#Muse: Emma Glamour | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

starfirette · 2 years

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Shadowhunter Girls as Your Girlfriend

✧just a little something I did before I went to sleep. I queued it for this morning!!

✧ I also wrote a boyfriend version | my masterlist has more shadowhunter content, so check it out!!!!

✧Jessamine Lovelace, my beloved ❤️ she owns my whole heart

Lightwoods

Anna Lightwood is looking for a princess to spoil. If that sounds like you, then congratulations. Anna enjoys nights on the town, trips to the theatre, where you can glamour yourselves and make out in the back. She buys you pretty silk gloves with pearls embroidered to the tops, or parasols you'll never use. Always looking to be your partner during a mission. She works best with you.

Isabelle Lightwood is the friends-to-lovers + pining AU. She has been smitten with you since the day you two met. She hates watching you flirt and date others. She'll dwell on it, but eventually, she'll get the balls to ask you out. She's a matching pajamas, her's-and-her's kind of girlfriend. You're the first person she cooks for, be it from an ancient recipe book of another realm or an idea from Pinterest

Fairchilds

Clary Fairchild is a cuddly girlfriend. She is probably co-dependent and always wants to be with you. You are Clary's muse! Clary likes to binge watch animes in the dark with her body tangled with yours, in a position so intricate it's incredibly comfortable; phone resting on a makeshift table, a few cans of stale sparkling water laying around, and an episode of Fullmetal Alchemist playing on a cracked screen.

Carstairs

Emma Carstairs is a loud mouth, friends with benefits girlfriend. At least that how it started. Emma isn't one to catch feelings so easily, but when she does? Oh boy. She loves and adores you with a passion. She's fiercely protective. She's a matching tattoos girlfriend who will not hesitate to push you into a pool of freezing water. She loves ya though!

Herondales

Cecily Herondale is secretly a softie. Cecily is dramatically romantic. Grand gestures are just her forte. She's a gift giver and a giving, more dominant lover. She wants to protect you. You're the first person she checks on after a nasty mission. Cecily most definitely doodles the marriage rune on your skin with ink, saying it's practice for the future.

Lovelace

Jessamine Lovelace is complex and aggravated. All. The. Time. Something about you helps her open up. If you're committed to being a Shaodwhunter, Jess will quietly abide by that. She'll make an effort to be more involved with Shadowhunter politics. She agrees to carry weapons and learn to fight at your behest, because you're worried about her. She dropkicks Will with surprising ease when he makes a snide comment about Jessamine "playing dress up in Shadowhunter's clothing." Jessamine would always want to look her best around you. She would be genuinely shocked to learn that couples don't actually sleep in two separate beds. If she wants that, though, then you're more than willing to accommodate. She doesn't like to be teased. She's a little naive. She's easily drawn to whoever is showing her affection, so I'm fucking warning you right now. Don't break her heart.

Gray

Tessa Gray is a giving lover who respects your independence. She is patient and kind, understanding to the max. She likes to hear you ramble. She likes to hear about your day. Tessa values your opinion over anyone else's. As much as she respects it, however, she is not going to change her ways to please you. She will be stubborn and might always put herself in danger if she thinks it will save her loved ones. She respects your independence; she expects you to reciprocate. Tessa adores you. Everything you do is endearing to her!

Wraybyrn

Diana Wrayburn is passionate and caring. She always keeps you in mind! Little things remind her of you. She does the simplest of favors for you, to make your life easier, whether it's keeping track of your socks while doing laundry or rising early in the morning to make a pot of coffee, just the way you like it. Diana wants to be good enough for you, so please, reassure her that she's more than enough.

Seelie Queen

The Seelie Queen is mommy, okay?

The Seelie Queen rescued you, took pity on you, and took you on as her personal hand maiden. What was meant to be an assistant's position became something intense; something more. It started out physical, but leave it to the Queen to catch feelings. You're her pet. To the public, at least. She maintains the master/owner persona for her court to simply keep her life private. When you two are alone, you are her equal. Her confidant. She always appreciates your advice. She is a passionate, fiery lover with a flare for theatrics. She likes the way you two pretend to be something you're not; something darker, and, in a way, kinkier. She thinks it's funny. She likes the secret. She enjoys her true self being shared with only you. She trusts you, truly; that can't be said for anyone else.

Rosales

Cristina Rosales considers you her best friend. She finds it easy to talk to you. She is always honest and never feels afraid to tell you anything. She's more than willing to do whatever she can to keep you happy. She pays attention to everything. She can tell when you're in a pissy mood or when you're anxious. She is tender and gentle and so, so loving. She's bursting with affection. Matching jewelry is so her thing. She'd be lying if she said she didn't occasionally imagine herself in a full, golden gown, walking towards you...but she's patient. She'll wait for you to ask.

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hollvcrap · 3 years

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olha lá a HOLLY ELIZEBETH MONROE COTILLARD nos corredores da truffaut! ela é uma MULHER TRANS de 18 ANOS que é originalmente de PARIS/FRANÇA. é PAGANTE e se ela parece ser SIMPÁTICA, DETERMINADA, NARCISISTA e MANIPULADORA, é porque ela é de CÂNCER. seu codinome é MNEMOSINE e é do time dos TITÃS. por aí dizem que se parece com HUNTER SCHAFER.

RESUMO. SKELETON. CONNECTIONS.

HEADCANONS. PINTEREST. MUSINGS.

nome: holly elizabeth monroe cotillard.

idade: dezoito anos.

signo: sol em câncer, ascendente em leão, lua em sagitário.

personalidade: mbti entj-t (comandante), eneatipo 3 (vencedor), temperamento colérico, tendência caótica e neutra.

arquétipo: mnemosine.

inspirações: emma woodhouse (emma), ferris bueller (ferris bueller’s day off), crowley (good omens), titus andromedon (unbrakable kimmy schmidt), jackie bukhart (that 70′s show), eleanor shellstrop (the good place), rita skeeter (harry potter), rogelio de la vega (jane the virgin), flynn ryder (tangled), jessica rabbit (who framed roger rabbit), santana lopez (glee), viih tube (bbb).

cidade natal: paris/frança.

atividades: jornal da escola, comitê de ações sociais, líderes de torcida, comitê de eventos, clube do filme, clube de teatro, clube de dança clássica, clube de línguas.

𝐁𝐈𝐎𝐆𝐑𝐀𝐅𝐈𝐀.

écrit et réalisé par andreas cotillard. qualquer pessoa da frança, com toda certeza, já leu esta frase nos créditos iniciais de algum filme bem conceituado pela crítica dos quatro cantos do globo. andreas é um premiado roteirista, produtor e diretor cinematográfico. um dos favoritos do festival de cannes. seu maior feito? ostentar três estatuetas do oscar em seu vasto currículo: melhor roteiro original, melhor filme estrangeiro e melhor diretor respectivamente. seu segundo maior feito e, também, o seu primeiro fracasso? a família polêmica que rendeu seis temporadas de um reality recorde de audiência ao m6. e, talvez, novas temporadas fossem gravadas não fosse pelas desavenças entre o aclamado cineasta e sua primogênita, audrey cotillard. a filha mais velha de andreas estava em alta, com seu rosto estampado em outdoors e uma turnê para promover um filme de sucesso do qual era protagonista e contracenava com um nome de peso. o sucesso subiu a cabeça, mas quem pode culpá-la, afinal? foi criada em uma família de narcisistas e, carregar o sobrenome cotillard tinha seus benefícios, mas estava cansada de viver sob as sombras dos pais. o cineasta renomado e margo silvers, uma atriz também premiada.

a mídia voraz, responsável pela veiculação de fofocas, foi a primeira a noticiar a gravidez de audrey. indesejada, diga-se de passagem, uma vez que estava no ápice da carreira e, por algum motivo que a mídia até hoje não conseguiu desvendar, o nome do pai da criança nunca fora mencionado. não nos veículos de notícias, não em um episódio do reality, não na certidão de nascimento de holly elizabeth monroe cotillard. já nasceu sob os holofotes da mídia, a primeira foto tirada ainda na maternidade circulou por todos os tabloides e virou um tópico recorrente na emissora m6, fosse para alimentar as especulações de quem seria o pai do primeiro neto de andreas e margo cotillard, sim, um lindo garoto! fosse para aumentar o número de audiência. quatro temporadas depois, a relação de audrey e andreas cotillard — que, consequentemente, respingou no restante da família — se tornou insustentável. após a morte de margo, audrey concedeu os direitos de um documentário à outra produtora. apesar disso, não foi o que colocou um fim na relação familiar... mas sim uma entrevista que deu sobre as brigas com seu pai, na qual aproveitar para pintar os progenitores como vilões da história, especialmente no que dizia respeito à gravidez: “nunca me apoiaram, foram os piores nove meses da minha vida, desenvolvi depressão pós-parto porque eles indesejarem a criança fez com que eu indesejasse também, pediram inúmeras vezes para que eu... céus, isso é horrível!”

as declarações de audrey e as respostas ostensivas de andreas viraram um cabo de guerra televisado, até que chegasse a um desfecho com o fim do reality. um andreas desmoralizado e uma audrey tida como mentirosa. a vida dela nunca mais foi a mesma. todo o glamour, toda a fama, toda a credibilidade por água a baixo. cada vez ficava mais difícil conseguir papéis relevantes em filmes, séries ou mesmo comerciais. andreas havia feito questão de queimar seu nome na indústria ao mostrar o quão ingrata sua filha era. tornou-se obcecada pela redenção, absorta demais em sua futilidade, não prestava atenção na criança em holly. demasiadamente negligente, pouco se importava com o desenvolvimento daquele ser, até então, muito dependente dela. tão alienada que não percebia os trejeitos e os sinais que a criança dava, desde muito cedo, de estar em crise com sua identidade. não a enxergava como sujeito, mas quando holly completou cinco anos e estrelou em sua primeira série... passou a enxergá-la como um bilhete premiado de volta para os tapetes vermelhos, premiéres e premiações.

holly logo se tornou a queridinha dos castings e audrey podia vislumbrar um futuro promissor para a criança a sua frente. foi inevitável projetar todos os seus sonhos interrompidos em sua prole. aulas de canto, aulas de dança, aulas de atuação, aulas de música consumiam todo o seu tempo para que se tornasse a melhor. até porque, deveria ser a melhor em todas essas atividades e manter acesa a chama da competitividade. nessa época, foi ensinada também que a aparência é um dos elementos mais importantes para a indústria, de modo que holly se tornou obcecada com seu próprio corpo. a indústria cinematográfica, os roteiristas, os diretores, os tabloides a moldaram para aparentar se uma pessoa ignorante, submissa, que não questiona métodos. tão logo, os sonhos de sua mãe se transformaram em seus sonhos também. queria as capas de revistas, os paparazzis em sua cola, as premiações, as limousines, e tudo o mais que viesse com a fama. o sonho se transformou em pesadelo quando começou a transição para a puberdade, quando passou a odiar cada detalhe da sua aparência, quando passou a não se reconhecer em seu próprio corpo.

o psicológico cada vez mais deteriorado foi o que destruiu a promessa de uma carreira primorosa. em um momento, queria sim tudo aquilo, no outro... sabia que não conseguiria fazer aquilo. não enquanto estava presa a uma pessoa que não era ela. holly, que na verdade recebeu outro nome ao nascer — basta uma pesquisa rápida no google —, passou a exigir se chamada de holly inspirada pela personagem do filme “a bonequinha de luxo”. todavia, a aceitação do gênero com o qual se identificava representou a derrocada de sua carreira cinematográfica. a mesma indústria que amava adam não se prestou a acolher holly, a rejeitou. os feedbacks foram de “esse papel foi feito para você” a “não é bem o que estamos procurando”. e sua mente não conseguia entender o porquê, não conseguia por em perspectiva o preconceito do cinema. muito apegada à memória do que poderia ter sido sua vida caso tivesse estrelado em uma grande produção, holly ficou estagnada. incentivada por audrey, criou um canal para relatar suas experiências ruins de modo a chamar atenção da mídia para as discriminações. não era algo que ela queria reviver, mas mesmo assim o fez porque era a mãe quem controlava sua carreira. com o advento do politicamente correto, aos dezesseis anos, tornou-se uma sensação da internet com seu canal no youtube e hoje é uma digital influencer muito bem paga.

𝐀𝐑𝐐𝐔𝐄́𝐓𝐈𝐏𝐎.

MNEMOSINE era a titanide deusa da memória, considerada uma das mais poderosas de sua época. afinal, é a memória, literalmente um presente divino. e é esse presente que permite que mnemosine racionalize, preveja e antecipe desdobramentos, além de ser o pilar fundamental que sustenta a civilização. infelizmente, assim como mnemosine, tal dom do seu arquétipo é esquecido, perdido nas névoas do tempo. quando é lembrada, normalmente é no contexto de você ser a mãe das musas, embora todos reconheçam que sem a memória, as vivências das artes das musas nunca seriam possíveis.

quando falamos de memória, não estamos falando em memorizar listas de compras ou horários de horas, a lembrança do arquétipo é muito mais que isso. mnemosine é a memória das regras e energias do universo, do ciclo da vida, a memória de como viver no mundo. por isso se apresenta como uma pessoa tão filosófica, interessada em viver cada dia de forma intensa de modo a extrair memórias permanentes de sua existência. não quer se arrepender, lá na frente, quando não tiver histórias o suficiente para contar. afinal, o mundo evoluiu, mas a sociedade ainda confia, sobretudo, nas lições transmitidas pela oralidade. e você sempre tem muito a dizer, porque de cada vivência você tira uma experiência e tenta aconselhar aqueles que marcham para o mesmo caminho.

a memória, entretanto, estagna ou impulsiona sua criatividade artística? é uma pergunta justa. até porque as memórias do arquétipo são apenas dela, já seu lado artístico é amplamente divulgado por sua necessidade de aparecer, de inspirar poetas, ter músicas dedicadas a ela, promover as artes… assim como as musas as quais dera origem em conjunto com zeus, o arquétipo de mnemosine tem sua mente, seu coração voltado para o canto e seu espírito livre de preocupações. especialmente porque ela se lembra, essa é a resposta.

𝐏𝐄𝐑𝐒𝐎𝐍𝐀𝐋𝐈𝐃𝐀𝐃𝐄.

dotada de personalidade forte, ativa e vital holly facilmente assume a postura de líder. e é extremamente fácil ser vista como uma figura de poder quando encarna os dons de carisma e confiança, projetando autoridade de uma forma atrativa. apesar de se mostrar uma pessoa radiante, positiva, alegre e bem-humorada, engana-se quem pensa que é uma pessoa ligada à sensibilidade. muito pelo contrário, sua personalidade é caracterizada poe um nível de racionalidade, muitas vezes cruel, usando de sua unidade, determinação e mente afiada, para alcançar qualquer fim que tenha definido para si. dito isto, é certo que a expressão emocional não é forte de holly, mas devido à sua natureza social, a distância de suas emoções é sentida por aqueles não tão próximos da garota. especialmente no que diz respeito a suas atividades que considera de cunho profissional, já que se tiver que esmagar a sensibilidade de alguém que ela considera ineficiente, incompetente ou preguiçoso ela o fará. a falta de tato com seus próprios sentimentos em situação específica supramencionada, todavia, não implica em holly sendo uma pessoa ruim.

holly cotillard é uma verdadeira potência, do topo de sua arrogância cultiva a imagem de ser maior que a vida – convenhamos, ela realmente é. por isso precisa ser lembrada constantemente de que tal status não vem apenas de suas póprias ações ou suas próprias ações, e que deve reconhecer todas as ações externas que a moldaram para ser o que é hoje, especialmente aquelas que dizem respeito à perspectiva emocional da sua rede apoio. para manter sua estatura, ela passa por cima de muita coisa, inclusive possui a mentalidade “seja falsa até que você consiga o que quer”. por este motivo, você dramatiza suas emoções para conseguir o que quer, cotillard entrega às pessoas somente o que ela quer que elas vejam. a maioria dos seus sorrisos, a maioria de suas palavras e até mesmo a maioria das brigas que escolhe lutar são friamente calculados pela canceriana que faz jus à característica manipuladora de seu sol. exibições emocionais, para você, são sinônimo de exibições de fraqueza, a menos que seja o que você tenha escolhido mostrar por causa de um propósito maior.

por mais forte que se mostre ou tente parecer, intimamente existe em nela uma natureza muito insegura e passiva, de modo que constantemente trava uma guerra psicológica em sua mente porque esta se impõe a força e a dinâmica em suas ações e sentimentos, independente se as necessidades mais íntimas clamam por sensibilidade haja vista que tal aspecto sensível é castrado pelo ascendente em leão. ainda que racional, há uma parte de holly que tem inclinação para o exagero e para o drama e talvez isso seja o único algo genuinamente canceriano da menina. seus trejeitos leoninos, por outro lado, reafirmam a sua necessidade de performar feminilidade. afinal, a aparência sempre foi uma preocupação prioritária para a garota que deve ter “herdado” o ideal para inclinações narcisistas dos pais. ela gosta de ser notada, admirada e apreciada pelos outros. desde muito nova deseja ser o centro das atenções e se sente extremamente orgulhosa quando nota que está em evidência, sentir-se especial faz bem para o seu ego. e, por falar em ego, este é enorme e às vezes holly tende a se tornar mais esnobe, egocêntrica e muito obstinada quando é contrariada.

#♛ › ❛ turned her tears to diamonds in her crown : 𝒅𝒆𝒗𝒆𝒍𝒐𝒑𝒎𝒆𝒏𝒕

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wcrldtcp · 4 years

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tag dump - emma glamour + family/ship tags

glamour ic ║ absolutely it

glamour aesthetic ║ worthy of approval

glamour musing ║ if money can’t buy happiness then why is it so fabulous

glamour headcanon ║ how to rise to the top

glamour gallery ║ instagram perfect

glamour verse ║ ducktales

family: glamour & mark ║ mother knows best ; listen to your mother

ship: daisy & donald ║ yet i can’t bear to sleep ; till i hear you sing

#glamour ic ║ absolutely it #glamour aesthetic ║ worthy of approval #glamour musing ║ if money can’t buy happiness then why is it so fabulous #glamour headcanon ║ how to rise to the top #glamour gallery ║ instagram perfect #glamour verse ║ ducktales #family: glamour & mark ║ mother knows best ; listen to your mother #ship: daisy & donald ║ yet i can’t bear to sleep ; till i hear you sing

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bitofthisandthat · 4 years

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@gamblealife said: ♡ ( -Drops one for Falcon & Gabby cause I need to throw him at her more- )

send me a ‘ ♡ ’ and i’ll talk about what type of relationship i could see our muses having

[ Selective; size of list varies!! ]

[ And now for something completely DIFFERENT. Because the multiverse is a blessing...or a curse, depending on who asks. Anyway, since Your Falcon™ really hasn’t interacted with Gabby, I’mma play it by ear, and you can poke me later about it of course. ]

They met during/after the events of Moonvasion. Gabby’s “contribution” to it was seen via satellite to some elites hiding underground, ( IE Mark, Glomgold, etc ) They knew OF each other, but never encountered each other personally, not even for a job crossing streams. But seeing footage of her was the first time he saw her in action. After she was captured by the moon people, she was thrown into a converted air hangar made into holding cell for the “dangerous types,” and it was there she met Falcon, who was captured just shortly before her. Basically, she unaired her disgust for most of the people on the “team” she was on, and from that vague venting, they realized they’ve crossed paths with the same people. There, he offered a chance to work with her futuristically. ( Both certain they’d get out of the imprisonment, because hey, they’re THEM. ) Gabby’s not ever one to join an actual organization like FOWL and certainly not SHUSH, so she stays on the outskirts, even if he’s loyal to FOWL. That doesn’t stop her from taking a sub-contract with him for “an unknown buyer,” and she basically drags in former accomplices Hack and Slash and boards them on through her recommendation. **totally up to you on this because I hate mary-suing** She’s more or less “eagle 1″ to him in the Emma Glamour job; H&S are the heavies under them, but Falcon’s “team leader.” The boys don’t really know she’s second to him; that info is held back by both Gabby and Falcon because of their own personal sneakiness/ego. She even makes a deal, that if they get separated after the Glamour event ( their 1st heist together ), she’ll break him out of jail if he gets hulled away before her. So they kinda agree on her bailing after, just in case. The Wolf brothers? On their own. Sooooorry.

Between the events of Moonv.asion and Louie’s Elev.en, there’s a lot of time. They’re in close contact with each other scheming and “talking shop” pre-planning other possible heists they can do together after the Glamour event. I do see this as a time where sexual tension is building up between them because of it; so run with that as you may. You know I don’t like setting stuff in stone, but they could end up being a lot “closer” than their business partners know, but keep it totally secret. For any reason other than the game of it AND to have yet another leg up on their opponents and lackeys. Would it be true affection later? Dunno. TIME WILL TELL.

#gamblealife #asks #What KIND of Relationship?? meme #C: Falcon Graves ( gamblealife )#V: NEVER PRESUME THAT WE WILL NOT ACT ON OUR WORST INSTINCTS || GABBY & FALCON VERSE ( gamblealife )#{ Josie I already know. SO I PUT IT IN THERE. }#🗡️GABBY MCSTABBERSON 🗡️

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ineffablecolors · 5 years

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THE WIFE [14/?]

The Wife || Ch 14 ~ 4.9k || Ch1 Ch2 Ch3 Ch4 Ch5 Ch6 Ch7 Ch8 Ch9 Ch10 Ch11 C12 Ch13 || FF.NET&AO3

Summary: No one knows all that Emma has been through and certainly no one knows all that Killian has been through and being husband and wife doesn’t make them any less unknown to each other. And really, how can you help someone heal when you don’t even know how hurt they are?

A/N: Very vague mentions of abortion. Storytelling, light angst and lots of touching.

The world outside seems to be plunging further into gloom rather than brightening with the advancing day but, for the moment, Emma feels impervious to the thickening clouds threatening rain and thunder. The sheets are still warm and she can feel the ghost of Killian’s beard on her jaw and neck and the tops of her breasts whose pinkness against the whiteness of her nightgown makes her cheeks redden as well.

She used to love storms – the sheer power and unpredictability of them made her admire each bolt of lightning with wide eyes and an awed smile. Until that night when they laid her out with her legs spread wide as the wind and the branches whipped the window behind her and let her go and curl in on herself only when the storm was already dying down, when Emma found herself a little emptier than she’d ever felt before, the water in the gutters trickling away with her tears.

She shakes her head and burrows deeper under the covers, scowling at the raised hairs on her arms. When Killian comes back with a fresh pot of tea and not a paper in sight, she can’t help the incredulous climb of her eyebrow and the joyful flutters in her stomach gradually start anew.

“You’re not working today?”

Killian stops a foot from their bed and his unguarded expression shifts into one of uncertainty.

“Would you like me to give you some privacy? I—”

“Oh, no, no.” Emma scrambles across the bed, grabs a handful of his shirt and tugs, making him plant a knee on the bed so he doesn’t topple over her. “Sorry.”

He makes a sound somewhere between a laugh and a cough and ducks his head before angling it to the side, obviously trying not to stare at where the laces of her gown are undone at the top.

“I thought I should attempt this… giving myself to leisure that my brother has been going on about for years.”

His awkwardness makes her bolder and she slides her hands over his shoulders.

“Then perhaps I’m the one who is in the way,” she teases, confident that he does not mind that she hasn’t so much as set foot out of his bed.

Killian rolls his eyes, pulls away and dramatically throws himself on the pillows and his arm over his face.

“Your presence is sheer torture.”

She follows suit, landing half on top of him with her head on his stomach and eliciting a rather undignified grunt from Killian.

“Then tortured you shall be, my lord.”

“Not a lord, I’m afraid.”

“Ah, but isn’t every husband his wife’s lord,” she says with a touch of sarcasm, hoping he doesn’t mind the disrespect.

Killian chuckles and reaches for her, his large hand almost enclosing her entire waist as he tentatively kneads her flesh through the thin cotton.

“I will gladly settle for “captain”.”

“How did you become a captain? You said you always dreamt of a life at sea.”

She doesn’t bother to temper her curiosity, assuming that, with everything else he has shared with her, Killian will have no reservations about telling her about his career and will hopefully derive more pleasure from this than other stories.

“It’s a rather ridiculous tale, if I am to tell it properly.”

“I thought you were given to leisure today, captain.”

He lightly pinches her side, making her squirm even as she continues to use him as a pillow.

“Why, it sounds to me like we should make a trade.”

*****

“A trade?” her voice is tinged with curiosity and playful suspicion and Killian finds himself grinning up at the ceiling.

“Indeed. Quid pro quo.”

“What does that mean?”

He looks back at her and sees the moment the embarrassment registers and Emma ducks her head. He doesn’t want her to be embarrassed. He doesn’t want her to ever hesitate to ask him about anything she hasn’t been taught. But he stops himself from saying anything of the sort and instead keeps his voice completely neutral, as if not at all surprised by the query.

“It means a fair exchange. I tell you something… you tell me something.”

“As if we don’t share enough secrets.”

“It needn’t be a secret. Though I dare say there is little we should be afraid to reveal at this point.”

In the silence that follows he listens to the rain beating against the window and reconciles himself with how much he wants to know Emma’s beginnings. He means what he said, though he can scarcely believe it. They have shared things that he knows each thought would make the other pull away and yet here they are. He can smell her all around his bed, he can feel the weight of her on his stomach and the warmth of her that is still a revelation.

“Alright.”

Her hair rustles over his shirt as she nods resolutely and sends him an almost challenging look.

“Alright?”

“Yes. You’ve had much longer to gather stories and secrets so I think I have the advantage.”

He gasps dramatically, placing his hand over his heart, and this time she shakes her head back and forth before turning over and crawling up a bit so that her lips can reach his own.

There is a softness about Emma that he wouldn’t have thought possible, if she wasn’t here – hovering above him, her breasts barely brushing his chest as her mouth barely brushes his, her fingers softer than the cotton of his shirt against his neck and her hair softer still where it tickles one side of his face. He is almost afraid to touch her – he has only the one rough hand to hold her with, but his head tilts up unconsciously, giving into her without protest, with pleasure.

She loves him. The thought sneaks in uninvited and he shrinks away from it – has been trying not to examine it too closely all morning as he focused on her and her pleasure, as he shooed away Mrs Lucas and busied himself with breakfast, as he gave into his melancholy and longing for his daughter and memories that he has kept locked away for years.

He tells himself he was hearing things, early in the morning, half-awake and dazed by her presence. Knows he is lying to himself.

But, as unusual as it is for him, Killian was not without his hopes – he hoped that he could earn her affection eventually, gradually, with a great deal of effort which couldn’t be more worth it. But this – this feels like too much and too soon and he hasn’t done enough to have it. He hasn’t done much of anything, hasn’t given her much of value, he didn’t even truly try to be amiable and indulgent at first. He has just… been.

His breath stalls in his chest as Emma’s lips trail up his nose and press against his forehead before she blessedly pulls away and resumes her previous position, pillowing her head on his stomach and letting her knees drop to the sides.

He has now seen her in the throes of passion but he has never seen her so relaxed.

“So why did you want to sail?”

Her voice snaps him out of his musings and he blinks at her in confusion for a few seconds much to Emma’s obvious enjoyment.

“I beg your pardon?”

“You said when you were young all you wanted to do was sail.”

“Ah, yes. Well, I—“ he clears his throat and wonders how to preface this. “As I said, my initial pursuits and ideas were childish, to put it mildly.”

“Killian, you are allowed to have been a child. And, thus, childish.”

He laughs and nods.

“If you say so, love. Well, you could say I was more or less raised for it. Though never for anything so glamourous as a captaincy. My father was a common fisherman. Or so I thought. I never could get my mother to tell me, if she knew of his less than reputable activities before they were brought into the light proper.”

Emma stays quiet and he settles his hand on her hip again, lightly tracing the protruding bone.

“He went out with our boat one day and just never came back. We thought he’d drowned and, mind you, he might have, but when the debtors came calling it seemed like there were other possibilities as well.”

“He left you behind.”

The shock of the blunt statement is less than that of her matter-of-fact voice and Emma must have sensed that because her hand takes his own and she looks up with contrition.

“I’m sorry, I did not mean—“

“No, you— you are not wrong. For some reason, the longer he was gone, the more likely it seemed that he’d gone willingly. Which makes little sense, of course, because if he were dead… But resentment seemed incapable of sticking to my young heart for a few years and all I could think about was how if I were to sail all the seas there were, it was inevitable that eventually…”

She runs her index finger over each of his own and then over the lines on his palm and over the ones on top of his hand. It’s hypnotizing and he almost feels like he is just telling her a story, not his own stupid heart’s desires.

“By the time resentment started sticking and – if I didn’t think it, at least I claimed that I didn’t care about finding my father – I’d been helping Liam at the docks long enough to develop a fascination with the sea simply for its own sake, rather than the living it afforded us or the pathway to my father it could provide.”

“And you dreamt of being captain of a glorious ship?”

He chuckles and shakes his head, enclosing her whole hand in his for a moment before he opens it again and lets her continue playing.

“I did not actually. That was always Liam. He dreamt of being a Lieutenant and, as soon as he was made one, he was striving to be a Commander. Must’ve climbed the ranks faster than any man before him. And yet, no one could resent him for it – he was much too liked among common sailors and officers alike, among men and women and most of everyone with ears to listen to him talk.”

*****

The pride in his voice is almost a physical thing and Emma smiles as she fits her pinkie between his knuckles but it is not Liam’s dreams that she wants to know.

“And you?”

“Ah, I still had rather childish ambitions. I…”

She watches in amusement and adoration as he fights his blush.

“I wanted to find an island.”

Emma is careful not to laugh but she can’t help the way her eyes widen.

“You wanted to have an island?”

“Not to have it. Just to find it. You know, the way centuries ago seafaring men would set out on a voyage and find lands which they didn’t even know existed. The way they got to add a piece to a puzzle that was thought completed. I wanted to traverse it with my own feet and shape it on a map that didn’t have a place for it before.”

“That sounds thrilling.”

Killian shrugs and focuses his gaze on their hands, locking and unlocking their fingers.

“The kind of thing any man aboard a ship but with his head in the clouds might come up with.”

“I don’t think so.”

“No?”

She shakes her head confidently.

“Most people can barely conceive of the world as it is, need to break it into pieces, narrow it down and squeeze it into… different countries and towns and specific rooms and drawers and corsets. And you thought of enlarging it.”

Killian gives her a surprised, almost awed look that makes her want to look down and keep staring into his eyes indefinitely all in the same moment.

“And whose name would you have claimed it in?” she teases, trying to loosen her lungs again, unprepared for the way he pulls his hand away so he can wrap it around her waist.

“Why, back then, my queen’s, of course. Were I to discover anything now, I think I should be much too tempted to try to curry favour with my wife.”

She swallows with some difficulty and turns a little to the side, feelings Killian’s fingers settle below her ribcage.

“W-wouldn’t that be treason?”

“Isn’t this?”

Her confused frown has barely formed when she feels Killian’s fingers curl and elicit a shriek of laughter from her own lips. For a man with one hand, he is much too good at this and absolutely relentless. Emma tries to twist around, get a hold of him and retaliate but all she can really manage are desperate attempts to squirm away or curl into an impenetrable ball that make Killian’s deep laughter join her own hiccupping giggles.

“Why— Why would you?” she gasps as he finally lets her escape, clutching her pillow for protection, a safe distance between them.

Killian shrugs unapologetically and Emma marvels at the fact that this man is apparently as much her husband as the one who talks in perfectly constructed sentences, with perfectly controlled emotions and spends most of his time scowling at numbers. She cannot say she minds in the least but it doesn’t stop her from narrowing her eyes at him from across the large bed.

“I was just preparing to be flattered,” she says as haughtily as she can manage without dissolving into laughter again.

Killian’s face clears and he looks at her thoughtfully before he shuffles closer. Her muscles tense in preparation, her mouth twitches at the corners, but he moves slowly and just rests his chin on the pillow she is still clutching, his eyes boring deep into hers with that awed intensity that she doesn’t think any one person could possibly deserve to be on the receiving end of.

“I, Captain Killian Jones, do swear that I will be faithful and bear true allegiance to Her Majesty Queen Emma and claim any islands, beaches or castles I might discover in her name and squeeze nought into countries, towns, rooms, drawers or corsets. So help me God.”

She should probably laugh but, for the life of her, she can’t. All she can do is bite at her lips and watch him as he moves closer to seal his pledge with a kiss.

*****

“Well, starting the fire in the dining room was certainly a waste. You’d do well to bring some more wood upstairs.”

“Have you completely lost your marbles? I’m not going up there.”

“Ruby—“

“Trust me. If they need more firewood, they’ll come and get it… I’m sure they are keeping plenty warm.”

“Ruby.”

“Oh, come now. As if your thoughts are any different.”

“I prefer to have no thoughts on the matter… A whole day. They could’ve at least come down to break their fast.”

“Leave them be. They’ve been married for bloody months. They have to make up for lost time.”

“Ruby!”

*****

Aside from those days and nights in the infirmary, Killian can’t recall even spending an entire day in bed. Half his childhood he was much too excited about the world outside and the other half he was much too needed around the house or down at the docks. Then, in his youth, a day not spent exploring was a day wasted – Liam agreed when they were at sea and Milah agreed when they were on land.

Things changed after Eloise. Thankfully, they shared a bedroom briefly – a period in which he doesn’t think he ever got more than a couple of hours of sleep throughout any one night, recalls choosing to sleep on the floor half the time rather than beside her – much to her amusement. After that, the privacy of his bedroom was all he craved, but Alice was always incentive enough to get out of bed. And after she was gone, he supposes it was habit that kept him going. Routine – the only remaining friend of those who have little to look forward to.

Even after the accident, he’d abhorred the idea of lying down for hours – it made him feel even more broken than he was. So late nights and early mornings became an indicator that he is doing fine, that there are still things to get up for. Things that are in his control.

Now, as the light cools and fades and the rain and wind come harder and harder at the house, he cannot think of a single reason to leave this bed and it doesn’t make him feel guilty. It doesn’t make him feel useless for not doing something with the hours that tick by. He has done something – he has made his wife smile and laugh and come and he can’t really conceive of anything more worth doing right now. Aside perhaps from making her talk.

“I can’t help but feel like you owe me, my queen?”

Emma presses her mouth to his left shoulder – if she feels the deep grooves in his skin, she doesn’t let on – and breaths, her cheeks puffing out until he feels the gathering warmth even through his sleeve and squirms a little against her.

“Do I now?” she asks distractedly as she pulls away.

“Aye. You owe me a story.”

“I don’t have any good stories,” she says casually and he instinctively knows she means she doesn’t have stories worth telling rather than that she has only bad ones.

“How do you know if you’ve never told them?”

She looks up at him with surprise, as if he has said the smartest thing she has ever heard, and Killian laughs and presses a kiss to her forehead.

“Well… alright,” she concedes with a smile that is equal parts bashful and brave and makes his heart do something frightful. “Once, when I was little, I hid in Regina’s carriage when she was going to visit some important lady. I can’t even remember the woman’s name but I can tell you her cook made the best pies in the world.”

“Wait, wait. Don’t rush the story, love, how did you go from hiding in the carriage to tasting the cook’s pie?”

“Oh, well, once we arrived, I snuck out and followed the driver. The drivers always go straight for the kitchens, you know – to beg something sweet off the older maids and to sweet talk the young ones.”

He laughs – she is already better at this than she thinks – and reaches up to comb his fingers through her tangled hair. He has some little experience but, if it’s anything like Alice’s, Emma will bemoan rolling around in bed all day without taking a comb to it come tomorrow morning.

“So I followed him there and when the cook asked if I were Mrs Mill’s ward, I said yes. And when she asked, if I wanted a peach, I said yes. And when she asked if I wanted to watch her make her gypsy pie, I said yes.”

“Is that how you learnt to make that?”

“Mhm.”

“Just from that one time?”

Emma lifts her shoulder and tilts her head as if it’s no big deal but Killian just beams down at her with delight.

“Your talents are wasted on being a lady, aren’t they?” he jokes, smiling fondly at her.

“Oh, I was never much of a lady,” she grins slyly. “The sneaking into carriages should’ve told you as much. As well as my atrocious behaviour around here.”

Killian rolls his eyes and settles his hand at the base of her neck, rubbing slow circles into the exposed flesh.

“You do not realize how well you get on.”

“Oh, no, you don’t realize how exacting and demanding and judgmental most people are. Here on your hill, your island, away from the tentacles of society and its “graces”.”

“Are you saying I run a loose household, Mrs Jones? Because I’ll have you know you’re part of it.”

“And I have no complaints.”

“Not a one?”

She bites her lip in a coquettish way, that he finds both surprising from her and painfully appealing, and shakes her head.

“Good lord, I must be dreadful at this, if my wife has no complaints.”

Her laughter is loud and beautiful and he can hardly maintain his pained façade.

“Whatever shall you talk to the other ladies about at tea parties.”

“Oh, I shall come up with something. Otherwise I would look terribly haughty and superior in my perfect happiness.”

This startles him – his hand ceasing its gentle movements and the grin on his face freezing and then slowly melting as he remains staring at her.

“Killian?”

“Are you?”

“Am I what?”

“Happy?”

She looks at him as if he has asked her a terribly silly question and, for a split second, he is afraid of the answer.

“Very much so.”

He exhales. Inhales again and realizes that the peaceful feeling of today, the lack of that need to constantly do and never just be, is exactly that – happiness. Happiness without the bittersweet tinge of knowing that it’s going to slip away as soon as Alice or Liam leaves and he is left on his own again. Happiness bold enough to break routine.

“Me too.”

*****

His hand closes around her upper arm, his fingernails sink into her skin through the wet fabric of her sleeve and he pulls her roughly toward him.

“Wait. Wait I can’t just leave,” her voice sounds shrill and panicked even to her own ears and she doesn’t know why she is trying to reason with him.

Instead she should try to plant herself into the ground but it’s all slippery mud and her bare feet find no purchase and he drags her out of the stables as if she is little more than a ragdoll. Buttercup neighs after them and she feels the hot tears on her frozen cheeks. Her arms and feet are horrifyingly white and she would think she was dead, if she couldn’t feel her heart hammering madly in her chest.

“Please. Don’t. You don’t want me and I don’t want to go.”

He pulls harder and she feels the burn in her shoulder but it serves to her advantage – her arm, slick with rainwater, slips out of his grasp and she falls on her backside and tries to scramble backwards toward the house she is being pulled away from. She knows that if she could just make it through the front door, she’ll be safe. She’ll be home and she’ll be safe.

He lunges for her and she tries to kick out at him but he captures her ankle in a vice grip and starts dragging her through the mud.

“Stop it! Stop!” she scrambles for a grip but the storm has melted the world and there is nothing solid enough for her to hold onto.

She needs to hold on. She can’t slip away. She can’t leave. She doesn’t want to leave. She doesn’t want to leave him.

*****

“Bloody hell!”

The sharp pain snaps Killian awake and his hand reaches under the blankets to rub at his ankle. He turns to the side, assuming she kicked him in her sleep, but the sight of Emma quickly makes him forget the dull ache in his foot.

“Emma?”

“Don’t. Leave me be. I want to stay.”

She whimpers and clutches the bedsheet under her, pushing herself further up the bed until her head hits the backboard but the blow doesn’t seem enough to snap her out of whatever nightmare she is caught in.

“Emma, wake up, love.”

He sets his hand on her arm and tries to shake her gently but her face only twists further in anguish and she tries to push herself through the solid wood and the wall behind it.

“Emma!”

The thunder muffles her next words but when her wail turns into his own name, Killian feels it pierce him like a sword and for a few long, torturous seconds he is frozen with indecision. Then he wraps his arm around her shivering body and pulls her into him before he grabs her chin firmly and tries to still her trashing head.

“Emma. Emma, wake up!”

Her eyes don’t snap open and she doesn’t gasp or jump, he knows she is awake when she goes completely still. Her eyelids flutter hesitantly and he lets go and lightly sets his hand on her hip over the blanket that’s tangled up and twisted below her waist.

“K-Killian?” her voice sounds hoarse and so very small and uncertain and he doesn’t know what to say.

He wants to tell her he is here for her, that he’s got her and won’t let anyone hurt her again, but he doesn’t know if that will bring her relief or more fear. He doesn’t know if she was calling for him or if she was running from him in her dream.

“Yeah, it’s me,” he settles on eventually and tentatively runs his hand up her back, barely making contact.

The sound she makes is almost inhuman and makes him freeze with worry and dread, feeling like he has heard her soul. Then her slim, trembling arms wrap around his neck and she literally climbs on top of him, her fingers and her nose feeling like icy pinpricks as she buries them in his skin and his hair, her legs tangling with his own. He lets himself hold her properly now, wrapping his left arm tight around her waist, even when he feels like there is no force on earth that can make her let go, and cups the back of her head in his hand.

He lets himself say those words now.

“It’s alright, love. You’re safe here. I’ve got you. I’ve got you.”

She nods frantically against his neck, where he can feel the growing wetness of her tears, and he tries to smooth out her hair and kisses the top of her head.

“Emma, try to breathe with me,” he deepens his breathing, trying to calm her own even as he can feel her heart beating erratically against him.

“I don’t want to leave.”

“You’re not leaving, sweetheart. This is your home, nobody is going to make you leave.”

The next bolt of lightning is bright enough to illuminate the dark room but all he can see is the empty space on her side of the bed and the riot that is her hair – tangled and a shade darker with cold sweat. Killian rubs his left arm up and down her back, trying to generate warmth, and pulls the blankets up around them.

He doesn’t know how much time passes. Three smaller lightnings and buckets upon buckets of water later, Emma’s breathing gradually syncs with his own and the little hiccups and sniffs disappear completely, her heart feeling like a steady force rather than an animal trying to break free.

“I’m sorry.”

For the life of him, he can’t decide it he hates the words or how tired and heartbroken she sounds more.

“Oh, love. Don’t be sorry. Everything’s going to be alright.”

It must be some sort of miracle but he actually believes that.

“It’s not t-this bad usually. I… It was just a-a different one.”

“A different nightmare?”

She nods and finally pulls back to look at him. Her eyes are red and watery and there is a lock of hair sticking to every other tear track on her face and he doesn’t know how he is ever going to talk himself into letting her out of his arms, let alone his sight.

“He… he was trying to take me away. From here.”

He leans down and presses his forehead to hers as his thumb brushes away her damp hair, glad to find her a little bit warmer.

“I’m not going to let anyone take you away, my love.”

“I know. I know, it’s stupid but it felt so…” she swallows visibly and pushes her forehead harder against him, his shirt bunched up in her small hands.

“It’s not stupid. No one can control their nightmares.”

“I think it was the storm.”

“The storm gave you nightmares?”

She nods and then ducks her head under his chin and he can tell that she thinks this makes the whole thing even more stupid and childish and he is not going to stand for it.

Killian tugs on the white sheet tangled and abandoned on her side of the bed until he can pull it around their blanket-wrapped forms and over their heads.

“What are you doing?”

He slides down and brings her along, tucking her against him so that every bit of her is covered and pressed to his own body.

“Storm can’t get in here.”

“It can’t get in the room either,” she replies and he swears he can almost hear the fond exasperation that must be painted on her face and under it the relief and gratitude.

“Humour me,” he whispers in her ear and kisses the shell of it.

When she responds by pressing her cheek against his, he lets his mouth move to the side and slowly kisses away all the traces of her tears.

“If I go back to sleep, you’ll still hold me close, won’t you?”

Once again, he thinks the real trouble will be letting her go.

“Always.”

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femnet · 5 years

Photo

Recently I was musing with some of the other Fem Net writers over all the James Francos of Hollywood- the fallen stars who have been accused of sexual misconduct. Why did it seem that every man I respected as an artist- Louis CK, Garrison Keilor, Aziz Ansari, Chris Brown- turned out to be a sexual deviant or a wifebeater? And who would be next? While the trend is disconcerting, I decided to ease my mind by googling male celebrities known for their support of women’s rights and gender equality. It turns out that there are quite a few famous dudes who are using their notoriety to advocate for women. Below I have compiled a convenient list of male celebs who you can support and follow.

Funny Man Feminists: Seth Meyers, Andy Samberg, Kamau Bell

Comedians have always been my favorite celebrities. They seem to be more evolved as they point out society's hypocrisies. Andy Samberg criticized comics for claiming that women couldn't be funny. Seth Meyers, who has a cute segment on his late night show called “Jokes Seth Can’t Tell” in which two of his leading writers, a black woman and a lesbian, tell jokes that he could never get away with, has made it clear that the women he works with are strong and should not be told what to do with their bodies. Kamau Bell just recently came out regarding his decision to get a vasectomy since his wife had to endure years of taking birth control pills. These guys just get it.

Pro-Choice Champions: Nick Offerman, Mark Ruffalo

As anti-abortion bills sweep the U.S., these two gentlemen are big proponents of women’s reproductive rights. Parks ‘N Rec’s Nick Offerman is a supporter of Planned Parenthood and Avengers star Mark Ruffalo gave a speech about his own mother’s desperate choice to have an abortion and how it has influenced him to support other women in deciding what to do with their bodies.

#MeToo Men: David Arquette, David Schwimmer

David Arquette and David Schwimmer have spoken out against sexual harassment and violence against women. Together they started the campaign #AskMoreofHim and penned an open letter on Twitter in support of the #MeToo Movement. Schwimmer, who said that he has had girlfriends reveal to him that they had been raped in the past, created a series of short films to bring attention to workplace sexual harassment for the #ThatsHarassment campaign.

#HeForShe He-men: Harry Styles, Daniel Radcliffe, Keifer Sutherland, and Forest Whittaker

Daniel Ratcliff, Keifer Sutherland and Forest Whittaker are known supporters of Emma Watson’s HeForShe UN campaign. Also a supporter is Harry Styles, who has been spotted wearing a t-shirt that says “Women are smarter” and defends his female fans, stating that they are smart, know what they want, and don’t try to be too cool- unlike men.

Other male stars who make it cool to be feminist include Jason Mamoa, Channing Tatum, Joseph Gordon-Levitt, Ian Somerhalder, Tom Hardy, Matt McGorry, Justin Baldoni, Fahar Akhtar, and Justin Timberlake.

LGBTQ Leaders: Chaz Bono, Alan Cummings, Ezra Miller

Sonny and Cher’s son, Chaz Bono, is the first transgender man to be an outspoken advocate for women and the LGBTQ community. According to the Human Rights Watch, lesbian and transgender women are at a higher risk of hate crimes and violence. Actor Alan Cummings, who has come out as bisexual, set the record straight on Twitter by explaining how a man can also be feminist. The Perks of Being a Wallflower’s Ezra Miller bends gender stereotypes and has spoken out about surviving sexual abuse.

Like Fine Wine: Alan Alda, John Hamm, Bono, Daniel Craig, Antonio Banderas

These oldies but goodies have experience on their side. Actor Alan Alda has been a feminist for decades. Don Draper a.k.a. John Hamm speaks against the sexist culture portrayed in Madmen while speaking out about the importance of educating young men about sexual violence. Like Hamm, Daniel Craig calls out his own character, James Bond, for being misogynist and has been an outspoken feminist for years. Actor Antonio Banderas gives PSAs for the UN to educate the public about sex trafficking. U2’s lead singer Bono has a reputation as a feminist, even earning Glamour’s Woman of the Year Award in 2016 for his work to end poverty for women.

Good Dads: Stephen Curry, John Legend, Ryan Gosling, Will Smith, Chris Hensworth, Prince Harry

It’s no coincidence that becoming a father changes your view on gender equality. On the other hand, songwriter John Legend commented that it shouldn’t take having a daughter to become a feminist and that we all benefit from women empowerment. Will Smith gained attention when he supported his daughter’s decision to shave her head and actor Chris Hensworth didn’t blink an eye when his four-year-old daughter said she wanted a penis. Actor Ryan Gosling admitted that women are the superior gender, citing how his young daughters seem to mature and learn so much faster than boys. Basketball star Stephen Curry had an essay published last year in The Players’ Tribune on Women’s Equality Day about wanting his daughters to have no boundaries placed on them when it comes to their dreams, careers, and salaries. And while Prince Harry does not have a daughter yet (though he just had a son), his proud wife called him out for being a feminist and he has been known to advocate for impoverished girls and women in third-world countries.

Not Just Talk: Ashton Kutcher, Matt Damon, Barry Belafonte, Justin Trudeau

I saved these guys for last because they are the heavy-lifters when it comes to advocacy. That 70s Show star Ashton Kutcher co-founded Thorn, a nonprofit that fights against sex trafficking. He also testified before Congress to advocate for more to be done. Actor Matt Damon co-founded Water.org, a nonprofit that empowers women in impoverished countries to start their own businesses and to have access to clean water. Musician Barry Belafonte is one of the key advisors to the Women’s March and Canada’s Prime Minister Justin Trudeau announced that Canada would be providing six hundred fifty million dollars to protect women’s rights in Canada.

I hope this list gives you some comfort and hope that there are still more than a few good men in our corner.

#by Rebecca #June 2019 #pop culture #male feminists #feminism

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briilliance · 4 years

Text

“Please. No. Stop.”

Oh well, she tried.

#✌.ʕʘ‿ʘʔ.✌: DASH COMMENT #Muse: Emma Glamour

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shadowdianne · 5 years

Text

SQ Drabble (Yes, another one)

Asked by @siakb because apparently is angst weekend.

Could I request some Neverland related angst please?

PS. This turned out to be more plotty than intended rather than outright angst. I apologize. Seems like the muse wanted some work on some stuff.

Set on: 3x02 “Lost girl” Just a scene at the end of the episode, before Emma shows the rest of the group the restored map.

“I know, I led us to a trap, you don’t need to come here to gloat.”

Leaning on a tree, eyes zeroing on the darkness that surrounded the small camp they had made through the night Regina barely glanced away from the trees that stood in front of her, one hand extended, palm up and fingers toying with purple-colored smoke that rose in the air, licking her skin like flames would. She could feel Emma’s presence at her right, just a little bit behind and she wondered momentarily when she had gotten so attuned to the blonde’s magic essence for her to be able to sense it amidst the strong magic signature the very same soil they were all standing in emanated. A thought that made her purse her lips as she kept her eyes straight ahead, not trusting a leaf or a shadow that came closer than the rest to the small clearing they all were in.

She could hear some noise, as if the blonde was fidgeting with the damned piece of paper that that demon as the pirate liked to call him had given to her. Jaw clenching, Regina squared her shoulders, waiting for the blonde’s angry words to reach her. Words that, she thought with something close to a crocked smile tensing her lips, wouldn’t cause her any pain or repent. She had already been beating herself.

Think, always think, always wait, always search for hidden meanings, for the fine print. That had been a lesson both mother and Rumplestiskin had been adamant to teach her and yet she kept on falling from it. She had gotten rusty; complacent. Magic always came with a price and her hubris had almost gotten them killed. Which, in turn, would made Henry be a prisoner for the kid she so desperately wanted to kill.

Her thoughts were interrupted by the sound of footsteps coming closer, Emma’s presence growing nearer. Bothered and tired, she looked at her with what she hoped would be enough heat for the blonde to understand she wasn’t feeling like having a lecture for someone like her. Not when she still felt her body sore and tired, the burns on her temples and wrists concealed by a glamour spell but still there, itching, reminding her of how she had almost died, of how she had almost lost herself with electricity running through her every cell.

She blinked, however, when, instead of angry eyes, Emma merely crossed her left arm over her midriff before presenting her with the map. Map that, she discovered when she allowed her eyes to travel lower, was filled as if it had never been blank.

“How…” She began but stopped herself. She didn’t have the time for this. Not when they were a step closer to find Henry. However, Emma didn’t seem to share that same urgency, a half shrug from her shoulders and a wandering gaze telling her more than enough.

“The answer was “orphan.” The blonde finally spoke, her voice grave and somber. Her eyes, however, were gleaming with anger and Regina latched onto it, on the rawness she could sense there. Dropping her free hand, the blonde turned it into a fist, knuckles white and just the barest of sparks filling the air between them. Not enough, Regina thought absentmindedly, to truly make Emma’s power be seen by others who lacked proper magic training but the signature of it heady enough for her own magic bubble within her chest.

Strange, she thought, but her musings were interrupted once more as Emma let out a breathless laugh, one that almost sounded like a wheeze as she turned to eye the forest around them, face obscured by the darkness that surrounded them, the machete she wore a morbid silhouette peeking just above her left shoulder. “Of all the things. That was the answer.”

Regina didn’t have time for self-realizations or discoveries. She didn’t have the time to trudge through years of unspoken feelings. Her most urgent problem was finding Henry. Safe and sound.

Yet, when she kept eyeing Emma, she felt the control of the hex she had been keeping lit on her hand dropping momentarily, her left hand going instantly to the ring she had recently put on her finger once more, playing with the cold touch in a way she knew would have made mother seethe as a girl.

“Well.” She finally said, and Emma’s eyes returned to hers, her cheekbones unnaturally highlighted under the moonlight shadow that gave everything a silver hue Regina hadn’t liked one bit ever since night had fallen. “I’m glad you found the answer.”

Lips pressed together, Emma shrugged, her body-posture telling enough as she seemed to be a moment away from walking back to the center of the clearing, towards the bonfire Regina herself had created. Which, Regina found, was something she suddenly didn’t want.

“Wait.” She called, just as Emma’s arms twitched, muscles rippling behind her skin. Licking her lips quickly, Regina dropped her hands to her sides, fingers grasping for air, calling her magic once more in the middle of the jungle. “You really think what you said back at the shore?” At Emma’s confused glare Regina rolled her own eyes. Why she was even bothering was beyond her. The blonde had caught her by surprise, had said what she had needed to say. That was all.

And yet, she hadn’t been able to shake the feeling of awe and confusion that had been feeding on her ever since Emma had looked at her with enough heat for her own magic to sizzle and, for a moment, what she had said in anger and self-righteousness had transformed into something that had called upon her power, upon a sudden, stupid need to prove herself.

“About not expecting us to be friends?” She could see the confusion there, on Emma’s expression and, for a second, she thought the blonde was merely going to ignore it. Instead, the blonde rose her chin, her hair framing sudden stone-like features that made Regina school her own. Behind Emma she could see both David and Snow eyeing them, not close enough to even be able to hear them but curious, worried. She set her jaw as tightly as possible, not wanting to give them any satisfaction.

“Yes.” She replied, and she could see Emma’s shoulders lock in place, muscles bulging for a moment before the blonde relaxed her stance a fraction. Enough for Regina to see it, enough for her magic to sense it.

The blonde’s power was so close to the surface, she thought a moment after, that she could almost taste it. And she feared for a moment on what that ability made her be. Just like Rumple had been able to feel her powers, just like her mother had pushed and prodded and waited.

Shaking her head, she re-focused herself just as Emma hummed, folding the piece of paper and putting it away with quick, brusque movements.

“I know you want to be only Regina.” She finally spoke, and her voice hold a strange gentleness that made Regina’s skin prickle. “I know that you were ready to give your life for ours.” Regina didn’t correct her, but she could feel the beginning of a “no” forming on her throat. One that Emma’s eyes narrowed at, seemingly capable of sensing it even she hadn’t moved a muscle. “I also know that we were stronger together. Both of us. So, I don’t care if we are friends or not. But if we want to find Henry we need to work like that. No matter our past stories.”

“So, you now believe on those?” The question came tumbling down her lips and Regina winced inwardly at it, at how much it hurt in a way seeing that Emma, the woman who had said once she didn’t think her past deeds truly weighed her down on Storybrooke, referred to her as a character. As yet another character in a book she hadn’t had the chance to write for herself. Not the beginning at least.

“That’s not important.” The blonde said, finally turning and calling the others before turning to glance at Regina over her shoulder. “Or is it, Regina?”

Regina said nothing, furiously taking the ring off her ring, pushing it inside one of the pockets of her blazer once again. But it was important, a voice inside her head whispered. It was much more important than she had let the woman in front of her know.

And it was that moment that, in hindsight, built everything else. Not that she knew it in that moment, not when she followed Emma towards the center of the clearing.

#swan queen #SwanQueen #prompt #siakb #prerelationship

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dearly · 5 years

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All glossy magazine superstar covers may look the same from a distance, but inside, you’re never quite sure what you’ll find.

Take the October issue of GQ, which features Paul McCartney. For decades he has leaned on familiar Beatles anecdotes, presuming that decades-old chestnuts may still pass for warm. But in GQ, over the course of several long conversations, he revealed himself to be unstudied, slightly wishy-washy and much less preoccupied with the sanctity of his own image than you might think — he even offered a recollection about the Beatles’ teenage sexual adventures that led to a characteristically sweaty New York Post headline: “Beat the Meatles.”

The story worked in two ways: For the reader and fan, it was appealingly revealing; for Mr. McCartney, who’s been famous so long he is more sculpture than human, it was a welcome softening.

This took a willingness to answer questions, to submit to the give and take that comes with a profile of that scale. But not all big stories demand such transparency of their subjects: say, the September issue of Vogue with Beyoncé on the cover. The accompanying article is titled “Beyoncé in Her Own Words” — not a profile, but a collection of brief, only-occasionally-revealing commentaries on a range of topics: motherhood and family, body acceptance, touring. Anna Wintour refers to the story in her editor’s letter as a “powerful essay” that “Beyoncé herself writes,” as if that were an asset, not a liability. There was a journalist in the room at some point in the process — the piece has an “as told to” credit at the end — but outside perspectives have effectively been erased.

For devotees of Beyoncé, this might not matter (though it should). But for devotees of celebrity journalism — the kind of work that aims to add context and depth to the fame economy, and which is predicated on the productive frisson between an interviewer and interviewee — this portends catastrophe. And it’s not an isolated event. In pop music especially, plenty of the most famous performers essentially eschew the press: Taylor Swift hasn’t given a substantive interview and access to a print publication for at least two years. For Drake, it’s been about a year (and a tumultuous one at that). Frank Ocean has all but disappeared (again).

What’s replaced it isn’t satisfying: either outright silence, or more often, unidirectional narratives offered through social media. Monologue, not dialogue. It threatens to upend the role of the celebrity press.

Since the 1960s, in-depth interviews have been a crucial part of the star-making process, but also a regular feature of high-level celebrity maintenance — artists didn’t abandon their obligations to the media just because they had reached the pinnacle of fame. Answering questions was part of the job. It was the way that the people making the most interesting culture explained themselves, whether it was John Lennon on the breakup of the Beatles, Tupac Shakur speaking out from jail, or Courtney Love in the wake of Kurt Cobain’s death. It was illuminating to fans, but also something of a badge of honor for the famous, especially when the conversations were adversarial. Stars like Ice Cube and Madonna used to thrive in those circumstances — the interviews revealed them to be thoughtful, unafraid of being challenged and alive to the creation of their image.

But that was in a climate in which print publications had a disproportionate amount of leverage, and the internet and TMZ hadn’t wrested away narrative control. When stars’ comings and goings began to be documented on a minute-by-minute basis, those changes triggered celebrity reticence. On its own, that wouldn’t signal the death knell of celebrity journalism as it’s been practiced for decades. But the pressure being applied to celebrity journalism from the top might pale in comparison to the threat surging from below, where a new generation of celebrities — YouTube stars, SoundCloud rappers, and various other earnest young people — share extensively on social media on their own terms, moving quickly and decisively (and messily) with no need for the patience and pushback they might encounter in an interview setting. [...]

These are one-sided stories, with no scrutiny beyond the comments section. And so they’ve be come highly visible safe spaces for young celebrities, especially in an era when one’s direct social media audience — via Instagram, Twitter, Snapchat and more — can far exceed the reach of even the most prestigious or popular publication, and in a way that’s laser-targeted to supporters.

All of which leaves celebrity journalism in a likely unsolvable conundrum. The most famous have effectively dispensed with it, and the newly famous have grown up in an age where it was largely irrelevant. Over time, the middle space may well be squeezed into nothingness.

And so as the power dynamic tilts in favor of the famous over the press, publications — weakened, desperate, financially fragile — have been forced to find ever more contorted ways to trade, at minimum, the feeling of control in exchange for precious access. [...]

Celebrities guest edit — “edit” — special issues of magazines. And while Ms. Swift did appear on the cover of Harper’s Bazaar this year, in the accompanying article, she is the interviewer, asking questions of the rock muse Pattie Boyd. In 2015, Rihanna photographed herself for the cover of The Fader. (The shoot was executed in concert with a professional photographer.) It was, yes, a metacommentary on panoptic fame, and also the cover star taking her own photograph.

If those options aren’t available, magazines can simply assign a friend of the celebrity to conduct the interview. In Elle, Jennifer Lawrence interviewed Emma Stone. Blake Lively conducted Gigi Hadid’s Harper’s Bazaar May cover interview. Katy Perry’s March Glamour cover interview was by the Instagram affirmation specialist Cleo Wade. Interview, a magazine predicated on these sorts of intra-celebrity conversations, was recently resurrected; in the comeback issue, Raf Simons talks with George Condo (a journalist chimes in occasionally) and Jennifer Jason Leigh talks to Phoebe Cates.

The friend doesn’t even have to be famous. In Rolling Stone’s current feature with the press-shy pop star Sia, the author announces himself as a longtime friend of hers. And New York magazine’s recent exclusive interview with Soon-Yi Previn, Woody Allen’s wife, was conducted by a longtime friend of Mr. Allen, to howls of dismay on Twitter.

These stories trade on the perceived intimacy of friendships as a proxy for actual insight, abdicating the role of an objective press in the process. The covenant implicit in celebrity profiles is that the journalist is a proxy for the reader, not the subject. But in the thirst for exclusive access, the old rules get tossed by the wayside — ethics become inconvenient. Friendship should be a disqualifier, not a prerequisite.

That is a disservice to fans, who miss out on what happens when someone in the room is pushing back, not merely taking dictation. Imagine how wildly illuminating probing conversations with Beyoncé about “Lemonade” or Ms. Swift about “Reputation” would have been, a boon to the curious as well as an opportunity for the interview subjects to be shown in their full complexity. But rather than engage on those terms, these stars have become hermetic. It’s a shame: We’ll never know the answers to the questions that aren’t asked.

#magazines #long post #new york times #journalism

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