#jackson mcadams

[elderberries-and-honey]

Despite having fallen on hard times, Winifred took it upon herself to host a party on Christmas Eve with all their loved ones. Back in the workhouse, they were lucky to afford anything better than porridge for dinner. But now that she had a family of her own she was determined to make it special.

Millie, Beth and Louise could not allow her to do all the cooking alone so they each put on their aprons and happily got to work beside her. They spent most of the afternoon in the kitchen preparing for the dinner, sounds of laughter heard above whisks mixing doughs and icing frantically inside porcelain bowls.

Valerie began helping herself to the wine intended for cooking early on in the day, already causing her to become a little tipsy before they'd even put the ham in the oven. Beth of course was the first one to scold her, but with Ozzy nearby, she wouldn't raise her voice. Instead, she put her hands on her hips with disproving eyes and a scowl of disappointment. It was moments like these where Winifred couldn't help thinking that Beth truly was meant to be someone's mother.

Ozzy remained close while the women worked. He wasn't a shy child by any means and soaked up all the attention he got from everyone telling him how adorable his Christmas outfit was.

At last, nearing the hour of 7 o'clock, with everyone gathered round the table wearing their finest silks, all of their hard work would be enjoyed by all.

They set up the dining table with everything they had prepared - cranberry sauce, a charcuterie board with aged cheese and sausage, potatoes grown right on the Baudelaire's farm, delicious cookies and pies for dessert, warm spiced rum and hot cocoa to drink, and best of all, a perfectly cooked ham that was from a frequent patron of the pub that had been gifted to the McAdam's.

Everyone treasured the food, knowing full well that their meal wouldn't be anywhere near as extravagant without Millie's expertise, which they all took turns admiring. Between the spiced rum, and the thrill of Christmas only hours away, they chatted excitedly between bites throughout the entirety of dinner.

Everyone went back for seconds, some even going for thirds until all of them, even the picky eaters, left the table with their bellies full.

No one could afford to give that many presents this year but not a soul amongst them seemed to mind. They each were completely content to simply enjoy each others company. Even the children, who were eager all the same to receive their new mittens and perfectly ripe oranges. Besides, they both were still too small to actually understand that they hadn't gotten much compared to others.

Lawrence had received new cotton fabric to sew himself up new work shirts and Winifred a plethora of new ink wells and paper from the McAdams. All of them received something hand-knitted from Beth, and from Millie, beautiful cross-stich embroideries to hang in their homes.

It was a terrific haul, and certainly more than anyone could ask for all things considered. However, the most surprising of all was Lawrence's gift to Winifred - two tickets to the theater come Spring - which had, of course, been suggested by Marmee.

After all the gifts had been opened, the night carried on late into the evening. Lawrence even brought out the old music box he had been gifted for Christmas nearly two decades prior and Jackson and Louise began dancing around the living room elegantly. However, drunk on rum and holiday cheer, Lawrence insisted that he and Valerie could do better.

He and Valerie were clumsy, tromping all over the others feet and losing their place in the steps to the dance. All in good fun, Millie and Winifred began cackling as they watched them, unable to contain how humorous it was to watch, while Beth dramatically hung her head in shame.

The children began to grow rather fussy, both Ozzy and Nellie awake far past their bedtimes, and the festivities had to come to an end eventually.

Winifred and Lawrence stood in the doorway, thanking their guests for coming and helping in the kitchen, as well as all their delightful new gifts. Winifred and Lawrence watched them go until they could no longer see their silhouettes in the dark, both ignoring the cold until they could no longer stand it.

The night had been exactly what they needed to forget their worries even if it couldn't last forever. While drifting off to sleep that night, everyone would reflect on what a wonderful Christmas it was, contented to have spent it together.

next / previous / first

#ts4 historical #sims 4 historical #ts4 decades challenge #sims 4 decades challenge #decades challenge #ts4 storystelling #the baudelaire legacy #1890 #winifred baudelaire #lawrence baudelaire #oscar baudelaire #beth herbert #louise mcadams #jackson mcadams #valerie mcadams #millie thomas #eleanor mcadams

[kittenonpluto]

"You're a spy. I should've known." "No, I'm not a spy." Cillian Murphy as Jackson Rippner Red Eye | 2005

#cmurphyedit #cillianmurphyedit #cilliangifs #red eye #red eye 2005 #jackson rippner #jacksonrippneredit #redeyeedit #the lil lip bite please! #cillian murphy #rachel mcadams #*casgifs

[rinasunny]

Red Eye 2005 + textposts

#red eye 2005 #red eye #lisa reisert #jackson rippner #jackson x lisa #lisa x jackson #cillian murphy #rachel mcadams #text posts

[rukcin]

Romcom ❤️❤️❤️🤧

#red eye 2005 #cillian murphy #rachel mcadams #lisa reisert #jackson rippner #jackson x lisa #red eye

[illusioncanthurtme--art]

I love it when commissions give me an opportunity to watch a good movie! Lisa and Jack from Red Eye (2005) for unapologetically_bellers on instagram! If you've seen this movie, you KNOW it's a good one. There was a strong part of me that wanted to draw him based on the end of the movie when he's wearing the milf scarf, (if you know you know) but I decided to go with something inspired by the bathroom scene, because their faces are closer.

(plus the sketch + an alternative sketch!)

#red eye 2005 #red eye #cillian murphy #rachel mcadams #jackson rippner #traditional art #traditional illustration #traditional drawing #pencil art #pencil drawing #character art #character drawing #character illustration

[jeanette6th]

And they say Romance is dead 😍😍😍

#cillian murphy #red eye 2005 #red eye #jackson rippner #lisa reisert #rachel mcadams #romcom

[acousticbloke]

This drawing was a RIDE but now its done, hope it pleases

#art #drawing #sketch #cillian murphy #red eye movie #red eye #jackson rippner #rachel mcadams

[susiephone]

I love Red Eye fics and headcanons where Lisa meets up with Jackson again and decides to be a Menace.

"Oh you think you can make ha-ha silly jokes about the time you took me hostage? I'm gonna smother you while you sleep. 😘 "

#lisa x jackson #jackson x lisa #lisa reisert #red eye #red eye 2005 #jackson rippner #rachel mcadams #cillian murphy

[just-just-gyllenhaal]

Southpaw New York Premiere And After Party(2015) pics..

#Southpaw New York Premiere And After Party(2015) #rachel mcadams #eminem #50 cent jackson #curtis jackson #50 cent #curtis 50 cent jackson #jacob benjamin gyllenhaal #jake gyllenhaal #jacob gyllenhaal #fluffy boy post #love his fluffy beard #fluffy beard #fluffy

[dreaming-for-an-escape]

@wolfanddragon98

I shouldn't love that he says this but...

#red eye #jackson rippner #cillian murphy #rachel mcadams #omg this man

[kazoosandfannypacks]

summary: when a demeter camper falls for an ares camper, carnations and crocuses aren’t too far behind, whether they like it or not. word count: 4173 words a/n: hey guys! i know y'all liked my last story so much, and i had so much fun with it, that i wanted to do another one! and yeah, i've never seen anything anywhere about the power i gave the demeter kid, but it i just kinda made it up and it works well for this story. enjoy! taglist: @poptart-cat-78 @fynn-arcana @babsbabbles @laughingphoenixleader {if you’d like to be added to my halfblood 5&1 taglist/pjo taglist, let me know!}

also on ao3!

five flowers ares girls don't appreciate (and one that they really, really do)

~oliver's third summer~

 Oliver McAdam had a rare blessing from his godly parent, and it was the bane of his existence.

 For some people, sometimes being a demigod meant you could do really cool things. A few of Hermes' kids were able to run fast enough, they may as well be teleporting. Apollo's kids sometimes had prophecy, or the ability to bend light. Some of Aphrodite's kids could control you with their voice like a Jedi mind trick.

 Oliver, however, a child of Demeter, possessed an ability none of his siblings— or anyone else he'd ever met— did. He'd first noticed it on his father's farm, when orchis started growing in the pumpkin patch, and he found osmunda in his window box of violets, but it wasn't until the tulip tree sprouted in the bathtub that he realized these flowers weren't random— he was creating them.

 Different flowers came from different moods. Daffodils and daisies bloomed when he was happy. Black dahlias surrounded him when he was anxious. Hyacinth grew when he was sorrowful. Sometimes fruit would graft itself from a nearby tree when he was hungry. That one wasn't so bad, of course, but he could do without the rest of them. The trail of flowers that followed his emotions made him feel like a freak, even by demigod standards.

 One of his little demigod half-sisters, Calla, had done extensive research on Victorian flower language, and thought it was the coolest thing ever how the blossoms that surrounded him followed him and responded to his mood exactly, speaking a language that florists had spoken for more than a century. She'd always been able to read his flowers like a functional mood ring, and sometimes she'd explain them to him when he didn't understand them.

 But he didn't need her to tell him what the sweet-brier blossoms growing at his feet were about, because even though they sounded pleasant enough by name, well, a sweet-brier by any other name could still spell terror. As it was, he was quaking in his boots. It was his day to check the cabins, which wasn't ever so bad in and of itself, until he got to Cabin 5. The Ares cabin was bad enough to look at from the outside, but to go inside the house of horrors? That was terrifying.

 He approached the cabin nervously, glancing down at his clipboard and praying no more sweet-brier planted itself on the cabin doorstep.

 Someone in front of him opened the door, and he froze with fear. The only thing scarier than Ares' cabin was Ares' kids, and though he didn't know which of them would be at the door, he could guarantee he didn't want to find out.

 The camper in question, apparently, hadn't seen Oliver standing there, but she became very aware of his presence when she ran into him.

 "Watch it, punk." she said.

 "I'm sorry," Oliver said, his voice squeaking as several flowers cropped up around him, "I didn't mean to…."

 If there had been more to that sentence, Oliver forgot it when he looked up at her. He'd never dared get this close to an Ares kid before, but if anyone had told him they were this pretty, he would've much sooner. Her eyes were the color of freshly upturned soil, her skin like a field of ripened wheat touched by a sunrise, her hair the same shade of black as the leather jacket with the ripped off sleeves she wore over her Camp Half-Blood t-shirt.

 "You'd better not've," she said, pushing past him.

 Oliver barely had time to notice the crocus that sprouted between them before she pushed past him and stepped on it on her way out of the cabin.

~oliver's third summer~

 By the end of that summer, Oliver had gathered that the beautiful child of the war god was named Emilia, and he recalled her claiming a couple summers ago after a divisive and merciless Capture the Flag victory. Oliver hadn't been outgoing even then, and Emilia hadn't exactly ever played nice, so he'd had no problem avoiding her.

 But now, that was the last thing he wanted to do.

 As he packed up at the end of the summer, he kept an eye out the open door of his cabin, watching Cabin #5 more closely than ever before.

 Most of his siblings had already left by the time he decided it was time to go, a couple ox-eye daisies budding around his suitcase. He saw in the distance as Ares' cabin door opened and Emilia left. Oliver had planned and timed this, quickly grabbing his suitcase and hoping he could make it look like an accident that he happened to leave at the same time as her.

 "See you next summer," he called across the distance, waving at her, "have a great school year!"

 "Get lost already!" she grumbled back.

 The last two times he'd tried to talk to her, she'd ignored him entirely, so he took her upset response as a good sign, hoping she wouldn't see the snowdrops that blossomed around him.

~oliver's fourth summer~

 When you feel refreshed by time out in the garden, winter lasts an eternity. Just when you think there's hope for the browns and grays around you to awaken into green again, they're buried in another layer of heartless white.

 But, just as hope comes to fruition from the darkest souls, so springtime blooms out of winter's chill, and soon it was spring at McAdam farms, and Oliver was soon busy helping his father on the farm. The past few years, he'd done as much as he could in the spring and fall, wondering how his father even got on through the summer while he was away at camp.

 And once again, his father would have to manage, as Oliver found himself in the familiar fields of Camp Half Blood.

 In the past four years, Oliver had gotten better and better at controlling his emotions and their telltale flora. He still couldn't stop himself from growing monkshood in moments of panic or control what plants he created, but for the most part, he had a handle on his feelings in the minutiae of day-to-day life.

 That is, until he sat down for his first dinner of the summer at Camp Half-Blood, and saw Emilia at her sibling's table across the pavilion, laughing with a violent excitement at being together again. Oliver's life wasn't very exciting in the offseason, so one of the biggest points of interest that year had been the thought of Emilia.

 Despite his best attempts at restraint, his plate was soon covered in yellow blossoms, blooming out of his chicken nuggets in a feat of nature that would've been incredible if it wasn't so incredibly annoying.

 "Tarragon?" Calla asked, taking a seat next to him, "funny, I prefer ketchup on my chicken nuggets, myself."

 "Are you sure you don't want to try it?" Oliver joked, as he started to pick the flowers off his plate, hovering a few over her dinner plate as a taunt.

 "Oh, I'm good," she giggled.

 He looked up across the pavilion again, and saw that Emilia was looking at him. Granted, most of the camp was looking at him, almost as though they'd been awaiting the first of his accidental flowerings this summer. He only really noticed Emilia though, and how she smiled a little and rolled her eyes.

 Oliver didn't care that her smile was meant to taunt him, that she was laughing at him and not with him— he still saw something warm in it, and her smile made him smile.

 Unfortunately, her smile also made him sprout, a yellow tulip blossoming— not in front of him, but at the longest distance away he'd ever gotten a flower to bloom: right out of Emilia's blood red glass of cola.

 He looked back down at his food quickly as her siblings began laughing and her face flushed as red as her cola. When an Ares kid gets into a rage, you don't want to find yourself in their warpath, and Emilia was no exception. Oliver looked up, only a little, to see the crumpled tulip land on his dinner plate, though he knew that if flowers were a better projectile, she definitely could've taken his head off with it.

 "I guess I'm eating salad," he muttered, deadpan, shrugging as he stabbed at the head of the tulip and pretended to eat it.

 His siblings laughed, and he looked up to see Emilia, still upset, and he tried to convince himself that she didn't look cute when she was angry like that. He wasn't sure how she'd respond if his feelings accidentally covered her table in red roses, but he didn't want to find out, especially once she'd remember that roses have thorns.

 Instead, he kept his mind occupied by his quest to remove the plants from his dinner.

 "Don't think I don't know what that means," Calla whispered to him.

 "I know you do," Oliver said, without looking up.

 "Tarragon is for lasting interest," Calla said, "and even though everyone thinks yellow flowers just mean friendship, the yellow tulip goes deeper. It actually means 'there is sunshine in your smile." Isn't that so dreamy?"

 "I guess," Oliver chuckled.

 "You've had a crush on her since last summer?" she whispered. He looked up at her with a glare, "what makes you say that?"

 "It's so obvious," she said, "does she know?"

 He looked down at the crumpled tulip on the table.

 "I sure hope not."

~oliver's fourth summer~

 It wasn't uncommon for Ares kids to challenge each other to combat. Sometimes it was to air grievances, and sometimes it was to let off some steam, but usually it was just for fun.

 Oliver had never found it fun to fight or to watch fighting, but he was excited to watch the fight that broke out between Emilia and the new girl, Clarisse. Clarisse was young, but still a terrifying force, and Olilver wouldn't've wanted to face her, even before she'd gotten a month and a half of half-blood combat training.

 But Oliver was still rooting for Emilia. She was still older than Clarisse by a few years, and was one of the most formidable fighters at camp.

 "You think she's gonna win?" Calla asked, coming up behind Oliver and standing next to him as they watched this fight.

 "Who?" Oliver asked, without looking back at Calla, taking advantage of this chance to stare at Emilia.

 "The Easter Bunny," Calla said, sarcastically, then clarified, "Emilia."

 "Yeah," Oliver sighed, "isn't she so cool? She's such a talented fighter, and she knows exactly what she's doing, and her moves are so graceful and calculated, and…."

 "You need to get out of here," Calla's voice was suddenly serious.

 "What do you mean?" Oliver asked, but before the words were out of his mouth, he saw Emilia fall to the ground, having tripped on something. Clarisse was quickly at the ready, with a sword pointed at her neck before she had a chance to get up. He then noticed what she'd tripped on— dozens of trailing alyssum plants had grown at her feet.

 "Was that me?" Oliver asked.

 "No, it was the Easter Bunny again," Calla said, "you'd better run. If you're here when she gets up…" "Yeah, I know," Oliver said, taking off for his cabin, hoping Emilia wouldn't join the trail of peony that followed him away.

~oliver's fourth summer~

 Oliver tried to ignore the flowers at his feet as he sat on his cabin's steps. Over the last few days, Emilia had made it clear that she didn't want him, or his pity apologies and peony powers, within two hundred yards of her.

 But even two yards from her would've been too far for him, and no matter how physically distant he was, his crumbled heart was still with her.

 "Red carnations?" Calla interrupted Oliver's brooding silence.

 Oliver didn't respond.

 "Do you need me to tell you what that one means?"

 Calla sat down next to him. "'Alas, for my poor heart!' I always thought that was a strong sentiment for one plant to carry, but I get it now, mopey."

 "She won't even talk to me," Oliver shook his head, "I mean, she never talked to me, but she won't even let me apologize."

 "It probably wouldn't've worked out anyways," Calla said.

 "What's that supposed to mean?" If anyone would've understood his feelings, it was her. He sometimes wondered if his little sister had been misclaimed by Demeter, and if Aphrodite was her mom instead. She saw the potential for a relationship in anyone.

 "I mean, her dad's the god of war," Calla said, "our mom is the god of wildflowers."

 "The opposite of that," Oliver shook his head, "the harvest. Things we plant."

 "So, gardening."

 "Have you ever started a garden?" Oliver asked. When she shook her head, he continued, "you look at a piece of land, and you say, 'this is mine.' You mark off a territory, and you fight for it. You rip it apart by the roots, you make it yours, and you don't show mercy to any weeds or wildflowers that stand in the way. If you let your guard down for even a day, the enemy will choke you out. You have to keep fighting. Gardening is war, and if anyone could understand that…."

 He shook his head as his voice trailed away.

 "I didn't know you were such a fighter," Calla smiled, then nudged him, "and I bet Emilia doesn't know that either."

 Another red carnation sprouted at the mere mention of Emilia.

 "And she never will," he half laughed to shrug off the pain.

 "Not with that attitude," Calla said, "but maybe if you show her?"

 "How?" 

 "Maybe start with flowers," Calla suggested, motioning to the DIY bouquet at their feet.

 "Give her these?" Oliver asked.

 "It's a start," Calla said.

 "I can't do it."

 "You have to try."

 "No I don't."

 Calla shook her head and got up.

 "And here I thought you were a fighter."

 "So?" Oliver asked.

 Calla smiled and shrugged, "so fight for her."

 Oliver looked down at the flowers at his feet and knew exactly what to do.

 🥀

 He watched her cabin from a safe distance. He'd seen his brothers leave flowers for the Aphrodite girls all the time, but he had a feeling Emilia wouldn't respond the same way. It was just a simple bouquet with a note that said "I'm sorry," but he hoped the rich hue of the red flowers would appease her, like a sacrifice painted in the blood of her enemies.

 He watched as she opened the cabin door and picked up the bouquet, then re-entered her cabin.

 Did it work? Would she hear him out? Would she at least treat him civilly?

 He watched again as she left her cabin, holding the flowers upside-down, a lighter in her other hand (and where she got a lighter at camp, he didn't want to know.) The flame quickly licked up the plants, and she left the charred husk that remained on her cabin steps as a reminder.

 Oliver didn't need to hear that message twice. If his poor heart ached when he saw that happen, he wouldn't give her the flowers to prove it.

~emilia's third summer~

 Emilia had had just about enough of this flower boy, and it took her every last ounce of restraint to keep from burning down his cabin instead of just the red flowers he'd left at the doorstep yesterday. She couldn't imagine what would've happened if any of her siblings saw them before she got rid of them. They'd already given her a hard enough time about the tulip soda at the start of the summer and losing in battle to the new girl last week, she didn't need this ruining her image either. When would this pansy stop trying to embarrass her already?

 She smiled as he cowered away when she saw him at breakfast that morning. She'd put him in his place. Nobody, nobody makes Emilia Alvarez look stupid and gets away with it.

 🥀

 Emilia had been cornered by a lot of people in her life. Even mortals like her siblings back home and the bullies at school had seen her as easy prey for years— though the older she got, the less she let them give her problems. And demigods? Most of them would steer clear of her with just a glare, and the ones that didn't quickly learned their lessons.

 That's why she was so thrown off today, when a girl grabbed her by the arm and growled her name like it was some kind of curse.

 Emilia turned to see a girl ten inches shorter than her, with flowers braided in her hair and a necklace made of plastic daisies.

 "What's your problem?" Emilia asked.

 "No, what's yours?" the flower girl sneered.

 "Hey, I'm not usually in the mood to bust someone's nose right after eating," Emilia threatened, "but you wouldn't be the first, and you won't be the last."

 "Take your best shot," she said, "you could stand to lose dessert privileges the next few days."

 Emilia frowned, then smiled and pulled back to punch, but stopped when she saw the fear in her eyes.

 "I recognize you," Emilia said, "you're the one always hanging out with that punk."

 "Calla," she said, "and 'that punk' has a name— it's Oliver— and if he didn't care so much about you, I would've flattened you myself by now."

 "Back that train up," Emilia crossed her arms, "'Oliver' doesn't care about me. He's been using his flower powers to make me look stupid all summer."

 "I didn't know he goes for stupid," she sighed, "but he's absolutely crazy about you, so…."

 "'Crazy's' a good word for it, runt."

 "You don't understand," Calla said, "he hasn't been trying to make you look bad at all."

 "Well, he's got a funny way of showing it," she rolled her eyes.

 "He can't control it."

 "Can't control what?"

 "The flowers," Calla said, "they just kind of happen. He doesn't cause them— deliberately."

 "I don't buy that," Emilia asked, "you've got ten seconds to scram before I bash your brains in."

 "It's true!" she said, apparently undeterred, "they respond to his emotions. Like the tulips when someone's smile reminds him of the sunshine."

 "What?" Emilia asked, recalling the soda blossom at the start of the summer.

 "And the alyssum you tripped on?" Calla said, "when he likes someone for who they are, more than just their beauty." "Beauty?" Emilia asked, "He thinks I'm pretty?" "More than that," Calla said, listing a few things off on her fingers, "a skilled fighter, a queen on earth, the pride of Camp Half Blood. He won't shut up about you."

 Emilia tried to pretend that the red she could feel creeping across her cheeks was from anger, not because she was blushing. She tried to change the subject.

 "So you expect me to believe the bouquet of flowers with an apology note was an accident too?"

 "That one was my idea," Calla admitted, "a foolish attempt to get you to talk to him— but it was only flowers he'd already grown, borne of heartbreak. He's devastated, Emilia, and it's because of you."

 "Good," Emilia said.

 "I know you don't really think that," Calla said.

 "You don't know me." 

 "I know you would've pulverized me by now if you were glad you hurt him."

 Emilia could've pulverized her. She could've punched the smug grin off the flower child's face. She could've flattened her before she got a chance to turn heel and leave. She could've yelled a few insults, or chased after her and beat her down. Instead, Emilia stood in silence as she walked away.

 🥀

 Everything felt different as Emilia walked across the camp. Her heart raced like she was preparing for war. She smiled like she'd completed some conquest. Somehow she felt a little bit invincible— was this what love feels like?

 She started to notice things more too— most prominently, she noticed a trail of red flowers, just like the ones she'd burned yesterday. Now that she realized that was a declaration of love and not of war, she almost felt guilty crushing his heart in response. In fact, she did feel guilty— and she needed to make it up.

 She followed the trail of flowers to the shade behind cabin #4, where she saw Oliver sitting against the wall, lost in thought. She approached him with military stealth, and he didn't even notice as she stood right over him.

 "I thought I'd find you here," Emilia said.

 He looked up at her, startled, though she couldn't tell if it was a general startle or if it was because her presence had that effect on people.

 "Then again, the carnations gave you away."

 "Emilia!" he said, nervously jumping to his feet as though he were about to make a hasty escape, "don't worry, I'll, I'll get out of your way."

 "Not so fast, punk," Emilia said. She grabbed him by the back of his shirt and pulled him back, turning him around and pushing him against the wall in front of her, her arm pressing against his collarbone, "I had a talk with your little friend."

 "What about?" he asked, fear swirling in his eyes.

 "Something about you having a little crush on me," she narrowed her eyes, "is that true?"

 He looked down at the ground for a moment, then back up at her, meeting her eyes with his.

 "Yeah," he said, followed by a quick, "please don't kill me."

 For a moment, before his face washed with fear, she saw a confident determination, like a soldier prepared for war. She liked that more than she normally would've admitted. She also liked the fear in his eyes too— actually, maybe it was just that she liked his eyes, and the rest of his face as well.

 "Oh, don't worry," she said, pushing him harder against the wall, "I wouldn't do that. I can think of something a lot better to do with your face than pulverizing it."

 "Like what?" his voice squeaked.

 "Like this," she smiled.

 She leaned toward him and planted a kiss on his trembling lips, which stilled themselves as the world did, stopping itself and starting itself all over again.

 She pulled away, and he blinked a few times, stupefied. She ran a range of emotions she couldn't begin to place names to. He must've as well, because as she looked down at their feet, there must've been a dozen different flowers growing around them, entangling their roots, planting them both to the spot.

 But one flower stood out most to her, a couple bright orange blossoms she couldn't stop herself from picking.

 "Nasturtium," she said.

 "What?" Oliver asked, breathless, still clearly trying to regain his senses.

 "These grew back home," Emilia said, lost for a wistful moment as she twirled the buds between her fingers, "when I was a little girl, back in Chile."

 She met Oliver's eyes.

 "Know what this one means?"

 He shook his head.

 "Conquest," Emilia said, "victory in battle."

 She didn't explain how she knew, but he seemed too shocked still to even bother to ask.

 "I think I'll keep this one," she said, tucking the flower behind her ear, "if that's okay with you."

 "Yeah," he whispered.

 She could tell he was still processing, trying to figure out what was going on, and if there'd been a flower for confusion, it would've been in the garden growing between them. It might be best to give him time to weed out his thoughts— pun literally intended.

 "I'll talk to you later, okay?" she said.

 He started to say "yeah," but she planted a kiss on his cheek first, which apparently flipped a reset switch in his brain all over again.

 As Emilia walked away, she brushed her fingers along the flower behind her ear. She knew her siblings were gonna give her a hard time for it, but she'd give it right back to them. As much as she hated them picking on her, she'd tolerated it— but somehow she knew that if any of the others started poking fun at Oliver, she'd personally arrange a meeting between their head and a toilet, complete with a black eye as a parting gift.

 She'd heard someone on TV say that love was strength, and maybe they were right. As much as she'd always fought for herself, she was twice as prepared to fight for Oliver.

 Especially that day at lunch, when he gave her a whole bouquet of those bright orange nasturtium flowers, and though he was still apparently too tongue-tied to get out anything more than a "these are for you," the note he'd written on the card said it all in just how he addressed her: "to the champion who conquered my very heart"

#percy jackon and the olympians #kazzy's ocs #oliver mcadam #emilia alvarez #calla fields #5 and 1 #kazzy writes fanfiction #clariss la rue #percy jackson book spoilers #kazzy borrows uncle rick's sweater #kazzy writes fanfic #camp half blood

[elderberries-and-honey]

Jackson had tried his best to keep up with the farm while The Baudelaire's had been away. However, it had proved to be harder than he realized, especially in his old age, and after all, he still had a pub to manage. All the same, by the end of the summer, it became overgrown and unruly. Truthfully, he was a little ashamed and while it wasn't his fault, he felt mortified about the state of the farm.

He stood out in the thick of things, attempting to put even the smallest band-aid over the mess by trimming some of the weeds before their arrival, while Valerie stood over his shoulder trying to instruct him on the 'proper' way to do things.

Beth, who at one time would have loved to challenge Valerie or call her bossy, ignored their bickering. Instead, her and Ozzy stayed nearby, enjoying the warm Autumn air and sunshine on their faces.

Aside from their crops, the farm remained mostly unbothered. All of their animals, both pets and frequent visitors alike, were well taken care of and if nothing else, at least there was that.

Neither Winifred or Lawrence brought up their encounter with the Cooper kid, walking along aside each other in silence the remainder of the way. Both of them put it out of their mind's eye, for the moment anyway, when at long last, they were home.

Valerie was the first to notice them, grabbing Lawrence into a tight hug while she playfully scolded him for being gone so long the way only a maternal figure can.

Ozzy and Beth neared the open gate, all the excitement making the tot giggle near uncontrollably. Winifred squatted down to his level, opening her arms wide. "My baby!" She cooed, grinning from ear to ear.

Little Ozzy blinked in confusion, looking up to his Auntie Beth for help as he hid behind her skirt. "Go on, Ozzy, go say hello to your Mum! It's okay, I promise." She encouraged.

Of all the things Winifred had tried to prepare herself for upon their return, her son not recognizing her hadn't been one of them. With every second that tiptoed by she could feel her chest getting heavy as she was finally faced with the reality of what being away for so long had done to her boy. She stared the little one, trying to keep her face from falling into an expression of despair.

It seemed like everyone was holding their breath in wait; Beth in particular fearing a tantrum. 'Please, not now...please, Ozzy.' Beth pleaded wordlessly, and by the grace of God, her private prayers were answered.

Ozzy looked back up at Winifred, some instinct recognizing a distant sense of familiarity within her face, and he soon raced towards her. "Oh, my sweet boy, I've missed you so." Winifred murmured once he reached her, wrapping her arms around him to hold him against her tightly.

Lawrence approached them once he was sure it was safe and wrapped an arm around Winifred. "Hello Oscar," he said softly, "I'm your daddy, and that there is your Mum. And you, little one, are going to be a big brother!" He tutted, placing a gentle hand against Winifred's belly.

Last time they were here, motherhood felt so heavy, like a burden more than a blessing. As she held Ozzy now, she promised herself she would never leave him again. Standing there together, Winifred realized it was the first time she truly felt like they were a family.

next / previous / first

#ts4 historical #sims 4 historical #ts4 decades challenge #sims 4 decades challenge #ts4 storytelling #sims 4 storystelling #ts4 legacy #sims 4 legacy #the baudelaire legacy #1890 #winifred baudelaire #lawrence baudelaire #oscar baudelaire #beth herbert #jackson mcadams #valerie mcadams

[kittenonpluto]

"I think you're not such an honest person. Because I've followed you for eight weeks now and I never once saw you order anything but a fucking sea breeze."

Cillian Murphy as Jackson Rippner Rachel McAdams as Lisa Reisert Red Eye | 2005

#cmurphyedit #cillianmurphyedit #cillanedit #cilliangifs #red eye #red eye 2005 #jackson rippner #jacksonrippneredit #redeyeedit #jaw muscle!!! #rachel mcadams #lisa reisert #*casgifs

[rinasunny]

#red eye 2005 #lisa reisert #jackson rippner #jackson x lisa #cillian murphy #rachel mcadams #red eye #red eye text posts #text post #text posts meme #red eye memes

[rukcin]

#red eye #Jackson rippner #red eye 2005 #cillian murphy #rachel mcadams #jackson x lisa #Lol #lisa reisert

[denimbex1986]

'When renowned screenwriter Steven Knight set about formulating what would become one of his best creations, the modern gangster classic television series Peaky Blinders, he had a very important choice to make. He already had his main character fully fleshed out: Thomas Shelby, an ambitious, emotionally shut off war veteran who conducts himself like he's already dead and living on borrowed time. Knight was deliberating between two very different actors when deciding who best had the skills to embody Shelby. One of these men was an icon of the Irish acting scene, able to be in almost any kind of film you can imagine. The other was an icon of the rough and tumble action film scene, equally capable of fighting off sharks and jump-kicking down doors. It was the matchup nobody could have foreseen, Cillian Murphy vs. Jason Statham.

A Text to Steven Knight Gave Cillian Murphy the Upper Hand Over Jason Statham

Knight has told the story that he was torn between going with either of these two masters of the brood and the grumbling voice. According to The Independent, he said that he "met them both in LA to talk about the role and opted for Jason...because physically in the room Jason is Jason." You have to imagine that what he means by this is that Statham is a very impressive physical specimen in person, and that his tough guy persona is not entirely an act. Knight followed up by mentioning how Murphy "isn't Tommy, obviously, but I was stupid enough not to understand that." In his defense, Murphy is an incredibly soft-spoken and gentle soul, leagues away from the calculating killer Knight was looking for.

Seemingly sensing a disturbance in the Force, Murphy decided to pull a true giga-Chad move to ensure he'd get the role. Knight said that one day he received a text from Murphy, and what did that text say? "Remember, I'm an actor." At that moment, Knight realized that Murphy "can transform himself. If you meet him in the street, he is a totally different human being." Knight was finally able to see past Murphy's introverted exterior and realize he had what it took to live up to the Peaky Blinders standard.

Jason Statham Is Best as a Likable Action Star

This is no shade whatsoever to Statham — who has his own certain set of skills he brings to the table — but he could not bring to Thomas Shelby what Murphy did. While it's true that Thomas is a ruthless man who's killed before and has it in him to kill again, he is above all else a politician at heart. He is strategic in his methods, completely closed off in his emotionality even to his own most beloved family members, and ruthless in who or what he will use as collateral in order to get what he wants. If ever there was a modern anti-hero of deeply questionable morality to rival the likes of Tony Soprano or Walter White, it's Thomas Shelby.

While Jason has played his fair share of guys who aren't afraid to kill people or do continuously insane things just to stay alive, he is almost always portrayed in a totally positive manner. He is the modern day equivalent of a Charles Bronson or a Steve McQueen, the likable gruff hero who is always up against meaner, more overtly evil enemies. Don't get it twisted — he's great in these roles, as his combination of street knowledge and his comfort with quips make him the rare action star that feels equally at home in both types of flicks. He can be both the hardened badass in Parker or Wrath of Man, but also be a more humorous and slapstick version of his persona in films like Spy or The Expendables.

There are two downsides to the image he's maintained. For one, there's a noted pressure for action stars to continue to do roles that keep their core fanbase happy. People like Jason Statham because they want to see him do Jason Statham-type roles, and taking a chance on a more outside-the-box character like Thomas could be seen as a risk for his career. Second, there's always an underpinning of likability to his characters — almost to a fault. No matter what he does, we always feel like the movie is approving of his actions, with rare exceptions. Even his most prominent villain role, Deckard Shaw in the Fast and Furious saga, had to become a full-fledged good guy at some point because audiences loved seeing him on-screen and interacting with the main cast so much. Audiences feel compelled to be on his side, regardless of the consequences.

Cillian Murphy Can Better Embrace the Small Scale

As Murphy himself professed, he is "an actor," which is an understatement if ever there was one. Cillian Murphy has steadily built a reputation for himself as one of the consummate actors of our time, slipping from super villain, to Irish freedom fighter, to space captain with an impeccable ease. Plus, despite Knight's hesitations over picturing Murphy as such a tough threat like Thomas, Murphy has actually had a great history of playing men of imposing force. Think of his terrorist Jackson Rippner holding Rachel McAdams hostage and surviving getting stabbed in the throat with a pen in Red Eye, or the steadily increasing violence and chaotic behavior of one of his earliest roles in Disco Pigs, or even the coke snorting, gun toting, walking red flag that is Tom in The Party. These may not be muscular bruiser types that can knock heads together with ease like Statham can in his sleep, but they are men who are all full of murderous drive, and know how to keep themselves composed and proper in various social circles, while also projecting a sense of constant calculation and the ability to hide true emotions from everyone in the room except the audience.

To make a long story short, Murphy can carry a scene in a smaller scale register than Statham can. If we see Murphy sit like a stone for an entire scene watching everyone else, we read this as him gathering knowledge, playing chess while everyone else is playing checkers. If Statham does the same, we expect him to find the right time to interrogate someone or get what he wants through sheer fisticuffs, or perhaps even find a way to witty banter his way out of the situation. While Statham can be a quite stern actor himself, his is more a barreling full force kind of focus, like a determined dog chasing a car. The ambiguous and slippery nature of Murphy's temperament is much more fitting for the kind of expert power player that Thomas Shelby winds up being.

Thomas Shelby’s Casting Came Down to a Matter of Fit Above All Else

None of this is to cast any aspersions on Statham's abilities as an actor, but instead to highlight that he simply wasn't as good of a fit as Murphy. Statham bringing a lot of charisma and physical threat to a starring role is great for a slice of pulpy fun like Safe, but not as fitting for a multi season character study of a broken man manipulating the world around him to do what he thinks is right, even if that means potentially turning against his own trusted allies. That kind of moral confusion and ping ponging of conflicting motivations and actions is much more suited to an actor like Murphy, as there's simultaneously no audience pressure on him to fulfill the role of a standard likable hero and more freedom for him and the writers to explore the darker potential of the character in a way that feels honest to the material. It's important to keep in mind that ultimately, it's not a matter of getting the biggest actor for the role, but the right actor. Cillian Murphy was the right man for the job, by order of the Peaky f***ing Blinders.'

#Cillian Murphy #Thomas Shelby #Peaky Blinders #Jason Statham #Disco Pigs #Steven Knight #Red Eye #Jackson Rippner #The Party #Rachel McAdams #Fast and Furious