#“oh this is definitely a housewife that got into an argument with her husband and now she needs to get out her aggression”

[a-hater-is-here]

We can't have SHIT I stfg. Every single post about lesbians that gets popular on any website gets overwhelmed by men talking about how it's all for them.

Let. Us. Exist. Without. Men. Being. The. Focus.

[irresistiibles]

was that vanessa kirby? oh no no, that was just katya goncharova, a canon character from goncharov (1973). they are thirty years old, use she/her, and are aware that they are not actually from washington dc. too bad they can’t stray from this city for long.  

so before i get started here is my little disclaimer: though i will be talking in my intro as if goncharov (1973) is a real movie it absolutely is not. i think there’s still definitely argument for it still being a real fandom, a sort of collaborative cross-media fandom, but it is not a movie that actually exists. i know it can be stressful when people are saying something is real as a joke and you can’t tell whether or not it’s a joke, so i want to get that out of the way early. i will be tagging all of her content with unreality tw just to make that as clear as possible. despite that please know i’m playing katya very genuinely, i have built up a lot of muse for her over the past few days, so please definitely come and plot with me! and join maig and i in the madness. i will happily link you to goncharov information so!! please!!

how long has your character been here

around a month

what is your character’s job

still figuring it out. i’m going to say she showed up with some money from home but katya doesn’t want to get involved in crime again but also doesn’t want to change her spending habits, and funds will run out, so it’s a race against the clock (an important motif through the whole movie and a face that no one wins)

where has your character been pulled from in their fandom

from the end after faking her death

has any magic affected your character

nope!

any other info!

born katya michailova, katya was orphaned at a young age along with her brother. 

she had a brief stint in an orphanage, but wound up on the streets not longer after when a fire burned the place down. this is also where she met sofia, who helped get her out of the fire alive

katya was a teenager on the streets, and there are really only a few ways to survive a situation like that. though she was surrounded by crime it wasn’t something she really wanted to be a part of, especially since she was sure it was what got her father killed. she winds up involved anyway, but tries not to let herself be involved too heavily, keeping to spy and drug work and avoiding violence

this is also where she meets goncharov, which gives her a realization. marrying someone with money was an alternative escape and so katya michailova becomes katya goncharova.

they have a complicated relationship. i would say katya loved her husband but was never in love with him. she liked him, and was loyal to him. and she played the part of wife well, but as much as she had what she wanted there was also the sense that she wasn’t her own person, just goncharov’s wife. she stilled loved him though

but he was always involved in crime as much as she wanted him to leave. they had money now. she had all the pieces to a stable comfortable life if they could just separate themselves from the mob, but goncharov never would

sofia would have left with her. katya knew this, like sofia could have possibly been more obvious about it, but that didn’t feel stable! katya wanted stable! and again, as much as she knew they were falling apart she couldn’t bring herself to leave goncharov

obsessed with the scene where she gives sofia her pearls!! obviously the dinner scene is way more about goncharov and andrey so we don’t get a lot out of sofia and katya there, but the way katya takes her wealth (her happiness and stability) and hands a piece of it over to sofia!! so telling

her descent from housewife really begins when she gets shot and nearly drowns. katya doesn’t see herself with another choice, and gets absorbed into more of the crime, desperate to keep herself and the people she cares about alive. 

i think it’s really clear she’s in over her head with it though, and she winds up fucking over nearly everyone she cares about in the process, as well as just physically hurting others. they want this to look like she’s a woman isn’t smart enough for that world but katya absolutely is! at this point she had just fallen too far and wasn’t thinking about the consequences, didn’t feel like she cared anymore.

she eventually betrays goncharov towards the end of the movie and shoots him, but it isn’t anywhere fatal. this is where the iconic line of “If we really were in love, you wouldn’t have missed.” comes from.  i don’t think she ever had the actual intention to kill him, but thought that maybe if he wouldn’t leave for her he’d leave for himself, to save his own life. he doesn’t and though he’s injured he would be fine. at this point katya accepts that she’s lost her husband and he’s not going to make it out of all of this alive. even if he did who would be left?

katya ultimately gets killed in the chaos at the end, the big fight necessary for all mafia movies, however we see a familiar blonde making an escape right at the end, and though it’s brief and we don’t see a face i choose to take this as proof that katya survived. i believe she conspired with those going against goncharov, giving them information, or some other type of betral, and in return her death was faked and she escaped

though was it worth it? when she was so adamant about not leaving unless she had someone with her?

here in dc:

she’s trying to convince herself this is a good thing. though the city and technology is odd she’s lucky to be alive at all, alive with a completely fresh start in a city that offers free living space is better than should have ever been possible

she may be paying for a decent place to live despite this i haven’t really decided

and yet she’s struggled being here. it’s so different. she doesn’t know how she’s supposed to behave. katya has been able to thrive by being the person people want to see, and she has to relearn what that is now

really doesn’t want to go back to crime but isn’t sure what else she knows

has thought about getting married for money again but she isn’t sure she could actually go through all of that, especially when things here are so odd and she knows herself well enough to know she’d get attached

is really just doing her best to figure it out without falling into old habits, which is only working so well

going through like a pack of cigarettes a day in her stress

connections:

rich friends: girlie loves opulence. hell, or give me the opposite, of someone less well off that katya is like dressing up for fun she’s annoying like that.

a guide: someone who’s been showing her around washington and explaining modern life to her

bad influence: katya is trying to keep to decent behavior for once but she is so quick to fall out of it. this could be for just silly chaotic stuff or full out crime

any sort of friends: girl gets lonely so fast

[jenomark]

PART 1: LUCAS, THE BOYFRIEND

➔Pairing: Lucas x Reader (Female) | Ten x Reader (Female) ➔Other Members/ Characters: -.- ➔Genre: Smut (+ angst, + fluff, + plot) ➔Warnings: vaginal penetration, passionless sex, exchanging money for sex, very light bdsm and mentions of pegging ➔Word count: 5,107

➔Summary: You don’t know what you do. You don’t even know who you are. Some would call you a whore. Some would refer to you as a sex worker. All of your clients would say you’re damn good at your job.

MASTERLIST

  It hadn’t rained in months. It felt strange to hear it coming down hard enough to drown out Lucas’ snoring. You laid in bed and listened a little while, wishing that it would lull you back to sleep somehow. But your eyes were wide open and they kept searching for the clock Lucas kept on his bedside table. 2:45 a.m. 3:14 a.m. 4:20 a.m. Time kept moving as you stayed still, eyes occasionally glancing up at the water marks on his ceiling, and hoping the rain wouldn’t drip through.

 “Lucas.” you whispered. 

  When he didn’t stir, you sat up in his bed and reached for your phone. He slept soundly on the nights when you had sex, which suited you just fine. You didn’t want him turning over in the night and asking you why you weren’t sleeping. 

  You unlocked your phone, your password far more complicated than it needed to be. You and Lucas once got into an argument when he asked you what you were hiding from him. You felt too exposed, for someone with something to hide. You felt like you no longer belonged to yourself, and he felt hurt that you didn’t want to share what secrets you kept.

  Unread text messages: 56   Unread emails: 134

  Your phone wallpaper was a photo of Lucas during Christmas of last year. He was smiling and holding up a gift you had bought him: an expensive watch nestled in black satin. You remembered the moment well. He opened the box and nearly dropped it to the floor when he realized it was the same model of the one he’d been lusting after for years. Every little boys dream was to own an expensive watch just like their father, and Lucas was no different.

“We can’t afford this.” Lucas had said.

  You, not we. You had wanted to say it, but his family was around the Christmas tree and all eyes were on you. It was true that Lucas could not afford the watch with his low-end salary, but you could. Of course, you had to play the part of the lowly office worker with a salary fit for someone shoved into a shoebox apartment.

“Don’t worry about it,” you had said to soothe him. “You’re worth every penny.”

  And Lucas was. You were with him because he was the first man in a while to make you feel alive. He used to be more daring before he got older, used to make you laugh so hard you’d nearly piss your pants. Like all things, the older things get, the harder it is to keep them in good condition. Your relationship with Lucas never failed on the surface, not really, but there were too many things brewing underneath. You were a lot like the watermarked ceiling: barely holding it together.

  You checked to make sure Lucas was sleeping before opening your inbox full to the brim with emails from men. The descriptions were all the same: I’m tall, handsome, and worth your time. The names all basic and no doubt aliases, were lined in a row for as far as you could scroll down. Every once in a while, you would entertain one of them and look at their email, expanding it so you could see their plea. Pick me, I’m a winner. 

  Tonight's lucky winner was a twenty-three year old artist. The picture attached was of a man smiling, his whole face lighting up at whomever was behind the camera. He looked barely legal, and definitely too cute for what he wrote in his description

WinWin, 23. I want to fuck you raw and parade you around town to all of my friends.

Not today, kiddo. 

  You closed the email and set your phone back in your lap. You wondered how much longer you could keep it up.

     You were dreaming of him, which you did often. He was sitting at his kitchen table, his tie undone and resting around his neck, and a newspaper spread out in front of him. You waltzed into the kitchen in a bouncy dress, announcing your presence with a slight clearing of your throat. The picture felt very old school, static-y lines and scalloped edges. Like a dream of the past, you were bordering in housewife territory, red lipstick turning grey in the black and white film. He looked up immediately to smile at you over his shoulder. The camera panned to reveal a table with food set on it, and two children sitting in chairs.

“Is it almost ready?” he asked

  All you wanted to do was go kiss your dream husband and wrap your arms around him. You wanted those kids to pull faces, like they were really disgusted their parents were still in love after all the years. But you couldn’t move. You looked down and your little kitten heels were stuck in quicksand that was dragging you under too fast. He couldn’t save you. He didn’t even care, just went back to his newspaper. It was all white noise.

  You woke with a jolt, shooting up so fast that Lucas came out of the bathroom. A toothbrush was hanging out of his mouth, and he wasn’t wearing clothes. 

“Bad dream?” he asked, toothpaste spitting in all directions. 

  You looked at his body, just trying to collect your thoughts. Lucas assumed you were checking him out. He started flexing his muscles to make you laugh, showing you all the parts of him he’d been working out lately. You smiled for his benefit and held your hand to your chest.

“Nightmares,” you said. Lucas went into the bathroom to rinse his mouth. When he came back out, he was heading towards his wardrobe.  “Are you leaving for work so soon?”

“Gym.”

“Again?” you asked. “You went last night. Isn’t it true that if you go to the gym too much you’ll leave a very disgruntled and lonely girlfriend behind?”

 When Lucas wasn’t working out, he was at work. During the day, he was the terribly intimidating Veterinarian assistant, his pink scrubs and puppy pin making all the Great Dane’s growl in his direction. From another direction, all the women who worked there practically swooned when he walked his muscled body through the door.  

You got out of bed and opened the blinds. “The rain stopped.” 

  The view was terrible, but he got what he paid for. You watched the little old lady from across the other apartment building hang her clothes on a line. When you turned back to talk to Lucas, he was silently masturbating.

 “Oh shit,” he breathed.

  You closed the blinds quickly before he practically tackled you, lifted you into the air and swung you around. 

You screamed like you were being murdered. “Lucas! Put me down.”

  He lifted up your pajama shorts and smacked your ass. His laugh was loud and boisterous, and you couldn’t help but laugh with him. He dropped you on the bed. His big cock was swinging between his legs before he took it back in his hands and continued stroking himself. You weren’t in the mood for sex, but the sight of him standing over you made it hard to resist. 

“I have to be at work.” you said, your eyes on his cock.

“That doesn’t sound very convincing.” he laughed.

  He took your ankle and pulled you to the edge of the bed, sliding you across the sheets like hot butter in a pan. You were taking off your shorts and panties while still denying him access.

“I do!” you said. “And I need you to drop me off at my apartment so I can get my things.”

 You didn’t need to tear your tank top off. Lucas pulled the spaghetti straps off on either side to reveal your breasts. His big paws were on you as he moved closer. Without wearing a condom, he pushed himself inside of you, both hands holding either breast while he thrusted.

 There was no talking as you fucked. Lucas took your leg and placed it on his shoulder. He kissed your calf softly. There were always tender moments like that, where it felt like it was only him and you that existed in the world. His eyes were big and brown and full of love whenever he looked at you.  You hoped that when he looked into your eyes, he didn’t just see his own reflection peering back at him.

  You felt something swell inside of you with a big wave, before quelling. Lately, you couldn’t seem to orgasm with him. There was a mental disconnect somewhere between him and you, but that didn’t stop you from pretending. You moaned and told him you were coming, even though you and him could feel yourself drying up.

  Lucas lifted your ass up and held your body as he moved, his pace too fast for you to enjoy. You just stopped moaning and stared at him, your mind completely blank. Whenever he came, the veins in his neck popped out. You were expecting him to come inside of you, but when he pulled out and came on your stomach, you let him. You held him as he collapsed on top of you, his big body making it harder for you to breathe.

  Dressed in his gym clothes, Lucas sat in the driver's seat. The drive over to your apartment was silent, mostly because Lucas still hated that you hadn’t moved in with him yet. The other reason was the awkwardness that existed after you both had sex. You laid on the bed for far too long with his semen pooling in your belly button. Not bothering to hand you a towel to clean up, he very quietly got dressed. 

  Lucas had never came on you before. He had always been the romantic look-me-in-the-eyes-as-I-fill-you-up type of guy. It’s not that you didn’t like it, just that it was so out of character you were wondering if something was wrong.

“Do you want me to come inside?” he asked.

  You snapped out of your thoughts, leaned over and kissed him on the cheek. “I think I can handle it on my own.”

  You got out of the car and walked up your steps without looking back at him. You went inside and closed the door behind you, leaning against the wood to regain your nerve.

  You didn’t like Lucas being anywhere near your apartment. He was insecure that yours looked a little better than his. Whenever he was there, he had a million questions about the things you owned. Why they were so expensive. Why it seemed like you had never lived there. You assured him it was because you spent the majority of time at his apartment, but there was always a bitter taste left in both of your mouths any time it was brought up. The other reason was that you weren’t sure what he would find if he looked hard enough.

 You ran up the stairs and unlocked your second door. You could never be too careful. Inside, you were met with a musty smell. You didn’t bother cleaning as you went, just tore through the place gathering what you needed. You stopped briefly to look at yourself in the mirror, at the way your pantsuit hugged your body. Business professional is what the saleswoman had said. It’s what all the men want. 

What do you know about what men want? You wanted to ask her.

  You moved on, click-clacking your way to your bedroom. Your bed was unmade, and there was trash strewn everywhere. You opened the door to your walk-in closet, grabbed a duffel bag and started shoving lingerie into it. You picked up a pair of handcuffs and threw them aside. Rifling through your things didn’t help you find what you were looking for. You cursed out loud and sat down in your closet, leaning your head against the wall. 

“Must be in the other apartment.” you whispered, trying to recall where it was.

 By the time you made it back to the car with Lucas, he had fallen asleep. You tapped the window and apologized for taking so long.

  Lucas pulled up in front of your office building. He hadn’t asked why you brought a duffel bag, because after his nap, his attitude was so damn chipper that he couldn’t stop smiling. He leaned over the console to kiss you.

“You know what?” he said. “I’ll walk you inside.”

There was a panic in your chest. “No, baby, it’s okay.”

  He didn’t hear you. He was halfway out of the car. Lucas opened your door and held out his hand for the duffel bag. Reluctantly, you placed it in his hand and got out of the car.

“So, what time do you work until?” you asked, your eyes on the bag he was holding.

“Late day,” he said, taking your hand with his other. “I won’t be home until after dinner. Save me some?”

“Of course.”

  Normally, Lucas would lead you, but it was your place of work, so you did the leading. You opened the door and walked inside, your heels tapping against the marble. The woman at the front desk and the security guard both nodded at you at the same time before looking back to what they were doing. You guided Lucas to the elevator.

“Are you done the same time as always?” he asked. “I can send someone to pick you up.”

“No, that’s okay.” 

  You stepped into the elevator. You weren’t the only people in there. Luckily the office building was so big that you didn’t need to know everyone. He held your hand the entire ride, giving it a little squeeze. And every time he did, you were forced to look at him and smile.

“This is me.” you said, stepping out. 

  A glass wall separated the hallway from your offices, gold lettering etched on all of the doors. Lucas had never made it this far up, so his eyes were taking in everything like a greedy child.

“This looks expensive,” he said. “No wonder they pay you so well. Maybe I should quit and get a job here.”

  You laughed. It was obligatory. You leaned on your tip-toes and kissed Lucas at the same time you ripped the duffel bag from his hands.

“Call you during break?” you asked.

Lucas smiled. “Yeah,I’d like that. I love you. Have a good day.”

 You could tell he didn’t want to leave. He was too curious about what was behind the glass wall. He could see people milling about, stacks of papers in their hands. There were cubicles and privacy offices, a break room that was too high-tech for a plain office building. 

“I love you, too,” you said. “If you just go down to the ground floor I’m sure someone can help you find your way out.”

  You waited until the elevator doors closed to walk through the glass ones, crossing the threshold like you were walking into a new world. As soon as your heels stepped down into the grey carpet, you walked a little looser, your hips swinging. You did feel professional. And as eyes were on you in every corner of the room, you were the one person who knew exactly what men wanted.

  The office. You didn’t belong. Everyone could smell it on you, that new car smell that always seemed to drive right onto their floor and disrupt everything. For many of them, you were something they couldn’t afford. Oh, how they’d love to test drive you, though. As soon as they got a tasty look at you, all cream interior and buttered seats, all eyes seemed to avoid meeting yours. You sashayed across the floor in peace, your eyes scanning cubicles and the people coming and going.

“Hey.” a familiar voice called.

  You ducked down beside a cubicle. A woman sat in a chair, her long legs bare and freshly waxed. She crossed them and swiveled her chair to face you. You picked up a paper from the floor and shoved it in your pockets. 

“You’re early.” she said.

“Needed time to change.” you shrugged.

  You put your hand on her shoulder to lift yourself up and kept walking. No one stopped to talk to you, and there was something lonely in that feeling you couldn’t put your finger on. You stopped before a door, one of the only non-glass ones in the whole place. Your manicured fingers against the shiny door knob made you pause. You caught your reflection for the second time that day, the distorted figure grimacing back at you.

  You would never open the paper so brazenly in front of other people, but it was the calm breath you needed before you opened the door. It was what would launch you, truly, from this office into the next part of your journey. You opened the paper and stared at each letter burning a hole in your retinas. 

             Sweetie, I miss you. Today’s advice is to never look behind you.

  You tucked the paper in your bra. Every inch of you wanted to look behind you, but instead, you opened the door to the dark closet and changed your clothes.

  You stepped out of the closet dressed in clothes one would find in the mens department. Sweatpants that could be worn playing basketball, a grey sports t-shirt with faded writing, and a black windbreaker. Your sneakers were white with little worn marks on the side, and your hair was thrown underneath a ball cap. If anyone thought you were crazy for entering as yourself and exiting as someone socially male passing, they didn’t bat an eye. 

  Passing by the cubicle, the woman whistled. “If I didn’t know you, I would have you bend me over this desk right here.”

You smirked. “Only if you pay me enough.”

  You threw the duffle over your shoulder and kept walking, all of the confidence in the world in the way you moved. People still looked at you, but it was in a new, illuminated light. You walked through the glass and made it to the elevator. 

“Excuse me.” you said, weaving your way past a man.

“No problem.” he said, eyeing you up as he stepped out. He stared at you until the doors closed.

  In the lobby, you waved hello to the woman at the desk and the security guard. Both were unbothered by your new attire. You swung open the front door and stepped into the sunlight where a black, unmarked car was waiting for you.

“Am I too early?” you asked the driver.

“Right on time, miss.”

 He opened the car door and you slid in, the leather feeling cool, even through your sweatpants. In a fancy car like that, you felt underdressed, but it was all in the job description. He shut the door and went around to the drivers side, any chatty banter he may have started falling short of his lips.

You took out your cell phone and unlocked it.

  Unread text messages: 72   Unread emails: 212

You looked at the very last message from Lucas sent right after he left:

             I love you more and more every day. See you when I get home.

  Trees. That was all you saw. Streets with trees lining them, parks with the healthiest limbs and most luscious green leaves. They stood proud and strong, only wavering with a slight wind. Occasionally, when you were lost in thought, they played against the glass of the car window, a kiss of a leaf here and there, as if to say, “Welcome, open your eyes.”

“We’re almost there,” the driver said. “He asked that I don’t escort you inside. I expect you know your way around.”

  You nodded, making eye contact with the driver in the rearview mirror. He was judging you, you could tell. He wasn’t new, by any means, but the lifestyle took some getting used to. When you first met the driver, you were scared of what he  thought of you, but now you didn’t spare a single thought for him at all.

 The car came to a stop in front of a three-story brick building, its red face powerwashed to pristine condition. There were flower boxes on every windowsill and forest green shutters. A wreath on the door felt welcoming, but only if you were someone who liked open invitations. In the neighborhood, that might have been plausible, but only you really knew what lay beyond the oak front door, its stained glass windows more expensive than Lucas’ monthly rent.

“Thank you.” you told the driver.

  You stepped out of the car, your sneakers crushing a twig. It was the only blemish on an otherwise clean street. You closed the door behind you and held your duffel bag in your hand. The driver waited a beat before driving off, his strict time schedule unable to be rearranged if you chickened out.

 But you would never chicken out. Before you was a place you had been to many times. Anyone who looked out of their window would recognize you, even if the flavor of you didn’t sit well under their tongue. As you ascended the stairs, no one bothered to push aside their curtain for a glimpse of the girl dressed in baggy clothes, every trace of her from this morning vanished completely.

 You walked right in.

  You were met with a smell that hit you instantly: cinnamon. Candles burned on a foyer table, the wick barely black. 

Just lit, you thought. You have to be around here somewhere.

  The home inside was cozy, deep blue accents and unexplainable modern art tucked into corners of the room. It was the home of someone with an eye for the unusual, but whose very facade made one feel more comfortable with themselves. You walked further inside, your fingers touching along the walls. When you were away, you missed the smells terribly.

“Where are you hiding?” you asked. “Little kitten.”

  You walked further inside, your shoes still perfectly on your feet. At his request, he wanted you to keep them on. You never asked why, but you expected that after you left, he got on his hands and knees and scrubbed his floor after your every footprint, in his bid to serve you. 

“Don’t you miss me?” you asked.

  There were so many doorways without doors. You weaved in and out of rooms, taking your sweet time to make sure he could hear you trampling through. You touched some things softly, and others, haphazardly. You didn’t wince as a part of a measuring cup family fell from its hook, clattering to the ground loud enough to make your teeth hurt.

“Tenny,” you said. “Come and play.”

  You wandered up the stairs, your manicured fingers tapping against the wooden railing. You let the duffel fall to the ground when you made it to the top, and rubbed your shoulders.

  If the downstairs was grandmother chic, the upstairs looked like the hallway of a sex club.The walls were deep sapphire and velvet, gold tassels dividing each door. You walked down the center, looking foolish and out of place. On your right, you went in through the first door to an empty bedroom. You looked around but could find nothing. 

“This is taking too long,” you said. “What if I just leave?”

  A sound tipped you off. Your head snapped in the direction you heard it coming from: the very last door on the left. You walked towards it, stopping before it. You rubbed the wood, massaging it in your palm. 

“My little kitten.” you cooed.

  You opened the door to find him in plain sight. His arms were above his head, his wrists strapped to a mechanism chained to the ceiling. He was naked and blindfolded, and there were headphones around his ears so he couldn’t hear anything. You stepped in but didn’t close the door behind you. You stood in front of him, watching as he mouthed the words to a song. When you pulled the headphones down his neck, he gave a little shake.

“You were right under my nose the whole time.” you said.

  You walked around him. His joints looked like they were straining too much. He could hardly keep himself up right. And yet, he began to smile as you made your way back to him.

“How long have you been waiting?” you asked.

“An hour.” he said, his voice hoarse.

  You took off his blindfold and was met with the most mischievous eyes. He looked you up and down, his cock twitching right as he got to the sneakers on his carpet. You had been in the room before, so all of the sex toys and contraptions lining the walls didn’t bother you. People liked to play, and in your line of work, you would do whatever they wanted for the right amount. 

 His name was Ten. He was your age, but there was something about him that felt older than your years. His eyes were that of an old soul, his body young and supple. You scraped your fingernails against his chest and watched him close his eyes and quiver.

“Should I leave you here for another?” you asked.

He shook his head. “I need you to hold me.”

  Ten was one of your favorites. It wasn’t so much about the sex but the companionship. Sure, there were things he did and wanted you to do to him that were a bit different, but your attachment to him was hard to explain. 

“Before I hold you,” you began. “I need to know I can’t disappoint you.”

He opened his eyes. “I don’t think you ever could.”

“You put too much faith in me.” you said. 

  You reached up to unhook him from the ceiling. He whimpered in pain as his arms fell. You massaged his shoulders and brought him against your bosom. Ten’s hair tickled your chin. You were scared to tell him that you forgot his blanket, that it was in your real apartment with the life you hid from Lucas. 

 You wrapped your arms around Ten and kissed the top of his head. You owed him honesty, so you opened your mouth and told him that you forgot the thing he wanted most from you. Tears welled in his eyes, and for a second, you thought about breaking the arrangement and asking if he wanted his money back, but Ten took your hand and started leading you out into the hallway.

“We can do the comfort blanket next week,” he said. “This week, we’ll do something else.”

  Briefly, he showed you the man he was when you weren’t there. He was straightened up and assertive, his eyes more disobedient. It was rare that you were privy to how he was when you weren’t there, but it was always refreshing that somewhere underneath it all, there was something you liked to think of as a friend.

  Ten brought you to a room with only a bed in the middle of it. An island of sadness is what you always thought of it. You remembered when you had found him there sprawled on his stomach, his puckered, wet asshole waiting for you to fuck it. You did as he asked, the money too good to turn him down.

  Ten waited for you to get on the bed by yourself. Before you did, you made sure no hair was peaking out of your ball cap before you stretched your body across the sheets. Ten climbed in and tucked himself into the side of your body. He moved down so that his cheek was pressed against your stomach.

“Tell me you love me,” he said. “And that you’ll never leave me.”

You let your fingers smooth his hair. “I love you, Kitten, and I’m never going to leave you.”

  You fell asleep on the car ride home, the sound of thunder waking you up just a stop away from Lucas’ apartment. You groaned because, for once, your sleep was dreamless. It was too good of a thing to wake up from.

“Drop me off at the corner,” you said. “I don’t want anyone to see me.”

  You had ditched the clothes at Ten’s place and changed back into your pantsuit, but you had hat head and felt like your body had been run over by a truck. You cuddled with Ten for six hours in the same position, your body aching more than his was when he was chained up. You cracked your neck and got ready to jump out of the car as soon as it stopped, just in case someone in the neighborhood was nosy enough to tell Lucas.

“Thank you.” you said for the second time that day.

“See you next week.”

“Yeah.” you sighed.

  You got out and walked the last block to his apartment. The duffel was in your hands, but it was empty. If Lucas asked, it was once full of office supplies the company let you borrow that you needed to return. He would buy into the lie. 

 You let yourself into the darkness, removed your shoes like you were a zombie, and thought about collapsing right on the floor. It wasn’t even that late, but there was something about being deceiving that sucked the life out of you. Deciding against it, you walked your way to the bedroom and flipped on the light. 

 After you usually left Ten’s, you felt too soft to the touch. Some nights, you cried the whole car ride, missing something you didn’t know what you were missing. Often, you would climb into Lucas’ arms and make the most passionate love to him. You just needed to be near him, to make sure it was him who would never leave you.

  Everything looked the same as you had left it, only Lucas’ gym clothes were on the floor and one of his drawers was half hanging open. You went over to it and stuffed his shirts down so it would close properly. Your fingers lingered on the soft fabric. You brought his shirt up to your nose and buried your face in it, inhaling deeply. When you went to put it back, your hand knocked into a small jewelry box.

Uh-oh.

 You took the box out and opened it. A diamond ring sat nestled in black velvet, the name of the jewelry shop printed in silver script on the lid. Feeling dizzy, you snapped the lid shut and shoved it back where it was.

[kmp78]

“Are you okay down there?!,” a female voice boomed from above. “Don´t move! I called 911, help is on the way!”

Jared looked up but the darkness which had fallen over the Malibu hills shielded the owner of the voice from his gaze. Thank god she was there tho, whoever this saving angel was!

“Thanks,” he replied with a huff.

“Are you badly hurt? Can you move?,” the voice inquired. He could just about make out her shape hovering somewhere in the distance above him.

“Yeah I´m okay, but I think my ankle is broken.”

“Okay don´t move around, you´ll only make it worse. The medics will know what to do!”

“Thanks,” Jared sighed quietly from the pit.

Great. A broken ankle...

There goes that tour then.

How could he have been so careless?! He had been so deep in thought, so angry over Alice´s baby bombshell that he simply failed to notice that massive hole in his path before it was too late.

Before he now found himself sitting in a dark pit with a shattered ankle.😭

“Wow you really took a tumble, didn´t you?!”, the voice from above quizzed, snapping Jared back to reality.

"Yeah... I got distracted I guess...”

“Well don´t you worry, dude. You´ll be good as new in no time,” she continued as she laid down on the ground next to the hole.

“I´ll be up here keeping you company until the medics get here.”

“Thanks, I appreciate it,” Jared answered back, feeling gratitude that this saving angel happened to be near in his time of need. Without her, this thing could have ended pretty badly!

“So what got you so distracted that you didn´t spot a huge hole in the ground, dude?” 

"Eh... Nothing... Just preoccupied, I guess...”

“I get that,” the angel replied. “I sometimes come here too, to get away from... well, “nothing””.

“Yeah...,” Jared chuckled.

She seems cool.

“What’s your name?”

Ah… the dreaded question rang from above.

He didn’t want to tell her the truth.

What if she’s some crazy echelon psycho who loses her shit and jumps in the pit too? No room for heifers down here! 🐴

Or she could be a fame-hungry LA pap chaser who sells this story to the TMZ for 20 bucks… 😒💰

No, better play it safe and keep it neutral.

“I’m… uhm… Joseph.”

“You don’t sound sure, Joseph.”

She was very quick and alert, he noticed. Damn.

Maybe play it cool. She seems like she could take a joke.

“Well… I figured since we don’t know each other and I’m kinda at your mercy here… what if you’re like Kathy Bates in Misery and I gotta make a run for it?!”

“Oh… Well would be a kind of a sllllooooow run for it tho,” she quipped back with a giggle.

Phew! She got it.

She’s cool. She’s very cool.

“It’s actually my middle name. I sometimes use it when I wanna escape real life,” he continued.

“That’s smart, Joseph. I might start doing that too!,” the voice from above yelped excitedly.

“In fact: imma start right now!”

She rolled on her stomach and peeked her head in the pit, but in the pitch blackness there was no seeing her face from below ground. Only a few blonde-ish locks waving in the soft evening breeze.

“Hi, Joseph. I’m Michelle.”

Michelle.

Lovely name.

“Hi, Michelle.”

“Hi.” 😊

They both giggled and then fell silent. Michelle’s head disappeared from above as she retreated back to lie on her back next to the pit.

“Sooo… Did you just make up that name, Michelle?”

“It’s my middle name. I figured that was our thing, "Joseph”,“ she laughed.

Aaaaaaah, we have a "thing” now…😏

Jared always enjoyed a bit of flirting with the fairer sex, and since he´s now stuck in this pit...

“So... eh... what do you do, Michelle?”

“I… uhm… I… I suppose you could say I’m a… housewife…”

“Well now YOU don’t sound sure!,” Jared picked up on her hesitation.

She chuckled.

“Oh you noticed that… Well it’s a relatively new thing so I’m still getting used to it, I guess! How about you?”

Crap…

Another opportunity for exposure.

“Well… I work for a record company.”

Technically not a lie! 😁

“Aaaah so you’re in the music business?”

“A little bit yeah.”

“A musician?”

“Uh… part-time.”

Technically also not a lie! 😝

“Would I have ever heard any of your music, you think?”

Goooooooood, if only… 😞

“I… uh… probably not.”

His heart sniffled. 😔

“Oh… Well maybe one day, Joseph!”

“Yeah… maybe…”

Well now he wasn’t just lying to her… He was also lying to himself. 😶

They both fell silent, just laying there in the moonlight, one in a pit and one above ground, staring up at the starry sky. Jared felt oddly at peace, even tho he was stuck in a pit with just this one stranger keeping him attached to life outside his hole.

Their silence was peculiarly comfortable.

Just two strangers, sharing a moment in the wilderness.

“So what brought you up here this evening then?,” Jared finally decided to spark up their conversation again since the medics seemed to be taking their sweet time.

“Well… I was at this party with my husband and-”

“Oh… You’re married?”

Bummer.😔

“Yes. I’m a housewife, remember?”

“Oh…”

For some reason Jared felt a little bit hurt by this news.

“Anyway, so tonight I’m at this party with my husband we got into an argument and I took off ‘cos otherwise I might have slapped him… So I just drove around and finally ended up here!”

“What’d he do?”

Michelle laughed.

She had a wonderful laughter. Warm, catchy, strangely familiar.

“What makes you think it was his fault?”

“Oh please, isn’t it always the dude’s fault?,” Jared snorted sarcastically.

His quip was met with more giggles.

Her giggles made him giggle under his breath as well.

“Well… yeah! Why is that tho?!,” she quipped. “Men are always stirring up shit!”

“Heeeeeey, that’s not true! Women are the nutters who constantly create drama and misunderstand everything! I swear women have some weird-ass gene that makes them incapable of letting shit go,” Jared protested.

Still more giggles from above.

Jared enjoyed knowing he could make her laugh so effortlessly.

“So what did this hubby of yours do then?”

Michelle described how they had gotten into an argument over her hubby’s upcoming work trips abroad, and how she jumped in her car to drive off for some alone cooling-off time. Jared listened quietly in his pit, soaking in her stories as her mesmerizing voice filled the air...

Her voice made him feel warm even tho temperatures in his little prison were slowly dropping.

She effortlessly moved on to chatting about her love of nature and surfing, and Jared entertained her with (partly truthful) tales from his rock climbing treks.

They shared giggles and witty back and forth banter as the minutes ticked by, and Michelle even playfully “scolded” Jared by throwing her Manolo Blahnik at him when he made yet another sarcastic remark about what bitches all women are.

He didn’t mind being shoe’d by her.

“You sound bitter, Joseph. Girl trouble?”

He hesitated with his reply.

“It’s okay, you don’t have to tell me.”

“It’s just… really complicated right now,” Jared sighed quietly. He wasn’t quite ready to get into that whole Alice/baby mess yet.

Michelle peeked her head through the hole again.

“It’s okay. We don’t have to talk about it.”

“Thanks.”

Jared again tried to make out her face in the darkness but… nope.

But going by her dreamy, comforting voice and fun, sparkling personality, she no doubt was beautiful on the outside too.

A silence descended upon their little “campsite” again.

“Wanna know something funny, Joseph? Your voice sounds familiar.”

“Oh…?”

Jared still didn’t wanna explain to her why that might be…

“It’s… uh… it’s probably just a really common voice, I get that a lot,” he fibbed, hoping she wouldn’t probe more. For some reason he, a proud lifetime-long Liar Extraordinaire, felt bad about lying to her.

She was so nice and helpful and made him feel safe even tho he was sat almost 3 meters underground in a dirty pit in pitch blackness..

“Oh… Yeah that must be it,” she replied.

“In LA you meet so many people that names and faces and voices all start sounding the same.”

"Yeah,” Jared replied. On one hand his ego was nagging him to let her in on his real identity so he could get some much-needed fawning-over which would be more than welcome after the shitty day he had lived through, but still he held back.

“Your heel broke btw,” he said as he picked up her stray shoe and took a closer look.

“Damn... I just bought those last week!,” Michelle sighed.

“Don´t worry, I´ll buy you new ones if I ever get out.”

“Thanks but I don´t know if my husband would like it if strange men bought me shoes,” Michelle giggled.

“Ugh fine, coffee then! Surely this dude won´t mind if I treat you to a beverage?!”

“I´m sure coffee would be ok,” Michelle agreed.

“Okay good, it´s a date then,” Jared smirked in the darkness.

If this chick is even halfway decent in the looks department, and more importantly in the weight department, he knew once the secret of his identity was revealed, she´d be thanking HIM for... well, for whatever would happen after he invited her over for a... “cup of coffee”... ☕

“Shhh! Listen,” the angel interrupted his daydreams. “I think I hear the ambulance”. 🚑 

“Ah thank god,” Jared sighed in relief. Finally he could get out of this stinkin´ hole! 

Altho in all fairness this evening had not been a total disaster... This savior angel had not only physically helped him in his hour of need by calling for help and staying to make sure he was okay, but also helped him get his mind off that scandalous baby business back home...

Perhaps, since they now had this nice connection established, if there was trouble in her marriage and seeing as there definitely was trouble in his own little relationship, maybe... maybe... 😜

Jared heard a car approaching and a male voice joined Michelle.

"What´s your husband´s name, ma´am?”

“Oh no, that´s not my husband! I just happened to be nea-... actually I don´t even know his name!”

She peeked in again.

“Yo! What´s your name? Like... REAL name.”

Well, there was no use in hiding it anymore...

“I´m Jared,” he answered. “Jared Leto.”

Silence.

A loooooong silence.

All Jared could hear were nasty ants scurrying around him in the pit and the medics shuffling around somewhere above him, but other than that... 

Nothing.

“Hello...?,” Jared hollered. “Are you still there?”

“Uh... Yeah... I´m here...,” Michelle answered. Her voice sounding unsure and a bit strained all of a sudden.

“So who´s this guy down there then?,” Jared heard a male voice coming closer and saw a dark figure appearing above. 

“He´s... eh... Jared Leto,” she replied with a slight stutter and a half-chuckle as she disappeared from Jared´s view.

“Right, okay. Well, let´s get him out then!”, the medic sounded unimpressed as he leaped into the pit, craftily maneuvering himself so he didn´t land on his patient. A quick check on the ankle revealed that luckily it indeed wasn´t broken but definitely severely twisted so a trip to the ER was still needed.

A second medic appeared above, and then a third. They lowered a few ropes down the pit and Jared sighed in relief as he was finally hoisted out of his underground prison, two men pulling from above and one pushing his ass from below.

Once he was safely back on solid ground, the three men helped him to a gurney.

"Did you wash your hands after your last patient?,” Jared asked as he was being strapped in.

“Sir, I´m wearing gloves,” the medic replied with a slight eye roll.

“Good! I´m very sensitive to germs.”

“Well you must have had fun down there in your hole then...,” the medic chuckled.

“Listen, Seinfeld. I´m not paying you to do stand-up over here. You better get me to a hospital asap before I have your license.”

The medic thought it best to not even respond, but rather just quietly rolled the gurney to the ambulance.

“WAIT!,” Jared yelped just as they reached the car.

“What, sir? Are you in pain?”

“Where´s that woman who called you?”

"I... I don´t know. I guess she left,” the medic replied.

“WHAT?! What do you mean she left?! She can´t just leave, I don´t even know her name!”

“Calm down, sir. Please, we need to get moving, we have a long wa-”

“No we can´t go! Go out and look if she´s still there!,” Jared demanded. “I need to see her again! We had this connection and-...”

“Sir, this is an ambulance. Not a tinderlance. We´re going now,” the medic calmly replied as he shoved the gurney inside and started filling his patient´s information on his clipboard form.

“Let´s go, Larry!,” the medic called out to the driver.

“YOU MOVE THIS FUCKING THING ONE INCH AND I SWEAR I´LL HAVE YOU ALL FIRED!,” Jared screamed at the top of his lungs.

“DO YOU HAVE ANY IDEA WHO YOU´RE DEALING WI-,”

“Wooooow... Talk about a blast from the past...” the familiar female voice suddenly sounded from somewhere off to the side just as the doors swung close.

“WAIT! That´s her!,” Jared yelped again. “Don´t go, I need your number!”

He didn´t get a reply but instead heard her giggling outside.

"Michelle! Can you hear me?! I don´t know your last name! Please!” 🙏🏻

No response, just giggles.

The ambulance driver slowly started backing away, despite Jared knocking on the side windows to grab Michelle´s attention.

There was no response coming, and in a last ditch effort Jared grabbed the medic´s clipboard.

“Hey, you can´t read that! It´s privileged information!”

“Oh shut up, that´s MY information!,” Jared barked. 

Her name has to be in there somewhere...

Jared glanced the clipboard up and down, looking for some clues to who had alerted the medics to save him, and finally at the bottom of the page...

“There it is!,” he shrieked.

“identity of 911 caller: Phone number 555-9227. Name: Cameron Di...”

He froze for a second and looked up at the window as the ambulance slowly pulled away, only to spot his saving angel waving him goodbye with a smile, the ambulance lights finally revealing her face... 😲

DISCLAIMER AND RULES

(PS. Thanks for the vote and fic idea, anon! I took some liberties with the execution tho... hehe...)

[shewassoferal]

an anti canon ship traits thing

a reminder that while I find the scene sweet especially considering Deke is her grandson and they were finally having a moment of truth there, and he went to comfort her, the next quote/concept is the ANTI of what I want to write when it comes to Jemma being in a relationship with someone, and absolutely not what I’ll write when it comes to FS too. THIS IS NOT ME HATING ON FITZ, like Fitz rpers know I love him. I just don’t think this would ever be them if the writers hadn’t lost it. I think some things were just ooc because they like the concept of Jemma being hope and basically just work as cheerleader so they adapted them to it. 

And I do write Jemma as a very doting girlfriend, who loves emotionally supporting her loved ones, making them food, and I will keep writing that. But not like THIS. And I definitely want her to get just as much back. It can’t always be 50% of the weight held by each but it definitely also can’t always be 100% emotional support from her.  

“He's complicated. And he's stubborn.” “Yes.” "That's why you let him win arguments sometimes, right?* He can be a real baby when he's sick, so that's why you got to take care of him.** And he's always got the weight of the world on his shoulders. That's why he needs you there to help lighten the load.*** Oh, and he loves his prosciutto and mozzarella sandwiches**** that no one can make right except you.” “How could you possibly know all those things?” “Because my mom used to tell me about her parents all the time. She always spoke about her dad with so much love and admiration on her face. Said that he was the best man she ever knew.***** So I know that you can help Fitz******. And I know that you two are gonna be okay because the steps you take don't need to be big”

let me break down what I hate about this for you. And this could have been far easier to just be cute if it hadn’t happened after two seasons of this kind of problems  

*Jemma letting him win arguments because he’s complicated and stubborn implies that the constant bickering that she clearly enjoys so much really annoys him instead of being just a cute way to discuss topics, and that he’s not having fun. Plus, she has to compromise for this reason. No, either they don’t bicker, or she should be with someone who enjoys it just as much (Fitz rpers also usually agree on that though, that came out of nowhere) **The emphasis once again on her taking care of him (in this case because he’s a baby when sick). Normally it wouldn’t be bad at all, but in this context, Jemma is always doing 99% of emotional labor, and because she never shares anything (on-screen and it’s implied off-screen too) the writers using the excuse of Jemma being like that have her be an unreal machine capable of giving constant support 24/7 while taking care of her own problems by herself and never breaking. See next points too ***one of Jemma’s traits in the past was that SHE felt responsible for too many things. That is scratched away. There is no ‘and you always felt the weight of the world on your shoulders, blamed yourself for everything, so in return Fitz lightens up the load’. No. Once again emphasis on Jemma doing it for him.  ****bringing up the sandwiches which in this context really complete the picture of a cute housewife (overkilling it), especially in a season in which it’s visible to everyone how much the writers had Jemma act like she went through NOTHING while being constant emotional support for Fitz and Yoyo. Literally hours after being freed from actual enslavement she’s the one in charge of reminding Fitz they can make it home and giving him hope.  *****when we talk about future Fitz, like present Fitz, we see a genius who is working so hard to fix everything, he’s remembered as the best man his daughter knew. Jemma is there to comfort him even in the flashback of Robin after the end of the world. In a season in which they also forgot that Jemma is a genius, not just a random biochem in there, and could help Fitz with his WORK.  ******finally, the emphasis on ‘I know you can help him’ which yes, it’s given to her because she thinks she’s losing him, but you are telling a woman who is desperate to change the future, to do something good, and has spent the day terrified, crying, almost throwing up, watching a friend being tortured and held at gunpoint because her husband is having a psychotic break, that she WILL help him as long as she doesn’t give up on him now (to take care of herself, for example). This is being said to Jemma Simmons, who was crucified 3 seasons ago for leaving Fitz (in that case for his own good) and the blame for him getting worse was given to her not being there, hence how can she possibly not be on Fitz’s side now?  -bonus, next episode Mack telling her to try to understand Fitz. 

if you write with my Jemma, she’s definitely going to be cute and loving, she’s going to bicker for fun, she’s going to offer support, but she also needs support, she’s been hurt and traumatized, she doesn’t need to be given more responsibilities, she needs people to come check on her too and ask her how she’s doing, she’s a GENIUS who can help with lots of tasks, just as smart as Fitz (do you know how hard it is to get 2 phds before age sixteen? especially considering that most require a 1-2 years amount of time regardless of how fast you finish because you need to do a certain number of hours of work divided in those years, so she’d have had to have a first university degree by age 13 to get to that higher level), and should be allowed to have her own space because the person she’s with should also be able to either work on their problems by themselves a little or have other friends too, because you can’t rely on another person alone, who might need time off. I’m ALL for writing her wifey and cute, but it’s not a job, and she’s also supposed to be helpful at work, she gets to have her traumas, her space, and to be doted on too. 

anyway I know most rp partners I have agree with this, but I needed to have it written down in a more detailed way than in my rules. I’m not here to write Jemma as hope in human form, or as the wife from old sitcoms. It reminds me of very bad things from real life, people I know who were destroyed by this, and it’s not funny to me. 

[yes-i-also-miss-our-talks]

What are some of your headcanons for the Murphy fam? What about for everyone else?

This ended up so much longer than I thought it would alright here we go

Cynthia is hella smart, like speaks-4-languages-and-plays-multiple-instruments smart. She’s a MASSIVE math person (PhD massive) and teaches part-time at the local college but they’re usually either online or summer classes

of course neither of her children nor her lawyer husband share her appreciation for mathematics but Zoe picked up music with ease at 8 and Connor liked to try and parrot her Irish Gaelic or help her grade exams so it was okay in the end

she had to take off work for a while to take care of a family member and ended up getting replaced at the college and spending time with her froufrou relatives so when she got home she slowly turned into a housewife (definitely didn’t help that Larry switched from the city attorney’s office to private law)

Cynthia and Larry met in college in a GE chem class they both hated but they didn’t date until Cynthia was almost done with her M.S. an Larry was in law school and on their first date he tried to take her to a fancy restaurant ‘cause he knew she came from money but they mixed up with the reservation and he had a slight panic attack until Cynthia just said “oh well I know a great Thai place that’s even better” and they spent the night arguing about whether dogs or cats were better childhood pets (the irony being that they never had any pets) and they still debate it to this day

Zoe was the unplanned one. Cynthia was ecstatic when she found out she was pregnant (both times, but Connor in particular) b/c fertility issues ran in the family and they’d been actively trying. Zoe was conceived when con con was like 4 months old so y'know…unplanned 

Little 14 month old Connor adored Zoe and got really sad that he couldn’t teach her to walk right as he was getting it down but chilling with her during tummy time was a good substitute

they were both totally the kids who cried their faces off on the first day of school but Zoe only cried when she realized she wouldn’t be with Connor all the time

Connor didn’t actually throw a printer it was a shredding machine (shredder? whatever it’s called) but the idiot kid who saw it happen through a window didn’t know the difference

Larry is a smoker. He’s never gone more than two or three a day, except when he’s really stressed. Cynthia absolutely hates it, so he never smokes at home and has become something of a master at masking the smell. Connor at one point figured out the trick and used it to cover up the smell of weed (with slightly less success)

Connor hates skiing because he hates both heights and the cold. Plus the family they go skiing with is obnoxious as hell and the daughter is always trying to hit on him

Zoe hates long car rides. Connor can put in headphones and stare out the window like someone in a music video for hours and hours on end, but Zoe can’t stand it. She hates not being able to stretch out or stand up, or the way her butt kind of loses feeling after so long in one place. It makes her irritable as hell and has resulted in many a backseat argument

Larry loved that damn remote control airplane more than Connor and Zoe put together

Zoe still knows about a dozen of Connor’s favorite dumb childhood jokes. He still remembers the route he’d made for when they go to the zoo so they could alternate between his favorite animals and hers

when Connor came out to Zoe he was high as a fucking kite and it was just the two of them in the house. He was floating on his back in the pool with regular clothes on and Zoe threw pools toys at him until he got out and she said something along the lines of “what the hell is wrong with you” and meant it rhetorically but he shrugged and said “I’m gay and I’m stoned, so it’s probably somewhere in there” and then went inside and Zoe kind of stared after him because he’d get into fights with kids who called him a f** but she hadn’t ever really thought of why that was the insult he took so personally until then

Zoe came out as bi (though she would later identify as pan) to her parents at the beginning of her freshman year and Larry just kind of scowled and said “nothing is going to spare people the shovel talk or the shotgun on the front porch, so we’re clear” and Cynthia was just thrilled that she felt comfortable enough to come out to them (though she begged that they not tell anyone)

Connor would have his episodes where he was “banging down the door screaming that he was going to kill [Zoe]” when he was either coming down from a strong high or wanted to be left alone, if not both. It just about always worked.

SPOILER: when Zoe and Evan started dating she and Connor had their first screaming match in months and they were so involved in hating each other that they forgot Evan was there (and having a serious panic attack) and Larry had to call Heidi to come get him because he wasn’t going to leave his angry kids alone together for anything

despite all that, though, once Connor started to heal and his relationship with Zoe got better and everything just started to move forward, Connor got to teach her so many things that he’d just gotten the hang of

[karinrobinson]

Bad Analogies Are Bad Thinking

Today, I got blocked on Twitter by Dave Trott. For those of you who don’t know - Dave’s a bit of an advertising guru and a great creative thinker about what works and what doesn’t work in grabbing people’s attention and making them care about your message. I like his work, which is why I’ve been following him for years, and I work in the same industry, which is why I often have my own perspective or point of view on what he write about. 

So today, he posted an article called “The Chairman’s Wife Syndrome”. Right away, I was interested. I thought back to an insight from David Ogilvy, who founded OgilvyOne, where I work. He wrote, “The consumer is not a moron. She is your wife.” 

Now, David Ogilvy was a man from the past - from the Mad Men era of advertising. So I’ve never been particularly offended by the sexist assumption at work here (the consumer is a housewife. The ad man is... definitely a man) because it was an accurate reflection of the time, and the insight is true - for many product categories that I work on to this day, the imagined audience persona is female, and it’s important to remember that these women consumers have agency and opinions. 

I therefore assumed perhaps Dave would be talking around this valid creative challenge. Alas, no. 

Instead, he wrote this: 

Imagine the chairman of a big company in Manhattan.

One day, his wife comes into town to go shopping.

She decides to drop by his office so he can take her to lunch.

While she’s there, she notices all the young girls around the office.

All in their twenties, tall and thin, wearing hot pants.

She notices most of the men are looking at these girls as they bend over the Xerox machine.

It’s obvious that men find hot pants very attractive.

Probably her husband does too.

So the chairman’s wife goes out and buys herself some hot pants.

But she’s 50 years old, a bit tubby, with blue-rinse hair.

The hot pants don’t look the same on her as they did on the tall, thin, 20-year-olds.

Her husband says he doesn’t like her wearing hot pants.

But why not, she says – you liked them on the girls at the office, why don’t you like them on me?

This is the Chairman’s Wife Syndrome.

Oh wow. These are some seriously bad thoughts. For realz. I tweeted this: 

Shortly afterwards, Dave Trott blocked me. 

Huh. A mild criticism deriving from a different point of view was a problem for Dave? Come on. Time to put on your big boy pants, Dave. 

I honestly wasn’t going to say anything further about the myriad ways in which this article was bad, but now I’m all annoyed. So here goes:

This shit is not only sexist. It’s a bad, inaccurate, weak, and inapt analogy. 

1) The fictional young women Dave is imagining here almost certainly would not have been wearing hot pants at the office. They would have been wearing mini-skirts. As most women of any age would know, there have long been dress code rules in offices that preclude women from wearing shorts of any length. In the 60′s, in most offices, they were even prevented from wearing trousers. Hot pants simply would not have appeared. Min-skirts were fashionable at the time in part because they allowed women to get away with more - and thus began a decades long debate about above-the knee permissible skirt length that we are still arguing over to this day. 

2) A 50 year old Chairman’s wife just... would never buy clothes that way. She’s a CHAIRMAN’S WIFE. Her entire persona would have been built around looking like that part. She’ll be focussed on elegance, sophistication, and social acceptability. Might she be jealous of the young girls at the office? Sure. But she’s not trying to look like them - she’s trying to look like Jackie Kennedy. Also, the theory that she wouldn’t realise hot pants don’t flatter her is insanely lacking in any understanding of how actual women purchase clothing. Which is wierd for an ad creative. A daring purchase like that she would study herself carefully in the mirror. Even after buying it, she’s going to think hard before going out of the house in them. 

3) In the modern era - i.e., in the lifetime of most of the folks who will be reading this article - 50 year old women in hot pants are not unknown, and it’s not really the obvious gross-out that Dave seems to assume. 

But mainly:

4) This analogy in no way illustrates his point. The argument Dave is trying to make here - and it’s a valid one - is that the industry routinely, every day, engages in a business practice that considers ad creative divorced from the real life ways in which they will be used. So he conjures a historically dated analogy of a thing that didn’t happen or happened very rarely and where the details don’t match up either (she had more than 1 second to assess the secretaries’ hot pants). Here, from the top of my head, are 5 analogies that are more common, less sexist, and more apt:

a) If your mom tries to “bond” with you on Snapchat.

b) If an architect designed a building without doing a site visit.

c) If you wrote a book that relied on images appearing on certain pages - but then launched in Kindle without page references.

d) If you sold delicious-smelling street food from a stall next to the sewage plant.

e) If you designed elegant, stilletto heels, but test marketed them only in Alaska, in January.

So, in conclusion: I do not buy this analogy. It is not only sexist, it is BAD. It gets in the way of me processing the idea it is trying to explain. 

Which is a shame, because Dave’s point is correct and under-appreciated. 

But if Dave Trott, of all people, doesn’t accept the importance of finding a genuinely persuasive and effective analogy, then what are we all doing here? 

Although, judging by my Twitter feed, there are a fair number of blokes out there who found this perfectly persuasive. 

Hm. 

/Scene

[qzwrites]

so it occurs to me that i’ve done a lot of character building for the wilkins and stables who aren’t zach and tristan and posted like, none of it, so:

The Wilkins Girls

Tricia, mom

(all the drawings i’ve done of her are old as hell and never got scanned, sorry)

probably actually the one i’ve developed the least. to be fair to me, the whole point of most znt stories is that she is working all the time and so they have to take care of the kids. whatever plans and dreams she had basically got tanked when her husband got himself killed and left her with three kids and a baby on the way. she did manage to pay off the mortgage (and the car, which was used and therefore less impressive) with the insurance money, which was some burden off her back. not enough for zach to not start working literally as soon as he could to help her. she worked two jobs pretty much from her husband’s death to zach graduating and working full time. in main continuity she never remarries, but she might if it would offer more stability for the kids. (for instance in the prince’s plaything, her expy married a merchant who proposed to her basically because he offered to send her girls to school, which wasn’t available where they were living)

Sonja, oldest sister

She’s Fashion and popular. She does okay in school. She’s very good at getting people to do what she wants. Isn’t as into sports or athleticism as Zach or Nina but would absolutely have died to be able to afford dance lessons. She probably never mentioned this to her mom or Zach until she was in high school, because she didn’t want them to stress about the money. She is a pro at thrift shopping and redecorating on a budget, and probably more or less took over both the interior decorating and the wardrobe maintenance so they didn’t “look poor” when she was like, ten. Kind of doing an aimless middle child thing; goes to and later drops out of community college bc she doesn’t really want to study anything. Classic Bi Girl “didn’t realize other girls didn’t feel that way about girls” story but with zero angst about it. (She also blames her bad example brother bc he didn’t realize he was bi and definitely led her to False Expectations of how straight people relate to members of their own gender). Thinks she’s not into commitment but really just not into monogamy; it will take her so long to realize this.

Nina, middlest sister (i mean technically she and sonja are both middle children, but she’s the middle of the girls)

Sporty and athletic and a little tomboyish, but that does not mean she doesn’t like to occasionally Glam the Fuck Up. One of the better athletes at her school and high-key bitter when the boys’ sports teams get more attention even though they’re not as good. If she cared at all about football, is exactly the kind of person who would fight and rail about title ix to be allowed on the football team and/or coach a bunch of other girls to put together a girls’ football team. Her main sport is basketball. This is also where she meets the first and thus far only boy she dates. They do the classic sitcom arguing thing, yet people never assumed they “actually” liked each other, at least not where Nina could hear it, because jfc if there is anyone who will hold a grudge and hassle you for the rest of your life, it is Nina Wilkins. God help you if she’s angry enough to get her siblings involved. Anyway, the boy is just one of the only people who immediately gets that whatever bullshit comes out of her mouth in an argument or on the court doesn’t actually Mean anything to her. She’s competitive but not actually trying to be mean. It probably helps that literally everyone assumed she was gay bc she’s kind of butch. She has no idea how to flirt.

(once a dude tried to spread a nasty rumor about Nina and Sonja wrecked his social life so completely that he ended up transferring schools. she got literally everyone to ostracize this guy and dragged out all sorts of fucking receipts going back to grade school. Zach was like “why didn’t you tell me! I would have beat him up!” and Sonja was like “no one had to be beaten up for me to ruin his life”. Zach was like “I think Sonja might be a monster???” and Tristan was like “that’s my girl :,)

Meredith, the babiest sister

Meredith just wants to read everything in the entire world and be left alone. Her primary form of social interaction is sitting in the room reading while the rest of her family does shit. She does exceptionally well in school. When teachers start getting on her case about extracurriculars to look good for college, she starts writing book reviews for the school newspaper and volunteering at both the school and public library. Mastered very young the art of paying attention to multiple things; even if you think she wasn’t paying attention to what was going on around her, she was. She’s very opinionated (like the rest of her siblings lmao) but much quieter about it. She won’t fight you or yell or talk shit about you, she will just ignore you. It’s not even pointed. Most people don’t know if she hates them, even though she dislikes plenty of people. Fairly well-liked even though she’s not sociable, since she is quiet and thus people project whatever they want to see/hear. Probably gets into the least trouble of any of the kids. Kind of likes Tristan more than her actual siblings. Probably also queer but doesn’t talk to anyone about it. The only time I’ve ever written her into any sort of relationship is with a college guy she met at the library while she was still in high school. She’s not the youngest by so much (she and Nina have the same gap as Nina and Sonja) but she’s the only one who never knew their dad and the only one who’s naturally quiet, so she does feel a little left out sometimes. That’s probably part of why she likes Tristan so much; he’s the only other one sitting quietly and calmly at family functions.

Probably when her first scathing high school book review was published people were like “oh look! mary is a wilkins after all! she just prefers to tear apart books instead of people”

The Stables

Meredith, mother

[i don’t know if i’ve ever drawn her actually lmao]

look i’ma be real with you, I know nothing about her. She’s been ill and largely bed-ridden, or dead, in most of the stuff i’ve written. her husband left her and the boys when Rhys was still an infant, and she kind of. wasted away. she was utterly devoted to this man and he didn’t even say anything, just bounced. she has no idea why. she probably didn’t start getting really sick until Tristan was in high school. I have no idea how she provided for the boys bc she was definitely living that housewife life. she didn’t need to work bc her husband was a lawyer, and then he left. she did become good friends with Tricia Wilkins, and they kind of mutually helped each other out, first with the boys, and then in general. Meredith couldn’t drive after a while, and definitely loaned Tricia the car when her used POS broke down. She’s sweet and people liked her a lot, even when she got sick and sad and was always a drag, because she was that nice when she was well. They probably got lots of help from neighbors right after Gary left. She’s a good cook and has a nice singing voice.

Rhys, younger than Zach and Tristan but older than all the Wilkins girls

Rhys has got lots of the same abandonment and trust issues that Tristan does, but he doesn’t have a Zach to act like his emotional backbone. He’s also just not as stoic as Tristan. He gets drunk and calls Tristan to pick him up, crying, a lot in high school. Had a big crush on Sonja for most of childhood, but she was never interested. He also harbors a lot of Guilt that Tristan couldn’t like go to college or do what he wanted bc he had to take care of Rhys, even though he’s five years younger and couldn’t really control things like. capitalism. He plays guitar. He actually learned at a friend’s house in middle school and never told his family until someone gave him their old guitar and he just came home like “hey i’m going to be a musician”. he’s not actually good at any other part of music, he just likes playing guitar. He’s also bi and didn’t really think about it until after Tristan came out and he was like “wait. okay. how do YOU feel about boys”. He’s also pretty into video games. Most of Tristan’s disposable income probably went to keeping Rhys in relatively current video games. Rhys likes to make dark jokes about shit that actually bothers him, but he’s careful not to do it around Zach because Zach goes Full Dad and is like “wanna talk about your feelings, bud” and like, no, Rhys only wants to allude to the fact that he has feelings, he doesn’t really want to talk about them any more than Tristan does. Rhys doesn’t know what he’s doing with his life. He’s probably the kind of person who will feel like that no matter what he does or how long he does it.

(you may note that mrs. stable has the same name as mrs. wilkins’s youngest child. mrs. stable also would have named tristan “tricia”. these are coincidences but they joke that it means they were Meant To Be Friends.)

[standingontheedgeinstilettos]

You Souhnd Lahk You’ah From Lahndahn!

Hey Friends,

New Year! New Housewives! New Drama!  And I have a new six month old baby which is why there is a fairly significant lapse in time between now and my last blog.  As usual, let’s move past that quickly.

Ah, Beverly Hills. The 90210.  Ladies, ladies, ladies.  I can’t recall how long it’s been since the Munchausen accusation heard ‘round the world and the subsequent arguments which ensued before our very eyes, but here we are again.  And it feels rather nostalgic, doesn’t it?  I mean we have Lisa Vanderpump and Kyle getting laser beauty treatments on TV while discussing the current state of their vaginas.  

You have your gratuitous Camille Grammar cameo, dropping square footage numbers left and right on her newly smaller Malibu mansion, with her lady-servant plating chicken on the bone.  And Lisa Rinna is still talking about her haircut and Harry Hamlin’s arms circa 1982.  

Oh, but there is newness too.  And newness comes in the form of a doe-eyed moron, whose real name I am quite sure is either Sarah or Jennifer, but we’ll call her “Dorit” if that’s what she needs.  If you’re reading this and you’re standing up, I’m going to need you to sit down.  Take a seat because I’m about to lay something on you so hard.  You guys, Dorit is SO FUCKING WORLDLY.  She has been to other countries.  I’ll give you a minute.  You good?  

So “Dorit” and her husband “PK” (name acronym for what I assume stands for “Pretentious Kook” or “PSugar KDaddy” or the like) are so worldly in fact, that even though “Dorit” is from Connecticut, she sports what may be the worst fake British accent we’ve ever had the misery of witnessing.  She makes Lindsay Lohan sound like Eliza Doolittle at the end of the movie.  She makes Madonna basically the fucking Queen Mother herself.  I’m waiting to see these two on an episode of “America’s Most Wanted” a la the Armstrongs at some point in the near future because I’m telling you right now something ain’t right in the buttermilk.

The only thing we viewers have going for us is that “Dorit” had no idea what she was up against.  She’s TV friends with Lisa Vanderpump so she thought she was safe.  She thought she could get away with just flitting about with her bizarre fake accent, air-kissing Kyle, having dinner parties with the 8 most interesting people in the world, or her world at least, and talking about how Boy George lives with her in every interview.  **If your claim to fame is that Boy George lives with you, I don’t know how to help**  But fortunately for us Erika Girardi resides on our show.  Erika Girardi, who has an accent all her own and is completely fluent in ‘Kunty,’ wasted absolutely zero time in calling out “Dorit” for being from Connecticut.  And thus there has begun a quiet war between them where every battle is to be won by Lieutenant Colonel Erika Jane/Girardi.

I am going to focus on “Dorit” vs Erika through the entire blog entry because I don’t think any of us care about anything else that is happening on this show.  Certainly not about Kyle and her fancy problems, or Lisa V with her TIRED double entendres (for Christ’s sake lady, know any other tricks??) nor Lisa Rinna and her Home Shopping Network grey duster.  

I want, nay- I NEED to start with “PantyGate.”  If you know me even just a little bit, you know that I never wear underwear.  It’s a personal choice.  I have no time for it, I don’t like how it feels, I don’t like lines in clothes, I just don’t like any of it at all.  So when Erika did not wear underwear beneath her designer dress, I empathized.  I mean, look what happened with Kyle.  You could see nearly every inch of her Spanx.  That is a fashion faux pas of the worst kind, and really should have been blamed for this whole incident because had Kyle chosen the correct form of underwear, or no underwear at all, Lisa V wouldn’t have playfully asked Erika to give Kyle her underwear and Erika would never have been forced to tell everyone she wasn’t wearing any so Lisa would cease lifting her skirt at the table. And really, now that I type this, it’s Lisa V’s insistence on shoving her nefarious nature down all of our throats which led us to this moment.  The woman will do anything for a sexual innuendo and to start some shit.

So Erika says she’s not wearing any underwear, as she sits legs together, napkin over legs.  Cut to “Perverted Knucklehead” chuckling coyly while sitting next to his wife, and then leaning over somewhat trying to get a better look! OMG.  OMG, hell no.  Helllllllll no.  I don’t know exactly the proper way for a husband to react to being told the woman sitting across from him isn’t wearing underwear, but that was definitely not it.  I’m trying to think of what my husband would have done.  Run away probably, but he’s afraid of all women who aren’t me so he’s a bad example.  Perhaps jokingly ask to switch seats with “Dorit” so you’re not directly across from Erika? Make a big, “WOAH!  Didn’t need to know that haha, can I get another gin and tonic over here??” awkward joke and move on WITHOUT TRYING TO SEE HER VAGINA FURTHER??

If you haven’t been watching, and you guessed that he kept trying to see what Erika Jane is always slapping in her music videos, you win.

A wise man would never mention this again to his wife.  And if she brought it up, a wise man would say, “I did not, would not look at your new friend’s lady bits at cocktail hour, now pass the peas please.”  But a wise man “Punchy Kookoo” is not.  He’s in the kitchen with “Dorit” and not only admits to looking for/at Erika’s box-o-secrets, but that he REALLY ENJOYED IT and COULD NOT STOP.

In the kitchen he said this. Where the knives are kept.  And “Dorit” is all, “I mean, he’s a man for Pete’s sake, who can blame him??”  And that’s how I know “P Kiddy” is paying this broad a LOT of money to say she’s his wife.

Cut to “Dorit” telling every housewife in history how Erika forced her husband to look up her skirt. She called Quinn and Lydia from Orange County.  She dialed up Adrienne Maloof and left a voicemail.  She drafted a telegram for Jill Zarin.  She sent a Messenger Pigeon to Taylor Armstrong in Aspen, but poor little guy unfortunately chose suicide by flight-into-jet-engine over having anything to do with this lame-ass scandal.

Now alllllll the ‘wives are talking about “PantyGate.”  “Dorit” decides to go as far to manufacture drama, thereby securing her spot on the show since they clearly need the money, as to buy Erika a pair of panties to present at the next event where everyone is there to witness the gifting.  So when they all meet up to do some human puzzle activity, “Dorit” makes a prettttttttty big deal about Erika’s vagina, how everyone saw it, and how she may be best served in covering it up going forward.  It made her husband “Pussy Krazed” super uncomfortable when he was trying really hard to stare at it.

I always say I would be the literal worst on this show.  It’s because I don’t care about any of this shit.  If this crazy lady with her accent made of a thousand accents came at me with that shit, I would be like, “Umm, that’s your incredibly embarrassing problem.” But maybe I actually would be good on this show, because that’s basically exactly what Erika said.  It was awesome. And “Dorit,” God bless her, as she does with everything else in her life- she tried SO HARD.  She really wanted this to be a scandal.  But it just wasn’t.  It was like this: Erika didn’t wear underwear, and “Dorit”’s husband thought that was awesome, tried to see up her skirt, told his wife he couldn’t help but look because it was freaking amazing and “Dorit” blamed Erika for her husband being disgusting.  And it was all so painfully transparent.  So much so that Erika was just like, “Gross, ok.”

Cut to Tuesday night’s dinner party at “Dorit” and “Practically Kitschy”s home where the most interesting people in the world gathered to talk about “The Haves and The Have-Nots” and who really killed JFK.  Dorit wore the world’s shortest red dress and made a point to show her desperation by telling her husband to tell her she looked hot and that, unlike Erika, she was wearing underwear.  Barf, lady. Lisa RInna somehow got invited, which I’m sure ultimately made her feel more punished than honored.  She was given a severe tongue-lashing by “Pernicious Knave” about last season’s fight she had with his dear, fake friend Lisa Vanderpump.  Lisa RInna tried to explain she’s turned over a new leaf and feels differently about life now that she knows people die.  She brought up how Eileen has lost so many people including her mother right before last season’s reunion which Eileen did not tell anyone about as to not garner fake-sympathy that could somehow be used against her.

This did not please “Pro Knickers.”  Not one bit.

“That is unfair!” he spat. “Those women deserved to know that your mother had just died!”

“Oy!” exclaimed “Dorit.” “I complete-lah agrah wit you-ah one hooondred percahnt!”

Eileen finds out about this peculiar stance against her choice to keep her mother’s death on an I-want-you-to-know basis and confronts “Dorit” about it at a one on one meeting between the two of them that I thought was going to take place with each in their own convertibles parked next to each other but ultimately moved to a random picnic table.

“All the other tables get picnics, and I get this?  I wish I could fly into a jet engine.” – Picnic Table

Eileen explains rather clearly the conversation that took place between “Dorit,” “Party Killer” and Lisa Rinna and why it bothers her that they would pass judgement on how she or anyone deals with the loss of a loved one.  And then “Dorit”s just like, “Whaht?  I litahrally have absoloooootily no idir whaht you ah toolking aboot…..”

WTF is this chick on? Seriously, what is it?  Is it some hybrid of Valium and Molly?  Is she the love child of vodka and lithium?  Because if she’s not on anything she is the worst, weirdest liar ever.

We end the latest episode with a bizarre (I know I keep using that word but it is consistently the most appropriate adjective) conversation wherein “Dorit” calls 45 year old Erika a “young girl,” asks how albums are made (isn’t “Poopy Kaka” a music manager or record producer or something?) and tells Eileen to basically “bugga ooff!”

Meanwhile, a sullen Camille Grammer quietly forks around her bone-in chicken breast wondering where she went so wrong.

  �ȣR �