#and c'mon

[marazra]

the concept of Clint as an shield agent is so funny because that man is NOT shield agent material.

[loveduringthewar]

(x)

[hannahssimblr]

“I have to say, this is an impressive body of work.”

I shift in my seat, “By impressive do you mean that it’s good, or that there’s a lot of it?”

This gets a laugh. “Both,” says the man, Paul, flicking through a sketchbook with tattooed hands, fingers stained from nicotine. I notice things like this now. Hands. I notice their lines and their bones, all their interesting details, and perhaps Paul himself could gauge this now as he pours over my figure studies where there are pages upon pages of hands, old and young, my friends, my sisters at the piano, an old woman clutching at a handrail on the train, and my own, a hundred times in different ways, blisters, plasters, hangnails and bruises from the rugby pitch.

The woman, Ida, shuffles through a stack of watercolour paintings I did last summer, mostly seascapes, the beach and the rushes, the whitewashed houses and rusted iron of the Wexford coast. Just looking at them I can recall the grit of sand under my bare feet as I warmed them on the deck of our holiday home behind my portable easel. In three months I’ll return again for one last summer, and after that I expect I’ll miss it there. 

“And you said you didn’t do a portfolio preparation year?” She says, peering over the rim of her glasses. 

“No, I’m still at school.”

“Highly unusual for a sixth year,” her eyebrows climb up her forehead, “You've clearly dedicated a lot of time to this.”

I shrug, “Yeah, I like making art, I don’t know.”

It’s difficult to tell what this woman is thinking. Everything about her is harsh, dramatic, from the sharp fringe that sits straight and neat above her brows to the slash of her mouth, thin lips, pointy chin, hard eyes, but I have to assume for the sake of my own self esteem that she doesn’t positively loathe my portfolio. She spends some time looking through my work, slowly, methodically, sometimes leaning closer to frown at something, maybe some proportion that’s off, bad composition, a clumsy attempt at ambient occlusion that doesn’t hit the mark… 

“It’s beautiful,” she says simply, and I exhale. 

“Oh look, a familiar face,” Paul holds a portrait to Ida, “That’s the girl that we were interviewing a few people before this, what was her name again?”

“Michelle,” I say, “My girlfriend.”

Paul nods, “Michelle, right! Good likeness,” and places the notebook back onto the table. Leaning back in his chair, he cracks his knuckles, “Look, Jude, there’s no two ways about it here, your work is outstanding. It’s been a long time since I’ve seen a portfolio that hits every mark, every requirement and goes beyond, I mean,” he lets out a puff of air and gestures to the table, “this is nuts. And for a sixth year? Come on. This stuff would blow some of our third and fourth year college students out of the water.”

I feel like I could melt off the chair with relief, but try to suppress my utter delight so that they don’t think I’m too hungry for validation.

“Cool.”

“It’s the sensitivity,” Ida adds, “Your observation skills, your sense of weight, movement, knowledge of anatomy. It’s rare to see this kind of work from a secondary school student. Your efforts are just… so impressive.”

“And look, we know it depends on your Leaving Cert points, and yeah, that’ll be a contributing factor when it comes to acceptance, but, like,” Paul looks over the table again, tossing his hands up conclusively, “as far as I’m concerned, we’ll see you in September.”

Ida’s mouth curls into a smile, “We hope. If you choose us.”

If I choose them? Am I dreaming? How have I become the kind of person who is coveted by an art school? Surely not. Surely soon I’ll wake up and discover that this whole interview has been a product of my dreams. Too much time spent stressing out over art, the requirements, the brief... Almost certainly I’ve fallen asleep somewhere and none of this is real. 

“That’s really kind of you to say. I’m glad you liked my stuff.”

“Blown away,” says Paul, and he leaps to his feet to shake my hand like I’ve just won a prize, “all we need is a pass in the Leaving Cert, you can surely manage it.”

“Yeah, I’ll make sure I do.”

They’re smiling at me as I gather up my work, and still smiling as I give them one last sheepish wave from the door, and I realise I am still smiling too as I face the hallway of waiting students, staring at me with portfolios rested against their knees. I probably shouldn’t look too overjoyed, it might knock their confidence, so I try to look very bored instead as I pass by, though I may explode from the inside out.

Beginning // Prev // Next

[purplecelestial-buddy]

I feel that sometimes I tell people that Hirano is cat coded and they don't actually get what I mean, so let present you with a comparison between Hirano (a cat coded boy) and Izutsumi (quite literally a cat girl)

Are you seeing what I'm seeing? In case you aren't I butchered the paneling to have more of a direct comparison:

These people arw going through all the stages of the grieving process while being hugged, how is that not being cat coded?

[ishipanarmada]

For real, Marvel. STOP IT with the killing of my faves. UGH.

[slouchingprovocatively]

remember when the producers specifically put "discuss paris" and "tell her" on tony's bucket list and then did,,, absolutely nothing to progress that

[anxiety-banana]

An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works

Chapters: 1/1 Fandom: Hawkeye (TV 2021), Marvel Cinematic Universe Rating: General Audiences Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: Clint Barton & Kate Bishop Characters: Kate Bishop, Clint Barton Additional Tags: Hurt/Comfort, Angst, a lil bit of - Freeform, Fluff, Family, Found Family, Father-Daughter Relationship, Father Figures, Protective Clint Barton, Clint Barton Feels, Clint Barton & Kate Bishop Friendship, POV Kate Bishop, Parental Clint Barton Summary:

She thought he was a hero. She thought he was her hero.

But he walked away from her even when she was so desperate to have someone who believed in her, who could see something that wasn't a successor to her mother's company, that saw Kate Bishop as someone she wanted to be.

But he didn't leave her quite alone, not yet.

It seemed he still cared.

(aka HAWKEYE'S HERE SDFJKSAHDF)