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akiiyamashun · 2 years ago

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Okamura kept a hand on her stomach as she walked toward her husband's office. Amid the hum of wartime preparations and daily calls for money, soldiers, and horses, the Queen's Head of the Household had started to notice she was gaining weight. She dismissed it at first. The stress of recent events, the strange spells of sickness she seemed to have suffered lately, her inclination to feel hungrier and eat more . . . there were several potential explanations as to why she was this bloated. Okamura waved it away with tight dresses and the choice to ignore her newfound condition. After all, they were all far too busy. It wasn't until her belly gradually firmed ( leading to her being forced to finally change into a looser gown this morning ) that Okamura started to wonder.

She nodded to the armed servant that opened Akiyama's door and announced her. Okamura left her own guards outside, hands balling into her flowing skirt to lift it over the threshold. Beau reached her husband ( a new husband, but an old love ) significantly faster. The lion went out of his way to be a nuisance, shoving his head into Akiyama's legs and demanding passage under the diplomat's desk and chair instead of going around. Okamura laughed softly as she approached. In a way, she was glad Beau's antics had kept Akiyama in his seat.

Okamura stopped at Akiyama's side. She drew him against her middle gently, fingers carding through his dark locks. Painted lips smiled down at him affectionately.

"I have something I need to tell you," she said quietly. "I had . . . suspicions about my health after you left this morning. So, I cancelled my dealings today and went to see the old women at the medical academy who are wise about these things." Okamura laced her hands behind his shoulders, giving him more room to look at her if he wished. "I'm . . . pregnant, Shun. They say I'm early still, but with how I've grown - it's likely two. Twins."

Okamura's smile deepened at the thought of him with little ones running after him. Playing with Beau. Hanging onto her dresses. With any other individual, images of such domesticity ( and the role of motherhood at all ) would have turned her stomach in disgust. However, he was different ; he soothed her ferocious heart like the warmth of a pleasant fire she could always return to. She loved him, loved that he had never dreamed of trimming her claws even when they were little and she spoke back to him defiantly, loved that he embraced her no matter how plain or dressed up she was. Because they were his, she could carry and love these children ( and any others to come ). Wild things like her with hearts of gold like his, she hoped.

"If Her Majesty does pull you to go with the campaign, you will return home to a family of three instead of one," Okamura teased. "The old women believe I have five or six months left."

unscripted asks . always accepting

It was unexpected to some, perhaps, how much Akiyama’s workload had increased following the deflagration of the open war between the Kingdom of Solaris and Koutetsujima. In a way, it would seem that diplomatic efforts had failed and that no other pathway was left but the one of brute force and hard power through confrontation - and yet, the concerns of most of the other countries in the realm flooded his desk with daily missives, most notably from his own homeland.

It was strange - born and raised in Akari but living for so long abroad, Akiyama struggled to sometimes remember he was no local citizen; just a foreigner, like many that would undoubtedly come through the borders after being displaced by war. And yet, his work was not preparatory for that crisis - he was managing the anxieties and fears of other rulers who did not see Solaris emerging as a new power with any benevolence.

After all, balance in the region had been precariously maintained thanks to a long-standing tradition of neutrality and self-preservation, often enforced by the reigning Solarian queens. Melissa had disrupted that, despite Akiyama’s counsel time and time again - but whatever little correspondence arrived from the battlefield were bitter pills to swallow; as impulsive as the current monarch was... Her right was in the right place.

All he could do to help was to ensure his own king would feel the same - and keeping the balance of the rest of the world intact was draining him more than he anticipated, because Akiyama only realized he was no longer alone among his quills, maps and paper when Beau found him, asking for attention as if his step-father had no other chores. It made the man smile, at any rate - to be promoted from favorite chew toy to an acceptable provider of treats and caresses was a welcome change.

But Akiyama’s focus evidently shifted to his wife shortly thereafter, even if one of his hands remained over Beau’s mane, absentmindedly playing with the soft fur and feeling all the tiredness from the past hours evaporate from merely gazing at Okamura. A romantic, many labeled him - and he was powerless to fight that claim; he really did feel like the stars themselves had manifested in a room whenever the blonde walked in.

The diplomat leaned easily into her touch, but the smile on his face started to gradually reduce as she narrated her journey during that morning. The idea that she was unwell and needing the assistance of the medics almost had him reaching for the blonde with frantic concern, but at the last part of the news, he went visibly still. However, that absence of movement was short lived - his jaw dropped next, eyes wide and hands indeed seeking Okamura, clinging to the fabric of her dress.

“Pregnant? With my children?” Akiyama asked, only to hear the words he had said himself and laugh, shaking his head; of course they were his - they had been each other’s first (and last, he hoped) loves. There was no one else, save from some old folklore or myth from Solaris, that could get his wife pregnant. The idea was so incredibly... Delightful. Akiyama Shun had always insisted and persisted with Okamura because he wanted her for more than just the occasional kiss or the hidden affair in some room - he wished to marry her, make the woman the happiest of them all on the planet, to have a numerous and beautiful family with her.

He had no idea they would be successful this early... But they hadn’t been wasting any time in trying following their nuptials, he supposed.

“Azumi... My love, I’m so happy for you - for us!”, he said at last, bringing the woman close with the hands that remained on her, his face just on the right level to meet her belly and gently kiss it, the gesture more symbolic than anything. The diplomat had no doubt that she would make a great mother - and he would endeavor to be the best father he could. Akiyama had not been blessed with that type of overflowing affection and community at his ancestral home, but he craved it. This was their chance - to make a family as they saw fit, free of the shackles of whatever Akarian tradition would have them do.

At the last words of his wife, however, Akiyama looked up - there was no way he would be pulled into the conflict, he imagined; he was not a national, and Melissa surely wouldn’t want her best friend and stand-in ruler to be alone during such an important period of her life, even more so by local religion. “I am not leaving your side, Azumi - I will move this office into our chambers if needed, but I will be there for each and every step. Her Majesty is off with that scoundrel, and that already limits my choices severely,” he complained, his ever-present distrust of Dojima Daigo a constant of his recent advice for the crown, “The wise women will grow tired of my face and voice, I am sure.”

He grinned then - and gently steered Okamura a step back so he had room to leave the chair, coming to his full height. He didn’t tower significantly over the blonde - but he nevertheless bowed his head to meet her for a kiss half-way, the touch gentle, sweet and also a promise: he meant each and every word. He would be her guiding light in the absence of her best friend and inseparable companion.

“I love you, Azumi - as well as our children,” he added, resting his forehead against hers for a moment and enjoying their proximity for as long as Beau would allow it, “We will be so happy together - I can feel it.”

#iii. answered #rosegoldandsequins #dyn. (okamura - the goddess)#v: once upon a time #when I think he cannot be possibly more devoted to her #he just proves me wrong :)

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vinceaddams · 4 years ago

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obvs feel free to keep this private, but I got recommended the UFH channel by a friend of mine, haven't gotten around to watching anything from it. I trust your judgement on the content, but my friend considers it her main resource 🙃 of course, since you only watched a few videos you might not be able to answer this, but was there any specific really bad/unacademic approaches I should keep my eye out for that my friend might have adopted? we work on a historical festival together so im concern

(I was going to answer this privately but then it got really long and turned into a post I want to post.)

Oh dear! Well, It appears that the lady behind that channel only cares about the 20th century, so maaybe she’s got good stuff on the 20th century at least? I don’t know, but the 2 videos that I saw were so incredibly awful that I’m highly suspicious of all her stuff.

The first bad thing about her channel is that her videos all have a one or two sentence caption and nothing else. (I clicked on a few more just to check) No sources listed, no links of any kind except to her merch store. I don’t recall her mentioning any particular sources for any of the things she said in the videos either, she just declared them very matter of factly.

Good historians cite sources! Bernadette Banners’ video on the history of PPE has so many source links she ran out of room in the description box and had to put the rest of them on a page on her website. (Oh poo, now I feel a bit bad because I love Karolina Zebrowska but she really needs to do better with leaving source links. But she does talk about doing research, talk in a more nuanced way, and doesn’t present herself as an expert or academic, unlike the UFH lady.)

Good historians also embrace nuance, and aren’t afraid to say “I don’t know” or “I was wrong”. Presenting things in a “this person did this one big thing, and then this happened, and that caused this” kind of way isn’t good because history is more like “all these things happened and as far as we can tell it appears to have influenced this, which was also connected to this other stuff that we don’t know all that much about”. History is foggy and complicated, no matter how much the general public wants it to be simple.

Her description of herself also seems a bit... misleading? In her about page on youtube it says “Amanda Hallay, a college professor specializing in fashion, costume, and cultural history.” but if you look at the CV linked on her website the only degrees she has are in creative writing and art history. I’m not saying a person can’t be really knowledgable about something without a degree, but her whole online presence is about being a “professor” who teaches this stuff so I find it weird.

And if the 1850′s-60s video is anything to go by, she presents things in a shockingly unprofessional way. She starts off by saying she thinks these fashions are ugly and ridiculous and that she has some “theories of her own” on them. @marzipanandminutiae has a post with a lot more about what was wrong with that video, and a few others I haven’t seen. She claims that hoop skirts were oppressive cages when in reality they were a liberating garment that allowed women to achieve full skirts without the heavy layered petticoats they wore previously.

She posts a photo of a naked lady and says “Now lets start with a beautiful naked lady and cover her up with ugly and unflattering clothes. Now this sexy naked lady isn’t so sexy” I wish I was making this up but that’s almost word for word what she said. Along with a whole lot of untrue or exaggerated stuff about Victorian modesty. She says dresses with layered flounces were called “pagoda dresses”, which isn’t a term that anyone has ever used for those dresses. She says this is cut down from a longer video she uses for teaching class, and I find the thought of this being presented in a classroom quite appalling.

After spending about 95% of the video talking about womens fashion in an extremely condescending and disdainful tone of voice, she posts what appear to be the 5 biggest and most extreme examples of 19th century moustaches she could find, presenting them as if they were what every man looked like.

This part really grinds my gears, because she says “I haven’t said anything about menswear because there’s really not much to say.” She posts photos of suits from 5 different decades and says they’re basically all the same, and also basically the same as a modern suit. Excuse you, there is A LOT of difference between menswear of the 1850′s and the 1890′s. Yes the changes over the decades are more subtle, and the colours are often more subdued than in centuries past, but it is absolutely not (as she claims) “the century when men stopped doing fashion”. I personally am not hugely interested in 19th century mens fashion, and can tentatively date things in the first few decades but after the middle of the century I can’t. But people who are interested and who study that era can tell the decades apart. Because they’re different. And there is SO MUCH to talk about! Suits for different levels of formality, accessories, waistcoats, sportswear, sleepwear, knitwear, swimsuits, loungewear, underwear, etc. are all extremely different from their modern equivalents.

It’s perfectly fine to only study womens fashion if that’s what you’re interested in, but it is not okay to then declare that the history of mens fashion is worthless and nonexistent. Simply not being interested in a thing is no excuse for publicly shitting all over it. (I’ve seen people do this more than once. We already have so few men who do historical fashion stuff! Stop putting off newcomers who might be interested!!)

The fact that her online presence is so closed off is also highly unusual. Comments are turned off for her videos, and the only social media link she has is to a private facebook group. (There is also a link to a fb page, but it appears to have been deleted.) Turning off comments is of course the personal choice of the one posting the videos, but the fashion history side of youtube usually tends towards pretty decent comment threads, and people often have nice little discussions and learn stuff in them. Here it looks like she doesn’t want discussion, doesn’t want to be contradicted or asked for sources, doesn’t want to learn new things.

I had never even heard of this channel until I saw @marzipanandminutiae mention it, nor have I ever heard any of the many historical costumers/youtubers I follow mention it, yet somehow it has 55k followers? I don’t know the demographics that watch it (especially not with the comments turned off!) but I’d wager that videos like the 1850′s-60′s one I suffered through are mainly watched by people who like hearing things trash talked, rather than people who actually want to learn about fashion history. The same sort of people who loved that Beau Brummell twitter thread, which was also full of lies and unsourced garbage. People like to believe the past was way worse and grosser than it was because it makes them feel like we’re smarter and better now.

Lastly, the whole premise of the channel is just bad. Calling any one thing “The Ultimate Fashion History” is a bad idea. Her channel trailer says “Youtube’s number one channel for original fashion history content” “we’ve got it all, fifty thousand years of fashion history”. You can’t have one channel that’s the ultimate resource for ALL of fashion history! It’s a huge, HUGE subject, and even if she did do actual good research she’d barely be able to scratch the surface of fifty thousand years. That’s like saying one channel is the ultimate source for all of science, or all of music, or all of cooking. No one thing can come close to covering all of it. I will deign to admit that she’s at least right to call it “original”, because she has some very original lies I haven’t found anywhere else.

Most people who study fashion history/historical sewing have one or several eras they like best and find most interesting, perhaps with occasional jaunts into other eras. This way we can focus and get a much better understanding of the eras that we find most interesting, rather than just a vague notion of everything.

For example: I’m most interested in 18th century menswear, and so far have mainly researched and sewn 1785-95 stuff, and more recently some 1730′s. I usually focus on fashionable civilian clothing, so I don’t know as much about working class clothes, and next to nothing about military and other occupational dress. Even with this narrow area of interest, which I’ve been obsessed with for many years, I still have so much to learn! I could never make anything claiming to be the ultimate source for 18th century menswear, because I’m just one person focusing on some aspects, and there are other people out there who research other aspects of it and their work is just as important. It’s all so big and so much, even if you narrow it down to one era.

Amanda Hallay is basically holding up a bucket of saltwater and calling it the ocean.

I haven’t watched any of her 20th century videos, so maybe they’re better than the older ones I watched. I don’t know. (But even if they’re actually good they still don’t have source links.) Edit: okay, nope, turns out they’re just as bad! They appear to make up the vast majority of her videos, so if she’s most interested in the 20th century then maybe she should just... make her channel more clearly 20th century focused instead of trying to paint it as a channel for all eras?

TL;DR, the main bad things about that channel are:

Lying and making ridiculous claims, not citing ANY sources. Spouting easily debunked myths.

Stating things matter of factly without any nuance, even though history is foggy and complicated.

Being extremely judgemental about historical fashions and talking about how much she hates them and thinks they’re ugly, which really isn’t appropriate for a fashion history teacher. You can hear the disgust in her voice and it’s awful and I hate it.

Comments turned off on all her videos, leaving no way to communicate or have public discussions. Unknowing viewers are left to accept her statements as fact without any outside opinions.

Claiming one channel is the ultimate channel for an incalculably enormous subject. Says it covers 50,000 years of fashion history when it’s mostly just the 20th century.

I would like to add that I am not what I would consider an expert either, and have no formal education in fashion history beyond the one college class that was part of my 2 year sewing course. I have learned mainly from books and the internet, and as I said earlier I still have a huge amount to learn. I’m sure a more knowledgable historian could put things better than I have.

But I’m confident in stating that primary sources are needed to back up a claim! Sometimes even widely accepted beliefs turn out to be entirely unfounded myths, like that one about doctors using vibrators to treat “hysteria”. Total nonsense someone made up in 1999.

Wow this post got way longer than intended. Anyways, yes, I do not like condescending slideshow lady.

#dongiovannitriumphant #ask #irksome things #fashion #history #long post

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bananaofswifts · 4 years ago

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Your guide to the singer-songwriter’s surprise follow-up to Folklore.

CARL WILSON

When everything’s clicking for Taylor Swift, the risk is that she’s going to push it too far and overtax the public appetite. On “Mirrorball” from Folklore, she sings, with admirable self-knowledge, “I’ve never been a natural/ All I do is try, try, try.” So when I woke up yesterday to the news that at midnight she was going to repeat the trick she pulled off with Folklore in July—surprise-releasing an album of moody pop-folk songs remote-recorded in quarantine with Aaron Dessner of the National as well as her longtime producer Jack Antonoff—I was apprehensive. Would she trip back into the pattern of overexposure and backlash that happened between 1989 and Reputation?

Listening to the new Evermore, though, that doesn’t feel like such a threat. A better parallel might be to the “Side B” albums that Carly Rae Jepsen put out after both Emotion and Dedicated, springing simply out of the artist’s and her fans’ mutual enthusiasm. Or, closer to Swift’s own impulses here, publishing an author’s book of short stories soon after a successful novel. Lockdown has been a huge challenge for musicians in general, but it liberated Swift from the near-perpetual touring and publicity grind she’s been on since she was a teen, and from her sense of obligation to turn out music that revs up stadium crowds and radio programmers. Swift has always seemed most herself as the precociously talented songwriter; the pop-star side is where her try-hard, A-student awkwardness surfaces most. Quarantine came as a stretch of time to focus mainly on her maturing craft (she turns 31 on Sunday), to workshop and to woodshed. When Evermore was announced, she said that she and her collaborators—clearly mostly Dessner, who co-writes and/or co-produces all but one of these 15 songs—simply didn’t want to stop writing after Folklore.

This record further emphasizes her leap away from autobiography into songs that are either pure fictions or else lyrically symbolic in ways that don’t act as romans à clef. On Folklore, that came with the thrill of a breakthrough. Here, she fine-tunes the approach, with the result that Evermore feels like an anthology, with less of an integrated emotional throughline. But that it doesn’t feel as significant as Folklore is also its virtue. Lowered stakes offer permission to play around, to joke, to give fewer fucks—and this album definitely has the best swearing in Swift’s entire oeuvre.

Because it’s nearly all Dessner overseeing production and arrangements, there isn’t the stylistic variety that Antonoff’s greater presence brought to Folklore. However, Swift and Dessner seem to have realized that the maximalist-minimalism that dominated Folklore, with layers upon layers of restrained instrumental lines for the sake of atmosphere, was too much of a good thing. There are more breaks in the ambience on Evermore, the way there was with Folklore’s “Betty,” the countryish song that was among many listener’s favorites. But there are still moments that hazard misty lugubriousness, and perhaps with reduced reward.

Overall, people who loved Folklore will at least like Evermore too, and the minority of Swift appreciators who disapproved may even warm up to more of the sounds here. I considered doing a track-by-track comparison between the two albums, but that seemed a smidgen pathological. Instead, here is a blatantly premature Day 1 rundown of the new songs as I hear them.

A pleasant yet forgettable starting place, “Willow” has mild “tropical house” accents that recall Ed Sheeran songs of yesteryear, as well as the prolix mixed metaphors Swift can be prone to when she’s not telling a linear story. But not too severely. I like the invitation to a prospective lover to “wreck my plans.” I’m less sure why “I come back stronger than a ’90s trend” belongs in this particular song, though it’s witty. “Willow” is more fun as a video (a direct sequel to Folklore’s “Cardigan” video) than as a lead track, but I’m not mad at it here either.

Written with “William Bowery”—the pseudonym of Swift’s boyfriend Joe Alwyn, as she’s recently confirmed—this is the first of the full story songs on Evermore, in this case a woman describing having walked away from her partner on the night he planned to propose. The music is a little floaty and non-propulsive, but the tale is well painted, with Swift’s protagonist willingly taking the blame for her beau’s heartbreak and shrugging off the fury of his family and friends—“she would have made such a lovely bride/ too bad she’s fucked in the head.” Swift sticks to her most habitual vocal cadences, but not much here goes to waste. Except, that is, for the title phrase, which doesn’t feel like it adds anything substantial. (Unless the protagonist was drunk?) I do love the little throwaway piano filigree Dessner plays as a tag on the end.

This is the sole track Antonoff co-wrote and produced, and it’s where a subdued take on the spirit of 1989-style pop resurges with necessary energy. Swift is singing about having a crush on someone who’s too attractive, too in-demand, and relishing the fantasy but also enjoying passing it up. It includes some prime Swiftian details, like, “With my Eagles t-shirt hanging from your door,” or, “At dinner parties I call you out on your contrarian shit.” The line about this thirst trap’s “hair falling into place like dominos” I find much harder to picture.

This is where I really snapped to attention. After a few earlier attempts, Swift has finally written her great Christmas song, one to stand alongside “New Year’s Day” in her holiday canon. And it’s especially a great one for 2020, full of things none of us ought to do this year—go home to visit our parents, hook up with an ex, spend the weekend in their bedroom and their truck, then break their hearts again when we leave. But it’s done with sincere yuletide affection to “the only soul who can tell which smiles I’m faking,” and “the warmest bed I’ve ever known.” All the better, we get to revisit these characters later on the album.

On first listen, I found this one of the draggiest Dressner compositions on the record. Swift locates a specific emotional state recognizably and poignantly in this song about a woman trapped (or, she wonders, maybe not trapped?) in a relationship with an emotionally withholding, unappreciative man. But the static keyboard chord patterns and the wandering melody that might be meant to evoke a sense of disappointment and numbness risk yielding numbing and disappointing music. Still, it’s growing on me.

Featuring two members of Haim—and featuring a character named after one of them, Este—“No Body, No Crime” is a straight-up contemporary country song, specifically a twist on and tribute to the wronged-woman vengeance songs that were so popular more than a decade ago, and even more specifically “Before He Cheats,” the 2006 smash by Carrie Underwood, of which it’s a near musical clone, just downshifted a few gears. Swift’s intricate variation on the model is that the singer of the song isn’t wreaking revenge on her own husband, but on her best friend’s husband, and framing the husband’s mistress for the murder. It’s delicious, except that Swift commits the capital offence of underusing the Haim sisters purely as background singers, aside from one spoken interjection from Danielle.

This one has some of the same issues as “Tolerate It,” in that it lags too much for too long, but I did find more to focus on musically here. Lyrically and vocally, it gets the mixed emotions of a relatively amicable divorce awfully damned right, if I may speak from painfully direct experience.

This is the song sung from the POV of the small-town lover that the ambitious L.A. actress from “Tis the Damn Season”—Dorothea, it turns out—has left behind in, it turns out, Tupelo. Probably some years past that Xmas tryst, when the old flame finally has made it. “A tiny screen’s the only place I see you now,” he sings, but adds that she’s welcome back anytime: “If you’re ever tired of being known/ For who you know/ You know that you’ll always know me.” It’s produced and arranged with a welcome lack of fuss. Swift hauls out her old high-school-romance-songs vocal tone to reminisce about “skipping the prom/ just to piss off your mom,” very much in the vein of Folklore’s teen-love-triangle trilogy.

A duet with Dessner’s baritone-voiced bandmate in the National, Matt Berninger, “Coney Island” suffers from the most convoluted lyrics on Evermore (which, I wonder unkindly, might be what brought Berninger to mind?). The refrain “I’m on a beach on Coney Island, wondering where did my baby go” is a terrific tribute to classic pop, but then Swift rhymes it with “the bright lights, the merry go,” as if that’s a serviceable shorthand for merry-go-round, and says “sorry for not making you my centerfold,” as if that’s somehow a desirable relationship outcome. The comparison of the bygone affair to “the mall before the internet/ It was the one place to be” is clever but not exactly moving, and Berninger’s lines are worse. Dessner’s droning arrangement does not come to the rescue.

This song is also overrun with metaphors but mostly in an enticing, thematically fitting way, full of good Swiftian dark-fairytale grist. It’s fun to puzzle out gradually the secret that all the images are concealing—an engaged woman being drawn into a clandestine affair. And there are several very good “goddamns.”

The lyrical conceit here is great, about two gold-digging con artists whose lives of scamming are undone by their falling in love. It reminded me of the 1931 pre-Code rom-com Blonde Crazy, in which James Cagney and Joan Blondell act out a very similar storyline. And I mostly like the song, but I can’t help thinking it would come alive more if the music sounded anything like what these self-declared “cowboys” and “villains” might sing. It’s massively melancholy for the story, and Swift needs a far more winningly roguish duet partner than the snoozy Marcus Mumford. It does draw a charge from a couple of fine guitar solos, which I think are played by Justin Vernon (aka Bon Iver, who will return shortly).

The drum machine comes as a refreshing novelty at this point. And while this song is mostly standard Taylor Swift torrents of romantic-conflict wordplay (full of golden gates and pedestals and dropping her swords and breaking her high heel, etc.), the pleasure comes in hearing her look back at all that and shrugging, “Long story short, it was a bad ti-i-ime,” “long story short, it was the wrong guy-uy-uy,” and finally, “long story short, I survived.” She passes along some counsel I’m sure she wishes she’d had back in the days of Reputation: “I wanna tell you not to get lost in these petty things/ Your nemeses will defeat themselves.” It’s a fairly slight song but an earned valedictory address.

Swift fan lore has it that she always sequences the real emotional bombshell as Track 5, but here it is at 13, her lucky number. It’s sung to her grandmother, Marjorie Finlay, who died when Swift was in her early teens, and it manages to be utterly personal—down to the sample of Marjorie singing opera on the outro—and simultaneously utterly evocative to anyone who’s been through such grief. The bridge, full of vivid memories and fierce regrets, is the clincher.

This electroacoustic kiss-off song, loaded up with at least a fistful of gecs if not a full 100 by Dessner and co-producers BJ Burton and James McAlister, seems to be, lyrically, one of Swift’s somewhat tedious public airings of some music-industry grudge (on which, in case you don’t get it, she does not want “closure”), but, sonically, it’s a real ear-cleaner at this point on Evermore. Why she seems to shift into a quasi-British accent for fragments of it is anyone’s guess. But I’m tickled by the line, “I’m fine with my spite and my tears and my beers and my candles.”

I’m torn about the vague imagery and vague music of the first few verses of the album’s final, title track. But when Vernon, in full multitracked upper-register Bon Iver mode, kicks in for the duet in the middle, there’s a jolt of urgency that lands the redemptive ending—whether it’s about a crisis in love or the collective crisis of the pandemic or perhaps a bit of both—and satisfyingly rounds off the album.

#taylor-swift #pop #rock #country-music

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suttcnfm · 4 years ago

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hi it’s me your least favorite ( and most favorite ) person hailey back at it again making a bio that’s way too long . this is sutton , she’s my whimiscal fairy child who’s endured a lot please be gentle with her !! or ruin her life !! whatever you want !!

𝒑𝒂𝒓𝒕 𝒊. 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐚𝐩𝐩𝐥𝐢𝐜𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧

( elizabeth lail, cisfemale, she/her, pisces, 25 ) i spotted sutton harvey at the beach today. don’t you know them? they live down by the boardwalk and usually hang out with the artists & boho clique. from what i’ve heard, they can be finicky, but they’re also effervescent. i always think of them when i hear fuck it i love you - lana del rey and tend to associate them with mom jeans stained with acrylic paint, the taste of strawberry lemonade, & white cotton sundresses

𝒑𝒂𝒓𝒕 𝒊𝒊. 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐬𝐭𝐚𝐬𝐢𝐬𝐭𝐢𝐜𝐬

𝐟𝐮𝐥𝐥 𝐧𝐚𝐦𝐞

sutton elise harvey

𝐧𝐢𝐜𝐤𝐧𝐚𝐦𝐞(𝐬)

her mom used to call her ellie

𝐛𝐢𝐫𝐭𝐡𝐝𝐚𝐲

february 22nd

𝐚𝐠𝐞

twenty - five ( 25 )

𝐡𝐞𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭

five foot eight inches ( 5′ 8″ )

𝐠𝐞𝐧𝐝𝐞𝐫

female

𝐩𝐫𝐨𝐧𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐬

she / her

𝐨𝐜𝐜𝐮𝐩𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧(𝐬)

painter and art contributor for sunhollow museum

𝐥𝐚𝐧𝐠𝐮𝐚𝐠𝐞(𝐬)

english & french

𝐨𝐫𝐢𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧

bisexual & biromantic

𝐟𝐚𝐜𝐞𝐜𝐥𝐚𝐢𝐦

elizabeth lail

𝒑𝒂𝒓𝒕 𝒊𝒊𝒊. 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐩𝐞𝐫𝐬𝐨𝐧𝐚𝐥𝐢𝐭𝐲

𝐳𝐨𝐝𝐢𝐚𝐜

pisces sun, gemini rising, & aries moon

𝐚𝐥𝐢𝐠𝐧𝐦𝐞𝐧𝐭

chaotic neutral

𝐦𝐛𝐭𝐢

enfp-a

𝐞𝐧𝐧𝐚𝐭𝐲𝐩𝐞

type 4w3 ( the individualist )

𝐭𝐞𝐦𝐩𝐞𝐫𝐚𝐦𝐞𝐧𝐭

sanguine-melancholic

𝐡𝐨𝐮𝐬𝐞

hufflepuff

𝐥𝐨𝐯𝐞 𝐥𝐚𝐧𝐠𝐮𝐚𝐠𝐞𝐬

how she loves others - acts of service, gift giving, & quality time

how she needs to be loved - quality time & physical touch

𝐜𝐡𝐚𝐫𝐚𝐜𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐢𝐧𝐬𝐩𝐨

cassie ainsworth ( skins ) , luna lovegood ( harry potter ) , bubbles ( powerpuff girls ) , claire colburn ( elizabethtown ) , bmo ( adventure time )

𝒑𝒂𝒓𝒕 𝒊𝒗. 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐛𝐢𝐨𝐠𝐫𝐚𝐩𝐡𝐲

triggers ( these are all the triggers as they appear throughout , they will be tagged accordingly ) : death mention , cancer and death tw , drug mention , sexual assault tw , addiction tw , drugs tw , and drug mention

𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐞𝐦𝐞𝐫𝐠𝐞𝐧𝐜𝐞.

the first time warm brown eyes peered into her mothers a connection was formed , the eldest daughter to what would soon be an expansive harvey household . this very moment would be the catalyst of a bond that formed sutton into who she is , though i am getting ahead of myself .

sutton harvey grew up in julian california a town that carried the suffocating small town feel of suburbia despite being mere minutes outside of the hustle and bustle of los angeles . though it should be mentioned that she preferred the quiet stillness of a town where she could known by someone for something .

her parents were an interesting pair . her mother a free spirited enigmatic young woman who believed in healing through love and nature , and her father a struggling mean - spirited business tycoon always looking for the next thing he could exploit . but despite their clashing personalities and seemingly opposite morals , they were in love , had been since high school , and they balanced each other out almost perfectly .

but as it turns out almost perfect wasn’t good enough for her father , who split when she was eight , leaving behind sutton’s heart broken mother , and five kids to raise alone .

the family was hardly making a enough to survive before the sudden departure of her father , and so this left an eight - year - old sutton to step up to the plate and help her mother , raising her siblings while her mom tried to find steady work .

as the years went on and her siblings had more and more needs things only got more difficult . trying to provide for five children on one paycheck isn’t exactly the easiest thing that one can do after all .

sutton prayed that she’d be graced with the same mean streak that her father had , but alas she was gentle at heart , similar to her mother an enigmatic personality that was hard to pin down .

while it worked in her benefit with most people , it is difficult to raise children without practical dreams , something sutton had never been a fan of , there were times when this became a point of contention between her and younger sister reece , but for the most part her siblings recognized how difficult a thing their sister was doing .

𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐡𝐮𝐫𝐫𝐢𝐜𝐚𝐧𝐞.

DEATH MENTION her teenage years came much faster than she anticipated , and while life had been mostly smooth sailing in her eyes , there were things that sutton simply wasn’t prepared for . the loss of her mother was one of them .

CANCER & DEATH TW unbeknownst to any of her children , behind the scenes sutton’s mother had been suffering from breast cancer , and she’d opted out of getting treatment , something they couldn’t afford with the minimal money she was bringing in , and instead she suffered in silence so they would have a chance at survival .

everyone , including sutton herself , expected her to break . the bond that the two had built was immeasurable and sutton had never shown the ablitiy to be grounded before . her and her mother were both two enigmas perfectly coexisting , and suddenly it was up to sutton to figure out what to do .

DRUGS & ALCOHOL TW enter sutton’s aunt , claire , who begrudgingly left her life in las vegas to come and watch over her nieces and nephews at the price that she would blow most of the money the received on drugs and alcohol .

DRUG MENTION there wasn’t a day sutton could remember that she didn’t come home to her aunt passed out with vodka bottles littering the floor or strung out on coke with a man sutton had never seen before on their couch .

sutton’s resilience was the only thing that kept her going , she shielded her siblings from as much as she could , knowing that this was the last thing they needed to be their reality , and for the most part , it worked .

SEXUAL ASSAULT TW then came another decimating blow , on a day like any other sutton’s aunt for once sober enough to drive , pulled sutton out of school early and took her home . and what seemed like an out of character behavior for aunt to exhibit , became crystal clear when sutton saw the man waiting for her on the couch .

SEXUAUL ASSAULT TW this became another habit of her aunt’s , pulling sutton out of school in order to use her body to score drugs . then bringing her back and forcing her to act normal , as if things were still totally fine .

sutton put on a brave face for her siblings , but was slowly cracking under the pressure of everything that seemed to be perfectly chipping away at the person she once was .

this is until she met a boy , a musician with a similar story to hers , who she completely connected with in a way that was rivaled only by her mother . him and her seemed to have the same bleeding wounds that could only be healed by each other .

cue nights at the beach , swapping stories , and endless road trips confined to their little bubble of bliss . he fueled the artist within her . painting upon painting of the way he made her feel , how his music moved her , for once the world didn’t seem so cruel .

but of course , the world was determined to prove sutton harvey wrong . with a sudden disappearance of both her first love and her aunt , the latter of which ran back to vegas with her new beau , she’d felt abandoned just as before . and here is where sutton harvey finally cracked .

𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐚𝐟𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐦𝐚𝐭𝐡.

she and her siblings moved in with her father , who living a more lavish and childless lifestyle with his new fiancée in san diego . the harvey siblings were yet again tasked with raising themselves .

ADDICTION TW with her siblings growing older , and sutton having mounds of unprocessed trauma , and she began to mix with the wrong crowd . finding the numbing of substances felt better than the hollow numbness of being abandoned by every person she’d ever loved .

art and school alike became distant priorities as she spent her last nights as a senior doing ecstasy on the beach and hooking up with randoms just to feel alive again .

DRUGS TW after just barely graduating , sutton spent her new found freedom getting high , having sex , and wasting her life away . struggling to find any sense of self in everything she’d done , her entire life seemed to have been lived for other people .

this only made her further spiral , trying to convince herself that even though this was having a negative toll on her , at least for once she was living for herself .

DRUG MENTION this was until while she was coming down from an immense high she stumbled upon a record store where through the window she caught a small glimpse of her past , of the person she used to be , the face of the boy who’d up and left all those years ago .

her entire world seemed to collide with her heart at that very moment . for a fleeting moment she felt like the girl she was in high school , full of life , love , and most importantly art .

𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐫𝐞𝐬𝐮𝐫𝐫𝐞𝐜𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧.

after this near encounter with her past self , she worked heavily on getting sober . and has now been clean for five years !!

after her first year of getting sober she worked multiple jobs to buy a small studio apartment where she could begin painting again , and even made strides to reconnect with her father and her siblings whom she’d since distanced herself from .

soon enough she became an art contributor for the local museum and earns her income between hosting small art galleries on the pier and the aforementioned art contributions .

after three years of sobriety , more widely recognized art , and a proper relationship with her father , he gifted her a beach house where she spends a majority of her time .

what started as one cat to keep her company turned into nine because if there’s one thing that sutton lacks it’s control .

she has fully embraced the person she was and the person she aims to be . her personality is a direct influence on who her mother was because if there’s anyone that sutton looks up into in life , it’s her . the best way i could describe her personality is the embodiment of the quote , “ i could never be the main character . i exist solely in the fevered imaginations of sensitive writer-directors to teach broodingly soulful young men to embrace life and its infinite mysteries . ”

𝒑𝒂𝒓𝒕 𝒗. 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐜𝐡𝐚𝐫𝐚𝐜𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐝𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐥𝐨𝐩𝐦𝐞𝐧𝐭

𝐟𝐚𝐯𝐨𝐫𝐢𝐭𝐞𝐬

𝐜𝐨𝐥𝐨𝐫

lavender

𝐰𝐞𝐚𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐫

light fog because she likes the scenery it creates

𝐭𝐢𝐦𝐞 𝐨𝐟 𝐝𝐚𝐲

dawn, there’s something pure to her about the stillness of the earth at that time of day and !! it’s when she gets a lot of her painting done !!

𝐚𝐧𝐢𝐦𝐚��(𝐬)

butterflies and elephants

𝐞𝐦𝐨𝐣𝐢𝐬

🍒🥺✨😡🌈🦋🤡🥰

𝐟𝐚𝐦𝐢𝐥𝐲

𝐦𝐨𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐫

penelope harvey ; deceased

𝐟𝐚𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐫

maxwell harvey ; alive

𝐬𝐢𝐛𝐥𝐢𝐧𝐠(𝐬)

reece harvey ; sister

elizabeth harvey ; sister

wyatt harvey ; brother

casey harvey ; brother

𝐥𝐢𝐟𝐞𝐬𝐭𝐲𝐥𝐞

𝐞𝐝𝐮𝐜𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧

high school diploma

𝐩𝐞𝐭𝐬

in order of breed : poppy ( scottish fold ) , milo ( scottish fold ) , taz ( scottish fold ) , jasper ( british shorthair ) , archie ( british shorthair ) , sadie ( british shorthair ) , ginger ( maine coon ) , hunter ( maine coon ) , and felix ( maine coon )

𝐡𝐨𝐛𝐛𝐢𝐞𝐬

painting , sketching , learning languages , reading , photography , writing , sewing , thrifting , playing instruments ( mostly the guitar ) , and baking

𝐥𝐢𝐯𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐬𝐢𝐭𝐮𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧

a beach house gifted from her father but splits her time between a studio apartment cramped with art and a beach house filled with cats

𝐬𝐥𝐞𝐞𝐩𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐡𝐚𝐛𝐢𝐭𝐬

has a tendency to not sleep enough , has occasional nightmares , and is prone to frequent tossing and turning . but when she does fall asleep , it’s almost a guarantee you won’t be able to wake her up . she’s an extremely heavy sleeper .

𝐞𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐡𝐚𝐛𝐢𝐭𝐬

honestly it’s a toss - up she either eats junk food for a straight week and has never seen a vegetable in her life , or she is on a health binge and all you’re going to find in her house is snap peas and baby carrots .

𝐚𝐞𝐬𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐭𝐢𝐜𝐬

sunrises , house plants , soft hands , fuzzy socks , the color yellow , vanilla scented candles , soft lips , rosy cheeks , strawberries , freshly manicured nails , over sweetened coffee , kiss marks on napkins , dewy skin , french words , paint stained clothing , midnight conversations , a sweet tooth , gold jewelry , warm hugs , gentle voice , and dancing in the rain .

𝒑𝒂𝒓𝒕 𝒗𝒊. 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐰𝐚𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐧𝐞𝐜𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧𝐬

uhhhh so i have wasted all my brain power on this so some suggestions are exes , fwbs , unrequited crushes , skinny love , slow burn , a girl squad , ride or dies , work friends or maybe someone who admires her work , best friends , fake relationship , enemies , ex - friends , enemies turned friends , friends turned enemies , good influence , bad influence , old party friends , one night stand(s) , , neighbors , secret friends , and those are all the suggestions i can come up with at the moment ! feel free to message me with plot ideas i promise i will scream and cry over .

#hqclique.intro #death mention #death tw #cancer tw #assault tw #addiction tw #drugs tw #( this is bad but please love me because it took FOREVER . )

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gershwinn · 5 years ago

Photo

Every Romantic Photo Cole Sprouse Has Taken of Lili Reinhart

By now, you’d have to be living under a rock not to know that Cole Sprouse and Lili Reinhart are one of Hollywood’s most adorable couples. The Riverdale costars have walked many a red carpet together, and they’ve accumulated a healthy stockpile of swoon-worthy social media moments, from cute comments to romantic Instagram tributes.

One of the most notable hallmarks of their relationship is the collection of artistic portraits Cole has taken of Lili. In fact, a whimsical photo of Lili lounging in a flower field was one of the first pieces of “evidence” leading fans to believe that the two actors might actually be dating IRL. In the months that have passed since that initial photo shoot, there have been plenty more artsy pictures, and it’s clear that Lili has become a muse for her costar and beau.

Ahead, check out all of the gorgeous pictures Cole has shared of Lili — going all the way back to those relationship rumors of spring 2017. We definitely think he wins Instagram Boyfriend of the Year award…and maybe just regular Boyfriend of the Year, too.

May 2019

In addition to capturing a photo of Lili that straight-up resembled a painting at this year’s Met Gala, Cole shared a beautiful portrait of his GF gazing pensively down at her reflection in the water. Wearing a silky orange dress with one strap slipping past her shoulder, Lili looked like she stepped off the pages of a fairy tale — and we don’t doubt that was the intention.

colesprouse: Some mercurial pool

lilireinhart:

colesprouse: Met gala 2019

February 2019

Who wouldn’t want to spend Valentine’s Day traipsing through the snow while doing a romantic photo shoot with your significant other? The pics Cole captured of Lili during the winter months are nothing short of breathtaking.

colesprouse: Another one just for good measure

colesprouse: Quite actually the only thing keeping me sane is @lilireinhart

colesprouse: "How do the people you shoot even tolerate you?” @lilireinhart on ‘making her suffer for my art’

September 2018

In honor of Lili’s 22nd birthday on September 13, Cole shared an intimate portrait of the Riverdale star, calling her his “little muse,” and describing her as “both the birthday and the gift.” OK, wow.

colesprouse: Both the birthday and the gift. My little muse, happy birthday my love

colesprouse:

April 2018

Behind the lens, Cole made Lili look like an IRL angel during this beach photo shoot, with the help of a sheer white dress and the perfect seashore breeze.

colesprouse:

colesprouse: You’re the 🐠

March 2018

Cole also knows how to get creative with props, like these aptly placed roses as Lili posed in the snow, transforming into a blonde version of Snow White.

colesprouse:

lilireinhart: I can’t feel my face

October 2017

One of the best parts of Cole and Lili’s photo shoots? The outfits. Not sure about you, but I’m still obsessing about this red silk shirt and ornate choker necklace

lilireinhart: Sorry, you can’t come in my boujee boudoir

colesprouse: 410

lilireinhart: You go first.

August 2017

Whether it’s a flower field or a corn field, Cole always finds the perfect backdrop for an Instagram-worthy picture

colesprouse: 🌾

April 2017

One of their earliest shoots featured Lili in a black gown sitting amid rows of orange flowers, with the clearest blue skies behind her. “Thank you for indulging me,” she wrote on the ‘gram.

lilireinhart: Blackbird

lilireinhart: Thank you for indulging me.

lilireinhart: Can’t help it. Here’s another.

March 2017

Last but certainly not least, the pictures — and the sunflowers — that started it all. We can't wait to see what other photo shoots this power couple will dream up next.

colesprouse: 🌷🌼🌷🌼👩🏼🌼🌷🌼🌷

lilireinhart: Sister Golden Hair

Source: Teen Vogue

#Am I being toooooooo extra by doing all this? perhaps #would i do it again? yup #LOOK AT ALL THAT ART #it's just fucking amaizng #and i needed it #sh #sh photography #and they still leeft a bunch out too!!!#like how??#holy shit #i love their love #so much #been slowly building this since they made it lol

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flowercoasts · 5 years ago

Text

since seventeen, the kids i’ll never be - a beau gen fic

The Mighty Nein pass through Kamordah and Beau wants to close old wounds.

Read on AO3, or

NOTES: implied/referenced child abuse, justice and catharsis for beau

words: 5634

~~~

“We’ll pass through Kamordah then.”

Beau freezes, the ball bearing she was playing with instead of paying attention nearly slipping through her fingers as she tenses, her mind racing a mile a minute.

Jester, standing next to her, lays a hand on her arm. “Are you okay?”

Everyone turns to look at her. Why does everyone love being nosy? Beau wishes the ground would open up or a dragon would come flying by. She swallows. Her throat is much too dry. “Yeah.” That was raspy as fuck. Beau clears her throat, plasters on her usual half-smirk. “Yeah, just was surprised, is all. This fucker -“ Beau gestures to the ball bearing in her palm. “Nearly dislocated my… knuckle.” It’s a lie. A shitty lie at that. From the looks on everyone’s faces, no one believes her either.

“Will you be okay,” Fjord starts calmly, a look of concern painted into the downturn of his lips, “with us going into your hometown?”

Jester and Nott suck in a breath at the same time and let out little “Oh”s that make Beau feel like hitting something. Not them. Well, maybe Nott, but not Jester. She just really hates being fucking pitied and looked at the way they’re looking at her now, though.

She grits her teeth. “Look. It’s not a big fucking deal. I couldn’t give two shits.” Short and sharp. Caduceus frowns at her tone and Fjord holds his hands up placatingly. Beau sighs, runs a hand through her hair, trying her damndest to ignore Jester’s puppy eyes and Nott’s more-than-slightly disapproving glare. “... Sorry.”

Caleb approaches slowly and smiles at her with so much apprehension that just seeing his awkwardness hurts her. “Beauregard, we do not have to go.”

“There are many paths that lead to the same destination, Ms. Beau.” Cadences sips calmly from his tea, his voice a distant afterthought. “This one happens to be the fastest, but sometimes the fastest things are not the best.”

“Ye-ahhh… what Caduceus said,” Fjord mutters with a side-eye and a raised eyebrow.

Jester touches Beau’s elbow fleetingly, drawing her attention away from concerned gazes to wide purple eyes. “We won’t judge you. Not for anything. You know that - right, Beau?” Beau dryly swallows, her eyelids fluttering briefly at the memory of rougher grips on her arms, the disapproving frowns, the ugly sneers of a disappointed father.

She clears her throat. “Uh, yeah. Yeah.”

“Are your parents.. awful people?” Nott questions. Her ears are more alert than Beau’s seen in a while.

It’s slightly weird that it’s Nott who knows the most about Beau and not Caleb or Jester or Fjord, but Beau’s not one to knock another for being nosey and inquisitive. From being a nosey person herself, Beau thinks it’s respectable, if nothing else.

She bites her lip and thinks back to an unhappy childhood - remembering everything from the number of places she left her name etched into old wood to the unrelenting yells of her father. He was never happy with her, no matter how hard she tried. So she stopped trying. Their relationship got worse from there, while all Beau’s mother did was watch uncaringly. She was a bad child. Beau knew that. So yeah, she might’ve given them a hard time and yeah they might’ve caused her emotional trauma to last a lifetime but seriously, it could’ve been worse. Right?

“No,” Beau says finally. Her voice wavers. “I was just a… difficult child.”

Something lightens in Nott’s eyes, like a weight lifted off of her shoulders just by that one sentence. Beau doesn’t know whether to feel relieved or sick. There’s no clear reason to feel sick, though, and it seems stupid to feel that way, so Beau forces herself to feel relieved instead. God, it’s like she’s fucking five. Kamordah sucks. This whole mission sucks.

“Why do we have to go through Kamordah?” Beau finally saunters up to the table in the middle of the war room, finding herself a spot in between Fjord and Caleb while Caduceus pours more tea for everyone on a spot on the table not taken up by the map of the Empire. She glances to the weather-worn yellow paper and finds the image of Kamordah circled in a horribly bright pink ink. It makes her shiver in disgust.

Before she can comment her dislike of the implementation of pink ink on the map, Caleb answers her question. “Well, we need to find Lonardo. He lives just near Kamordah.” He guides her gaze to a point on the map with his finger. “Here. Brightburn Hollow.”

“Oh, Bright Slag? I know that place.”

“You do?” Fjord leans forward in interest.

“Oh yeah.” Beau grins cockily. “I had so many good times there. Used to be a frequent criminal hangout but after the city tightened its leash on patrols it was mostly used for secretive meetings and the occasional fight.”

“And I’m guessing you were a part of them?”

“Of fucking course.”

“Ye-up.”

“So, Beauregard, to answer your question,” Caleb cuts in as Beau’s smirk in Fjord’s direction turns a little too mischievous for his liking, “This Lonardo lives only a 30 minute walk from your former hometown. If it is alright with you, we will be making a short pit stop in Kamordah.”

Beau remembers clenched teeth and stinging slaps and thrown away art projects. She remembers the cutting of hair, the never quite fitting in, the darkness of her room. Beau remembers it all and feels a dull ache in the center of her stomach. By Ioun, she just wants to lay down.

“What the fuck are we waiting around here for then, let’s get a move on!”

~~~

“Ugh,” Beau groans, flipping over onto her stomach and for the fifth time in the past hour: “Are we there yet?”

“Asking every ten seconds doesn’t change my answer,” Fjord calls back from the front the same time that Caleb answers, “30 minutes.”

Beau lets out a long-suffering groan and bangs her head down extra hard on the bumpy wooden floor of their magic cart. Jester nudges the monk’s limp arm with the point of her tail.

“Ow,” Beau mumbles against the wood, not seriously.

Jester nudges her again, this time harder. “Beauuu,” She sing-songs. Beau groans. Another jab, this time at Beau’s side.

“Ugh. Yes, Jester?”

“Why don’t we do something to pass the time?”

“... I don’t trust that wiggle in your eyebrows.”

“Aw, come on! It’ll be suuuper fun!”

“The last time you said that, the guards almost sent us to jail.”

“But there aren’t any guard around right now! And besides, I don’t want to do anything illegal, just something like reading a book like Tusk Love… or something.” The last ‘or something’ comes rushing out of Jesters mouth at the look of disgust that passes Beau’s face.

“Fine.” Beau turns over so she’s laying on her side facing Jester. “What do you wanna do?”

“What about dodge-the-arrow?” Nott pipes up, holding her crossbow aimed at Beau and grinning a little too manically for her liking.

“Uh, pass.” The crossbow lowers, much to Beau’s relief.

Caduceus peers down at Beau from his somehow-still-steaming tea and smiles pleasantly. She tries to mimic it, but her face feels too tight to be correct, so she drops the smile altogether. “When I was younger, my siblings and I would play this game whenever we had time to spare.”

At that mention, Jester shifts closer to Caduceus. “Ooooh! What game? I bet it was something really fun.” Beau questions that assumption but doesn’t say anything about it.

“Well,” Cad starts, eyes alight with reminiscence, “We would count the trees.”

There’s a beat of silence, and Beau half expects Caduceus to keep on talking. He doesn’t. A confused and crestfallen look slowly takes over Jester’s features, but she plasters on a supportive toothy grin to cover up most of the confusion. “That sounds fun, but maybe we could play something else? Just for now?”

That sets Nott and Jester off on a tangent about the best travel games, which then evolves into a conversation about the best shanties and songs and after that Beau stops paying attention. Cad gets lost too, somewhere between the dick jokes and the 88th bottle on the wall.

Instead, Beau looks out at the scenery to pass the time. The trees seem familiar. They’re not quite green during this time of the year, but their bark is still the same. Purple-brown. If they went deeper into the wood, Beau could probably find the tree that she fell out of after carving her name in one of the larger branches.

“15 minutes now,” Fjord calls back.

15 minutes. Just a handful of minutes until Beau is back in the town she spent her whole life resenting - still resents. Maybe even ten minutes after that and they’ll see Beau’s parents. Well. They don’t have to right? They’re just going to the inn, buying rooms, stocking up, and then booking it to their target.

Beau sighs, runs a hand through her hair, and stares out even harder into the passing trees. The cart bobs up and down with the bumps in the road; Beau remembers one time that giants tried invading Kamordah and tore the road up in the process. It took the city years to rebuild, and it seems that they did a poor job at it. One particularly large bump nearly sends Beau up in the air if not for Jester’s tail winding itself around her arm like a safety rope.

“Thanks,” Beau blinks at Jester.

“No problem!” Jester sticks her tongue out at Beau.

She can do this. She has her friends with her.

Her parents can’t do anything against the might of The Mighty Nein.

~~~

Tall stone towers loom above their heads as they pass through the gates of Kamordah. Beau stares at the two lion statues hanging halfway up the towers, their soulless gaze sending chills up her spine.

The guards gaze at carefully Fjord’s arm around Caleb’s shoulders as Fjord and Caleb smoothly explain their previously agreed-upon cover story. When Jester first suggested the ‘honeymoon plan’ with Caleb and Fjord acting as the happy couple, Beau was a little skeptical, but seeing the two now… well, they seem more comfortable than Beau could’ve ever guessed. She cuts a side glance to Jester, wondering if that was her plan all along. If Jester’s ecstatic grin is anything to go by, it definitely was.

One of the smaller guards comes closer to the back of the cart. The four hidden under the cart’s invisibility spell collectively hold their breath, eyes widening in fear. As the guard starts to examine the back more closely, the head guard nods to Fjord and Caleb.

“Let them pass!”

While the others quietly sigh in relief, a heavy knot forms in the pit of Beau’s stomach. The twin lion statues mounted on the wall stare mercilessly at her as they drive past. It makes her just as scared as it did when she was seven and running away from home. Those lions always made her turn back. All five times.

“- do we go?” Fjord’s voice slowly comes into focus, like a beacon slicing through the fog.

“Huh?” Beau wrenches her attention from the uncaring statues watchful eyes to Fjord’s warm golden gaze. He’s looking at her with such a concerned look it makes her stomach churn even more violently.

“Fjord was just asking where we should go, Miss Beau.”

The half-orc in question nods at Caduceus’ explanation and turns around so he’s facing forward again. “Yeah, I just figure that you’re more familiar with -“ He makes a gesture with his hand to indicate the general area.

Beau grunts noncommittal in reply and ignores Jester’s not-so-subtle nudge to her shoulder.

Caleb considers her for a moment. “Should we ask someone, then?”

Scrubbing a hand over her face, Beau sighs. “Nah, I can lead you around. I just -“ She looks out into the street, recognizing some familiar faces walking along the side of the road. Quickly averting her gaze, she clears her throat. “Take a left up ahead and we should come across Greasy Ace Tavern.”

Fjord nods and starts the horses moving again, and the cart slowly ambles down the street with soft clacks that break the morning quiet that’s settled over the thoroughfare. The atmosphere of town creeps upon Beau like a too-heavy blanket. It’s warm, sure, and it’s comforting to know they’re some of the only people up, sure, but Beau’s never known Kamordah to be quiet. It leaves a lead weight in her stomach.

Nott voices her unease before Beau can even think to. “It’s very quiet for a trading and tourist town.”

“Our guy may have something to do with that,” Beau speculates. The others nod.

“Let’s go find out then,” Fjord stops the horses, and all of them step off the cart and into the dimly lit Greasy Ace.

Beau can’t seem to shake the growing unease she feels with each second spent in Kamordah.

~~~

“We don’t have to do this.” A blue hand wraps around Beau’s wrist - a solid presence grounding her against the raging tempest she feels caught up in. Beau’s fist pauses, one breath away from knocking on the heavy wooden oak door that haunts her dreams. The brass lion knocker stares at her unflinchingly.

Another hand, this time landing on her shoulder. Beau looks back and finds warm yellow eyes. Fjord nods at her, the hand on her shoulder squeezing comfortingly. Curling around her other shoulder, Frumpkin butts his head against the underside of her chin and Beau blinks at him, seeing her reflection in his eyes. Flanked by steady walls of support, Beau steels herself, breathes in deep, and raps her knuckles against the door.

It takes only a minute or so for someone to answer, but time could not move any slower for Beau. With each passing moment, the urge to run or hide becomes more and more predominant. Beau feels a restless energy thrumming under her skin, like lightning crackling through her blood. She wants to move. She wants to run. She’s wants to -

“Welcome to the Lionett estate. What business may you have here?”

Beau jumps at the sudden appearance of a well-dressed maid in the open doorway. Dressed in fine yellow and purple fabrics, the maid stares at the group with as much disdain as Beau would expect from a worker dressed in the Lionett’s colors.

“Yah, hallo.” Caleb steps forward, posture unusually perfect and smile a little too sharp. “We’re here to do business with Mr. Lionett.”

If she’s intimidated by Caleb’s towering figure leaning towards her, she doesn’t say anything. The petite woman only narrows her eyes before nodding, once, and opening the door wider for them as she steps back. “You can wait in the sitting room. I will fetch Mr. Lionett.”

They are led through the foyer and down into a room that takes up the left side of the front of the house. Looking around, Beau is surprised to find everything just as she’d left it. Perfect, untouchable, and so very cold. The room is bathed in yellow and purple, a garish reminder of the Lionett’s very coveted social status. A lone lion bust sits alone atop the fireplace, frozen in time with a malicious roar that makes Beau avert her gaze.

While they wait, the Mighty Nein make themselves comfortable. Fjord and Caleb sit primly on the center couch, their postures picture perfect and their faces more determined than Beau’s ever seen them. Jester and Nott peruse the walls, touching everything they can get their hands on. If Beau sees Nott swipe a gold decor piece from the shelf, well. What her family doesn’t know won’t hurt them. On the other hand, Caduceus busies himself with his staff as he sits in the uncomfortable leather armchair that Beau’s always hated.

Jester’s halfway around the room in her tour when she pauses upon reaching the bookshelf. “Hey, Beau?”

“Yeah?”

“Is… is this your brother?” All the air in the room vanishes, leaving Beau cold and tense as Jester holds up a framed picture of a little boy with dark skin, blue eyes, and a wide, innocent smile. Beau can only stare at the picture, unseeing. From their seated positions, Fjord and Caleb share worried glances, eyes darting back and forth between Beau and the picture of the happy boy.

Beau wonders very briefly if the Lionett’s treat him like their only living child - if this kid is given everything that Beau was never allowed to have. “Uh. Not sure. Never met the kid.” Her voice comes out scratchy and distorted. Beau can barely remember the last time she spoke in this house.

“Where are your pictures?” Nott scampers up next to Jester, clinging to the edge of the shelf in order to see the frames on top.

Without even looking at the shelf, Beau frowns. “They probably burned them by now.”

“They wouldn’t… Would they?” Nott’s voice is small and sad. Beau doesn’t want to look at her and see the pity there, so she doesn’t. She scuffs the bottom of her boot against the hardwood floor and laughs joylessly.

“Have you met my parents? They hate me as much as I hate them, if not more. Doubt they kept anything of mine after kidnapping -“

“Beauregard.”

One word sends Beau’s mouth snapping shut. She doesn’t have to look up to know her dad’s in the room - she can tell by the feeling of dread all crashing down at once, like the ceiling’s caving in. One word and her posture is perfect, her arms no longer crossed but straight down her sides. Beau feels like she’s seven again and being reprimanded for snooping around in her father’s office. She hates it. She hates it more than anything. Hates that he still has this power over her just by saying -

“Beauregard.” It’s so quiet. Why is it so damn quiet? God, Beau wishes she would stop being such a pushover and just say something. But. Looking up at him. First step. Yes.

Beau looks up.

Mr. Lionett was never the most striking man, but what he lacked in good looks he made up for in extremely obvious symbols of wealth that he had on his person. A plethora of golden rings glitter on his fingers. Beau instinctively raises a hand to touch her cheek. He always wore a pressed purple suit, which he accented with golden detail. Now is no exception to that expectation. It’s so fucking gaudy. Everyone in Kamordah already knows the Lionetts, there’s no reason to flaunt your status like Mr. Lionett did. It makes Beau want to look him in the eye out of spite.

She gets up to seeing his yellow tie. For some reason, her eyes don’t let her move an inch further, instead fixated on his ugly yellow patterned tie that Beau remembers trying to ruin so many times. That tie got her in trouble. She hates that tie.

“I didn’t realize you would be back so soon.” He doesn’t even try to hide his sarcasm and disdain, that prick. “I shall have the help fetch Mrs. Lionett.” The maid from earlier, standing at attention in the corner, simply turns and leaves the room.

The silence is choking. Beau can’t look anyone in the eye - not her father and especially not her friends. She feels too weak, too vulnerable to face any of them. They’ve killed demons and devils, and her father is the thing that has her scared? Beau can just hear the taunts now. Weak. Pathetic. Embarrassing.

Not good enough, Beauregard. Never good enough.

Soon enough, or maybe not soon enough, the maid returns with a taller woman in tow. Beau averts her gaze from the yellow tie long enough to spot Mrs. Lionett in all her ugly-dress glory, frozen in the doorway of the sitting room, expression the picture of comical surprise. If Beau weren’t so damn freaked out she’d definitely be laughing.

“Beauregard! What a pleasant surprise.” Mrs. Lionett glides into the sitting room and comes to a stop next to Mr. Lionett. Beau hates her casual tone, but that was Mrs. Lionett for you. Always the one to keep up appearances, even more so than Mr. Lionett. Beau resented her for it almost as much as she resented being born into this awful family.

From somewhere near the trophy case, Nott whistles quietly. It’s more like an ‘oh wow’ whistle than anything else, and it almost makes Beau snicker. Almost. If Mr. and Mrs. Lionett notice it, they don’t comment.

Beau’s fists clench as she stares at the two of them, standing side by side like the two brick walls they always were to Beau. It feels like an open wound, with them standing emotionless and picture perfect. She’s taut like a wire, waiting for them to say something - expecting them to snap at her, maybe. The least they can do is say something. Does Beau even want them to say anything? Her eyes flicker back to Mr. Lionett’s yellow tie, gaze going no further. There’s a wrinkle in his tie. Beau doesn’t remember if he has wrinkles around his eyes, too.

“Did you need something?” Mr. Lionett’s voice is clear, mechanical. It’s his business-transaction voice, but it’s also the voice that he uses whenever he has better things to do than talk to his daughter. Maybe they’re the same voice.

Gods dammit Beau, get it together. The Mighty Nein need this to work. They need information, don’t let him get into your head. Get it together. Look him in the eye. Do it.

She stares at the yellow tie.

The silence stretches on uncomfortably as the Mighty Nein shift in their positions around the room, their gazes carefully flicking between an extremely tense Beau and the unmoving Lionetts.

Mr. Lionett sighs loudly from his mouth, sort of nasally and low. “I don’t have time for this.”

He takes one step backwards, turning halfway to face the foyer and leave.

“Wait.” Fjord’s careful accent curls around the single syllable like he’s afraid to break the silence, but knows they need something from the Lionetts so he continues on anyways.

Mr. Lionett turns around to face them with one raised eyebrow. His upper lip is curled in disdain. Still standing in front of Beau with a passive look on her face, Mrs. Lionett purses her lips at the intrusion. It seems neither of them expected Fjord to speak.

“Yes?”

Fjord gulps audibly, and Beau cringes. The Lionetts were never fond of non-human races, and it seems that fact is still true. When she was younger, Beau had a tabaxi classmate who she’d hang out with around the river. It didn’t take long for the Lionetts to take control over that situation - Beau never saw her friend again. Dammit, she should’ve told the Nein about this. She’s fucking it up before they’ve even started talking; she should’ve known this would happen. Beau feels the phantom grip of a hand on her wrist, squeezing too tight. Her arms are lead weights. Her blood is solid.

You’re a disappointment, Beauregard. Not good enough. Why do you let us down every time?

Fjord and the Lionett’s conversation is white noise, all droning on in the background. Beau’s nails dig into the meat of her palm as her breaths grow shorter and more harsh. White noise pounds in her eardrums, her vision centering all on one point - the yellow of Mr. Lionett’s tie has never looked so garish and loud before. It’s so bright. It’s mocking. Beau feels unsteady, floating. She’s 7 now, and standing in front of her father while he works. Shoulder’s straight, head lowered. No eye contact. These hands aren’t hers anymore.

Her father, her father. He would say nothing. He would do work. Then he would leave. The office would go dark. Beau would stand there, alone.

Her mother sometimes passed by the office, peering in. She would say nothing. She would close the door. Sometimes, she laughed. Mostly, she didn’t pass the office at all. Her heels would echo down the hall anyways.

A hollow feeling - starting deep in the center of her chest, expanding outwards. Beau knew it well back then, and it fueled her fear, her anger, her drive to leave her home as soon as possible. That feeling faded over time, but never went away. The Mighty Nein were great at that sort of thing; they made Beau feel less empty, and even made her forget what it felt like at times. That hollow feeling creeps back, slowly.

An open wound.

An empty room.

A hand, lightly brushing against her wrist. A light touch, nothing more than a whisper of skin but to Beau it’s the anchor she needed to back away from the storm of emotions she feels. She turns to look, and Jester is standing beside her, having made her own way around the room to offer support. Nott peeks out from behind Jester, her eyes endlessly wide and unbelieving as her ears twitch to every derogatory intonation in Mr. Lionett’s voice.

Turning from Nott’s concerned gaze lands her staring directly into Jester’s purple eyes, hardened with worry and a little bit of anger. The pure fury in the tiefling’s eyes is hard to look at, even if Beau is proud at her to displaying her anger so openly.

Beau strains to pay attention to her surroundings as she faintly registers the murmurs dying down to silence, charged with a certain quality that Beau is unable to parse out because she wasn’t paying attention. She’s not sure she wants to turn and find out, but she needs them to know. She needs to know for herself too.

Turning around, Beau finds the rest of the Mighty Nein staring daggers at her Mr. Lionett. It doesn’t take much for her to realize that Mr. Lionett probably said something extremely biting and discriminatory - Beau’s intimately familiar with that type of language from him. Fjord has his eyes narrowed dangerously and his face is tense, a big difference from his usual calm demeanor. Next to him, Caleb has his teeth bared in a predatory grin. Caduceus, who stood up sometime during Fjord’s negotiations, has his hand placed placatingly on Caleb’s shoulder in an attempt to control the situation, but upon further inspection, Beau notices that his own eyes are hardened and cold.

Seeing all of her friends, ready to strike, sets something at ease in Beau. These people have her back; whether its facing a Hydra, defeating demonic entities, or going against her family; these people, they’re with her. That’s all she needs to steel her resolve and return her attention to her father, standing with his chin raised as he looks down at them all. His hands are carefully clenched, the fingers flexing and straining as he grits his teeth in annoyance. Normally seeing all of this would set off the alarms in Beau’s head, and cause the dread to swallow her whole.

Now, she glances back briefly at Jester, sees her icy purple glare soften momentarily as their eyes meet. Nott gives her a small nod, her green hands twitching subtly towards her back, where she hid her crossbow. Beau looks forward and sees Fjord and Caleb, expressions murderous. Caduceus catches her gaze and smiles.

A moment of clarity: If these people have her back, she can take on anything.

“Fuck you,” Beau says, voice rough and cracking like she hasn’t spoken in ages. Although, she hasn’t spoken so long in this house that maybe that’s the reason why it feels like the breaking open of an empty crypt.

Mr. and Mrs. Lionett’s turn so comically and abruptly to face Beau that the monk actually smiles. She can count on one hand the amount of times she’s surprised them, and she’s glad that this will be the last.

“Excuse me?” Mrs. Lionett’s hand goes to her throat as if she was personally attacked by the foul language.

Mr. Lionett grabs his wife’s hand. “Now, Beauregard -“

She still flinches, but it’s not enough to deter her. It’s improvement. “You heard me.”

Mr. Lionett takes a menacing step forward, hand outstretched far enough that Beau’s half sure the rings on his fingers will slide right off. At least then, they wouldn’t imprint on her face. He stops, a couple of feet in front of her.

“Don’t speak your mother and I like that.” His voice is low, threatening. It used to scare Beau on the rare occasion he would be more angry than annoyed. Now it’s funny, seeing him so riled up and knowing it’s meaningless.

“Why not?” His hand twitches. “Look,” Beau says, voice steadier now. She casts a glance around the room and finds the assured gazes of her friends. “We’re only here to find information about a guy. If you don’t have that, then fine. We’ll leave.”

Mrs. Lionett comes forward to lay a placating hand on Mr. Lionett’s shoulder. “Who is this man you seek?”

Beau wants to say, ‘classic mom, always the mediator’, but she bites her cheek and replies, “Guy named Lonardo. Know him?”

“He’s a business associate. Why?” Mr. Lionett stares at her with distrust, body still tense like a coiled wire. Good, Beau thinks, he should be careful of me.

“Because he’s a bad dude who’s done shitty things.” And, just because she can: “But you’re familiar with that, aren’t you, Thoreau.”

Maybe it was hearing his first name come out of his daughters mouth so brazenly, or maybe it was the blatant disrespect and insult. Either way, Mr. Lionett snaps and steps right up to Beau’s face, his hand coming from his side to his shoulder in an instant, stopping only just barely an inch from her face.

In response, the whole room steps forward, and the Mighty Nein ready their previously sheathed weapons. Beau can only just barely hear the scrape of metal against leather as blood rushes in her ears from her father lunging at her. She feels frozen as her heart bumps erratically in her chest, despite her willing it to calm down. All her bravado gone, the crashing waves threaten to drag her under. She goes to take a step back, but a light touch on her arm drags her to the present.

Turning to look, Jester mouths the words, ‘we got you’, to Beau, while Nott’s hand squeezes Beau’s arm reassuringly. Beau smiles at the two of them before turning back towards her father, still waiting like a snake.

“This is my family now.” For once, her voice doesn’t waver around the word, and Beau’s surprised at how right it feels, saying family after all the years of resenting it. “I love them.”

“We have her back.” Fjord meets her eyes, his own filled full of unspoken hardships of his own but also with certain depth of warmth that Beau knows she feels too.

Caleb lays a steady hand on her shoulder. “We are her family, too.”

Her heart fills, and Mr. Lionett scoffs derisively. “You expect me to -“

Beau just shakes her head nonchalantly as she cuts him off. “If you do not provide us the information, I have nothing to say to you.”

Then, to the surprise of everyone in the room, Beau turns, and begins to walk out of the room. Behind her, the Mighty Nein begin reaming into Mr. and Mrs. Lionett, and she grins at the pure rage and indignation she hears.

She crosses into the foyer, and the lion statues at the base of the stairs don’t seem to stare at her, for once. The paintings on the walls don’t taunt her either. Everything in the house looks different, even though Beau knows that everything’s the same.

Beau only pauses when she spots something. Up the stairs, a small boy sits on the top stoop, carefully watching her. She takes a short, brief pause, to think about everything she hated about her childhood. In that moment, watching her brother stare at her with young, innocent eyes, she vows to never have her brother experience the same.

“I’ll be back.” Beau promises. She contemplates going up the stairs to introduce herself - it’s her brother for crying out loud. But…

She nods at the brother she has never met, and opens the door to step outside.

~~~

The road home is quiet, but not in the way that hurts Beau the way she’s used to. In this quiet, Jester interlaces her fingers with Beau’s. Caleb settles a hand over her shoulder as Frumpkin purrs genially in her lap. Fjord hums a soft shanty while he drives the cart. Caduceus makes tea in the back. Nott is fiddling with Beau’s hair as she tries to braid flowers in the monk’s hair. Beau’s sure that if Yasha were here, she’d be helping Nott braid her hair too.

Beau’s thankful, in that moment, for the kind of silence she knows that only her family could achieve. It brings out a calm and clarity within Beau that she never associated with the quiet before, after a whole childhood of her own quiet moments filled with dread and anxiety.

She thinks of how successful the meeting with her father was. She thinks of how the Mighty Nein defended her to the bone. Most importantly, she thinks of a little boy with blue eyes and brown skin that just learned he has a sister.

That promise she made to her brother was genuine. Although her hands still shake in the Lionett house, and although just hearing her father's name fills her with inescapable dread, Beau feels lighter than ever. It feels like hope. As Caduceus would say, it’s progress.

#my writing #mine #elena talks #I FINISHED IT YALL YEEHAW #beau #beauregard lionett #fanfiction #critical role #this was in my drafts for SO LONG

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avidfanficwriter · 6 years ago

Text

Barbie (Chapter 11)

Chris Pine X Reader.

Summary: What started as a simple date ended as a failed romance. Or has it truly failed?

Warnings: Cursing, as per use.

Author’s note: Yes, i know, it’s been a long time. Writer's block hit me hard for this one but thank the gods, my mind sprung an idea!

Masterlist

Tags: @mitaputri0412 @wolflhards

A few years ago

“Why do you think you have these feelings?” The question appears as if you’ve entered a dream sequence or a really lousy drug experience that creates this inability to feel oneself. The room is spinning and your body is spinning at two different speeds, two different directions. It is entirely fucked. It’s a dissociative state, you’re there, your body is but your mind isn’t. You can see but you can’t figure out where you are. Fucked. “Y/N, are you there?”

The question acts as a fishing line, reeling you back to reality but still managing to leave you dangling from the hook on full display. “What?”

“This is the fourth time in the last hour, you’ve been inattentive.” The man says as he checks his watch, his name ceases to come back to you. He’s nameless, his identity hidden beneath the layers of time loss. “Have you taken your medication today?”

“I don’t need medication.” The first real sentence you’ve spoken today.

“From the comprehensive review of your file, I think it would be wise if you did.” You’re lost. Physically and mentally, you don’t know where you are, what you’re doing or why you’re sitting on this scratchy green couch. “Y/N, you’ve suffered a traumatic experience most of which the details are sketchy also the reason you seem to have suffered a mental breakdown. In order to properly help you overcome these issues, I need you to be present.”

Each word seems to hit harder than the last, pulling at your heart and only making it harder to concentrate. “Tell me about that night.”

The tick of the clock is beginning to create a headache, each noise seems to be heighten with the intent to create pain. “Nothing happened.”

There’s a sharp inhale of breath from the other body. “According to the report, you were brought to the emergency room with what resembled a case of domestic violence.” There’s a sound of shuffling paperwork before he speaks again, the voice is male. Definitely male. "The hospital staff noticed who they believed to be the person responsible enter the hospital and then barricaded himself in your hospital room, essentially holding you hostage."

You roll your eyes, it's unbelievable. It's completely false, as if someone was writing a book or playing a game of make-believe. "It sounds worse than it was." Not a denial but not the truth. It's got just enough to possibly satisfy him.

"Hmm... Which part has been an exaggeration? Being locked inside your hospital room with your abusive boyfriend who held a gun to your head or covered in bruises with your refusal to testify against him?" It's the kind of snarky comment that ends with a raised eyebrow and a satisfied look that says one thing: 'Ha, take that.'

"I have to go."

"You have been court ordered to attend a one-hour session that was productive, which you have not been. You are unable to leave until I am satisfied that we have had a conductive session." It's defeat. Complete and utter defeat. “Y/N, I know this is difficult and I don’t wish to make you stay here any longer than you need to be but you have to meet me halfway.” It sounds like a plea. He’s truly trying to work with you. "I know it doesn't seem like it but I'm trying to help you."

“It got out of hand." A partial truth. He doesn't respond. "Is there a such thing as craving the negativity?" The question changes the conversation but he's happy to oblige on the fact that you're finally speaking.

His brow arches as he begins tapping his pen on the cushion of the chair he's sitting in. "There are some people who feel comfortable in a negative environment, no matter how hectic or unsafe, there are those who seek it out. It’s familiar and to them all they know. Is that what you believe you do?"

You swallow hard, "No."

"Is Beau surrounded with negativity?" He ask, immediately making you regret you question.

"At times."

"Mmm... Was he surrounded with negativity when you were at the hospital?"

"Yes."

"If there is a negative aura that he emits, why are you so unwilling to rid yourself of him?" He questions and suddenly you have the urge to slap him. "I'm glad you're aware your in a negative situation but I want you to do something about it. Realizing the danger and hostility you’re in is only step one. Step two is doing something about it."

With every passing minute, you panic, you’re sitting in the living room with your eyes glued to the door. Waiting for him to return, he hasn’t called and it’s been an hour. He should have called by now. You tell yourself. What if he lied? If he just up and left? He could be the one getting rid of his apartment and leaving you instead.

Finally, you’re cell phone rings and his name lights up the screen, “Chris… you were supposed to call an hour ago.” You say quickly into the phone but you’re met with silence. “Chris? …Chris?”

You could have counted the hours before someone spoke and the first sound of someone breathing. “This is Dr. Luke Valdez at Good Samaritan Hospital, I found your number on Mr. Pine’s recent contacts list. There has been an accident.” Your heart stopped and now your body feels light, as if you’ll pass out any second. “Mr. Pine was in a car accident.”

You’re moving on auto-pilot, the pain in your foot is non-existent now as you gather your keys and phone before quickly heading out the door. By the time you make it to the hospital, your eyes are full of tears and your thinking the worst, he’s dead, but they can’t tell you that over the phone. He’s been killed. The fear doesn’t stop when you enter the hospital, the emergency room is full of tears, shouts of pain and panicked doctors shouting colors and ordering more test. It's chaotic and for a brief second you contemplate leaving.

“Can I help you?” A woman in a white coat asks, noticing the panic on your face.

“Ye--yeah, I’m looking for Chris--Christopher Pine. He was brought in a while ago.”

She nods, walking over to the desk and glancing at the computer. “Oh, he’s right here. I’ll take you.” Each step you take feel worse than the last, it’s like an anxiety attack is beginning. You feel your arms slowly getting cold, your extremely aware of your breathing and you can’t focus on one thing. The lines on the floor are to overpowering, the sounds are morphing into one loud sound and suddenly the pain your foot is back with a vengeance.

“He’s right here.” The woman says, pulling the privacy curtain back just enough to allow you entrance and closing.

“Jesus.” The harsh whisper pushes past your lips, involuntarily. Chris is sitting up in the bed, currently getting stitches in his head while a nurse wraps his right hand in a bandage.

“Oh god, I told--” Chris looks at the doctor besides him. “I told you not to call anyone.” he smiles. “I’m fine.”

“Fine? You’re covered in blood.” You say slowly walking towards the end of the bed, trying to reach out to touch only to change your mind.

“It’s looks worse than it is.” he lets out a small groan in pain as the nurse sets his hand down. “But you, you shouldn’t be standing or even walking, come sit down.”

The doctor finishes Chris’ head and explains his injuries and the medication he’s being prescribed for the pain.It’s doctor jumble and rather than listen all you can do is stare at Chris, he looks broken, worse than the night Beau got ahold of him. Covered in dried blood with pain in his eyes.

“Are you okay?” You ask when the doctor leaves. He nods, sucking on his lower lip. “Are you sure?”

“Yes.” He chuckles. “Come here.” He holds out his uninjured arm for you to sit next to him seeking comfort that will help not only him but you as well.

There’s a slight feeling of fear that runs through your spine as you approach him, you sit next to him, trying to keep most of your weight away from him so he doesn't get hurt but he won't have it. Pain or no pain, he instantly pulls you into him, stifling a groan as he does.

Your eyes are tearing up and all you want to do is curl up into a ball and cry. This was your fault, if you hadn’t of been stubborn and hurt your foot; Chris never would have been on the road, the car never would have hit him and he wouldn’t be here looking like he just survived a round with Mike Tyson.

“What happen?” You finally crack out.

“I was on the way to your place and this car in front of me lost control and hit me head on. I’m lucky I didn’t break my leg. Few stitches in my head, glass in my hand and busted face but I’m fine.”

“God, Chris...” You sigh.

“It’s fine.” He reaches his hands out, gently holding your face, forcing your swollen eyes to face him. “Relax, I’m fine, A little banged up. Just think about it this way, now it’s your turn to play doctor.”

There was no stopping the fit of laughter you both break out into. “What happened to the other driver?”

“Oh, I don’t know.” He says, bringing his hands down and rubbing soothing circles on your back. “Poor guy is probably more upset about his car than anything.”

“Why do you say that?”

“Guy had a nice green challenger.” He remarked, shaking his head. “That now has regular black paint on it thanks to my car.”

You shake your head and scoff, “You could have died and you’re talking about a car.”

“It was a nice car.” As Chris lays his head on your shoulder, gently resting his eyes.

You don't know what comes over or why you brain decided this was your next comment. "So, I suppose this is a bad time to ask if you got my stuff?" Chris stifles a chuckle.

"No, the other car prevented me from achieving that goal." He responds in a low whisper, gently kissing your shoulder. "Just don't go to your place, okay? When I get out of here, I'll go. My card is in my wallet, whatever you need just buy it brand new."

There goes your independency, not only were you seeking refugee in his house but now he was giving his credit card to support you. You had jumped fifteen to twenty steps in terms of of your relationship, living together and financial responsibility. If it wasn't for the bruised man besides you, seeking your comfort, you'd probably be one step from freaking out. Too much was going on all at once but right now, it felt normal.

Just as your slumber starts to creep in, the startling realization hits you. 'Nice green Challenger.' A green Challenger hit Chris head on in the middle of the night, a green Challenger like the one Beau owned.

#chris pine #chris pine fanfiction #chris pine fanfic #chris pine fic #christopher pine #christopher whitelaw pine #pinenuts #star trek #star trek beyond #star trek into darkness #captain kirk #captain james tiberius kirk #captain james t. kirk #captain james kirk #steve trevor #wonder woman

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chamberslove-blog1 · 6 years ago

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OLIVER WOODS DAUGHTER

- her name is Charlotte or Charlie for short

- definitely a ravenclaw

- she was picked as keeper for the Ravenclaw quidditch team in the second year and become the captain in fifth year (the news definitely would’ve made Oliver cry with happiness)

- she sleeps in one of his old puddlemore jerseys and has a puddlemore poster right above her bed

- they write long letters to each other as she can’t see him often

- she has long auburn hair, which she usually keeps in Dutch braids as they’re best for moving around

- she has freckles and glasses

- she’s shorter then all her friends

- people often ask how she studied so much, played quidditch all the time and managed to have so much spare time to which she would simply reply “I’m Charlotte Wood. It’s runs in the family”

- every teacher was scared to have her because of her quidditch crazed father, they’d be pleasantly surprised but still got sick of her rambling on about quidditch whilst still being further ahead in her work then everyone else

- loves to read and would often right long poems about everything but love; she craved to separate her poems from the basics

- she would paint her heart out

- she blushes like crazy, often covering her face with an oversized blue sweatshirt or her school jumper

- she has the brightest smile

- incredibly stubborn and slightly (very) bossy

- very witty, known for her comebacks

- badass af, people learned the hard way to not mess with her

- (flintwood specific) if people made fun of her she wouldn’t take any notice but if anyone dared to make fun of her dads they were in for it. one time it got too out of hand and she ended up giving a black eye to another boy from Ravenclaw when he said “no wonder Wood is a reserve, the team mates are probably scared of his wondering eyes in the changing rooms”. she had to learn how to control her protective anger

- (werewolf au) refuses to cover the long scar that runs down her face as she embraces her individuality and how it made her look different; she ks still beautiful anyway. although she has to lie and say her family owl gave her it

- ridicously good grades, without even having to try but tries nonetheless

- secretly loves to dance and sing (not so secretly in the common room though, the ravenclaws play music in the sitting area and everyone would join in dancing and singing if they weren’t too busy reading or studying)

- has a pet cat called darcy with grey and white hairs

- very soft even though she’s one tough cookie

- best friends with victoire, lorcan+lysander, slytherin girl called Martha Pillsbury and hufflepuff Beau Turner (boy)

- makes the flirtatious, loveable, blond haired hufflepuff louis weasley fall in love with her and she feels the exact same about him

- they flirt ridiculously about who is going to win when they play against each other during matches

- she helps out in the hospital wing whenever she has time (this is where she and Louis shared their first kiss when he was in there for a quidditch injury)

- the first person Louis came out to as bisexual and she was of course okay with it and promised that she loved him no matter what and something as small as his sexuality didn’t affect him as a person or wizard at all (ravenclaws are admired for their open minds and accepting nature)

- almost was a gryffindor due to her bravery and love for her friends, but her excellent wit, intelligence, creativity and ability to always get herself out of danger with a great plan made ravenclaw the place for her

- very popular within her year, although she never left her small group of friends and always stayed true to herself

- suffers with anxiety and aspergers, people said how theyd never imagine her having them because of how she acts but that pisses her off as she disapproves of their lack of knowledge about it and their generalisation

- doesn’t label her sexuality

- painted canvases everywhere in her dorm

- very fond pumpkin pasties

- wants to be an auror or a quidditch player

- always protects slytherins whenever someone insults them, profusely claiming that ‘a couple bad eggs should never define the whole batch’. she believes they are smart, loyal and determined. she then procides to list the most evil wizards and witches from all houses (apart from hufflepuff of course)

this was so random and i have so much more but i can’t think of them now (im very sleep deprived!) pls let me know if i should do more, if you have any questions/suggestions or any problems with it and ill be sure to try and include it! i might do charlotte and louis headcanons because i really believe a weasley and a wood would end up together. also sorry if this is utter shite, it’s my first time writing one of these

- L 🦋🦅

(your local ravenclaw)

#harry potter #oliver wood #ravenclaw #headcanon #oliver wood headcanon #flintwood #louis weasley #victoire weasley #lorcan scamander #lysander scamander #harry potter next generation #harry potter headcanon #soft

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tessatechaitea · 4 years ago

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Darkstars #8

Worst homecoming theme ever.

This is the last issue of Darkstars I own. I'm a little bit sad that I own this one because this cover is poo on fire. I suspect that Past Me, much like current me, never looked at the covers of the comics as he bought them. He just saw the title and grabbed the magazine, adding it to the pile to take to the register. Usually when the cashier is ringing up my comics is the first time I'll really look at the covers and I'm not the type of person to grab the cashier's hand as they pick up a comic book to ring it up and yell, "Whoa, whoa, whoa! Not so fast! This comic book looks like runny diarrhea! I'm putting it back." No, I'm more the kind of person who notices how awful the comic book looks and simply lets out a nearly inaudible, haunting moan from the deepest part of that part of me my old friend Soy Rakelson would probably call a soul. I just call it the part of my brain that's going to get the skewer first when I finally decide none of this Goddamned pain is worth it anymore. Look at this fucking terrible cover. This 90s art is the kind of art that was (and often still is) hailed as dynamic by critics and fans who never seem to know the difference between "dynamic" and "posed." This doesn't look like a shot of these idiots having just finished a battle with a mechanical bull. It just looks like they stood in line with their prom photo tickets until they were waved over and told to look at the camera and smile before being hustled off the stage for the next couple's chance at a shitty memory. It's been a few days since I wrote a comic book review because I've been busy with my other project. I set up an Artificial Intelligence program to come up with new names for Xanth novels. These are some of my favorites: Centaurs Can't Masturbate The Boner Tree Titillating Minors Makes Money The Word Bosom Fifty Thousand Times in a Row No Matter How Many Naked Women are Described, Never Mention Their Genitals Whoops! That Scene Was Too Sexy In This One, A Dragon Fucks a Duck The Human Nickelpede Seriously Though. They Can't Fucking Masturbate! Seventy Unfunny Puns and Sixteen More That Don't Make Any Sense This Book is the Merriam-Webster Definition of Chauvinism Convicting Somebody of Rape is Embarrassing for Both Parties So Maybe Just Forget About It? Whoops! I Gave a Ten Year Old Female Centaur Huge Boobs. Can We Fix This in Post? If You've Read Piers Anthony's Other Books and Enjoyed Them, Maybe You'll Like This Book That He Put Way Less Effort Into Magic Doesn't Recognize Same-Sex Relationships But a Human Can Fuck a Goat and Produce a Mutant Offspring

Oh no! Are they planning on destabilizing a region so they can send in the military and take control of its oil?

Eight issues in and I haven't discussed the Darkstars uniform. Ignore the one on the cover; the artist completely fucked that one up. Just check out the one on the panel scanned above. What's with the piano keys theme? Will we eventually learn that they're powers are tied to music in the same way the Green Lantern power is tied to emotion? Did Grant Morrison ever use the Darkstars in his Multiversity lore as the movers and shakers of the harmony of the spheres which allowed for the different universes vibrating on different musical frequencies? But most importantly: can you play Chopsticks on a Darkstars' chest? Another great (?) aspect of the Darkstars uniform is the huge arrow pointing at the crotch. Whenever I wear super tight material that hugs my junk and exposes my intimacy, I love to call attention to it. "Hey hey hey! Ladies and Gents! Have you ever wondered exactly what my cock and balls look like? Check it out! Also this isn't vulgar because you're looking at cloth and not my skin even if the cloth hugs every wrinkle and vein. So please stop trying to have me arrested." It turns out "The American Way" isn't destabilization of countries who have resources that Americans want but don't want to pay for; "The American Way" is advertising jobs for needed positions. Man, that's so boring. And yet, it's the most interesting part of this comic book series so far!

In 1993, what does "some familiarity with computers" mean? That you've used Koala Pad and wasted tons of meat by killing bears on The Oregon Trail?

I know, I know! By 1993, people no longer even remembered Koala Pad and The Oregon Trail. It's just I don't really remember what was big in 1993. AOL Chat and Myst, maybe? You might also be wondering why Carla is dressed like a lunatic. Turns out, she's taking the Darkstars to a Country Western Bar. Yee haw! I'm pretty sure the first bar I ever went to was a Country Western Bar, The Saddle Rack, in San Jose, California. It was my 21st birthday and we were there because my friend Bob and I had made a pact when we were ten that when we turned 21, we were going to ride a mechanical bull. Bob turned twenty-one 23 days before me and he also remembered that stupid pact for eleven years. I also opened some presents that night and the woman I was dating gave me a Lobo t-shirt.

Geez, we get it, Darkstar. Your entire race was murdered. Don't make us feel guilty about having fun just because your people "used to have fun too."

What a dumb question, Carla! Obviously he knows what music is. He's got a fucking piano painted on his chest. While Darkstar hits the bar, Homeless Mo hires an office manager and K'lassh destroy's Darkstar's ship in orbit. Also, I should probably stop calling Mo Douglas "Homeless Mo." He lives at the office now!

Ugh! What's with all this political correctness and virtue signalling?! Why can't this old comic book be more like, um, older comic books and just stick to bank robberies and punching bad guys? I mean super villain bad guys bent on taking over the world and not white supremacist bad guys intent on taking over America! I mean, well, you know what I mean! Just have the good guy punch the obviously bad guy who doesn't need to espouse terrible social beliefs that I might also espouse! We know he's bad! Just make him generally bad or you're going to alienate your readership! I know racism is bad! But shoving it down my throat like this just makes me think, "Maybe it's not so bad?"

That previous caption was satirical and not actually my personal feelings. See, the thing about writing is that you can write whatever you can imagine and it doesn't make the thing you've written some secret insight into the truth of the writer. It's just shit that was typed in half a second without any thought at all behind it. Except, I mean, there was a lot of thought behind it. And a lot of that thought was less about Comics Gaters types currently spouting a lot of that kind of garbage and more about comic book fans writing letters to old comics that were saying the same kinds of things twenty and thirty years before it got a stupid "Let's append -gate to another word!" name. Also, it did not take half a second. Mostly because my brain is broken and it took me forever to pull the word "alienate" out of it even though it was the word I wanted to use and I knew the definition and could almost hear the word in my head but my brain was all, "Fuck you. Why should I give you this word you're seeking? You know how many hits of LSD you rammed through me, you careless asshole? Get fucked!" Darkstar takes an interest in the mechanical bull and is all, "Aw, that doesn't look so tough! Not like this space mechanical bull from this place in space I know!" Some drunk and tough cowjerk hears Darkstar's comments and simply assumes, like I assume he always assumes, that Darkstar is emasculating him with his words.

Beau is the Lobo of the Country Western Bar.

Darkstar decides the best way to calm the situation is to ride the mechanical bull. Beau watches him and yells, "He's the best I've ever seen!" It begins to look like Darkstar's plan is going to work until some other rube tells Beau, "That guy ain't human!" Beau goes full redneck and is all, "Yeah! He ain't! That means I have a duty to try and get him killed!" He then throws the switch on the mechanical bull to "Do Not Attempt This! Dangerous! Why Did We Even Add This Setting?!" Carla cold cocks Beau to help save Darkstar even though he doesn't need help. Wasn't she listening when he told his story about the space mechanical bull in space and how it was way harder than the Earth version? Darkstar breaks the mechanical bull with his crotch and will now have to pay for the damages. It's a good thing he's saved all that gold by firing Flint last issue. I don't know if it ever happened because this was the last issue of Darkstars I ever read but I hope Beau came back as a villain and called himself Low Beau.

Dammit. Now I want cake.

Carla writes a check to pay for the damages to the bar just as K'lassh arrives. Carla decides to keep her checkbook out. Darkstars #8 Rating: B+. I don't know if this issue was better than the rest because I knew it was the last issue I was going to read or because it objectively was better. At least I didn't have to suffer through Travis Charest's 90s art. This issue was done by guest penciller Patrick Zircher! Basically that meant it looked like 80s comics which I never mean to defend when I say 90s comics art was terrible. There was a lot of 80s comic art that was fucking awful as well! But it was standard awful! 90s art was unbearable because it was objectively terrible in so many ways (anatomy, asymmetry, overuse of specific tropes) but people proclaimed it the greatest art they had ever seen. I wouldn't have minded so much if everybody was all, "Well, this isn't great but it's different. Let's see what happens with it for awhile!" Anyway, in my world, Darkstar was murdered by K'lassh and there was never another issue.

#Darkstars #DC Comics #DC #Michael Jan Friedman #Patrick Zircher #Scott Hanna

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holscm · 8 years ago

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art school please!

art school aus are my lifeblood and i honestly CANNOT BELIEVE that i haven’t seen a single outline of one in the omgcp fandom so i am determined to resolve this issue. i mean it’s a tough job but someone’s gotta do it

ok so the most obvious one here is lardo, who in my mind (based on canon) is a sculpture major

has long since given up on the state of her hands, which are always dry as fuck because of chemicals and all the washing

shitty thinks they’re awesome and he loves rubbing them on his face

he also dedicates himself to giving her a hand rub with his Special Lotion every week though bc dry hands start to itch and burn and he isn’t about to let lardo suffer in silence

shitty is art history/criticism and he constantly rants about how much he hates the “mad eurocentric ideals of western canon, brah”

like, we get it, you have white guilt

nursey is a painting major because he’s an angsty little shit and i project everything

known around the studios for his tendency to accidentally drink paint water, forget to wash his brushes, and spill gesso all over his clothes, regardless of whether he’s wearing an apron. A Mess™

he does that thing where he pairs original poems with each of his pieces

it’s cool but pretentious as fuck and dex gives him so much (good-natured) shit for it

speaking of dex, he’s an architecture major bc he likes the idea of designing “real” things that you can touch with your hands

spends a lot of hours in the intd wing in kotter . never sleeps. are those bags or graphite smudges under his eyes. no one knows

bitty keeps him fed in mini pies and sometimes chowder will come do homework with him

tango is interaction design

(i would add more to that but i know literally nothing about interaction design whoops sorry)

chowder is animation!

in the words of @dealwarlock, “he has that Excited Hyperness of someone whos stared @ a computer screen for 30 hrs straight”

he and farmer meet while working in the lab on the same project and it’s love at first .FLA file

whiskey is graphic design/advertising because it’s more “”””practical”””” in the “”””real world”””” (he genuinely enjoys it though)

he and tango spend a lot of hours in the lab together. not always talking, just working on their respective projects and enjoying the company

holster is also graphic design/advertising. his dream job is designing the posters for broadway musicals

secretly would also love to work for buzzfeed but he would never admit it

ransom is illustration with an emphasis in medical illustration

can be found most often in the library (in the basement, where they keep the scientific journals) stressing about human anatomy

met holster because he was the life model for his figure drawing class freshman year

it’s not like, a sexual thing at first bc how could he possibly think of sex when he’s concerned with getting the proportions of this guy’s torso correct

but holster is a good model who is surprisingly skilled at staying still for long periods which is good for ransom bc perfectionist

anyway this is getting long but they start hanging out more and ransom pays him for extra modeling sessions in taco bell and annie’s (and like, actual currency bc crunchwrap supremes don’t pay the bills) and they become Best Buds and eventually more bc there is no au in which holsom are not together,, fight me on this

jack is a photography major trying to live up to his dad, a renowned sports photographer

his favorite sport to photograph is hockey bc his favorite uncle (yes, actual related uncle) plays and he loves watching it

i haven’t figured out who his uncle is yet but feel free to make suggestions

is mysteriously the only student with a key to the darkroom bc adults just instinctively trust him

(shenanigans eventually happen in there)

still loves history. still has anxiety. basically everything else is the same

bitty is art ed, which frequently gets looked down on for being less of a “”serious major”” in art school

has to work to prove himself to his professors and studio art major classmates (read: jack)

junior/senior studio art majors get paired up with a freshman as part of a mentoring thing and GUESS WHO GETS PAIRED TOGETHER

i’ll give you a hint: one is a southern beau with a tendency to bake when he should be making color wheels and whatnot and the other is a brooding canadian who gets tasked with tracking him down so he’ll actually get work done

johnson is the academic advisor who orchestrates all of this

#shitty is.........loosely based on the guy i like #also nursey is me if u didn't know #he has an english minor like me too lol #probably way more abstract and post-modern than i am tho #he has a complicated moisturizing routine to get around the same issue that lardo has #them hands are always baby smooth and dex is lowkey in awe #here's a secret: i don't even go to an art school #i'm an art major at a small liberal arts college so if these are inaccurate representations of art school stereotypes .....sry #original #mine #omg check please #omgcp #100

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vctrla-archive-blog · 7 years ago

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I Save These Feelings For You

@thuashdore for you, friend

Months had passed. Two to be exact, but it felt a century had come and gone. Some things I remembered clearly, but others? It was a blur. I healed oddly fast after giving birth to a still born girl. So many people offered condolences, but I assured them I was okay. After all, I believed fate had given me a chance to never make such a mistake again. I would not waste the opportunity by any means. The one thing that had thrown me for a complete loop was Bo'dariel. Since the aftermath of my mistake, her distance had grown a tenfold. It unnerved me. When we were forced in close quarters, she tried to assure me she was simply busy or preoccupied, but I knew better. Her pain was of my doing and I wasn't about to let her slip through my fingers too.

The sun blazed overhead, but its warmth was welcomed against the bitter cold of winter. We were told to get used to the cold. Apparently the chill of Northrend could kill anyone living with ease. I shivered at the thought. For now, I had a week long break hard earned under the scrutiny of our commander and I wasn't going to waste it on thoughts of death by frostbite. Most people went home, one final push of comfort before being sent on the seas with a huge chance of never returning. For me, I had other plans. I refused to look back to the past. I could only see my future from where I stood.

And my future was Bo'dariel.

With every swing of my hammer, I nailed pikes into the frozen earth. Manual labor made me feel worthy of something better than myself, which sounded very dumb. Still, I felt that through my effort I could prove myself to her, remind her that I'm still me. That, despite everything, we were still us and that would could conquer anything if we wanted. I tied ropes around the pikes until I trusted the knots to remain even in the fiercest winds. No one questioned my actions, but I had garnered some attention from passersby. The only reason commander even gave me the supplies for this was based on the promise that she could utilize it once I was done. That much was easy enough to agree upon, but that also meant I had this one chance to get it right.

Pitching the tent proved easy enough, but it felt so small and cramped. I could barely stand up full height and that was saying something. As tall as I was, it would have been much appreciated to have some headroom. Oh well, there wasn't any time to complain. I had managed a trip to a small village outside of camp the day before, purposefully avoiding the one that had tended to me when I was on my deathbed from pregnancy. I reached into the rucksack to pull everything out. I smiled at the contents now all over the ground. "This will work," I said to myself, giving the much needed boost to my pride that I deserved.

Decorating had been the hardest thing I had ever done. I could have built a bunker faster, but it was done. The sun had travelled through the atmosphere and been replaced by the moon. A pale shade of midnight painted the camp in darkness and I felt nervous. Outside the cafeteria tent, I waited to see her. I couldn't stomach anything enough to squelch the fluttering of moths within me. People filtered out and I managed to remain unseen in the shadows. After what seemed like forever, I saw her with a couple of others. For a brief second I felt bad about pulling her away when she looked so content, but I tossed that thought to the wind. "Beau!"

When she looked at me, I nearly fell. "Hey," I said to her, trying to steady my sudden pitchy tone. "Do you mind if we go talk somewhere?" I held my hand out to her and felt the others staring. If I wasn't so concerned about Beau in that moment, I would have told them to fuck off and mind their own business. However, I needed Beau to see only the best part of me. After a moment, she nodded. "Alright," and her hand fell into mine. I gave it a squeeze. When she walked in front of me, I shot the nosy do-gooders a nasty look to convey my earlier thought. They scurried like rats and I nodded, satisfied. "Uh, this way!" I turned my full attention onto her once more and smiled.

"Where are we going?" Even though her voice was steady and calm, I could sense her discomfort, as mild as it might have been. "Just through here," I said as we finally reached the back of camp. There was far less activity back here, but it also meant we were closer to people invading if they chose to do so. It hadn't happened yet so I felt my chances of it happening that night were slim. "There," I pointed to the tent that had already sloped some. I cursed under my breath, but lead her forward anyway. "After you," I said while holding the canvas open. She looked at me then with curiosity and I could have drank her in, but I needed my resolve. Finally, she walked in and I ducked in after her.

The tips of my ears touched the roof and I tried to pretend that I wasn't noticing it. I waited to gauge her reaction as she looked around. Petals of wildflowers were littered all over the place. While I thought it looked (hella) romantic, it was messily done. Some candles were flickering, the flames in various hues of purples and blues. I made the wench who sold them to me vow they weren't some necromancer's tools to call upon the dead. I still had my doubts, but it was too late to go back. There was also a board with some stinky cheese the bar maiden swore tasted like sex and also improved said taste. I wasn't going to argue about cheese, but I managed to pick up some bread and figs just in case. I hadn't much silver on me at the time, but I had one solid gold coin that I spent on some damn good mead. Liquid courage was something I figured we could both use. Other than that, it was a bunch of linens piled together to form a makeshift bed. It reminded me a little bit of when we'd go camping on the beach in Quel'Thalas and I hoped she'd see that. "What is all of this?"

There it was. The worry she had harbored moments before melted away and was replaced with an infinite warmth her light held. Everything about her, down to her aura, was golden. I smiled, hoping that it was a good sign. "This," I said taking her other hand in mine and placing a kiss against her fingers, "is me saying I'm sorry for... everything. Any bad thing I've ever done, every asshole move I've ever made and certainly all the over the top favors you've done for me and I've lamely never been able to return because you're perfect. Don't argue, I'm still going on this soliloquy." That earned a laugh and it was exotic. "I relied so much on you during that... well, you know what. I never once considered how you felt. And yeah, you can tell me that it was my choice or that I was the one suffering, but I am not stupid. I saw your face throughout the whole thing and I'm an idiot. You did so much for me and I can't believe I just acted like it was nothing." I saw her face falter a bit, but I shook my head. "Please don't feel sorrow over it. Her death was a gift. I wouldn't have kept her and who knows what sort of life she would have had. It wasn't meant to be and there was nothing you could have done to change that. More than that," I said to her as I dropped her hands only to hold her perfect little face. Nearly a foot taller than her, I felt her edging on her tip toes to look at me. "I wanted to be here. To be with you. To vanquish evil together. This is my fate. Having her here would have changed it all. I can't imagine a life without you in it." Her ears, while somewhat elfish, perked at that and I grinned.

"I love you, Bo'dariel Dawnstrider. You're my best friend. You know me better than I know myself. There isn't a damn thing in this world I wouldn't do for you. I'll kill anyone who ever hurts you," I added to her dislike, winking to show I was (but really wasn't) kidding. "Forgive me for being terrible and love me for being my best?" I kissed her nose then and she wrinkled it, making her even more irresistible than before. "Now, can I ravish you because... listen, it's been a long time and like... I need you. All of you."

I kissed her lips to keep her answer a secret. After all, her hunger for me seemed answer enough.

#victrola;#hella writing you novellas here #victrola; a history

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mastcomm · 5 years ago

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‘Homeland’ Gives the Long War a Long Goodbye

In the eighth and final season of “Homeland,” the C.I.A. agent Carrie Mathison (Claire Danes) returns to Afghanistan and comes across the child of a contact she dealt with years ago. He’s growing tall now. When she last saw him, he barely came up to her knee.

“Homeland,” which returns Sunday night on Showtime, is about a lot of things, personal and geopolitical. But at its most powerful, the new season conjures that simple, sad feeling: My God, it’s been so long. All of this — the war, the fear, the vengeance — has been with us for so many years, it’s hard to remember a time without it.

That feeling was built into “Homeland.” It began, in 2011, a full decade since the Sept. 11 attacks. “24” — the show’s precursor, with which “Homeland” shares creative talent — had by then aired eight seasons.

Where “24” flourished in the fight-or-flight rush of 9/11’s aftermath, spinning out cathartic fantasies of ever-bigger terrorist attacks on the United States, “Homeland” looked at the psychic cost of all those years of fighting and catastrophizing.

Jack Bauer, the tortured torturer of “24,” took on the physical burden of the war on terror. He was a hard-boiled St. Sebastian, pin-cushioned with all the arrows he took for us over the years. “Homeland,” created by Howard Gordon and Alex Gansa of “24” and based on an Israeli series, focused on the war’s internal wounds through Carrie, an agent living with bipolar disorder as well as lingering horror at the intelligence failures before 9/11.

As dicey as it can be to use actual mental illness as a symbol for national trauma, Carrie was a kind of synecdoche for a rattled America. She both fought the shadow war for us and felt it — more intensely so when she took the case of Nicholas Brody (Damian Lewis), an American prisoner of war turned by his captors into a sleeper agent, who became her target and her lover.

There could have been a version of “Homeland” that ran as a single, devastating limited series and went out a legend. This version did not. As it spun Brody’s story into a second season, then killed him off in a third, it began to suffer from implausibility and plot one-upmanship.

And though it had a greater political sophistication than “24” and its like, “Homeland” still tended to see its non-American characters more as objects than subjects. This blind spot was manifest in Season 5 when artists hired to tag a refugee-camp set with Arabic graffiti painted “‘Homeland’ is racist” into their work without anyone on the production noticing.

But even in its weaker seasons, “Homeland” was bolstered by a commitment to nuance, in its politics and its characters. Danes’s raw-nerve performance has been stunning throughout. And Carrie’s partnership with Saul Berenson (Mandy Patinkin) has been one of TV’s most complicated pairings: They’ve been mentor and pupil, peers, surrogate family, adversaries and uneasy allies, their interactions charged simultaneously with warmth and with a necessary professional chill.

Over the years, the thriller evolved to focus not just on America and the Islamic world but on crises within the West as well. In the most recent season, in 2018, Russian operatives launched a disinformation campaign that precipitated a constitutional crisis in the United States and ultimately led to the resignation of the president — as well as Carrie’s capture by the Russians, who withheld the medication that had kept her stable.

It was a powerful treatment of a current-day America where the horror had moved from sleeper cells to troll farms, where enemies attacked us not with our own aircraft but with our own animus. All these years, anxious and angry, we had been whetting sharper and sharper blades, the better to cut ourselves with.

In the new season, Saul, now the national security adviser to the new president, Ralph Warner (Beau Bridges), is conducting negotiations to end the war in Afghanistan at last. When the peace process is undermined, he recruits Carrie, still recovering from spending months in a psychotic state as a captive — though the C.I.A. is concerned that she revealed information during the long stretch of her imprisonment that she can’t recall.

This setup brings “Homeland” full circle. Carrie, having sacrificed her sanity and even custody of her daughter by Brody in the service of her mission, has to readjust to fieldwork while wondering, herself, what she might have said while the Russians had broken her. She may, in a way, be Brody now, and one of her own adversaries is herself — at least, the mysterious, unmedicated version of herself lost to her own memory.

The first four episodes of the season have their wild plot lurches but also the gimlet eye for human nature of “Homeland” at its best. Danes gives us a Carrie who’s older and wiser (“I’m not as fun as I used to be,” she deadpans, ordering a nonalcoholic drink) but also wrenchingly aware of her own precariousness. And the show is conscious of the collateral damage of the great game, as with the story of Samira Noori (Sitara Attaie), an Afghan woman whose husband was killed by a car bomb after she spoke out against government corruption.

There’s an elegiac feeling to “Homeland” returning to the site of a war a generation old. The season returns a number of characters from past seasons, but the long war, in a way, is the ultimate enemy — formless, multiheaded and endlessly able to reconstitute itself and survive.

There are glimmers of hope that this time might finally be different. But the show’s realpolitik worldview suggests that you not bet on it, as it demonstrates in a scene that captures the mind-set of endless war in miniature. Bunny Latif (Art Malik), a retired Pakistani general who figured into Season 4, is sitting with a revolver in his garden, where to the consternation of his neighbors he’s been shooting the squirrels who steal from his bird feeders.

Asked why he doesn’t simply stop filling the feeders rather than spend his free hours turning his backyard into a war zone, he answers as if the question were insane: “That wouldn’t be fair on the birds, would it?” In big wars and small ones, “Homeland” tells us, people can always find reasons to stick to their guns.

from WordPress https://mastcomm.com/homeland-gives-the-long-war-a-long-goodbye/

#Entertainment

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underbananamoon · 6 years ago

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It’s still Women’s History Month (I write this on the last day of March) although every day is a good day to remember women. I think of my mother, a gentle laughing spirit and her mother, a fragile sprite of a woman with a mischievous aura about her. I think of my birth mother too, who I met a few times before she passed and found out later she loved to tell stories about faeries and little people. My biological grandma who I met twice, an artist who grabbed my cheeks gently, the first time we met and said “I love you already.” I think of Starr, who has had to face way too much havoc and to whom I send love healing intention every day- she deserves happiness. I am often drawn to autobiographical accounts of women in particular although my fave author Augusten Burroughs has a new book due out and I am very happy to have that on pre-order. Some interesting women’s stories (artists, writers, leaders…) a few that stay with me, of the very many I’ve read:

Her beau: the well-known-died-too-young-Jackson Pollock gets the attention but Lee is fascinating!

It stays with you. As tragedy and remembrance does.

While books like this are rarely “juicy,” and words are carefully chosen, it is a fabulous insight into what shaped and directed the Obama trajectory.

What can I say? I just didn’t know autism is a broad spectrum. I didn’t know stereotypes I’d been fed were largely untrue. I was always picking up memoir in my 30s, as I still do, in an attempt to know how people tick, so to speak, to get a grasp on my own different brain. I saw the title Nobody Nowhere on a Caldor store shelf and I thought, “Sounds interesting. I don’t have autism, I mean I don’t bang my head all day…but it should be an interesting read.” This is the first book I read from an autistic POV. Page one, I said, “So that’s what I’ve got.” Epiphany. The rest is history. Errr….. herstory.

Speaking of herstory, I’m going to recommend my own book to you and while I can’t say I am a leader or a mover-shaker, I can say that it is from the heart and that the late author of Nobody Nowhere became a sister at heart friend and wrote my forward free of charge, because she offered and I was honored. Every single human being has a story. I have a mountain of books at my bedside that I step around when I rise in the morning, to prove that. And for a long time I didn’t think I even had a voice. While my voice and what I have to say is unconventional, I do have one and this little book I wrote proves that:

Oh, someone give me a kick in the writer-ass to get going on my next book! Art is something I am immersed in however. I’m planning a series of women-inspired paintings/collages of women (real, bumpy, curvy, diverse, empowered) and as such, I was looking at the extraordinary work of Goya’s women and witches, of which I’m sharing a little here…

Awestruck by olden images/sketches of woman, I had a specific search engine that brought up image drawings. I entered the search words “Old Woman” so I could inspire my own art creations with images that came up in the search results. Here’s what happened:

Bags! Bags came up when I searched old women? A derogatory outdated term for women? Interesting, because that’s the opposite of empowerment isn’t it? LOL as they say.

So, Women’s History Month has Marched by and the next theme-designated-month is….drumroll….Autism Awareness! It’s a month many dread. Fact is, we are all going to see news, TV, docu-features, articles, etc. and community happenings and all manner of things in April related to what many of us live with EVERY day of the year. Walks. Stunts. Blue lights.

I’ve read that blue was chosen for Autism Awareness Month because autism supposedly disproportionately affects males (…actually girls hide it better and fall under the radar, so is that really true?…) and we all know blue is the assigned color for males… Really though? In a 1918 Ladies Home Journal article, the following was said: “The generally accepted rule is pink for the boys, and blue for the girls. The reason is that pink, being a more decided and stronger color, is more suitable for the boy, while blue, which is more delicate and dainty, is prettier for the girl.” Hmmm I’m digressing. That in itself is disempowering in itself. Girls: dainty. Boys: Strong. It’s like that old Betty White quote I adore.

But I digress. While some feel that designating a month for autism awareness is a great soapbox from which to express autism related topics, others absolutely despise it and are triggered by it. Autism is no “walk in the park” for those affected, says Kim Stagliano, Washington Post.

According to the Autism Society, the initiative was created “to promote autism awareness, inclusion and self-determination for all, and assure that each person with [Autism Spectrum Disorder] is provided the opportunity to achieve the highest possible quality of life.”

On that note, here is what I’ve been up to…in part, as an instrinsically actually autistic woman: Truth is, I’m up to a lot.

Wednesday Al and I went to Manhattan with my son Silas and gf Kat to be filmed for our part in the anthology docu-film Desire, which Keri Bowers is directing on a shoestring. I destroyed a cuticle or two along the way. My nerves. They sing too loudly.

My now-son Silas had top surgery and used to be my daughter Kerry Annie and if you’ve read my book you recall a little girl who loved classical music, daredevil activities, kitties and motorcycles…. Now I have three sons. Silas and Kat bravely talk about their love story, in this film. I’m proud to be a small part of a big thing. Maybe it was easier to talk about other people’s sexuality than my own?

When we arrived (early) at the highrise where filming was taking place I saw these marvelous doors.

Al and I took a seat in the library room to wait our turn, as filming was running late. Al can get curmudgeonly when things go unexpectedly and while I am not happy with unexpected change, I often try to take the stance that it’s an adventure after all and meant this way. Al did hold it together patiently, to his credit! Our unruly dog has taught him patience!

So, waiting in the library for our turn, Al settled in to an iPhone game and I picked up Neurotribes and skimmed through for an hour. Someone had put a Post-it note inside. Steve’s book reminds me of me when I was “shiny” which is my term for newly diagnosed, and in that awestruck and happy period of newly-diagnosed-revelation. At least that was my experience. At the time I was diagnosed (1990s), I got library books (much of what is in Steve’s book) and copied and copied info that I recognize in Neurotribes as part of what I researched, into a red binder which I still have, handwritten. Truly, Steve’s book is a go-to, a culmination of autism knowledge that is a gathered place for invaluable information. Inspired! (This library had jarringly noisy glass doors…for a library one doesn’t expect to grit teeth every few minutes while someone enters through said noisy doors…)

While Keri got great shots of Al and I walking, and even kissing on the busy street, it should be noted, alas, that filming is not my forte. I have RestingFrownFace. I suppose to focus on communication (selective mutism sucks) AND my facial expression is not cohesive, one always suffers. Plus side? I got to meet members of my tribe, Keri’s assistants Mark and Michelle. Here is lovely Michelle who had a very sore foot (and a trans child in common with me). My foot wasn’t sore. 🙂

Keri wanted footage of my hometown and planned a trip to visit us on Saturday by train,(yesterday) … Unfortunately Keri and Mark got lost on the way and we are rescheduling the trip for the future. She had a rose for me but never got to deliver it. Here are she and Mark who is delightfully shiny 🙂 mugging with my rose. At least I got to see it!

Had planned to take them to one of my favorite trees when they got in by train, but Al and I decided to go to the tree anyway even if Mark and Keri weren’t there to see it in person. Here we are:

Here is a shot of the filming of my son (left) and his gf Katerina. They held hands the whole time.

I have probably shared these before, but here is a “before” of Silas and a shot of ‘she’ and I miming.

It’s warming up here in the east. 60 degrees! woohoo. I plan to get a lowBattery-refill from nature as often as I can. My low power light is blinking. I’ll leave you with some art I’ve made, old and new- most collage, some acrylic, a lot of them unfinished. Poor quality quick iPhone photos.

See Alex Trebek in her calf muscle? These collages and paintings are more vibrant in person. They came out rather dark here. Images copyright me of course.

Go see your favorite tree. If you don’t have one, find one. Find your tribe, whoever it is. Make art. Catch Pokemon. Life is short. Maybe you’ll catch a shiny like me! Did you know Pokemon Go was created by someone with Aspergers? Of course you did.

CNN article about dreading autism awareness month.

Gender, Desire, Art, Journey (not in any particular order) It's still Women's History Month (I write this on the last day of March) although every day is a good day to remember women.

#art #desireFilm #keriBowers

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thenightingaleeffect · 6 years ago

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best ride

I used to work in health care. A nursing home first and then a hospital. both had that clinical smell to it, mixed with bodily gases and industrial air freshener. the hospital was better. at least i was able to move around and have different patients. see different forms of suffering. every day began the same some how. even though i was on a different floor or was assigned different rooms or had different doctors and nurses over me... it all began the same and had the same consistent tasks involved. i would arrive to the hospital before dawn. following a convoy of cars with the same sticker in the window as i had. we would all park and then walk briskly to different parts of the hospital. once i arrived at my station i would put my things away, grab a stethoscope and my blood pressure machine and find the nursing tech that was coming off the night shift. she would gruffly give me random bits of info on who had a bath, who was incontinent, who was a 2 assist and who was in isolation. always referring to the patient room number instead of the patients name. “19 has a catheter, and refuses to shower. 24 should be discharged today. and 17 has MRSA so double glove”. after my “pass along” information, i would start my round of vitals. sometimes i would get most of them done before the breakfast trays arrived. God i hated that smell. for whatever reason the food carts that they bring up to each hall has a specific smell of old peas, stale coffee and some kind of mystery meat. it was because of this smell that i always left the house without eating something. that and i was always too tired to get up early to even tackle that task, especially if i was a working a triple. after passing the trays out and getting the morning vitals, it was basically a juggling act of answering call lights, getting what the nurses requested, getting baths fitted in, changing sheets and making sure all my patients had everything they needed. there were times....in between all the hustle, all the different transports around the hospital, all the many many bathroom trips...that i was able to get to know some of the patients. learn about their stories. who they are. that was the best part of the job. getting to know them. it was also the worst. once you learn a persons story, life has a way of reminding you that you are not in control of anything. its the worst kind of lesson and i learned it over and over again working in that hospital. one patient in particular...i had her for several weeks, which is unusual since i was put where was needed. so the fact that i had her as a patient for as long as i did was uncommon. we will call her “Joan”. i got to know her quite well, in fact. she was in her early 40s, she had three children, divorced, was jaundice, on a clear liquid diet because she had liver cancer, and hated red jello. her children hardly came to see her. but she never let on how much it bothered her. she would just say “oh they are so busy with everything, i wouldn’t want them to come all this way to see me. its too much”. her youngest daughter did send her a plant once though. Joan was so thrilled when i brought it in to her. it was one of those plants that no one knows the name of. that has big green leaves and sometimes get those weird white waxy buds on it every now and then. the kind that you see around baptist church pulpits during easter time. it wasn't anything special or pretty, it didn’t even have those weird bud things on it yet. but she was thrilled like it was a bouquet of perfect red roses from a beau. i put in on her window seal in her room and made sure to water it every day that i worked. my schedule was pretty consistent at that time. it was three 12 hour shifts on and then three off. when i would come back after three days, find that i had Joan as a patient again and then start my rounds in her room first. bringing in her tray of chicken broth and apple juice. she would alway look so relieved when she would see me walking in and a smile would spread across her yellow skin. it was the best way to start such a long day. after a few weeks, she was making progress, she was moved to solid food and her jaundice had slowly dissipated. she still couldn’t leave the room and needed my help to get to the bathroom but she only would get sick but once a day and started to put on some weight. i asked her once while i was giving her a bath, what her favorite way to pamper herself was. she told me that she loved painting her nails. looking down at her hands and feet i found that they were void of polish. it took all but two seconds to find a nurse with a bottle of red nail polish. the name on it was “the life guard makes me blush”. who comes up with those names anyways? she looked like she felt ten years younger with her nails painted red. after i came back from being off for three days i was disappointed to find that my favorite patient wasn’t assigned to me that day. but i was assigned to rooms close to hers and would stop in once my rounds were done to see her. my co-worker penny was assigned to her and she came rushing up to me as i was about to head into my first patients room. she told me she was running behind and asked if i could pass out Joan’s breakfast tray since is was so close to my rooms. I told her no problem and that i wanted to check on her anyways. i grabbed her breakfast tray(solid foods still) and started to walk toward her room. i will never ever forget that feeling i got when i stepped foot into her room. it was a feeling that froze me. it was a feeling that something was missing that should be there. in the room. and it just wasn’t. i hadn’t even laid eyes on Joan to know that she had slipped from this world and went to the next. i realized as soon as my eyes confirmed what i already knew, that what was missing in the room was life. its such an odd feeling....of knowing that a vessel is now empty and you are left alone. That you are the only one breathing in a room and know that its wrong to be the only one. i set her tray down, walked over to her checked her pulse on her still warm wrist and felt nothing. She couldn’t have been gone for more than a few minutes. I kept thinking that if i would have gotten to her room sooner she wouldn’t have been alone. i ran to get penny and told Joan’s nurse. Penny and i started to work together to gather her things and get Joan ready for when the family came. As i pulled back her covers, i saw in Joan’s right hand was her rosary. Her plastic, pink rosary. Held in between her fingers with red nail polish on them. Only those of us who have worked in such a field...knows how small you feel when you realize how wrong you are about everything. Joan wasn’t alone at all. I finished post-mortem care with Penny, and then said a finally goodbye to Joan. i walked to the bathroom in the hall that no one uses and released the tears that i had been holding back. When i was finally able to gather myself, i walked back to my other patients rooms and passed by Joan’s room again and saw her ugly plain plant and bloomed those weird waxy white flowers and started crying all over again. Joan’s nurse came out of her room just then and saw me with tears running down my face and told me to get out of her sight. that if i can’t be professional then i need to leave because i have a job to do. she was right. I did have a job to do. but i knew that after my work was done for the day i wouldn’t be working at in this field anymore. I couldn’t work in a job that saw it unprofessional to feel loss when a life is over. i finished my shift. and told my charge nurse that i was done. she looked at me with this type of understanding and admiration that i had realized something she didn’t until it was too late for her. She told me that if i needed any references that to contact her and that i would be missed. i walked out of that hospital, got into my car and followed the convoy of cars with the same sticker in the window i had, out of the hospital campus grounds. I felt such relief...i knew i made the right choice. that there was something else that i was meant to do where i wouldn’t get so close to patients but i would still get to help them. I didn’t know at the time what that profession was but i wasn’t going to stop until i found it. it wasn’t until 6 years later....that 911 dispatch found me.

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