misguidedasher

[misguidedasher]

Jennifer Connelly as Kathy Nicolo in House of Sand and Fog

Gifs made by purpledragongifs. All gifs are 540px wide.  Please do not delete credits.

[misguidedasher]

[misguidedasher]

37. How is your character’s imagination? Daydreaming a lot? Worried most of the time? Living in memories?

If asked this herself, Aubrey would claim to indulge in nothing of the sort. Always one hundred percent in the moment, that one, not a thought spared towards the past or any petty musings. And in part she’d be telling the truth. She proudly faces the world with an eagle-eyed stare, taking in and analyzing every person, place, or thing she encounters until she has it down to science. The only indicator that there’s anything else on her mind hides in the subtlest tugging of her mouth, the curl of a brow; things that could easily be written off or altogether overlooked. It’s only when she’s alone, usually at night, does she give in to that tugging in the back of her head. Gazing at the city street outside or her canvas before her, she’ll fall deep into the ocean of her mind, and won’t surface for house. No thoughts are off limits then, no matter how much she’d like to bar certain ones away. It’s during these rare moments that she feels she imagines far, far too much.

[misguidedasher]

35. Do they always rationalize errors? How do they accept disasters and failures?

It’s a fine line to walk between raging perfectionist and emotionally allergic loud mouth, but by god does she walk it. Sometimes the cracks will show for just a moment. Whether it’s a lost argument or a failed sketch, she can’t help but let her frustration get the better of her. She’s like a child at times. She’ll rage and curse and maybe throw something at you, before deciding that hey, perhaps walking away was the better option after all. She’ll hide away and recuperate, embarrassed. But then she’ll always return, determined to not only prove herself but make anyone and everyone forget of her misgivings minutes before. It’s here where the want for both perfection and emotion truly come to a head. For on the outside she’s pure venom, ready to put herself back on top where she belongs. But on the inside she’s tearing herself to shreds.

[misguidedasher]

so like.......at least this year is a slight improvement over last because it's not like i forgot aubs' birthday, i was fully aware of it but just didn't make a big fanfare out of willfull laziniess (i mean i still had to do some quick mental math to remember how old she actually is now but shhh shhhhhhh).

[misguidedasher]

“She came from a background where nothing was ever good enough. And that was something that weighed heavy on her. But in our house together, there was a sense of just trying stuff… and allowing each other to fail and to be excited about things.” | Her (2013) dir. Spike Jonze

[misguidedasher]

Character solidifying!

1. How does your character think of their father? What do they hate and love about him? What influence - literal or imagined - did the father have? 2. Their mother? How do they think of her? What do they hate? Love? What influence - literal or imagined - did the mother have? 3. Brothers, sisters? Who do they like? Why? What do they despise about their siblings? 4. What type of discipline was your character subjected to at home? Strict? Lenient? 5. Were they overprotected as a child? Sheltered? 6. Did they feel rejection or affection as a child? 7. What was the economic status of their family? 8. How does your character feel about religion? 9. What about political beliefs? 10. Is your character street-smart, book-smart, intelligent, intellectual, slow-witted? 11. How do they see themselves: as smart, as intelligent, uneducated? 12. How does their education and intelligence – or lack thereof - reflect in their speech pattern, vocabulary, and pronunciations? 13. Did they like school? Teachers? Schoolmates? 14. Were they involved at school? Sports? Clubs? Debate? Were they unconnected? 15. Did they graduate? High-School? College? Do they have a PHD? A GED? 16. What does your character do for a living? How do they see their profession? What do they like about it? Dislike? 17. Did they travel? Where? Why? When? 18. What did they find abroad, and what did they remember? 19. What were your character’s deepest disillusions? In life? What are they now? 20. What were the most deeply impressive political or social, national or international, events that they experienced? 21. What are your character’s manners like? What is their type of hero? Whom do they hate? 22. Who are their friends? Lovers? ‘Type’ or ‘ideal’ partner? 23. What do they want from a partner? What do they think and feel of sex? 24. What social groups and activities does your character attend? What role do they like to play? What role do they actually play, usually? 25. What are their hobbies and interests? 26. What does your character’s home look like? Personal taste? Clothing? Hair? Appearance? 27. How do they relate to their appearance? How do they wear their clothing? Style? Quality? 28. Who is your character’s mate? How do they relate to him or her? How did they make their choice? 29. What is your character’s weaknesses? Hubris? Pride? Controlling? 30. Are they holding on to something in the past? Can he or she forgive? 31. Does your character have children? How do they feel about their parental role? About the children? How do the children relate? 32. How does your character react to stress situations? Defensively? Aggressively? Evasively? 33. Do they drink? Take drugs? What about their health?  34. Does your character feel self-righteous? Revengeful? Contemptuous? 35. Do they always rationalize errors? How do they accept disasters and failures? 36. Do they like to suffer? Like to see other people suffering? 37. How is your character’s imagination? Daydreaming a lot? Worried most of the time? Living in memories? 38. Are they basically negative when facing new things? Suspicious? Hostile? Scared? Enthusiastic? 39. What do they like to ridicule? What do they find stupid? 40. How is their sense of humor? Do they have one? 41. Is your character aware of who they are? Strengths? Weaknesses? Idiosyncrasies? Capable of self-irony? 42. What does your character want most? What do they need really badly, compulsively? What are they willing to do, to sacrifice, to obtain? 43. Does your character have any secrets? If so, are they holding them back? 44. How badly do they want to obtain their life objectives? How do they pursue them? 45. Is your character pragmatic? Think first? Responsible? All action? A visionary? Passionate? Quixotic? 46. Is your character tall? Short? What about size? Weight? Posture? How do they feel about their physical body? 47. Do they want to project an image of a younger, older, more important person? Does they want to be visible or invisible? 48. How are your character’s gestures? Vigorous? Weak? Controlled? Compulsive? Energetic? Sluggish? 49. What about voice? Pitch? Strength? Tempo and rhythm of speech? Pronunciation? Accent? 50. What are the prevailing facial expressions? Sour? Cheerful? Dominating?

[misguidedasher]

...UNLESS I CALL YOU FIRST

If there was anything Aubrey hated more than her usual winding list of hated things, it was the concept of airports. It wasn’t severe as, say, her hatred of hospitals. That particular loathing was skin deep, brought on by certain memories and a general dislike for strangers poking and prodding at her. Airports were more of an annoying relative in her list of hates, a remember, this could be worse, that somehow made her hatred of them stronger. The hustle and bustle of crowds that normally made her feel at peace were amplified here, until she couldn’t help but be swept in by the general mood of anxiety and irritation.

It most likely didn’t help that she didn’t have her best friend with her to ease the ache. To make pained trying-not-to-laugh faces at some tourist’s gaudy t shirt, to exchange snide comments with, or to look to and ask what he wanted while in line at the coffee stand.  

But of course, it wasn’t like she was ever going to admit that to herself, let alone him.

She’d barely managed to hold it together when they’d said their goodbyes. Maybe Marco was finally starting to brush off on her, because if a mere month in Seattle for Mother’s Day and Kale’s birthday was too much to bear, she really was going soft. The fact that he hadn’t seemed to be fairing any better was, for once, little consolation. In the moment she’d wanted more than anything than to brush the whole thing off as nothing, but now, sitting alone by her gate waiting to board, she could imagine a dozen ways to it have handled it better. She wished there was an accurate way to state I’m fine, really, I’m not going to cry, but this month is really going to fucking suck without you in as few words as possible. Small words. Ones that her emotionally constipated self could handle.  

A fat dog-eared novel sat in her lap, one that she’d been trying to plow through for about a month now. But Aubrey's attention was on anything but, constantly flitting away to the food court smell in the air and the fussing baby directly behind her. She unlocked her phone for what seemed like the dozenth time, feeling at unease and untethered. The tether in this case being a freakishly tall British man, of course.

She’d been thumbing through Instagram for all of two seconds when, as if summoned, Marco’s picture plastered itself onto her screen, accompanied by her squawk of a ringtone. She blinked at the interruption, then came to her senses. By the time she brought the phone to her ear she was smiling, half in disbelief.

“Have…have you even made back to the city yet?”

There was a very esteemed pause, and then Marco’s voice: “I-I just wanted to make sure you got through everything alright, that’s all.”

“Oh my god.” The words just managed to bubble through a laugh. “You haven’t. Marco, how are you gonna survive a month without me superglued to your hip?”

And there it was again: a month. The word itself was cushioned somewhat by her sarcasm, always in her arsenal and almost always aimed at Marco. Though not by much. Aubrey would have apologized for daring to mention it if she didn’t know that he could take the sharpness with ease, and give it back to her doubled. As it was she was so busy feeling daunted all over again she nearly missed his retort; something about “I made it in this city long before you came along” and “perhaps now I won’t have anyone yapping at my shoulder level, won’t that be nice?”

Aubrey could only snort. “Well…since you asked, it was miserable but I’m fine. I had time to buy some shitty coffee. I’m trying to read for once. I’ve become acquainted with a baby whom I think has your devilish charm.”

“Knowing your stance on infants, that only frightens me.”

“No, no, I mean it in the best way possible, of course. How’re things on your end?”

Marco sighed. It seemed to bring more pressing topics to mind. “They’re fine. I’ll be home relatively soon. Though, no meetings with charming babies to report, sadly.”

Aubrey hummed a note. Behind her, said baby was starting to calm down a bit. It cleared her head, enough that she could settle down further into her seat, the conversation itself. She might as well make the most if this while she could, anyway.

“You have any plans for tonight?”

“Ah, not really.” There was a sound of rustling, like he too was getting comfortable for another one of their Talks. “I might just stay home, do the usual brooding routine.”

“You should go hang out with some of the guys. I know how craaaaaazy you are about them.”

This time it was Marco’s turn to snort. “I’m not that lonely yet. Actually, speaking of—" And here he hesitated, as if even uttering the words into the phone would rip them from existence. “—I didn’t want to just tell you in the car, but ah, I have something planned tomorrow night with the woman I met…last week.”

Aubrey gasped. It was equal parts genuine and feigned.

“You mean…the one you met on the train? The one with eyes like the sky and a voice like silk? The one with an ass like—“

“Yes, that one.” He sounded chagrined enough that she almost felt bad for teasing so much. “And I did not say anything about her arse.”

“Oh, you didn’t have to. I’m glad you’re getting out there, tiger. I really am.” And she was. Though there was an odd tugging in her chest, the new and vastly ridiculous prospect that she’d have to share his time with someone else.

“I am too, especially considering that the most important person in my life in recent memory has been an American pixie who likes to eat my food.”

And that pushed her new worry to the side, until she couldn’t help but grin. “Ooh, who’s she, she sounds like a real catch.”

“But what about you?” Marco cooed, deftly moving things away from him. Aubrey couldn’t see his face, but she just knew from experience that his smile was currently blinding. Or shit-eating, maybe shit-eating wast the better term. “Did you tell that lovely Irish lady of yours you were even leaving?”

“I might’ve mentioned it,” she mumbled. She suddenly felt the need to shift. The idea of anyone referring to Nadia as hers was tripping her mind up. “Why should she know, anyway?”

“Oh, I dunno, there might be a chance that she’ll miss you, and will want to know when you’re coming back.” He may as well have been explaining the most basic concept in the world to a child.

“Fat chance.” The words came unbidden, dry as a bone. Aubrey rushed to overpower them. “You sound so wise and all-knowing right now, it’s making me sick. You should be wearing a robe and talking in nothing but limericks, or something.”

Marco simply laughed, the kind he gave when he knew he had her cornered and was reveling in it.

As if coming to her rescue, a woman’s voice sounded over the intercom, announcing boarding time and sounding even more drained than she was. Aubrey felt equal parts disappointed and relieved. She drifted back to the conversation in her hand, slowly.

“They’re letting the rich and important people on the plane now, so I’ll be getting on right after them,” she murmured. Was it too late to accept his offer and have him tag along?

Marco gave another sigh. “That sounds about right. I guess I should stop harassing you, let you actually catch your flight.”

It was as if the last few minutes had never occurred. He already sounded so downtrodden, even more than when he’d actually seen her off. Perhaps he was letting his full emotions out, now that they weren’t face to face and he didn’t have to worry about scaring her. Aubrey hated that he felt the need to do it.

“So, you know the drill,” she began, sounding a bit desperate. “Don’t do anything stupid while I’m gone. No leaving any forks in the microwave. Pants go on one leg at a time.”

She succeeded, her words bringing out a chuckle that sounded suspiciously watery on his end. But she knew it wasn’t enough.

“Yeah, ‘course,” he said. “And all the same to you, Asher.” There was pause then, one that she could feel the conflict in though they were miles away at this point. Then finally: “Y’know, I’m really going to miss you.”

Aubrey had to take a moment. But then once she had, she didn’t care how she looked, curled up in the top contender for England’s Most Uncomfortable Chair while people stood and gathered things around her, beaming like a complete dope. She didn’t care at all.

“Yeah, I’m really gonna miss you too, you big ‘ol bastard.”

She had to hang up then. Anything else would have been too much for her.

Aubrey stood. Eventually, once anything else would’ve been unacceptable and she knew she’d be one of the last to find her seat on the plane. If asked, she’d still claim to be miserable over leaving her favorite person in London. And it’d be true. But her heart felt just a little lighter, knowing she’d gotten more time, a goodbye that was so much better than that rushed hug an hour ago.

And besides, Marco still had no idea how often she planned on texting him once in Seattle. He wasn’t going to miss her presence one bit.

[misguidedasher]

Tana French, In The Woods

[misguidedasher]

[misguidedasher]

me thinkin about how much marco turton loves aubrey asher:

[misguidedasher]

                                       CALL ME WHEN YOU LAND

The sky above was cold and pale. A fine mist fogged his vision as he stepped out of the car and strode round to the back. For such a small woman, she had accumulated a hefty amount of belongings over the years. He hauled the two bulging suitcases and duffel bag onto an awaiting trolley, and paused. Standing on the side of the road—busy with departing travellers and impatient drivers—he watched their taxi disappear into the English countryside and fervently wished to be back inside that car, with her sat by his side.

He turned and followed her through the glass doors. They walked in silence down the hallway, windows on all sides, a metallic hollowness in their ears. Soon, they were in the departure hall, all steel beams and high ceilings and overpriced bottled water. He watched her crane her neck to check her boarding time, and nodded distractedly when she asked if he’d help her check in. He waited in queue with her, again in a kind of drone-like numbness, helping her put her things on the conveyer belt as the airport attendant handed over her boarding pass.

“Your flight will be boarding in fifty minutes.”

They were now walking towards border control, and with a swell of panic he knew that he could not follow her past there, could not keep her in his sights forever. He looked at her at last and said, “I could still go with you.”

Aubrey looked back at him with a playful, exasperated smile. “You and I both know that’s not happening.” She seemed determined to remain cool, up until the very end. He couldn’t blame her: feeling meant that it hurt.

Marco sighed and dropped his chin, staring at her scuffed canvas shoes of all things. He knew he was being foolish. She’ll be back in a month. It’s not like she’ll be gone forever. Then why did it feel like it was?

“Hey, want me to say hi to Kale for you?” She had her elbow in his side again, peering up through her dark lashes. “Tell him how you’re dying to meet the Other One?”

“Hah, no thanks,” he replied gruffly, and he almost winced at how childish he sounded, like a toddler being unsuccessfully coaxed to act nice with his sister.

“Fine, have it your way.” A swift glance at her phone. He knew she wasn’t checking for messages; they were forever resilient in that regard, that no one should interrupt their time together (but that time was slipping away fast, sand sifting through his outstretched fingers). “I should probably get going.”

“Okay.” There were too many things he wanted to say. Don’t deal, don’t use, don’t pick fights, even if she could win them. But he didn’t want to say goodbye on that note. Hell, he didn’t want to say goodbye. His heart couldn’t keep up with his anxiety. A terrible lump rose in his throat as they moved in together for a hug, his cheek pressed against her hair, her slender arms around his midriff because it was easier than reaching around his shoulders. “Have a safe flight.”

“Thanks. Get home soon,” she said into his shoulder, a muffled sound, comforting and familiar.

“I will.”

Marco rather thought her eyes were a little bright as they pulled away. For once, he couldn’t stand to see her open up. In a way, he wished her to be the strong woman who couldn’t give two shits about leaving. So it was a relief when Aubrey finally hitched that renowned, self-assured smile onto her face and started to walk toward border control, her back to him. He watched as the distance grew, knowing that it would only get worse as the days went on, but he had to be brave, for his own sake and for hers.

“Call me when you land!”

Aubrey glanced over her shoulder, shooting him a look he took to mean: really, Marco? He nearly laughed. But then her eyes softened, and he knew she was telling him that she was going to be okay and that he shouldn’t worry too much. And that, of course, she would call.

I know, he told her, as she finally disappeared round the corner behind the airport walls, vanishing from sight and yet burning fiercely in his mind as he retraced his steps back into the cold, biting air. I know.

[misguidedasher]

[misguidedasher]

“Our thing? You mean we have a thing?”

“Well, yeah, not a thing, but more like—" Nadia’s hand waved in the air, forming words and ideas that only she could see before her. She did this often, and Aubrey almost hated just how much she was starting to love it.

“You and Marco just have…an energy, I guess you could call it. It’s not romantic or anything, I understand that now. You both hold yourselves differently when it’s just the two of you. And honestly at first, I wasn’t sure how to place it, but knowing some of the things you’ve been through it only makes sense. You’re just…always looking after one another. It’s kind of amazing to witness.”

Aubrey remained silent, processing this slew of information. It was one thing to acknowledge something so deeply rooted in her it didn’t need explaining, and another thing entirely to have it displayed before her, catching her off guard. She felt the childish urge to deny the observations, keep what she and Marco had between them and them alone. But she knew it'd be moot. They were clear as day together.

“I didn’t realize we were so easy to read,” she finally said, voice soft.

Nadia smiled. “You’re not, not really. I just happen to enjoy looking at your face in particular. You should see your expression whenever you look at him.”

[misguidedasher]

[misguidedasher]