#margaret shroeder

[charliethomascoxuniverse]

I just started a rewatch of Boardwalk Empire for the first time in over 4 years and, man, but I am dying over how young Charlie feels as Owen Sleater after having recently watched Kin. 😭

I mean, just look at his boyish little face!! 🥺💗

And I was listening to the audio commentary for the scene where Owen and Margaret first sleep together and, remember when she bit him on the neck and he smiled? 🤭🔥

Apparently they were worried Margaret didn’t appear aggressive enough, so Charlie suggested she bite him. 👀

And...now I can’t stop thinking about that. Can’t imagine why. 🥴 *fans self*

[evita-shelby]

National Anthem

Chapter 4

Cw: mentions of pregnancy and childbirth. Mentions of death from childbirth and infant death

Slight Boardwalk Empire crossover

Taglist: @zablife @call-sign-shark @thegreatdragonfruta

Love is not as easy for her as one would think.

The witch likes taking things slowly, so slowly her lovers lose interest and leave.

Or have entire secret relationships with the cousin who you live with in Mexico City and most people assumed you’d marry because consanguinity isn’t still in the past especially in aristocratic families like theirs.

Jack is an attentive husband and keeps her in luxury and lets her revel in the part of her that craves blood and violence from time to time.

Eva is very fond of him and cares a great deal for him and likes the person he is in private, but she just isn’t sure if that is love or love love.

English only has one word for love. Spanish has two, querer and amar. One is stronger than the other and she can confidently say she likes him a lot(querer), the witch cannot have that same feeling to say love as in amar.

The answer to her conundrum comes as they ready the house for their first dinner with the neighbors.

There is a sweet and even tender side to him no one save Gina gets to see here. Here where they live rather richly and yet so simply that she couldn’t have it any other way.

Here where they pretend they are just another suburban couple expecting their first children in an idyllic neighborhood.

Here where they are hosting the couple next door and their son after Jack sprayed him with the gardening hose for looking at Eva’s ass ---or so he said.

Dinner had gone well.

Eva had hit it off with Helen, spoken some of her past and lied when little Bobby asked if had ever killed anyone in Mexico.

Now as they cleaned up ---despite his protests saying Alice, the maid, was hired for this--- the answer to her conundrum comes as he regales her with a childhood anecdote.

She would be lying if she wasn’t enjoying every second of this life in peace. Every second of being with him.

“I love you.” Eva says as the words come unbidden.

Had she taken longer, the twins would’ve been born.

“You’re only saying it to shut me up, darling.” He replies with that confident smile she’s come to adore.

“No, I’m saying it because I mean it.” Eva playfully flicked some soap suds toward him making him laugh.

“Took you long enough, I am fucking charm itself.”

“You don’t have to kill him, Jack.” She says after his new lackey has the audacity to flirt with her while visiting his office in Wall Street.

Really several months pregnant and Owen Sleater keeps thinking about fucking her. Eva would be flattered if it hadn’t come to annoy her.

It had started out as something Eva paid no mind to until the man started be too helpful to her. Then he started touching her, innocently at first and then lingering to the point it would be called a caress.

Jack had noticed it with displeasure, thinking about imaginative ways to rid himself of the man especially after Eva told him about Sleater’s unwanted advances.

“What do you suggest, Evie? Ringing up the Ulster volunteers I keep an eye on and leave the fucker tied with a bow for them?” he is annoyed at having to show mercy to a man who’s blood he wants to bathe in.

“Jersey, to your fellow Irishmen in Atlantic City. The republican you outbid for me.” Eva keeps it vague to make him ask why such a specific person.

Nucky Thompson had a purpose and when that was fulfilled Jack would take his crumbling empire and build up his. Nucky looked like he was on the way to greatness, like he had found a wife and a family he yearned for and as if karma didn’t have him on her list.

Owen Sleater would ruin his marriage by doing what he tried to do with her. Only Margaret Shroeder would be vulnerable enough to be swayed by his charms.

No matter, Enoch Thompson deserved it. That and so much more.

“Tell me why, and I’ll see if I can arrange it.” Jack sat back on his chair as she grew comfortable on his lap.

“He’s gonna fuck his wife.”

And sure enough, Owen Sleater is handed back to John McGarrigle after the Nelsons arrange a little accident on his new bodyguard.

It’s the twenty-ninth of May when Joseph Patrick and John Fitzgerald are born.

The morning had been perfect, and had she not been who she was, she would have used the twin bed in the nursery that had been prepared beforehand to bring these two little angels into the world.

If her new friends and neighbors had known she never planned on making use of it, they would have found it as strange as her and Jack eschewing the use of separate twin beds as all modern couples do.

Eva has a fear of giving birth at home.

Her sister, Felicidad, had died because they lived to far away from town and the doctor could not come quickly when complications arose. The baby had died less than a month after as if sharing her dead mother’s name had cursed her to join her in death

And while Eva had served as a midwife in her time as a nurse, she preferred being where an obstetrician and a surgeon would be a door away and not several miles away. Just as a safety precaution.

Thankfully, there were no complications and by noon their twin boys were sleeping in a bassinet by her bed.

“I would’ve killed them all if they’d stop me from being there with you.” He admits smiling softly at his namesake.

Just a week ago he had killed a man for calling him a potato digging bastard and yet here he was holding the smaller of the twins with such love and gentleness you’d never know his hands were drenched in blood.

“I know.” In her moment of need, Jack had barreled into the hospital room and dared them to pry him off her side.

He had encouraged her, yelled at her when she felt like giving up and promised to never touch her again when she complained about their boys having heads as big as his.

By the time they’d been returned to the maternity ward both witch and gangster had completely forgotten the awfulness of the birth.

“Your eyes rolled to the back of your head during that last bit, doll. Mind telling me what it was about?” He doesn’t beat around the bush; he’s been married to her long enough to know when she has a vision.

Once she fainted dead away in his arms, and one other time she drove his old model-t into a ditch.

“What do you think about doing this seven more times?” the witch asked hoping he’d say that was too many.

“Who are we to argue with the big man upstairs?” he answered with a proud smirk.

[the-invisible-queer]

Margaret Shroeder and Lizzie Stark would 100% bond over the men they chose being complete morons

[prohibitionprincesses]

Deliver Us 

The Bronx, New York 

Those who don't know her very well tend to assume that Miriam Levi must be another one of those Temperance zealots, given that she's a female champion for social justice yet also very religious. They would be wrong. 

It’s true that in the 1920s, the most dedicated Prohibitionists tend to be female and devout Protestants; but Catholics and Jews still use sacramental wine--legally. Along with "medical" alcohol (yes, really), religious wineries are now among the only legal producers of liquor in the United States. Naturally, this loophole is exploited by bootleggers, such as Miriam and Aaron's black sheep brother Moshe, a high ranking member of the Jewish Mafia. While Mo kills and cuts deals with Irish and Italian gangsters, Miriam and Aaron are trying to work their way out of poverty honestly. They were born to immigrants in the Bronx, and hope to join the wave of second-generation Jews who are moving to different parts of the Big Apple and into the middle class. If Miri and Aaron really get lucky and save enough money, they may even get to visit their own little Promise Land, up in the Borscht Belt. Mo and his croonies already live a lavish Roaring Twenties life in Manhattan, bought on booze and what Miri calls "blood money." Aaron has given up on him; Mirim continues trying to reach Mo, but he'll have none of it. Mo also indulges in the casual racism of the era, and won't join Miriam on the ahead-of-one's-time wagon.   Until one day when, seemingly out of the blue, Mo changes. He goes from sharing drinks with a corrupt cop to accidentally killing the officer, when the latter begins savagely beating an elderly Colored man on the Manhattan Bridge, and Mo intervenes. Mo flees New York, and his siblings don't see or hear of him for a couple years. Miri's spirituality takes another blow in 1925 from the famous Monkey Trial; the idea of faith and science coexisting is still a relatively new concept. However, Miriam's her faith gets a boost when their estranged brother finally Moshe returns to New York, now a philanthropist and police informant married to an African American woman. With some (legitimate) social connections through Mo, Miri and Aaron get better paying jobs, and the following spring the entire family is celebrating Passover in the Catskills. A fellow vacationer comments, "So you three siblings are Miriam, Aaron and Moshe, and Mo's married to a woman named Tzipporah? Did you all plan that, or did that just happen by mistake?" "Yeah that was weird, wasn't it." AN: This was a tricky A.U. to cook up. I didn't want to re-write the tale of Passover in the Roaring Twenties, though that would admittedly make a pretty awesome stage musical. I also didn't know what to do about the character's background, since no one religion has a copyright on Exodus, and ethnic groups involved don't cleanly fit into any modern ones. I ultimately went with Jewish immigrants, since it fit closely enough with the characters' arcs in the story (poverty and oppression; one odd Jew out living a corrupt decadent career; hypocritical racism, deliverance, and a sunny Promise Land not too far away.) And Jews do have an entire holiday revolving around the story. The outfit: I really love the first version of this picture, but it's just not 1920s. It's a great 1930s or '40s Miriam, though. The new dress I gave Miriam this time around is based on day dresses and tea dresses, with low ruffled skirts. Her overall look is inspired by Margaret Shroeder from "Boardwalk Empire." Of course, with 1920s makeup being so Egypt inspired, Miriam already has a very '20s look to her face. The background was horrifying to make. You might think that simplistic clipart of stylized Seder plates and Gatsby-styled line work would be easy to find. You'd be wrong. I had to build this entire background from clipart and shape tools, and it only looks decent from afar. Abstraction is not my area.

UPDATE: I have tweaked some details. 

[shirleychisholmproject]

Dr. Zinga Fraser Discusses Shirley Chisholm 1972 Candidacy with Throughline NPR

Dr. Zinga Fraser Discusses Shirley Chisholm 1972 Candidacy with Throughline NPR

On February 6th, Chisholm Project Director Zinga Fraser was featured in a “She Got Next”, an episode of NPR’s Throughline podcast dedicated to three pioneering Congresswomen who ran for president—Margaret Chase Smith, Shirley Chisholm and Pat Shroeder.

[Pictured above: Drs. Fraser (left) and Carter (center) at the Black Women’s Roundtable Discussion for Chisholm Day 2018 at Brooklyn College]

In…

[emotionsincascades]

i only started watching boardwalk empire last week but margaret saying "mrs. shroeder" in her irish accent has been stuck in my head on a loop for this entire week

[spyvstailor]

So…um I wrote more Marnie. I guess a continuation of the last one…series, maybe? I dunno...you tell me.

“I’m sorry.”

“It’s fine,” he assured her.

Still, Margaret eyed her daughter, seated so comfortably on Mr. Rothstein’s lap, drawing on his newspaper with a short, nearly finished pencil nub.

“She’s never been so bold before,” she went on nervously.

“Why? We’re good friends,” he said calmly, allowing her daughter to draw on the newspaper he had brought with him. “Besides, she’s only scribbling on the gossip column.”

Watching the way he gingerly gathered up her daughter’s braced legs and settled them comfortably across his knee so that the girl was draped across his lap properly instead of half on and half off him, leaning against his shoulder.

“And what is it you’re drawing, darling?” He asked Emily.

“A horse,” she chirped.

Mr. Rothstein smiled that closed mouth, cat-like smile of his. “Are you fond of horses?”

“Yes.”

“Me too.” Peering over Emily’s head, he addressed Margaret. “Didn’t you have two when you moved in?”

Margaret smiled a little. “After school Teddy usually plays with his friends until supper.”

“Ah, so he’s made friends then?”

“Yes, thankfully.”

“Well, I hope they’re good boys. New York boys can...” he paused as though searching for the right word, rolling his tongue over his back teeth as he thought. “They can be a bit urban.”

Unsure what that meant, Margaret merely smiled and nodded.

“Has trouble making friends, does he?” Mr. Rothstein asked.

“Teddy’s always had problems,” she said and left it at that.

He was quiet, soaking in the information, watching Emily as she drew on the newspaper that now rested against his forearm.

“When I was a boy I used to play dice, my father never cared much for the habit,” he finally said in his gentle tone. “Of course, I grew up to be a gambler, but...at least I think I turned out decent enough.”

Margaret looked down at her hands, placed primly in her lap.

“Well, aside from a few flaws,” he added with a sly grin.

She smiled too.

This was something she found she missed, just talking to someone, connecting. With Hans it was always scurrying with her head down, avoiding his eyes, doing her wifely duties. With Nucky it was like she had been placed on a shelf, sure he handled her with care, but only once a month when he took her down to dust her off. There wasn’t really communication with him.

But with Mr. Rothstein, with his calm, almost serene manner, she felt she had someone who she could talk to, someone who would listen.

It still struck her as funny that he was a man feared by some, but tete a tete as they were, he was more like a kindly family friend.

Well, he was sort of a family...acquaintance?

Margaret frowned, wondering just what exactly he was to her family.

As she pondered this in amiable silence with the man, her daughter slid down from his lap, her braces clanking as she hit the floor, staying upright with Mr. Rothstein’s help until she could grab her crutches.

There was a wistful, almost tragic look in the man’s eyes as Emily hobbled off for her bedroom.

He returned his attention to his forgotten teacup as soon as the child was gone and sipped at it.

“You asked me here for a reason,” he said, getting down to business.

Margaret reached for the piece of paper with the latest stock tips on it and handed it over to him with a firm instruction, “Mr. Bennett is also working on something big, I’ll call you once I figure out what it is and what the risks are.”

“So, wait by the telephone?” He finished for her, eyes on the paper.

“I wouldn’t go far.”

Folding the note, Mr. Rothstein tucked the paper away into his inner jacket pocket and smiled at her. “Miss Rohan, you are an invaluable business partner.”

They fell silent again, Margaret idly rubbing her finger over the twill of her skirt, Mr. Rothstein sipping his tea and nibbling at his teacake.

Setting his cup down with a soft, determined clink, Mr. Rothstein cleared his throat politely, “it’s none of my business, Miss Rohan, but I am curious as to why you came to New York of all places.”

“My brother lives here, with my sisters, I wanted to be closer to them.”

“Your brother is a...?”

“He works as a bricklayer now, jumps jobs a lot,” she explained.

“Ah.”

They were quiet once more. It was an easy silence, one that Margaret appreciated.

“It was a mockery of a marriage,” she admitted, practically blurted.

Mr. Rothstein was quiet, sipping his tea, but very clearly listening.

“Nucky and I. At first he saw me as a replacement for his first wife and I wanted to get out of the mire. That is to say, I loved Nucky, I did. I admired him, but the man I admired wasn’t the one I married.” She fell quiet, clamping her mouth shut and frowning at herself.

All that happened was Mr. Rothstein quirked one of his dramatic, dark brows and set his teacup down.

“He took a lot of women to his bed,” she went on, eyes on the hallway where her daughter had wandered off to. “So I took one man to my bed. One.”

Realizing just what she had said and who she had said this to, she quickly offered him a sheepish half smile and said, “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to tell you all of this.”

“Nucky has never been good at discretion,” was all the man across from her supplied after a thoughtful moment.

Margaret wasn’t sure how to take that, so she remained quiet, her eyes moving to the window, watching a pigeon as it landed on her window sill and pecked at the soil of her geraniums.

She didn’t know what she expected. Did she want Mr. Rothstein to rail against Nucky’s behaviour with her as an ally? Did she want him to offer her a solution to all wretched men everywhere?

Maybe she just wanted to share her story with someone.

Emily hobbled back into the room with that awkward limp of hers, a piece of paper held in the hand clenched around her left crutch.

Her presence seemed to brighten the room as Mr. Rothstein smiled warmly at the girl.

Her daughter stopped by the man and like a good girl waited until she was addressed.

“Why, hello there,” Mr. Rothstein greeted her jovially. “You have something to say, darling?”

“I drew this for you,” Emily whispered shyly.

“For me?” Mr. Rothstein flashed a wide grin at Margaret and took the piece of paper, he held it up and examined it. “A blue horse! Lovely!” He reached out and tweaked Emily’s chin playfully. “How’d you know that blue is my favourite colour?”

Emily shrugged.

“You can go back to your room now,” Margaret said to her little girl. Waiting until the girl limped off back to her room, she stood up and took hold of her teapot. “More tea, Mr. Rothstein?”

He waved his hand. “No, thank you. I shouldn’t keep you much longer, I’m sure you have your evening meal to fix.”

Margaret stood to see him out properly, and they were halfway to the door, when Mr. Rothstein paused and turned to her.

“May I use your telephone before I go?” He asked.

She nodded and motioned to it.

Smiling, the man scooped it up and spoke into it, “yes, Atlantic City, please.” Holding the mouthpiece to his chest, he asked, “what is the name of that tailor shop Nucky uses?”

Margaret frowned in confusion. “Fitzgerald’s.”

“What’s the owner’s first name?”

“Joe.”

“Is that-- hold on,” he held up the mouthpiece again. “Fitzgerald’s. Thank you. Is that what Nucky calls him?”

“Yes, why?” Margaret asked, stepping in closer to the man.

Mr. Rothstein smirked his cat-like smirk and held up the mouthpiece again, clearing his throat.

“Joe?” He barked suddenly.

If she hadn’t been looking right at him as he spoke, she would have jumped thinking Nucky was in the room.

“Joe, this is Nucky Thompson,” he went on, still smirking. “Yes...yes...I’ll be sure and tell her...yes...listen Joe, I’m going to Europe for June, goddamned hellhole, but I got business over there. You have any of those bathing suits available in my size?”

Margaret pressed her hand to her mouth, brow puckering. Was this really happening before her eyes? She had no idea how to react.

“Yes, the striped ones. You can make some? Good, okay. I’ll take a dozen. Don’t ask why, Joe, I don’t pay you to ask questions, just make me a dozen of those damned things.” Mr. Rothstein smiled widely as she scoffed in shocked amusement. “Oh, good, yeah just add it to my account and send them to...right, yes. Alright. Yes...yes...Joe...Joe...Joe listen, I have a meeting right now. Okay. Yes, you too.”

Hanging up, Mr. Rothstein stared at the telephone for a moment, hand resting on the table it sat on, before he turned to her and bowed a little.

“Thank you for the tea and cakes, Miss Rohan,” he addressed her calmly as though he hadn’t just imitated her estranged husband on the telephone with his tailor.

She gawped a little, biting her bottom lip to keep from looking completely shocked. It had all seemed to out of character for mild mannered, gentile Mr. Rothstein that she was stricken unable to find a reaction appropriate for it.

Setting his boater on his head, Mr. Rothstein offered her his hand and said, “as always, it’s been a treat.”

Taking his hand, she finally managed to find words, saying, “you’re always welcome.”

[kingcatfield]

Boardwalk Empire Meme: Female Characters (2/3)

Margaret Rohan

Here’s an experiment for you: Think about the things you want in life, and then picture yourself in a dress.

[deanobanion]

gillian and margaret, + business

Margaret went to the Commodore's mansion the day after she signed Nucky's land to the church because she wanted to say she was sorry for what he did, and it was then that Gillian gave her an answer to an innocent question "What are you going to do with this place?" and asked her back if she had any experience running a house; later she told herself it was just business that kept bringing her back.

[higgledypiggledy]

MMMMMMAAAAAAARRRRRGGGGGGAREEEEEEETTTTTTTTTTT Literally sobbing

[prochoiceamerica]

HBO's "Boardwalk Empire" Takes on Abortion

HBO’s Boardwalk Empire tackled abortion rights in a big way this season. 

At times it was even difficult to tell difference between the show, and current news. 

Whether you’ve watched it or are not a fan (yet), take a look at how Boardwalk Empire impressively took on women’s reproductive rights all season long.

[sneeg]

They are perfect.

[higgledypiggledy]

I'm so anxious for boardwalk empire tonight. I keep waiting for Margaret :( And I hope Richard doesn't die because I don't know what I'd do. I know the entire show revolves around nucky, but if rather see him die than Richard.

[oldrichardharrow-blog]

As she came towards him, Richard feared Mrs. Shroeder's movements would become uneven, jarring as though she were only a film image, churning through its projector. The tight curl of her hair, her shifting eyes, the tilt of her mouth; She was a pure beauty, so silent and unblemished, impossible to be real. Yet as her arm fluidly extended to meet his, Richard knew Margaret was the only real person left in his life.

[marialfc]

why do Paz De la Huerta always has to make the same "Douche" face in every picture?