve heard they’ve been giving you grief about the money.”

“Yeah, well I ain’t doing it for the lads.” Tom was quick to correct him. “I’m doing it for Vic. Sort of soppy thing he’d do, isn’t it?”

Henry nodded, and Tom continued. “This doesn’t make us mates.”

“No,” Henry half-smiled. “Thank you for the money.” The smile Tom returned was gentle and genuine. He nodded to Henry’s arm.

“Maybe you could put it towards a hook?” Before Henry could retort, Tom meandered away and out of sight. A moment later, he returned.

“Could you lend us a few bob, Henry?”

“Jesus Christ-”

“Not for me!” Tom held up a placating hand. “Just need a little to send home.” Henry handed over sixpence and Tom touched his cap. She’ll have to get a photo now, he thought.

Note: Hitler’s Only Got One Ball was a British war song. This was hard to write because there is so much dialogue in the show. Watching it back closely to get the transcript, there are a few moments where you can see Tom beginning to panic. So well acted by EM! Next chapter should be up soon. I know I said it last time, but I’m so excited about the next couple of chapters!

Tags: @aemonds-wifey @multiple-fandoms-girl @jessssica1234 @babyblue711 @anditsmywholeheart @allthefandomtherapy @valerie977 @bookwyrmsblog @phantomontheinternet @chainsawsangel @greenowlfactif @thelittleswanao3 @yentroucnagol @beiigegalx @skikikikiikhhjuuh @just-emmaaaa

#ewan mitchell #tom bennett #tom bennett x ofc #world on fire #ewan mitchell x reader #the seamstress & the sailor

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monstersinthecosmos · 7 months

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I have no intention of watching the new IWTV show, but I was wondering why you think Armand's characterization was so bad. I kinda hated how Antonio Banderas played him in the 1994 movie (not on its own, just in comparison to the books - I feel like his personality/demeanor was totally different), so it's sad that they still haven't gotten him right... Judging from pictures alone, I did think the casting for him was more fitting this time. Anyway, just curious to hear your thoughts!

Oh man!!!!!!!!! I do wanna say up front, I think Antonio was NOT A GREAT ARMAND but I like those scenes in the movie so much because they feel SO RICEY to me. Like I LOVE Movie!Armand even though he isn't Book!Armand, and if you read IWTV in good faith it's the only book that doens't harp on Armand looking like a smol uwu cherub so like ! SURE. He definitely still brings the calm nurturing mentor vibe in a huge way and the scenes in his room feel the most like the books to me.

I also know from the director's commentary that they specifically wanted Armand to look like that so that the Europe vampires would feel like OLD WORLD SCARY vs like, another twink lol. So he's got a little more of a tropey Dracula vibe going on and I think like as a visual contrast it works really well.

As far as the show; I think Assad is EXCELLENT. And like the whole fandom was joking even when the credits hit IMDB that it was gonna be Armand because everyone was like "OHH ARRIGHT.. LOUIS'S """""ASSISTANT"""""" OKAY !" so like I was one of the conspiracy theorists looking for clues the whole time. And his MANNERISMS are dead on and gave him away before anything else did. I have zero issue with the actor, I think he's so spooky and a complete smokeshow which Armand DESERVES. And I wish I could like the show for him, I really do! But it's just NOT WORKING FOR ME.

I'll put the rest under a cut cause it got lengthy and I'm not trying to like be a downer on anyone's dashboard but TLDR the show is so completely unrecognizable to me and I think it would've been so much better as an original concept, and personally I'm not excited by randos who share names with the books I read. The show is a hit! People really like it! But idk like showing me these two random ass men and saying "Hey this is Daniel and Armand" doesn't excite me because the story they're showing me actually ISNT Daniel and Armand lol. I'm here for the story!!! I'm not here for Easter Eggs!

Here's my main few gripes with how they wrote Armand which I find mega disappointing:

He spends 6.9/7 episodes pretending to be Louis's assistant named Rashid. WHY! LOL. Why would he do that! DANIEL DOESN'T REMEMBER HIM ANYWAY SO WHY???????? I DONT UNDERSTAND. Like Armand is a weirdo but is he THIS WEIRD? idk. idk.

The show also (in my opinion!) horrifically botched Lestat, but there's like this grain of doubt because the show has a theme of memory being unreliable, so the speculation is that maybe Armand planted a skewed version of events in Louis's head? Even the show runner sort of hinted at this? LIKE I HATE THIS?? Because if we get to S2 and it turns out that Lestat's been misrepresented, it then turns the tables and makes it that ARMAND is the one who's horrifically botched????? Like I'm all for silly Armand jokes and memes and whatever but like. sigh idk i just looked really forward to this show and hoped to see Armand on screen and I didn't really want a meme version of him. ((Also as an aside I really dislike the unreliable memory themes on the show the way they're presented because like the books frame unreliable narration as like interpretive and emotional but the vampire lore canonically is that they have like mega supernatural photographic memory? idk. If memory is faulty because they still have that human fallibility it's one thing unless they're saying Armand planted memories in Louis's head??? idk idk.))

And like speaking towards whether or not Armand is a person who would plant false memories in Louis's head; I concede that he psychically influenced Louis to join him in IWTV but like. ARMAND IS A NUANCED CHARACTER WHO ACTS FROM A PLACE OF NEED AND HURT. And idk it's just so fucking clunky I can't imagine the manipulation taking this type of shape. There's just, to me LOL, a huge difference between the mental nudge of "You are lonely and you need guidance please come with me" and "Lestat was a horrific domestic abuser." And like. idk. Just within the package of the whole rest of the season, this team has the subtlety of dropping a fucking piano so I just have no trust in them to write him with any sense of nuance.

AND THE BIGGEST OFFENSE THAT I'M JUST COMPLETELY DISGUSTED BY IS THAT HE'S A DAYWALKER?????????????????????????????????????????????????

I just hate the daywalking shit so fucking much I can't even start. Like the show changes a lot of the lore which is fine whatever it's their show change lore if you feel like it whatever but like. ARMAND'S ENTIRE LIFE IS THEMATICALLY BOOKENDED BY DARKNESS. He grows up in a CAVE. He lives in a CULT BENEATH A CEMETARY. He tries to KILL HIMSELF by GOING INTO THE SUN.

Like. And he's only 500? That's like adolescent for a vampire LOL.

There were a couple times in the season where they had some continuity errors on the show!lore so I got the vibe that the writers didn't really care about all the VAMPIRE STUFF which is kinda disappointing to me bc I'm a nerd lol but it felt like they used Armand in the sun to just give the audience a red herring and it came across as really cheap to me. So I wouldn't put it past this team to kinda be like DAYWALKING SURE LOL and not really take it seriously or think about the larger picture of how that unfolds for the character over more seasons.

IT'S WHATEVER, I JUST. I know it wouldn't make good television but I like VC because it's like existential dread and consuming darkness, I want it to hurt me, I want it to feel bleak, I want Armand's entire arc to be about how much he struggles with the idea that there's no God. It just feels like if you can make it a few centuries and be able to withstand the sun, what's the fucking point? What sacrifice did you make for being immortal? Especially for a character like Armand who so fully believes himself to be damned and would never want to make another vampire, would never subject even an enemy to it.

Especially bc like in the show the vampires can like ? Smoke? And have sex? And they can eat food (even though it tastes like paste but they can eat food). IF YOU CAN SMOKE AND FUCK AND GO IN THE SUN YOU'RE JUST A GUY. Where's the fucking DAMNATION OF IT ALL? Also what's the fucking point of Those Who Must Be Kept if you can go in the sun lol. I just . Ugh what a clusterfuck.

The show turns vampirism into more of a power fantasy than the way the books treat it as damnation or a symbol of being othered so it doesn't really mesh with like, my idea of VC and what I want out of it.

So Armand being a daywalker = Instant Nope From Me. I'm not interested in whatever they're trying to sell me lol.

A few other things that are NOT confirmed but generally just giving me the ick that I worry about:

I really, really, deeply, truly, hated how they wrote Claudia's character and how they wrote about rape, and that gives me a really bad feeling about how they'd potentially tackle Armand's canon background. The two options are: They don't, and he's a completely different character with a different background, with completely different context for his personality/motivations/etc (in which case who the fuck cares he's just some guy who shares a name with the book I like, and not really Armand), or: They GO THERE and it's just extremely heavy handed and insensitive and not fun to watch. I think show!Claudia maybe has more in common with Armand than book!Claudia because they aged her up to be a teenager so it's just, yikes. THEN AGAIN ARMAND IS NO LONGER A TEENAGER ON THE SHOW?

And to that point like. I don't need a bunch of fucking conservatives getting in my face about how I want to see a teenager sexualized because that's not the point; logistically for TV it makes sense that he's older, but again, it changes his backstory so much. imho, Armand being turned as a teenager and looking like a teenager is a huge element of his character! It's important! It just is! And I'm sorry that the show decided that the vampires could have sex, because they invented this problem for themselves! If they kept the canon lore you wouldn't have to see them have sex anyway LOL.

I also was not a fan of the truncated timeline of the show; season 1 takes place in like 30 years I think? And covers from the beginning of the story until Lestat's murder. And I believe Louis will meet Armand in the 1940s; they have the original interview in the 70s and they're together then, and they're together in the present in 2022. Idk I'm just not impressed; humans can get divorced after 30 years too, what's the point of having immortal characters if you're not gonna stretch out the timeline? And so much happens for Armand and Louis in canon and I have no idea what's happened or not happened on the show yet, no one's really sure which events have happened yet in the present day segments of the show. So like idk there's just a lot of Armand/Louis stuff to be smushing into 70 years lol and I'm bummed that they're rushing through the timeline so much.

So I just. Sigh. There's a lot of themes in VC that I really adore that the show doesn't care about, like being VERY OLD and NEVER SEEING THE SUN AGAIN but. I'm in the minority on this one because people love the show LOL. I'm happy for everyone who likes it, but it's not for me.

And like. Just! I knew going in that it would be the Loustat Show, I think everyone knew that, I didn't have huge expectations for Armand/Daniel content but it's such a small part of the books that like it would've been nice to get a couple scenes or some gifs out of it or whatever. It just sucks that like they SET UP the series in a way that the Devil's Minion won't happen on screen. And it sucks that like, depending how long the show runs for or how long AMC retains the rights, this might be the only chance in my lifetime that I had to see Devil's Minion on screen and it's not going to happen.

It's just a bummer man!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

sorry to anyone who likes the show lol I just found it to be like mega disappointing and I don't think I'm going to watch S2, I'm too upset about Armand & Daniel LOL.

#vampire pajama party on amc #the rolin jonestown massacre #<- these are my AMC salt tags if you need to mute or peruse for other disgruntled takes LOL #sorry guys!#adding this tag later re antonio!armand bc i didnt think of it at the time #but i saw the 94 movie directly after reading the book but before reading the rest of the series #so i didnt really notice that he was very different bc i didnt have 17 year old auburn hair botticelli angel in my mind yet #so i always had a neutral/positive feeling about antonion bc my first impression didnt make it a big deal

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mikeconphoto · 2 years

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"A TALE OF THREE COUNTRIES" - BY MIKECON PHOTOGRAPHY

Most photographers in the world get to shoot with their subjects once or twice in different locations, however I can honestly say that I had the distinct privilege of doing three separate photo shoots, in three different countries with Fitness Pro and now new Mother of a handsome baby boy…Johanna Hess.

How did we get here? Great question! Scroll down and find out!!

As some of you may recall, I did a blog called, “My Lawyer Johanna Hess WBFF Pro Diva”. In there I spoke about how we met, and the two of us shooting at the historic West Bottoms in Kansas City Missouri, and how I had just moved to Germany. Now, years later before our last shoot (maternity) we had spoken and it dawned upon me that Johanna is the only person that I’ve shot with in three different countries. Coincidentally, all three countries are where she has a law degree and can practice law in.

The photos above were taken on our first shoot in Kansas City Missouri in 2017.

Now one thing I learned new about Johanna on our second photo shoot is that she, unlike most people I’ve worked with in the past, is ALWAYS ready. I truly appreciate that. No matter what clothing outfit I had thought of, she had it ready to go in her closet! Her wardrobe could easily be a, “Master Class’ for anyone aspiring to do photo shoots. For a minute, I thought I had walked into Barbie’s closet LOL! That’s what made it easy, besides her always being in great shape for the camera.

The photos above were taken in 2019 in London, England.

For our final shoot in 2021 in Bavaria, Germany we did her maternity photo shoot. I had never shot in Bavaria, but I had visited that region multiple times and had always been struck by all the natural beauty. It’s so simple, elegant and breathtaking that whenever you go there…You KNOW that God is real. When you go, all you can do is submerge yourself into the beauty of the landscape, and having a photo shoot there just made it even better. For those of you that didn’t know, photography is my business, however it’s also my own way of mental therapy and allows me to just reset and find my focus within (pun intended).

In conclusion, I implore all of you, photographers or not, to get out into the world and see all of its beauty. Get out and meet new people, and have some great experiences. Don’t just stay in one place and let the world go on without you experiencing new things. Had I not spoken with Johanna in May of 2016 in the lobby of her WBFF show, we would’ve been total strangers and not have become better friends. Now she’s the Mom to her baby boy Maximilian and the next time we do a photo shoot, I’ll hopefully have the honor and privilege of doing some work with both of them. You see, a lot of my peers feel like all they can do is one thing only. For me, i want to be that photographer for my clients that is trusted to carry on their photos for a lifetime. You’ll never hear me running away from my people. THEY’RE MY TRIBE!!! #TribeMikeCon

Mike Conley of MikeCon Photography Instagram: @mikeconphoto www.mikeconphoto.com

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firecooking · 6 months

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Here me out, in the tugs fandom there are 3 depictions of captain zero

1. Shitty mustache ( looks like it's pencil drawn)

2. Mustache that curls into a zero ( it curling to represent how he's the antagonist and also it resembles a 0 )

3. No mustache ( because he's either terrible at facial hair or artist just didn't draw him with one)

In your au is there an inside joke that zero can't grow proper facial hair?

I have been a conosuier of human Captain Zero's for years, and that theory does hold water!

I think the only Zero I can think of until a few that cropped up around this year with a beard that was drawn more than once is Dan-the-countdowner's over on deviant art. God speed Dan you where like the only guy drawing human Captains for years.

Also, your asks are always on deck in my ask box when I have a few minutes of free time, please don't think I'm ignoring them, sometimes it takes me a while to formulate my answers. Also I don't often do drawing requests, but I make an exception for my TUGS au's!

Anyways, on to my au! There will be a detailed explanation under the read more but tldr:

When Zero was a younger man he always kept himself clean shaven, after his time in he army he attempts to grow a mustache, which was universally hated and every one regarded as a bad move. Post War 1918-pre Zip 1920 is lovingly known as the rat years in the photo albums that reside around Zero Marine Bigg City.

Before the Great War Captain Zero clean shaved every morning, brushed out, cared for, and styled his hair, and generally looked put together and intentional despite living with rather wild, wavy, longer hair. I picture him around a 2b/2c if he makes an attempt to care for it but when he's not doing anything particular its just a frizzy/fluffy 2a, he has pretty fine hair so it's never consistent unless Zero makes the effort. His hair keeping short also makes it less wavy than it might be if he let it grow out.

He'll never admit it but he never really liked looking anyone in the eyes as a young man, and he still doesn't like it. His long bangs covering his face made him feel more calm and helped hide the fact he was avoiding eye contact.

When he signed up for the draft, Star had made a few passing comments about his hair, but Zero never thought anything of it. He's always remembered Star had had longer hair, and the Army wasn't that different to the navy, right?

After he was drafted and was in training, one of the first things that happened was his hair was trimmed back to fit in his helmet better and his daily grooming routine was reprimanded as a waste of time for a medic. He was told to change it or lives would be lost. So change it he did. This change consisted of not doing his hair routine save for 'basic maintenance' [ie, none] as needed, and only shaving one or twice a week, his facial hair never did grow very fast and was rather sparse anyways.

When he got back from the war, he vowed to grow his hair back out, but he was a different man returning home.

With his new found free time in the mornings meant he could always find time for tea and some breakfast. Making for a slightly less 'tired bitch of a captain' according to his three tugboats [data gathered from eaves dropping on their nightly poker games]. With his shaving routine fully altered and him no longer being picky about being clean shaven, he decided to try out facial hair, his father always maintained a beard, so why couldn't he? Genetics were on his side! He often forgets he's adopted.

It never did grow in fast, or very full. Even with Zorran's best efforts to help, Zero never really had more than a slightly bushy mess. And his hair never really got back to it's same length/health after the war, he always blamed it on the fact it was cut back, and not the fact he was a depressed mess after Europe who had stopped grooming almost entirely for years.

When Zip was due to be christened, Zero finally went down to a barbers shop to get himself cleaned up for the photographs at the urging of his tugboats and mother.

The barber took one look at him and told him the mustache needed to go and that his hair was initially damaged from lack of care during the war and then exacerbated by lack of care after. Zero on a whim let the man do what he felt was right, it was a new decade after all.

Zero's up cut was initially very low maintenance for him and he quite preferred it that way. Zero didn't keep up steam with his hair care the same way he did before the war, but he could manage to brush it in the morning to keep it from getting as bad as it had been.

Once Zasha comes into his life and he realized she has much curlier hair than he ever did [a mix of 3 b/c], he starts to pick hair maintenance back up as he learns how to take care of her hair. He's gotta be a role model and a good father after all. He still never gets back to how he was before the war, but at least his hair is healthy instead of oily, frizzy, and out of place.

More importantly he's taking regular showers and grooming again. His tugs count both of those things as a win.

He never figures out why he was less particular about the way he looks after the war. He was living a life of crime before the war. In the army he never injured a soul or took a life, unlike his days collecting debts as an 'accountant.'

He doesn't see how the war to end all wars could have changed him.

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kas-e · 5 months

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PHOTOGRAPHERS / PRINTERS /PUBLISHERS, please read below.

I've put my usual shooting and processing routine on hold in lieu of designing my book for publishing. In less than two weeks it's already been a bit of a hassle, and learning process. After designing my book project with Saal digital titled "Solitude" I have a good grasp on the graphic design aspect, and was very pleased with how that turned out - so I'm using that as a template for this next project.

I used their software for that though, so creating this one solely in photoshop is a bit tougher. Due to size and orientation restrictions on Amazon publishing I've sidelined the Jumping Spider book for now, and instead have begun creating a selection of vertical landscapes of America and Europe.

The first thing I noticed was that in converting the color to CMYK for printing seems to take some of the pop out of these images. This worries me a little, Saal did all this for me last time. The second is dropping the resolution to fit into the proper spread layout, then converting the spreads to tif files for submission. Again, I worry that the detail, sharpness, and color may suffer.

If anyone has gone through this process, please chime in. Specifically - [jpegs > cmyk > downsized (slightly) > tif] for spread. Will resolution, color, detail or sharpness suffer?

This is the first production that I am doing from scratch and I'd rather not have to correct after initial printing. Its already a ton of work, so I'd like to minimize any issues.

The general layout will be as follows - full page fill on one side, white bordered on the other when you open the page. About every 5 pages will be a full horizontal spread. I want to include at least 100 pieces at a minimum, and I'm currently about 44 images into it. Looks great so far, but very time consuming.

Asking my photographer friends for help here, any advice please post in the notes as this may also help someone else in the future.

Thank you!

#photography #printing #book #design #photoshop #help

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emylilas · 1 year

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Seemed fitting for the day...

Feel free to share what you think these stories should be about, here’s my plot so far:

Mary works in a nursing home. There's been an elderly patient called Luisa that she has been taking care of over the last six months. Luisa's granddaughter, Shannon, is coming back from her trip around the world, in the first week of January — she's been to all the places her grandmother wished she could have visited and has sent photos that have been decorating the walls of the hospital bedroom. That's how Mary recognises Shannon the first time she sees her in the lobby.

Shannon spends much of her time with her grandmother, sometimes they ask Mary to join them in her free time to play a game with them or to watch Grey's Anatomy that Luisa absolutely loves watching and criticising. Luisa feels like Shannon and Mary could get along well. Her own personal mission will be to set them up on a date for Valentine's Day, she lets Shannon's sister, Ava, know about her plan and of course Ava is in.

Mary shares an apartment with Lilith. They've known each other their whole life and they're the only loving family they've ever had. Suzanne is often with the two of them, she's in a band, The FBC, with Lilith, Adriel and Vincent.

Sadly, the band is threatened by Adriel and Vincent's divorce caused by Adriel's affair with Kristian. They both hired lawyers with a very good reputation but just like Vincent and Adriel can no longer stand each other, Jillian Salvius, Adriel's lawyer, and Francesco Duretti, Vincent's, absolutely despise each other.

A month before Valentine's Day, the band is supposed to play but Adriel has invited Kristian so Vincent refuses to play and leaves. Adriel leaves too because there's no point to this band anymore. Lilith and Suzanne have to improvise a whole show just the two of them. They turned out to be pretty good without the boys.

After the show, Chanel, the bartender, offers Lilith to join her for a drink. Suzanne tells her to go have fun and that she’ll take care of their stuff. Lilith is suddenly very shy with Chanel and Chanel thinks it’s charming. Meanwhile, Jillian sneaks backstage to meet Suzanne. First of all, because she wants to meet the person who's been mentioned so many times by both Adriel and Vincent, but most of all, and she won't admit it, because that was a hell of a show and Jillian isn't unaffected by Suzanne's charm. Except Suzanne doesn't want anything to do with Adriel's lawyer; she has never gotten along with Adriel. Jillian doesn't like this egotistical sexist megalomaniac guy either but she doesn't have to like her clients, she only loves the paychecks Adriel gives her. Jillian asks Suzanne out that night because she could use the company herself and she thinks Suzanne could use a drink and someone to vent to.

Hans is a photographer but since it doesn't pay his rent he’s working at Chanel's bar. On shown nights he's the one in charge of photography. One day, Yasmine, a museology student, reaches out to him. She needs to set a whole exhibition to graduate, her project is to mix different forms of art. Of course Hans is in. He mentions his roommate, Beatrice, who's all shy and nerdy and really good at drawing. He suggests they'd mix photos and painting and Yasmine is down with it! Her own roommate, Camila, could animate the photos-paintings so they could also play with audiovisual material. They have artists, they need models now.

They hang up flyers at uni and Michael and Todd, both friends from the book club, think it could be fun to join this project. Michael tells Ava, his best friend, to tag along. She wants to be a costume designer and who knows, they might need one. They do need one and everyone is crazy about the project.

JC, Chanel's annoying but charming little brother, comes back from his trip to Europe. They use him as a model. He’s a bit of a bad boy but once you get to know him, you realise he truly cares a lot about people. He learns that Michael has been struggling with something at uni (grades? Motivation? Bullying?) and offers to help. JC wishes Michael could get the hint that he's interested in him but Michael's blind.

Beatrice and Ava work a lot together for the costumes. Ava is impressed by Beatrice's knowledge. They do plenty of research about textiles and designs to better match the project. They go shopping together on different occasions and Beatrice starts opening up more.

Hans and Yasmine are obviously getting along very well and when Camila has had enough of third wheeling, she goes to the only other person who doesn’t seem to work in duo: Todd. He makes her laugh and he’s hot, Camila wonders if they could be friends.

They want to work on a special Valentine's Day project. Chanel is throwing a theme party for Valentine's Day and she lets them have the back room to offer a quick photoshoot to people in the bar. Ava, with the help of her grandmother, asks Shannon to show up with a date to help with their project. Shannon asks Mary to be her fake date because she's the only person she knows that she would want to hang out with, and because her grandmother didn’t leave her much of a choice. Lilith will be there to spend the night with Chanel, although she’d be busy with customers. She asks Suzanne to come for moral support, just in case it goes wrong and because Lilith is very unsure of herself. Suzanne has plans with Jillian but Jillian agrees to come along, she just wants to spend some time with Suzanne and it could be a fun night. There’s a big what the fuck are you doing here moment between mother and son when they bump into each other at the bar that night.

Vincent asks Suzanne to be his character witness during one of the hearings for the divorce and Suzanne can't say no to her oldest friend. She tells Jillian and Jillian is very uncomfortable because she can’t not go to the hearing and she doesn't want to go all boss bitch on Suzanne and she also doesn't want to risk losing her case to Duretti. Tough choice to make.

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aesthetelabel · 1 year

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DESIGN DETAILS- WROUGHT IRON Baroque and Rococo were the periods of history with the most ornate wrought iron. This type of ironwork, literally meant “worked iron”. Decorative Ironwork design was deeply rooted in classical and medieval allusions to mythology, legends, religion and botanical forms. In Europe Cathedrals in Spain had an ornate iron around the screens; in France, the decorative wrought iron with rich scrollings and bold foliations were used in balconies, stair railings and gateways. But it was in the Arts and Crafts, Art Deco and Arg Nouveau movements that wrought iron had its glory days with the emphasis on creativity and craftsmanship. Wrought iron still has its place in modern interiors today, through the use of furniture, balustrades, lighting and accessories it brings character to a home, forged by a skilled blacksmith it can be designed to fit any interior. . . . Photographs @pinterestuk #interiordesign #interiordesigner #interiors #stylist #designdetails #wroughtiron #midcentury #rococo #artdeco #artnouveau #artsandcrafts #interiorinspo #aesthetelabel https://www.instagram.com/p/CpbGbGYLnvk/?igshid=NGJjMDIxMWI=

#interiordesign #interiordesigner #interiors #stylist #designdetails #wroughtiron #midcentury #rococo #artdeco #artnouveau #artsandcrafts #interiorinspo #aesthetelabel

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einsteinsugly · 1 year

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Does anyone want a T7S Titanic AU?

Steven Hyde (born 1885) as Jack Dawson: A twenty-six-year-old drifter from Chippewa Falls, Wisconsin, who gambled his way onto the Titanic. He's traveled throughout North America and western Europe, including Paris, Amsterdam, Edinburgh, and London, never settling down in one place. It's just him, his new friend Fez, a few books, and an acoustic guitar. Until he finds Jackie, a young woman who longs to free herself from the shackles of high society.

Jacqueline "Jackie" Burkhart (born 1887) as Rose Dewitt-Bukater: Part of the disgraced Burkhart family, her father Jack is in prison (he was on the wrong side of the law, and his trust was broken up by Teddy Roosevelt himself). And she's close to becoming an old maid, in her mother's eyes, so she must maintain appearances. And engage herself to a restless investment banker, and commit herself to misery. Like many before her.

Pamela "Pam" Burkhart (born 1865) as Ruth Dewitt-Bukater: Pam is desperate. Her husband is in prison, the money is almost gone, and she's trying to salvage what's left and save face. And that includes marrying her "old maid" of a daughter off to an investment banker.

Katherine "Kitty" Forman (nee Sigurdson) (born 1861) as Margaret "Molly" Brown: A former Wisconsinite and daughter of an abolitionist, she follows her restless husband Red to Chicago and then to Leadville, Colorado, where he strikes it rich. She's a mother, a nurse, and heads a soup kitchen. And as a part of the "nouveau riche," she's almost universally shunned by high society. But she's willing to lend a hand, when the rest? They hoard their riches, and sit on their laurels.

Michael Kelso (born 1885) as Tommy: A meager, reckless Scotsman and welder, hoping to find a better life in America with his wife Elizabeth "Brooke" (born 1883) and their children Elizabeth "Betsy" (born 1904) and John "Jay" (born 1910).

Fez (born 1886) as Fabrizio: Hyde's close friend, who he met in New York. He has accompanied him on his adventures in Paris, Amsterdam, Edinburgh, and London.

Karl Schmidt (born 1884) as Cal Hockley: Jackie's fiance. A hot-headed, ambitious investment banker.

Plus:

Eric Forman (born 1886) as Lawrence "Larry" Brown: Shunning the family mining business by being a history professor at the University of Chicago and an amateur photographer and filmmaker, he's well known for consistently disappointing his father. But because of Red's failing health, his father appointed him to be the representative of the American branch of the Forman family at the family reunion in Northern Ireland. Unlike his father, he is notorious for being incredibly unlucky.

Donna Forman (nee Pinciotti) (born 1886): Eric's progressive suffragette wife and a promising freelancer, originally from New York, who fails to fit in with the society ladies. Her paternal grandmother (a Visconti) was born into old money, older than even the society ladies can possibly boast. But her father Bob also lucked out by investing in Henry Ford's business early on, largely due to his daughter's insistence.

Sarah "Sadie" Forman (born 1905): Eric and Donna's young daughter, who is quiet, pensive, and creative. She seems to have both her mother's love for reading and writing, and her father's love for photography and filmography.

William "Liam" Forman (born 1909): Eric and Donna's young son, who is often attached to his sister's hip.

And:

Reginald "Red" Forman (born 1857) as JJ Brown: Not featured but consistently mentioned, Red is a mining engineer that struck it rich (and found a massive ore seam) in Leadville, Colorado, with his wife Kitty already (and still firmly) by his side. His branch of the family, hailing from Northern Ireland, left during the potato famine and initially settled in Point Place, Wisconsin. But his failing health prevented him from attending the Forman family reunion, so he asked Eric to represent the family in lieu of his attendance.

#that 70s show #that 90s show #jackie and hyde #jackie burkhart #steven hyde #red and kitty #red forman #kitty forman #eric and donna #eric forman #donna pinciotti #fez #kelso and brooke #michael kelso #my moodboards #tentative fic stuff #titanic #jack and rose

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wishbonemotel · 1 year

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Muse Aesthetics: Horror Edition

Thank you for the tag @bokatan ! Gonna put this over here instead of on the Fallout blog because the vibes fit my OC configs over here better. Going with Nadia, Connor, and Cres for this one

No pressure tags: @krokaxe @bluepriestess @thespiral and anyone who wants to say I tagged them

Nadia

GOTHIC HORROR.

gaslights. corsets. ballrooms. candlelight. mist. starless nights. full moons. cobbled streets. horse-drawn carriages. mysterious strangers. bogs. moors. forests. mountains. castles. velvet. silver. brass. gold. jewels. domino masks. the opera. dangerous romances. tragic romances. violins. roses. lilies. empty graves. crosses. cemeteries. snow. ice. the gallows. crows. milk-white skin. ambiguous illness. fangs. pointed nails. something howling in the night. capes. gloves. top hats. straight razors. lightning. pipe organs. underground caverns. bats. mice. rats. ravens. cats. pearls. attics. talismans. axes. wood. isolation in a room full of people. vampires. werewolves. ghosts. coffins. western europe. eastern europe. bones. churches. catacombs. mausoleums. spiders. books.

CLASSIC HORROR.

black & white. powder puffs. red lipstick. winged eyeliner. white kitten heels. black lace lingerie. icy blue eyes. rain. abandoned cars. skeletons. acid. poison. voyeurism. switchblades. strangling. overcoats. looking over your shoulder. trans-atlantic accents. private detectives. dinner parties. haunted mansions. alcohol in glass decanters. cobwebs. perfect blonde curls. kitchen knives. shock. cellars. dust. dark alleys. empty streets. driving at night. horn-rimmed glasses. radiation. zombies. serial murder. paranoia. the city. witches. the devil. cannibalism. conspiracies. amulets. abject terror. the american south. the american northeast. england. analog cameras.

SLASHERS.

bloodbaths. massacres. wanton nudity. newspapers. leather jackets. letterman jackets. converse sneakers. obscured faces. social unrest. bonfires. lakes. babysitters. suburbia. high school. lockers. dead leaves in the fall. jack-o’-lanterns. outdated television sets. nightmares. psychiatrists. hospitals. unstoppable forces. gunfire. police. landline telephones. household objects turned into improvised weapons. halloween. secrets. revelations. character masks. scrunchies. queerness. wild curls. morbid humor. jeering children. parties. fire. swearing. revulsion. california. the american midwest. ambulances.

PARANORMAL HORROR.

malevolent spirits. seances. spells. missing bodies. hidden graves. white noise. static. flickering lights. rings of salt. demons. poltergeists. dark histories. old buildings. cold air. mausoleums. wells. urban exploration. a dog barking at something you can’t see. black ooze. old photographs. faces you can swear you’ve seen before but can’t for the life of you figure out where. dark bodies of water. crucifixes. priests. possession. exorcisms. dolls. jump scares.

CRYPTID & URBAN LEGEND HORROR.

aliens. blinding light. dark woods. driving at night. claw-marks. bite-marks. men in black. memory loss. dismembered bodies. sewers. flashlights. cell phones. video cameras. cars with tinted windows. abandoned houses. unlabeled cassette tapes. bugs. big cities. urban crimes. clowns. something rustling outside your window. glowing light. unsolved mysteries. suburbia. mirrors. the american pacific northwest. the american midwest. the american east coast. hiking / backpacking.

THRILLERS.

daylight. fluorescent lighting. morgues. asylums. unwavering eye contact. tension. lit rooms with no one inside them. a dog digging in the newly-planted flower bed. steely gazes. paperwork. anagrams. codes. convicted killers. missing persons. law enforcement. federal agents. small towns. suspicion. paranoia. subdued terror. dimly-lit parking lots.

Connor

GOTHIC HORROR.

CLASSIC HORROR.

SLASHERS.

PARANORMAL HORROR.

CRYPTID & URBAN LEGEND HORROR.

THRILLERS.

Cres

GOTHIC HORROR.

CLASSIC HORROR.

SLASHERS.

PARANORMAL HORROR.

CRYPTID & URBAN LEGEND HORROR.

THRILLERS.

#[smacks nadia on the ass like a car salesman] this bad boy can fit so many horror aesthetics in it #nadia tag #connor tag #cres tag #oc posting

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