He picked up the scent before he could see him. He felt his eyes narrow and a pit form in his stomach as Erza returned to the guild late in the day.
“Late night,” Cana teased knowingly, much to the scarlet-haired knight’s consternation.
He recognized that scent immediately - despite the almost overpowering bath soap, he could
still tell. It wasn’t as if no one knew where Erza was going when she’d leave early from the Guild all
dressed up. Her entire ‘everything’ changed when he appeared at the
Guild Hall doors. Seeing how Erza dropped everything and ran to him hurt
worse than getting a gut punch from Ancologia… Oh yeah, he was
suppose to be happy for her but he wasn’t. He couldn’t be, no matter how
much he tried to lie to everyone, including himself…
“Yes, If you must know,” she growled despite the smallest smile on her face as she sat down. “Don’t you have a brewery to put out of business?”
“I’ll get to that after I get done teasing you~”
“Where is he,” Mira asked. “He always avoids coming in here.” The knight’s oldest friend made it a point to not glance at the pink hair although both women could practically feel the aura that Natsu was putting off.
“…” Erza also tried not to look at Natsu at that moment but the awkwardness in how she tried to not make eye contact was as sure of a tell as if she had looked right at him. “He’s…not ready.”
Natsu turned his head away, his chin in his palm as he gave a gruff grunt.
“Natsu, be nice,” Lucy admonished him. “He’s not a bad guy at all. He was controlled and he’s very sorry. We’ve already been through this.”
Everyone at the table flinched as Natsu slammed his palm down, pushing himself to his feet. “I’m leaving,” he spoke in an extremely even and controlled voice, moving his other hand to his pocket.
He barely flinched at the sound of Erza’s voice but he stopped where he stood and turned his head to glance at her from over his shoulder and he hated what he saw. There was pain in her eyes and it was his fault. Still…she should have known this would happen - if she really knew him as well as she claimed sometimes, she should have KNOWN this was going to happen. “What…?” … did his voice always sound so … dry?
“… can’t you forget…?”
Out of her line of sight, his other hand balled into a quick fist. Why should he forget - WHY!? Because his delicate sensibilities would be hurt? Because he had already put himself through enough emotional torture!? How was he suppose to forget the fact that because it was HER - because SHE nearly died - because she became someone else every time she heard his name…!
He closed his eyes and exhaled as he turned his back to her and continued walking. God, why was he so….pathetic
in light of the recent, disturbing trends i’ve seen growing on tumblr and elsewhere lately, i’d like to clarify a few things about butchness as an identity, a concept, and a subject worthy of respect.
butch is a lesbian identity historically defined by aspects of presentation, behavior, and self-perception. it has its roots (at least in america) around world war ii, where thousands of women took on stereotypically masculine jobs in the women’s army corps, becoming welders, truck drivers, and more confident in breaking from feminine ideals. it emerged as a coherent idea within lesbianism around the forties when the lesbian bar scene took off and saw its heyday in the fifties and sixties, where butches learned from each other how to dress, act, woo femmes, and carry themselves and their brave identities with self-assurance and pride. since then, it has grown and changed alongside lesbian culture and gender perceptions, surfacing a little differently every decade.
butch is an intriguing and gorgeous gem from lesbian history (and lgbt history as a whole). lgbt individuals have forever sought ways to express their desires and identities outside of society’s stringent gender-based norms. masculinity, in particular, has been closely guarded, held holy, and a means of oppression. women who had nothing to do with men whatsoever — women hated by men as a whole — forged their own rules and roles and lifestyles from the ashes of men’s pride, with utter indifference towards that which men held dear.
butch is outside of the common perception of gender. it stands against the idea that gender identity and presentation must be thought of as completely distinct — and also allows that gender identity and presentation be held distinct and at odds with one another. there are butches who affirm themselves completely as women and butchness as an integral part of their womanhood, in opposition with the standards of femininity imposed upon women everywhere. there are butches who identify personally and intimately with the androgyny and gender nonconformity that butch presentation necessitates, and might go by he/his pronouns or have their children call them “dad” without being any less lesbian, any less butch. these are both completely valid and acceptable ways of being butch.
butch is not maleness or male privilege. butches are not men. masculine presentation does not a man make. butch is by necessity lesbian, and lesbianism by its very existence has everything to do with women and nothing to do with men. butch is complex, challenging, and diverse, and requires nuance in consideration and analysis. this is not something to hate. this is not something to fear. it is something to wonder at, to appreciate, to learn from.
butch is not evil. is not ugly, unless a butch would like to reclaim the ugliness that society’s spite has thrust upon her. is not oppressive. is not something to be conflated with maleness, whether cis or trans.
butch is beautiful. is handsome. is brave. is enduring. is revolutionary. is significant, both historically and for today. is magnificent. is admirable. is strong.
butch hatred is not the hatred of men or the hatred of some ridiculous, universally oppressive “masculinity.” butch hatred is hatred directed towards women and, furthermore, lesbians. butch hatred is the hatred of lesbians who have been a significant part of the backbone of lesbian culture as long as lesbian culture has existed. the women hated foremost in the twenties were those who wore pants. the women labeled as “gender inverts” for their posture, confident stance, and preference for “men’s activities” in the late nineteenth century wrote the first books women like them could turn to for stories of women’s love for women, for women not acting the way women ought to. (see the well of loneliness by radclyffe hall.)
butches are not privileged for their butchness. butches are widely disadvantaged and punished for their gender nonconformity. the fact that we live in a day and age where some people — some lesbians, even — are so isolated from actual gender dynamics that they would believe that women can get goodies from society for not acting “like women” is completely, wickedly mind-boggling.
stop with “masculine privilege.” stop with “butch privilege.” stop with “femme oppression,” which is a post for another day. the hatred of butches is frankly inexcusable and deeply shameful. you are better than this, and butches deserve far, far more than the spite and ignorance you show them.
thank you both for such nice messages, I’m so glad you like my art…!! hopefully I can help at least a little bit!
anon 2) my brush settings can be found here! anon 1) wrinkles can get pretty complex! it depends on the type, weight, thickness, and cut of the fabric, whether the character is in motion, etc; I wish I could get into everything, but it’s a huge subject that I don’t think I could possibly cover…!! but I can at least give you some very very basic tips on building up a dress (and the lace underneath!)
here are some examples of dresses I’ve drawn recently. they might seem complex, but when broken down to their most basic form, they’re actually very simple shapes that follow very similar rules!
are you seeing any patterns between them? while they do differ a bit, they’re by and large made from the same long line that curves into itself and back out. learning where this line goes and how it changes under different circumstances is learned largely through practice and intuition, but there are some steps you can take to begin building a foundation to work from! (or at least to sort of break down the process!)
determine the shape/angle of the dress itself.in this example, I’m using a big poofy dress shown from slightly below!
use this as a guide when adding that curving line from before. think of how the fabric folds, and keep in mind that the direction of the curve (and how harsh it appears) depends on where it falls on the dress and the angle at which it’s being viewed from. in this example, it’s more pronounced on the edges, and is facing different directions on the left and the right sides.
wherever cloth folds, wrinkles appear! wrinkles will be more abundant where the cloth is more compact; in this case, that’s toward the waistline. on a dress like this, a fold will originate at the waistline and radiate downward; this means that on an uninterrupted fold, the line that you draw should (if you were to continue it all the way, which is not always necessary) reach cleanly back to the waist. I added one translucent line to help illustrate this idea!
want to add a lace layer? it’s the same concept!! add your basic curving line underneath, keeping in mind that the cloth above will likely mirror whatever it’s falling over. (not perfectly, but somewhat!) so try to keep it a little consistent!
details are easy now!! you can add any sort of lace pattern you want by just tracing over that first line! I used a basic scallop shape here
want even more lace? just repeat step four as many times as you want underneath your last layer of lace!
once you get the hang of this part, figuring out more complex stuff gets much easier! I’m not great at explaining things, but hopefully you were able to come away with some kind of new information, haha…!! I’m wishing you both the best with your art!!!
Vanichi Magazine partners with The Africa Channel to present “What If Movie Icons Wore African Fashion?” (#WIMIWAF).
This creative fashion editorial imagines an alternate reality where iconic Hollywood film characters dress in modern, handcrafted fashion from designers of Africa and the African Diaspora.
Designers include Senegal-based brand SARAYAA, TEGAA, a Gambia-based jewelry line, Egyptian designer AMMANII, M ANDREWS sartorial luxury based in San Antonio, Texas, Nigerian brand OBIOMA, eyewear designer BURKINABAE, menswear designer KENNETH NICHOLSON, Ghana + NYC brand STUDIO ONE EIGHTY NINE (co-founded by Rosario Dawson), Sierra Leone + USA brand BADARA and Lagos-based luxury brand MINKU.
PHOTO: Juhn Kwon.
HAIR + MAKEUP: Karen Bates-Ashey.
STYLIST: Jordan Swain.
ASSISTANT STYLIST: Drea MJ.
BlCREATIVE DIRECTORS: Joy Donnell + Jordan Swain.
Join our little toilet gossip session!
Tell me where you got that bomb ass dress from, as we wash our hands!
Let’s talk through the stalls!
Tell me how you did that beautiful hairstyle, as you fix it up in the mirror!
Join our little haven from that one pedo guy out there!
Tell me how bad those gorgeous heels are rubbing your feet, as I pass you a bandage for the blisters!
Let’s take a hundred mirror selfies!
Tell me how you blended that eyeshadow so flawlessly, as we talk over the hand dryers!
Y/N isn’t expecting for Harry to be surprised much, at least not for sneaking up on him.
“Y/N, love! I’ve missed ye’ so much, kitten!”
He tucks his phone into his back pocket before wrapping his arms around her waist and picking her up, a grin so wide and a feeling so comforting that nothing in the world could ruin the moment.
“Missed you loads, too, H!” She whispers into his hair, the feeling of his breath on her neck soothing her instantly.
Harry pecks at her neck before setting her back down, his eyes scanning over her every feature. His heart melts at the way she looks up at him, and when he sees her stand on her tip toes, he leans down to press his lips to hers.
It’s a playful exchange of kisses, with Y/N’s hands gripping at the sides of his printed shirt, and Harry’s large hands cupping her face. Kisses with open eyes and big stupid smiles. Kisses that don’t last longer than three second before their lips separate only to press together again. And in between them, Harry whispers ‘missed ye’ too much’ and ‘I love you’ in broken phrases.
Missed. Kiss. Ye’. Kiss. Too. Kiss. Much. Kiss.
He nudges his nose against hers lightly before pressing one last kiss to her forehead and wrapping an arm around her neck so it dangles over her shoulder as they begin to walk.
“Didn’t tell me ye’ were comin’ for a visit, love.”
Not that Harry minds, at all. He just would’ve liked to have been the first person she saw, not some random cabbie or whoever picked her up at the airport.
“Thought it’d be fun to pop by unannounced. Jeff pitched the idea after he overheard Mer talking to me over the phone. Said you could use a little company in that empty hotel room of yours.”
She bumps his hip with hers, giggling for a moment at the famous half smirk he gives her.
“Hm, well if tha’s why ye’ came here then I reckon we should get t’ tha’ empty hotel room, ehh?”
He’s stopped dead in his tracks, moving to stand in front of Y/N to look at her directly. And Harry can visibly see her tense up, the playful look she’d been sporting a few seconds ago gone.
“Y/N-” he begins, eyebrows furrowed into concern, only to be cut off.
“I’m sorry, H. I know it’s taking forever, but it’s just-” and she’s trying so hard not to disappoint him. She knows they’ve been dating far too long for intimacy not to be part of the relationship already, and it makes her mad that she can’t let herself love him in that way. Not because she doesn’t want to, she knows they’re meant to be together, she just doesn’t feel ready yet.
“No. No, kitten, you’ve got nothing t’ apologise for,” Harry’s hands rub at her upper arms soothingly, hoping to assure her that he’s okay with it, “m'not ever g'na rush this. I want ye’ t’ be sure when the time comes that you want it as much as I do.”
“But I know that it’s frustrating and-”
“-and m'g'na wait as long as I’ve got t’. M'not g'na love ye’ less b'cos of it. Jus’ wan’ ye’ t’ be sure, love.”
He gives her that smile. That toothy smile that can make all their problems fade into nothing. And so she smiles, too.
“Well would ye’ look at this lovely picture.”
A 'wuh-PSSSH’ sound follows the comment, a voice too familiar not to notice.
“Still whipped, mate?”
Harry just smiles, unwrapping his arm from around Y/N to stand up and greet his friend in a proper hug.
“Oh, look at this,” Y/N can hear Harry coo before she’s even got the chance to slip out of the booth they’re currently sat at, “Freddie’s here!”
And to say he completely disregarded Louis at this point would be an understatement, he might as well be invisible now.
Harry stretches his arms out, and Louis complies at letting him hold his one year old.
“Nice t’ see ye’ too, Harry. I’ve been great, thanks mate.”
Harry pays the sarcasm no mind as he sets the baby on his hip, and instead smiles and coos at Freddie who looks up at him with happy eyes.
“Don’t worry, did the same to me earlier.” Y/N laughs at the thought of Harry having left her side with out a second thought to hold who she came to find out was an adorable little baby girl named Ruby.
Louis welcomes her into a hug, whispering a low 'outta have kids then’ in her ear.
And that warms her heart. To think that one day, she’ll be lucky enough to welcome a lovely little human that’ll be a mix of her and Harry, she honestly can’t wait. But now she feels even more guilty.
But Harry smiles at her adoringly, baby Freddie in his arms chuckling and trying to grab at Harry’s short but now longer hair.
“I see you two are still disgustingly sweet as usual,” Louis comments.
Just the way Harry looks at you, it’s unreal and anyone who knew you both would swear you were meant for each other, even before either of you realised it. And that’s exactly what your friends thought. Seeing Harry look at you the way he did at the many dinners and house parties everyone would gather for definitely added to those thoughts.
And you two have been practically inseparable ever since New York. You were glad Harry had gathered up the courage to find you that night, don’t know if you’d be in this position if he hadn’t. You were glad he was hell bent on not leaving that hotel room until things were cleared up because “really miss m'best friend. Tell me wha’ I did so I can fix it, kit'en.” And you were glad he’d said those three words that solidified the fact that he was there to make sure you were his, even though you had been all along.
“Will be. So long as this one will have me,” the press of Harry’s lips to Y/N’s has Louis grunting in pretend distaste.
“Better get going, don’ wanna interrupt Harry still being whipped.”
Harry hands Freddie over with a pout.
“Still no complaints though.”
To say everything is going perfect would be an understatement. Harry’s music is being praised and appreciated and Y/N can’t explain how happy it makes her that Harry’s happy. His performances are nothing short of amazing, and she loves seeing him gush over “they were singing along, babe! Just a great feelin’!”
She’s been flying back and forth along his side during all this. New York, London, Paris, and then back to New York. And Harry loves sharing this with her. He loves having her watching him from the side lines, singing along as she claps and gives him thumbs up and blows kisses at him for support. He loves getting off stage with so much adrenaline and kissing her so hard because Harry doesn’t take anything for granted, no. He’s thankful he’s getting to do what he loves and even more with his better half by his side.
“A'right. How do I look?” His jazz hands and that big smile plastered on his face are indication of just how hyped he is for this.
“I’ve never seen anyone pull off black better than you, H!”
And it’s true. Harry can pull off any colour. Blue, red, yellow, pink; you name it! But black. Black gives him a sexy sort of mysterious sophistication.
“Think so?” He looks himself over in the mirror, content at his choice.
Y/N looks at him through the mirror from where she’s sat on the couch of his dressing room, nodding a yes as she gets up to stand on the furniture.
“Please no stage diving today?” She’d be all for it, if it weren’t for the fact that he’s already tried it and it didn’t go as planned. She really doesn’t want him or any of the fans getting injured.
Harry only chuckles and nods in embarrassment as he strides over to stand in front of her, his head tilting up just a bit to look at her since she’s standing on the cushions.
“M'serious, Harry!” But she smiles anyway, arms lazily slung over his shoulders and around his neck. She brings a hand to tug at the hairs at the nape of it as Harry sets his at either side on her hips, thumbs rubbing at her hipbones.
It’s the last listening party before the album is released, and Harry’s pretty sure the second he mentions stage diving, Jeff will have him pulled off stage. Or carried because it is Jeff after all.
“I’ll try not to, kit'en.” Harry doesn’t know why it was a good idea to do it in the first place. But he had all that adrenaline and he was just so excited. Y/N of course had scolded him and slapped his arm after he got off stage because, “you could’ve broken something Harry!!” But he’d kissed the small amount of anger away.
“I’ll be watching from the sides?” Every time before a performance or an interview she says that, and every time she does Harry smiles just as big.
Finally, after a few months of all the boys doing their own thing, everyone’s finally got a chance to gather up at a small venue for Harry’s pre-launch party. Jeff had asked Y/N for help in terms of invitees, and it’d be outrageous not to have Liam, Niall, and Louis attend.
And so Niall is the last to arrive, and the moment he walks through the door, a very tipsy Y/N can’t contain her excitement at finally reuniting with another one of her friends.
“Oí, have enough drinks for the rest of us have ya?” Niall just about tumbles back with the sudden weight of her body as she throws herself at him, but he catches her in his arms and steadies her.
“You’re late mister,” she’s slurring just a bit, words somewhat coherent.
“Does 'arry know you’re drunk??”
He wraps an arm around her waist for support, in fear that she might be too over her head to even walk with out tripping and falling.
“Drunk? M'not drunk,” she pokes at his chest, and Niall only now notices the red cup in her hand threatening to spill over his shirt, “you’re just sober.”
He lets out a lively laugh. Drunk Y/N is something else, and he’s only ever seen her like this when Harry’s not really paying attention to her.
She hiccups and continues with a pout, “he’s over somewhere. With some girl,” she motions her hand around and nowhere in particular, again, the drink sploshing around in the red cup.
Harry hadn’t meant to leave her alone, he’d been pulled away from her side by someone he can’t even recall the name of, because that’s how out of it he is. So he’s been handed drink left and right, downing them with out retaliation because he doesn’t wanna seem like a downer. And although he really should go find his Y/N, he doesn’t think she’d mind if she’s having fun too.
But she’s not. At least not as much as she’d like. All she wants is for Harry to kiss her and hold her hand, because they’re both affectionate drunks, and it’s always a plus to annoy their friends in that way. But she hasn’t seen him in a while. Last she caught a glimpse was about an hour or so ago, when he was being led over to a group of people she doesn’t really recognise, and it made her notice how out of it she is. She doesn’t remember inviting half the people in the room, but the little attention Harry seems to be giving her has her drinking with out a purpose.
It reminds her of when they were only friends. In the same circumstance, she’d drink the night away in hopes of erasing the image of Harry smiling wide, eyes crinkled because some girl was whispering god knows what in his ear. He’d be hunched over just a bit to give the girl better access as she mumbled and giggled. And Harry would nod slightly before moving to whisper something back, face too close to her liking. But it, too, was always nothing, because shortly after she would have to turn away. Try to hide the fact that yes, she might have been staring at Harry for much longer than she’d ever admit to. And when he’d catch a glimpse of her doing just the same with a guy, giggling and whispering and smiling like crazy, he’d make his way over. Weaving his way around dancing bodies to get to her. And he’d smile that drink infused crooked smile of his before whispering something like “let’s get ye’ home, pet,” and leading her out of the place with his palm to her lower back.
So yeah, this sort of reminds her of old times. Only this time, they’re actually dating and he’s nowhere to be found.
Harry doesn’t remember getting home. He doesn’t remember taking off his clothes either.
In fact, the last thing he remembers is Y/N kissing at his neck and tugging at his pants.
And..oh no. If that’s how…if they were both drunk and-ah shit! Neither of them were suppose to be drunk when it finally happened. Harry wanted to make sure she would be okay with everything going on. He would have wanted to whisper how good she was taking him. Wanted to assure her that he was there with her, that all he wanted was to make her feel good. Harry just wanted to make love to her the right way.
And now he doesn’t even remember half the night.
So he brings his hand over his face, because not only does he not remember, he also doesn’t recognise the room he’s woken up in.
And then he looks beside him at the body under the white sheets.
He doesn’t recognise the person he’s woken up next to.
We start with a quick shot of the current Avengers (in a possible future MCU line-up) being captured.
Next up, we are in a dark basement, where MARIA HILL and CLINT BARTON are meeting up, both look tired and banged up. CLINT is wearing a hearing aid, has a white strip over his broken nose and his chugging a big cup of coffee.
CLINT: So what now?
MARIA: There’s something you need to see.
She drops a bunch of files on top of the table he’s sitting at.
ENTER MUSIC AND MARVEL LOGO.
We see BILLY sitting on the buss, red hoodie thrown over his head, headphones on, blackened eye.
MARIA (Voice Over): William Kaplan. Code name: Wiccan. He’s a reality warper.
Shot of BILLY talking to CLINT in some diner.
CLINT: Are you even actually wicca?
BILLY makes a funny face and shrugs, shaking his head. Next shot, BILLY is flying through the air, hands shining blue as lightning crackles around him.
MARIA (VO): Thomas Shephard. Goes by Speed.
TOMMY, identical to BILLY, sips around a room full of bad guys like a blur, stops in a corner, leaning cheekily against the wall.
TOMMY: You guys didn’t think I’d let you have all the fun without me, did you?
MARIA (VO): Teddy Altman.
TEDDY sits on a couch, arm wrapped around BILLY comfortably.
MARIA (VO): Kree-Skrull hybrid, shapeshifter.
Quick shots of TEDDY in his green alien form, flying around, fighting aliens; punches through them with a roar. Next up, a CLOSE UP of BILLY looking shocked.
BILLY (aroused): Whoa.
MARIA: Next, there’s Hawkeye.
CLINT looks confused.
MARIA: Kate Bishop.
CLINT: You mean like Hawk-girl or Hawkete.
MARIA: No. Hawkeye.
Shot of KATE, looking preppy and beautiful with purple sunglasses. She smirks, arching an eyebrow.
KATE: Believe me, I’m the better Hawkeye.
Quick shot of KATE, jumping though the air and shooting arrows, looking badass.
We return to the first shot of her in civilian clothes.
KATE: Barton’s got nothing on me.
CLINT drops the files on the table with a grunt.
CLINT: You gotta be kidding me. Who’s next.
MARIA (dropping the next file in front of him): Miss America Chavez.
CLINT (arching an eyebrow): Related to Cap?
MARIA: Who knows? We’re still not sure where she came from, or exactly what she can do.
Appears AMERICA, dressed in stars and stripes. Slams her fist against the ground, making it tremble with waves. She flies off to punch a bad guy. When she turns to the next one, her eyes light up but don’t see any of her star portals yet.
Shot of the YOUNG AVENGERS sitting together in some sort of lair. KATE sends AMERICA a look.
KATE: So what’s your deal?
AMERICA (with a wink): Wouldn’t you like to know, Princess.
Back to the basement with CLINT and MARIA.
CLINT: Who the hell put this kids together?
MARIA quietly hands him one last file.
We see the YOUNG AVENGERS back at the same lair. Someone stands in front of them. We see CASSIE LANG facing them, suited up in an Ant-Man suit.
CASSIE: I need your help to find my father… Are you in?
The YOUNG AVENGERS share a confused look. BILLY, nervous, finally takes a step forward and nods.
BILLY: We’ll stand with you.
Series of shots of the YOUNG AVENGERS in battle against assorted bad guys (humans, aliens, monsters).
Next, we see a young boy with dark hair and green eyes, standing in front of them, both hands behind his back.
LOKI: You are going to need help in this new endeavor of yours. I could provide some assistance.
AMERICA pushes her way to the front of the group to face the kid, a glare set on her face.
AMERICA: Oh, no way we’re falling for that, Chico.
BILLY: America, c’mon, he’s just a kid.
LOKI smiles, pulling out his hands behind his back. His fingers sparkle green. Without missing a beat, AMERICA punches him hard, sends him crashing back through several walls.
AMERICA: No. He’s not.
More shots of the YOUNG AVENGERS fighting. Next, a wide shot of them standing in front of an entire army of aliens, flying towards them. CLINT is standing with them, next to KATE.
CLINT: Okay, this looks bad.
TEDDY: Guys! We need a plan!
AMERICA: Punch everyone.
New quick glimpses of them in battle.
CUT TO THE TITLE CARD: YOUNG AVENGERS.
TOMMY: No way are we calling ourselves that.
We see CASSIE growing suddenly for the first time. The rest of them gasp as she towers over them.
BILLY: I didn’t know you could do that!
CASSIE: Neither did I- Watch out!
She moves quickly to step on a group of aliens that were about to attack them.