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thephantomofthe-internet · 4 years ago

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A Fool for Love| Steve Harrington x Reader

MASTERLIST

Words: 7,354 OOF

Warnings: swearing, Shakespearean English, general fluff

Author’s Note: So I got inspired by @jxnehxpper‘s headcanon on Steve being a secret theatre lover and set to giving us what we deserve-Steve being a little theatre kid. And then I told her about it. And then I reread it. And now I’m doubtful of what this even is and how long it is. Good luck I guess

Tag List: @marvelslut16 @shinydixon @jxnehxpper

The laces were too tight. You couldn’t breathe. You were going to faint once you got up there. And your sleeves were too tight. You were already sweating through the long sleeves. Damn your overconfidence and crappy old patterns. And damn the seventies for making their bodices too tight and tan suede lacing so pretty over rouge coloured linen. And your shoes were too loose; they were going to fall off the second you took a step. Stupid Tammy Thompson and her stupid wide feet. You weren’t even supposed to be here.

Mrs. Blackburn loved to plan out a big spring show without thinking about how many students would be there on auditions. She chose these bombastic plays without thinking about who was actually going to be there. The drama club was made up of about ten members, who’d all be there on audition day, and that was usually it. And Mrs. Blackburn would throw a fit about it to you, her trusted right hand man with a plan. Then she’d spend her classes kissing ass to get students to come out for promised roles after stroking their egos enough to get them to bother with extracurricular theatre. Most kids took the class for an easy A, a quick passing grade that would boost their GPAs without making them want to claw their eyes out. Only a certain type of student would go through with this sort of embarrassment.

So when Mrs. Blackburn announced the spring show to be an abridged version of Twelfth Night, a choice you thought was decent enough. Cutting down the b-plot with Malvolio and the servants made the story run smoother and cut a metric crap ton of roles. Unfortunately, Mrs. Blackburn didn’t have the heart to cut the fool, which meant that she needed another guy to be in the show. And your little crew of nerds only had two boys. If only cross dressing was something she deigned to allow, alas Mrs. Blackburn believed firmly in women playing women and men playing men, which made it even harder to cast anything. It was ironic, knowing the actual plot of the play she’d chosen. Still, now she had a little challenge to hum and ha over for a month before casting the thing.

It was during this casting point that you heard quite possibly the worst idea you’d ever heard.

You often ate lunch in Mrs. Blackburn’s classroom. The entire drama club did. It was a nice, quiet place where no screaming teens or bullies could attack a boy for trotting around in a kilt from costume cupboard and kick a girl for her looks if they didn’t conform to what was considered pretty by the rest of the school. A hodgepodge of personalities grew in there like bacteria. Usually, there shining saviour would eat in the teacher’s lounge with the rest of the staff, but as shows got closer, she’d make sporadic appearances.

“Y/N!” the door slammed open, Mrs. Blackburn standing in the doorway, her wild red curls bouncing wildly around her tiny face, her thin pointed glasses slipping off her nose. “I’ve done it!”

“You’ve done what?” you looked up from your sack lunch. Mrs. Blackburn looked a mess. Her olive green paisley skirt was stained with coffee and her raggedy cream blouse was flashing her bra to the world. She looked as if she’d gotten dressed in her donation bag. You had a sort of love-hate relationship with the woman. She was like a second mother to you, which meant that you loved her unconditionally but hated her in the moment.

“I’ve found us a diamond in the rough,” she marched over to the desk. As always, you’d taken over the teacher’s desk. You were the only person she trusted to sit there with her unmarked tests and unopened lipsticks gifted to her by Lisa Gardner’s Avon selling mother. Her hands slapped the fake wood “I’ve found our Duke Orsino.”

You watched from behind her as both Gordon Fisher and Dale Michaels deflated behind you. The only boys in the club would kill for a leading role. They shouldn’t have to kill, there were only two of them; there shouldn’t be a fight at all. But Mrs. Blackburn liked to do a bit of stunt casting within the Hawkins High School student body.

“No one has been chosen yet!” you turned you attention directly to them. Of course, that was a blatant lie. Both you and Mrs. Blackburn already had pretty much the entire show cast before auditions had even been announced. Dale would play the jester, who Mrs. Blackburn had flagrantly rewritten as a sort of narrator, believing herself capable of rewriting Shakespeare, and Gordon would play Sebastian. He was fundamentally much more attractive than Dale, and much less mockable. Dale was the kid hiding in the classroom in a kilt from Tommy H, which he was wearing because he ripped his pants and didn’t want to walk around with his stained tighty whities.

You turned your attention back to Mrs. Blackburn, a small excited smile spreading across your face. “Who is it?” you asked.

“Oh he’s simply marvellous! He’s in our afternoon class, a Mr. Harrington!” Mrs. Blackburn had a dreamy grin spread across her face, her hands linked together in front of her chest.

Your smile dropped “Steve? Really?” This had to be a joke. Steve was in your drama class so to speak, he was never there. He skipped every class and only showed up for tests and to do graded performances. And his performances were shit. He was never off script and even with the script in front of his face he couldn’t keep the lines straight. He was useless!

“Oh yes yes! We had a very interesting conversation just a few moments ago and he’s very intrigued by our production and I think that he’ll make an interesting, dynamic choice for the role!” Mrs. Blackburn mused, her arms floating around as she spoke as if she was performing Swan Lake instead of properly explaining her decision.

“So, he’s coming into audition?” you asked slowly, leaning on your elbows. Mrs. Blackburn nodded. That was a surprise. The great king of Hawkins high bothering to join the unwashed, artistic masses? That was a shock. You expected him to just demand the role to be his. Not that you thought he’d read the play. You doubted he’d even skimmed the Cliff’s Notes.

“Yes, I’ve already signed him up. By the looks of it, if all the auditions go well we’ll have a full cast without call backs.” She turned her attention to the cowering masses behind her, all staring up in awe. Well, all except Robin Buckley. She wasn’t really a part of the collective though; she was just there for Tammy Thompson.

“Alright, then I can’t wait to see what he does…” you replied with a small smirk. Everyone else in the room was thinking the same thing: Steve Harrington was going to choke. The second Mrs. Blackburn left the room, everyone began their muttering and musing. The only person who seemed to sympathize with the kid was Tammy, who kept whining about poor, poor Steve and how he was going to make a fool of himself. Everyone had seen Steve’s failings with performance, most of the room either spent their free period in your drama class or had taken drama with him in freshman year. His misgivings were known throughout the little crew, even Robin seemed to understand that the kid just wasn’t talented.

And when auditions rolled around, you except the worst. As always, you were playing stage manager slash costumer for the production, your chosen role, and you sat at the back of the classroom with a clipboard and red pen in hand. You had the audition list copied on a few sheets of paper with the role presumed to fit them best. You’d seen most of the room audition a million times before. Both you and Mrs. Blackburn had a clear idea of what was going to happen. And, for the most part, it all fell into place. Tammy, despite her pleas to be Viola, was much more suited to the prissy and rich Olivia; Dale actually wanted to be the fool, which made your life easier, now you wouldn’t have to crush him dreams; Heather Holloway would happily play Viola, which you were more than happy to give her; and sweet little Nicole Chandler would play the nursemaid Maria.

Then, there was Steve Harrington and Gordon Fisher. Gordon had come in and bashed all of your notions of him being fabulously brash and boisterous Sebastian by auditioning instead for the powerful and yet underwhelming awkward Duke Orsino. And he was great! He was better than great!

And then there was Steve. He was terrible. Just plain awful. He didn’t look up once from the crumpled photocopied pages he held in his fist and he didn’t seem to know what he was saying. No, scratch that he had no idea what he was saying. He wasn’t so much playing a character but instead just trying to pronounce the words on the page and string them together in complete sentences. It was painful. But, to Mrs. Blackburn, it was perfect. She clapped when he finished, smiling far too wide as she egged him on. She kicked you under the table to follow suit and you added in a few slow claps. With a hefty dose of praise hefted on him like whipped cream, she sent Steve off and turned her attention to you.

“He’s perfect,” she said. You almost expected her to let out a dreamy sigh, like a love struck teenager instead of a married middle aged woman. She just looked so happy about the whole thing. You took a bit of secret joy in popping her bubble.

“Gordon was much better for the part.” You slipped your pen behind your ear and crossed your arms over your chest. Mrs. Blackburn’s thin mouth dropped open into a tiny ‘o’, only really defined by her cherry red lipstick.

“What?” she cried before composing herself “No, no Gordon was fine, he’ll make a fabulous Sebastian, but Steve is what I want for the Duke.”

“Are you sure I mean-” You couldn’t help but try to argue the point. You knew in your heart that the little shows you helped put on weren’t award worthy by any means but you still took great care in making them as good as possible, if only as a self-serving move to make them watchable from the booth.

Mrs. Blackburn shook her head, her tiny mouth pulling into a stern frown. “The decision is made. You cannot change my mind, Y/N.” she said flippantly, turning away from her to collect her papers. “We’ll have the list up by Monday, yes?”

You swallowed and nodded once. Mrs. Blackburn swept out of the room, her silver bracelets clattering together as she left. Once the door shut, you let out a heavy sigh and put away your clipboard. You’d type up the temporary list and deal with your temperamental director. First, you had to find Steve.

You found him hunched over at his locker. If you didn’t know him better, you’d say that he was ashamed. But he was too much of a cocky shit to ever feel ashamed of his own showboating. And what you just saw was showboating. There was no other way to explain it. He didn’t care about the show, or the play, he only cared about himself and showing off.

You tapped him hard on the shoulder. Steve turned his head. He wasn’t certain of your name but he recognized you from only a few minutes prior. He wanted to disappear. He’d just made a complete fool of himself and now had to atone to his butchering of words he didn’t quite get.

“Look, I don’t know what you think you’re doing, but if you’re just signing onto this thing to fuck around and make fun of people, I suggest you back the fuck down. Fisher and Michaels might stand down to your asshole buddies but I won’t.” you sneered, planting your hands on your hips and straightening your back to reach your fullest height. You had never been in a fight before, at least not one that wasn’t staged and within a classroom setting, but you’d stand up for those kids. Anyone who volunteered themselves for theatrical productions were doing something vulnerable, and vulnerability wasn’t something that could be taught or captured in a bottle, it was something given that should be protected. And you vowed to protect them from someone with ill will, if only to make your show better.

“Look,” Steve swallowed hard, looking away from you. Your gaze was searing into him and he was already embarrassed as is. He didn’t think he could blush any harder. “I’m not bullshitting. Mrs. Blackburn offered and I said yes, that’s all. No buddy’s gonna find out about this.”

You watched him squirm like a worm on a hook. He looked genuine. His eyes spoke more volumes than his words. You nodded, letting out a sharp breath through your nose. “Alright…” you turned on your heel and walked off without a goodbye to the thoroughly embarrassed boy.

Once the work started, it was a wash of a production. You wanted to crawl into a hole and die. Tammy was over the moon that Steve Harrington was joining them to play pretend and thrilled to explain to him that his character was in love with hers. He seemed horrified by the idea but dutifully played along. Gordon was beyond pissed, having to watch Steve stumble through lines and direction given by Mrs. Blackburn while he waited for his shot to do any acting at all. Robin was pissed too. Mrs. Blackburn had roped her into the production to do a few flute solos in pivotal scenes, which meant her having to watch the scenes she’d be playing in and you’d have to make her a little costume to wear. You’d been given your budget and some ancient patterns from Mrs. Blackburn’s collection, a 1970s renaissance faire dress pattern that didn’t fit in at all with the period. You bit back complaints about how little money you had to make anything nice.

You silently thanked god for Heather Holloway and her rich parents. They would pay to have her costumes done separately from your handiwork and all you’d have to do was make some decent things for the rest of the cast. You’d be sewing until your fingers bled. You were just thankful that you had made patterns for men’s pants in the same style of the dresses. You wouldn’t have to draft different sizes off a thin parchment pattern for them. Nicole, Tammy, and Heather were all around the same size so you’d only need to two different sizes of pattern. The project would be fairly simple.

Which meant that Mrs. Blackburn had to throw a wrench in everything.

She asked you to speak with her after your afternoon class one month into rehearsals. You stood awkwardly in front of her desk, your trapper keeper clutched tight to your chest, a few fingers bandaged from pricks and pokes from rouge pins and needles. You’d spent the night before alternating between putting blocking notes into your script and hemming the skirt of Tammy Thompson’s pale yellow dress. You’d bought a very pretty pale yellow brocade fabric with thin gold laurel patterns over the material and it was heavier than expected but it looked rightfully rich enough for a duchess to wear.

“Now, I might have overestimated Mr. Harrington’s acting abilities,” she said quietly, looking between you and the door. Steve was the first out of the room when the bell rang, he wasn’t lurking by the door waiting to hear you shit talk him. “He’s not performing well.”

“Well yes, I tried to tell you that when we auditioned him.” You replied, trying to hold back an eye roll.

“There’s no need to be bitter, he’s salvageable.” Mrs. Blackburn turned her attention to erasing the board. She had a freshman year drama class after this and the smelly youths would burst through the door at any moment. “What we’ll do is simply give him some extra help, less time working with the others and have him focus on really working on his lines. He’s not off book anyway.”

You nodded “So, what do you need me to do here?” Mrs. Blackburn reached into her desk and pulled out her pads of excused late slips, pulling out a pen and scribbling out your student information.

“Well, I can’t very well stop blocking the performance and we need to start heading over to the theatre soon. So you’ll handle helping Mr. Harrington from here on out.” She said nonchalantly. Her hoard her stinky children burst into the room, taking over the class with sound and fury, signifying nothing but an assault on your eardrums.

“So, and just for clarification here, you want me to make all the costume, stage manage the production, and teach Steve his lines?” you asked, taking the green slip she dangled out in front of you.

“Well yes of course that’s what you signed on to do and we always come through on what we choose to do.” Mrs. Blackburn turned her attention to her classroom, clapping twice to grab their attention. You knew that this was your cue to leave and you slinked away with your tail betwixt your legs, put back in your place by the older woman. You could’ve screamed. Teaching lines was not what you signed up for. Working with Steve was not what you signed up for. You signed on for making costumes and stage managing. Steve was not a part of the equation. He wasn’t even associated with the equation. He was a whole separate equation that you weren’t supposed to be tasked with solving.

And yet when Mrs. Blackburn announced that the rest of the cast would be heading to the theatre and you’d be staying behind with Steve to run lines, you didn’t complain. Steve did, he wanted to see the theatre, but you stayed silent, waving them goodbye as they left the cramped classroom. You and Steve stared at each other for a moment, silent and awkward, before you reached down and picked up the paper grocery bag you’d brought along with you and pulled out the pretty rouge pink linen you’d bought to make Nicole’s dress. You lay it flat on the desks and unfolded your newspaper patterns.

“Alright, sit.” You pointed to the desk in front of you and opened your patterning kit, pulling out your white tailor’s chalk and sewing scissors. Steve obeyed, tucking himself into the desk. You looked up with a forced smile “Alright, this is how we’re doing to do this. You are going to perform the lines without your script. When you need a line, say line and I’ll give it to you. Repeat it and then start again from the top. We’ll do that until you can say the whole thing without stuttering or calling line. Got it?”

Steve swallowed hard “Got it.”

“Alright, we’ll start from the first scene.” You pulled out your copy of the abridged play. Steve looked at you for a moment, confused and you summoned him to begin.

He took a heaving breath and you began pinning your pattern pieces to the material. “If music be the food of love, play on, give me…” Steve began, already stuttering. He went silent before shamefully asking “Line?”

You looked up with a raised eyebrow. You were hoping for at least a few lines to be known before he needed help. Mrs. Blackburn underestimated how little he knew. “Give me excess of it; that, surfeiting the appetite may sicken, and so die…that strain again!” you read out, monotone before turning your attention to Steve “Start again.”

He spouted out the dialogue, just a nervous as before and stuttering all the while. You managed to get through pinning the skirt piece down before he called line again. He only got through a line of dialogue past your last prompting. Steve looked utterly defeated and small in his seat. “I can’t think like this…” he muttered.

“The stand up. Or pace. Whatever you need to do. Just get through the speech here,” you said with a sigh “Do you need the line?” Steve nodded sadly and you read out the next line and Steve started again.

“If music be the food of love; play on, give me excess of it; that, surfeiting, the appetite may sicken and so die…that strain again! It had a dying fall: o’ it came o’er my ear like the sweet south that breathes upon a bank of violets; stealing odour…enough, no more!” he took a heaving breath. He was halfway across the room now and staring at the wall. You had turned your attention to him and were watching almost in awe. He knew the lines. He knew the whole speech. When he finished, he looked to you as if for the next line. You didn’t give it, instead you stepped out from the desk.

“You know the lines…” you breathed. It wasn’t a good performance, but he was off book. He was putting in work. You were impressed. Surprised, but impressed.

“When I’m walking around the room I do…” Steve chuckled awkwardly, rubbing the back of his neck with a small smile.

“But you have no idea what you’re saying…” you breathed, watching as Steve deflated, giving a small nod.

“Why can’t he just write what he means, I get it’s supposed to be like poetry or whatever, but it makes no sense.” He pushed himself up onto the desk, crossing his legs under him.

“It helps to think about the character as a whole. What do you know about the duke?” you asked, taking a step back to approach the scene with script in hand.

“I mean…he’s a duke, which is an important person with a lot of people who work under him, and he’s in love with Olivia, who’s a rich duchess,” he counted them off with his fingers, chewing on his lower lip as he thought.

“Exactly!” you stopped him mid-sentence, pointing excitedly “He’s in love with Olivia and Olivia doesn’t love him back, right?”

“Right?” he had a right to be confused; Mrs. Blackburn had given Tammy the note to stop playing Olivia so moony eyed over Orsino for weeks now. She hadn’t stopped, despite swearing up and down that she wasn’t trying.

“She doesn’t, and so when he’s talking about love and music, do you think he’s happy to hear the music or not?” you asked.

“I mean…I guess yes and no?” you raised an eyebrow at him. That wasn’t the exact answer you expected. He continued “Cause he’s love sick, and being love sick is fun and terrible at the same time. He talks about being sick in the speech.”

You nodded “Yes! And when he says that he wants to surfeit, that means to like overdose. He wants to die from all the love. He’s overwhelmed by it all.” Steve’s smile grew. For the first time, he felt like he was getting it now. When you explained it, the scene made sense.

You reached for your scissors and picked up the material, taking a deep breath before making the first cut in the fabric. “Alright, now I want you to take all that stuff I told you and try to put it on the words.” You said, gesturing with your finger for him to start again.

And he did. He did the scene over and over again, pacing the room while trying to feel different things. It was easy to be overwhelmed-he was overwhelmed. Everything he was doing overwhelmed him. It didn’t help that you were watching him. He didn’t like being watched. And you kept smiling at some parts and frowning at others. He wanted you to smile all the way through it. That meant that it was good, that he was doing good. And he liked your smile. This was the first time he’d seen it directed at him.

“Alright,” you stopped him mid sentence, holding out a flat palm out “Enough pacing. The blocking has you seat in like this big chair.” You stepped out from behind the desks and pulled out a chair, placing it in the centre of the room. “Sit down, we’re going to put it altogether.”

Steve gingerly sat in the chair, positioning himself the way Mrs. Blackburn had instructed with his legs splayed wide and his right elbow propped on his knee, holding his head up. With a heavy breath he started again “If music be the food of love, play on…fuck!” you looked up from your work curiously “I forgot the line already! I keep thinking about the words and the meaning and the emotions and the meter-I can’t do it all.”

You nodded, pulling the pins out of the pattern and marking the pieces numerically. “Tap your foot to the beat of the words, one less thing to think about.” You said, capping the pin box. “Do it one more time and then we’re done. They’re finishing up at the theatre now, we have to vacate ASAP.”

Steve tried your trick. It worked. He was shocked. You knew so much about this stuff. He didn’t know anything about any of this. He felt like a doofus. But you helped him through. He thought it was a onetime thing, but every rehearsal you’d take him aside and work on the words. Mrs. Blackburn had cut the thing down to about two acts, still longer than most parents wanted to sit through, but better than five acts and two intermissions. He didn’t know how he was going to do this at all. Still, he felt safe with you watching. He could perform to you instead of the audience.

For your part, you liked working with Steve. You didn’t think that you would, but he was pretty self sufficient with the piece after you gave him your Cliff’s Notes version of the text to help him understand the scenes he had to do and the context of the play as a whole. And he was funny. You didn’t know that he was funny. And he hated Tammy. Anyone who hated Tammy was a friend of yours. She was brutally annoying in rehearsals and at this point was refusing to kiss Gordon. And poor Gordon was more than over having Steve there, he swore that the guy was doing something to distract Tammy. Of course he was, he was existing in her world for the first time, but you were quick to defend him, because he was trying. It wasn’t his fault that Tammy couldn’t keep it in her pants or that Heather was more focused on her costumes than her performance. Still, nobody understood why he was there.

Sat with Steve at the back of the Hawkins Community Playhouse, you decided to ask him. “Hey,” you asked quietly. Gordon and Tammy were doing their little love scene on the stage below and Mrs. Blackburn would kill you if she could hear you talking. “Can I ask you something?” Steve nodded, looking up from his script.

“Why are you doing this show?” Steve frowned and you backtracked quickly “I mean, this isn’t your bag I just was curious…”

“Honestly?” Steve asked. You gave a half nod, trying not to appear too curious. “Mrs. Blackburn promised me that if I did this, she’d pass me for the year and that I can skip out on the final.” Your eyes blew wide. You were pissed. Not because he was only doing the show for a decent grade, but because you still had to prepare a monologue performance to perform for your final on top of all this work.

“That bitch…” you murmured “I wanna skip out on the final!”

Steve laughed “Ask! She was only gonna pass me, I haggled for the final.”

“She’d never. She wants to work me to death, I swear.” You chuckled darkly. You flipped up the tan suede Bodice you built, the lace dangling loosely from the eyelets. It looked good. It would look better on Nicole, for now it would have to look good on the floor.

Steve was called up to the stage and you returned to Mrs. Blackburn’s side, watching the ending go down, as Viola’s true nature is revealed and Sebastian is reunited with his sister. It was a messy scene, with the Malvolio plotline cut there wasn’t a scheme to reveal or a villain to unmask, so the scene became instead a bit of a wedding. You still wished you’d done A Midsummer’s Night’s Dream, you would’ve actually auditioned for that show. Still, Twelfth Night was turning into a half decent show. You hadn’t expected Steve to bring anything, but he played the duke like a sort of well meaning dunce, a loveable yet hopeless fool. He just seemed to have fun, especially when Nicole and Dale were acting silly behind him. He just seemed to have fun with them, unlike Tammy and Heather who had no interest in playing and seemed to be fighting for who could look the most bored. It had been a long day, it was nearly eight o’clock at night and Mrs. Blackburn had sent her husband to go pick up pizza for the cast an hour ago. Everyone was exhausted, but you were supposed to do a full fitting for the cast after they were done.

Thankfully, Mrs. Blackburn ended the torture. “Alright,” she clapped once, calling an end to the scene “Let’s call it quits there. Y/N has brought all the costumes for the show with her today, let’s have a try on and then we’ll take our pizza to go. Sound good?” the whole room let out an exhausted half cheer and you picked up the massive duffel bag you’d brought from home.

“I hope everyone remembered their shoes,” you said, pulling out the first hanger, holding the intense yellow brocade with the golden Bodice for Tammy to take. “Heather, your stuff is here, right?” Heather scoffed, taking the three off the stage and picking up her own bag. You handed Nicole her dress and passed out the brown faux burlap pants and white puffy shirts. You’d made separate vests for each character-Steve’s a rich navy blue, Dale’s a jaunty royal purple with a matching jester cap from the prop closet, and Gordon a dull olive green. Their colours would have to do to differentiate them to the audience. Everyone left to do their try on and when they returned you were transported to the ren faire.

You stepped off the stage, joining Mrs. Blackburn in the fifth row. You smiled; the brocade looked lovely under the lights, as did the silver buttons you’d put on Steve’s vest. It was a bit wide. “Alright, Tammy you’re good to change, Steve stay put.” You jumped back onto the stage, stepping behind him. Up close, it was hard to look at him. He was too attractive. You were stunned that any man could look sexy in a stupid puffy shirt, but there Steve was, ruining your work relationship with him.

“Stay still, I’m putting pins in your vest, I don’t want to poke you.” You whispered, pulling a couple pins from your cushion. You felt Steve suck in a deep breath as your fingers grazed his lower back, tingles running up his spine. You pulled the material in a bit, pinning it flat. You noted that you’d have to add a couple darts to each side to make it fit better. It only took a few moments, but when you came back around to look over Steve he looked as if he might faint. “Steve,” he looked to you with blown out eyes “Breathe.” He nodded twice and you stepped off the stage. It was only a week until performances. He must have been scared shitless.

Steve was scared shitless. Of you. He didn’t know how to act when you were watching him. Well, he knew how to act, you’d trained him to play Orsino, but he didn’t know how Steve fit into your relationship. All he knew was that when he had to kiss Heather at the end of the show, he only had you on his mind. He couldn’t even look at you when it was over, he felt like he’d cheated on you. Which was insane, but the feeling stuck in his gut.

When the day of performances came around, Steve was shaken. He didn’t know what to do with himself. He hadn’t told any of his friends about what he was doing and yet word had gone around the school. All of his friends were coming opening night, he swore with pitchforks and rotten fruit to throw. When he got the theatre at four o’clock that afternoon, however, the whole cast was in a tizzy.

Heather was an hour late. And, according to Nicole, she wasn’t coming. “Her father’s hosting a benefit at the Carmel Country Club tonight, there’s no way that she’s showing.” She moaned. Mrs. Blackburn was already in the phone book, looking up the number of the club. She left to make a call, promising that Heather would never do such a thing.

Tammy was crying off her makeup in the corner, with Robin consoling her while trying to not get blackened tears on her white shirt. “She’s going to ruin my show! She’s ruining it!” she sobbed.

You were stood in the corner, unsure where to place yourself. Luckily, Mrs. Blackburn returned quickly. “I’ve just spoken to Heather,” she announced. The room fell into a hush.

“And?” you asked, looking up from the hot rollers you were putting in Nicole’s hair.

“And she’s not coming. She told me about this and I said it was okay. I guess I forgot.” Mrs. Blackburn replied. You knew that was bullshit, but you held your tongue.

“What’re we going to do???” Tammy cried out. That sent the room into an uproar, everyone talking over one another. Steve stayed silent. In truth, he was a bit glad to be rid of Heather. Maybe they wouldn’t have to perform.

“Now, now as we know in the theatre the show must go on!” Mrs. Blackburn cried. “Y/N, as stage manager, has been learning the blocking and pacing for the show. She will go on as Viola and I will make a speech before we go on! It’s all we can do!”

Everyone turned to look at you. You turned your attention to Mrs. Blackburn, walking over to her and whispering in her ear. “If I do this, I don’t have to do the final. You grade on this.” She looked you over and then turned once. You turned to the cast and sighed softly, nodding “The show will go on.” You shrugged, heaving up your trapper keeper.

“She doesn’t look right. She doesn’t have a costume.” Tammy whined.

“I will go to the school and get what we have left. I’m sure we have a pair of trousers and a puffed shirt for her to wear.” Mrs. Blackburn grabbed her purse off the makeup counter “Girls, work your magic on her.”

You put the last roller in Nicole’s hair and she grabbed your arm, pulling her into the chair next to her. “Grab that green skirt from last year!” Nicole called after her teacher “You’re gonna wear this dress for the opening. I’ll wear the skirt and whatever else she brings back, now let’s make you Viola.”

You were poked and prodded and burned until you were as close to looking like Heather as you were going to get. Then, you were stuffed into Nicole’s dress. Thankfully, Mrs. Blackburn had found two leftover puffy white shirts and a bodice, and the decision was made that you’d wear the rouge dress and she’d wear the green skirt from last year. It was a nice enough gesture, as was Tammy being forced to give up her extra pair of character shoes, which she did begrudgingly at the behest of Robin.

And then, you were stood offstage. And you were terrified. You’d never done this before. In your four years of stage managing, no one had ever called out of a performance, you’d never had to take over a role last minute. Your mind kept focusing on the discomfort of the costume. Nicole had tied your bodice too tight. Tammy’s shoes were too big. The skirt was too long. You were too wrong for this. You wanted to run. And then, the lights came up on Steve. Your breath caught in your throat as he spoke the opening lines so well and Robin began her first flute solo. Steve was doing wonderfully. With his left foot tapping lightly on the wooden stage floor, he knew what he was saying, even with distraction surrounding him. Internally, he felt as close to someone else as he’d ever felt in his life. Steve didn’t like that you weren’t in the audience to watch him, but he couldn’t see anyone with the lights on anyway. The audience clapped as he finished his scene and left with Dale, the lights going out fully as Robin cleared her chair and music stand and Gordon carried off the throne. Steve reached out and squeeze your shoulder with a kind smile.

“You have this,” he said softly. You heaved out a breath and stepped on the stage. You went right to the centre and right up to the edge, sitting down so your legs dangled off. You had no idea how Heather did this. You were too close to the audience. As the lights came up, you looked down at the lines in front of you. Dale stepped onto the stage in a sailor’s cap. He really had to play everyone in this stupid show. He nodded to you with a smile.

“What…” you voice came out in a whisper. No one could hear you. You took a breath, closing your eyes before trying again. “What country, friends, is this?” you asked loudly.

Dale’s smile grew. The scene was actually happening. “This is Illyria, lady.” He said, doing his best to sound like an old man.

The first scene was bumpy. Dale wanted to show off a bit and make the audience laugh, even though the scene was an info dump, which meant that you could just read the lines back to him and follow the blocking. You were more comfortable moving than you were speaking. But it got easier. Once you were dressed as Ceserio and working with Steve, things went smoother. You knew those scenes very well, the lines were almost memorized on your part from playing scene partner to him. Steve was fun to work with, he constantly made you smile.

It wasn’t hard for you to pretend to be in love with Steve. You felt like you were. Well, maybe not love. But like. Like a whole lot. And you were sure that he liked you to. Or maybe he was just that good of an actor.

The show went so fast. It was refreshing. Sat in the booth, it was a slog to get through, but onstage it went quick. You were nervous over the ending. You knew Heather’s last scene was a kiss with Steve. It wasn’t the passionate, intense kiss that Tammy and Gordon would do a scene before, but it was still a kiss. No matter how he felt about you, this was going to change your friendship forever.

You joined the cast last on stage, the who’s who of the plot being broken down, Steve was supposed to be mad when you came onstage, but he smiled like he’d seen what heaven looked like. You smiled up at Steve as the changed scene began, cutting the duel that leads the group into their explanations of the mix ups. Mrs. Blackwell hadn’t had the heart to cut a bit of Viola’s dialogue, so it lead the group into the explanations instead.

“After him I love, more than I love these eyes, more than my life, more by all the mores than e’er I shall love my wife.” You had no direction for what to do with the line. Heather had said it dramatically towards the audience. You turned your attention to Steve, caressing his face with your thumb. It was greedy, you were using the scene to get a bit of affection from the boy. You knew you shouldn’t, but you couldn’t help it. Steve seemed bewildered but happy, he fit the moment perfectly.

The scene continued as planned, with all the reveals shown to the characters and couples happily coupled off. Sebastian and Olivia were revealed to be married and that all was okay between Viola and Olivia once her gender was revealed.

Steve turned to you, smiling ear to ear “Boy, thou hast said to me a thousand times thou never shouldst love woman like me.” He took your hands in his squeezing them tight.

“And all those sayings will I over-swear, and all those swearing keep me as true in soul as doth orbed continent the fire that severs day from night.” You replied, matching his giddy grin. The kiss was coming soon, he had one more line and then he’d plant one on you.

“Give me thy hand,” you both looked down at your still clasped together hands. The audience chuckled. Steve pressed on “And let me see thee in thy woman’s weeds.” You and Nicole rushed offstage and quickly changed you into the dress again. You were all butterflies and pins and needles, shaking in your loose heels. Nicole brushed out your skirt and smiled, escorting you back onstage.

The audience clapped politely on your return, you tried your best to smile although was hard to breath with Steve looking at you like that. He scooped you up in his arms and kissed you quickly before you had a moment to react. You swore that he had a line before this happened but you didn’t care. Your script was out of your hands anyway, he’d knocked it out of your hands when he lifted you off the ground. You swore you were flying.

And then you were on the ground. Steve cleared his throat. He was blushing madly. He remembered his line. He turned to Tammy, who was holding back a laugh before turning back to you.

“Cesario, come! For so you shall be, while you are a man; but, when in other habits you are seen, Orsino’s mistress and his fancy’s queen.” He announced, grabbing your hand and sweeping you off the stage, Gordon and Tammy in close pursuit. Dale and Nicole still had a scene, which Mrs. Blackburn had changed for them to share. You weren’t paying attention to them though.

“Nice work,” Steve breathed, squeezing your hand in his.

“You surprised the hell outta me,” you chuckled “Made me lose my script.”

“You look really pretty like this,” Steve said. You looked at him carefully. He was sweaty and shy, his eye barely met yours.

You smiled “Thank you, you look good in cheap period costumes.” You knocked your hip into his, making him stumble just a bit. He grabbed your hip, pulling them parallel to his.

“Yeah?” he asked, bring his left hand to grab your chin.

You smiled “Oh yeah, definitely,” you wrapped an arm around his neck, pulling him down to kiss you again as Tammy and Gordon ran to grab you for curtain call. You didn’t care. Looking into Steve’s eyes, you knew he wasn’t a good enough actor to fake the way he looked at you. And you swore the world went silent in that moment, nothing standing between you and the swirling stars and hearts in his eyes.

162 notes · View notes

youaremylittlesunshine · 4 years ago

Text

Eve/Villanelle Fanfic Rec List

A very very long list of my favourite Eve & Villanelle multichapter fanfics that are still in progress.

Quid Pro Quo by Fixy (E)

Divorces are sad and expensive and time consuming, so it helps when your solicitor isn’t all that bad.

Or!

A divorce au featuring ‘I fell asleep on my arms’ Eve and business attire Barbie

https://archiveofourown.org/works/21637660

Imagine Me And You (And Our Parents) by imunbreakabledude (E)

“Eve, we are all adults here.”

“It’s hard to take that seriously when you have your hand in my pants.”

The chemistry between Eve and Villanelle is obvious and immediate, so it's awkward when they find out their parents are getting married.

https://archiveofourown.org/works/22864576

Babysitting Grief by uncreativerabbit (M)

Set after the events of episode five. Eve is stunned when Konstantin approaches her outside a pub on a dreary London day, frantically offering her the world in return for a favour only she can do. Eve is reluctant until she realises that she is the only person in the world for the job. Struggling through both her emotions and Villanelle's, she learns about the why - why Villanelle is like she is, why she is drawn to her inexplicably, and why that bus moment actually happened

https://archiveofourown.org/works/24139228

The Long Way Home by Spayne (M)

Villanelle is forced to take the long way home.

Eve thinks that perhaps that isn’t such a bad thing.

https://archiveofourown.org/works/24943183

Twisting Vines by Kai_ROz (E)

“You can’t be serious, Bill.”

“I’m perfectly serious. She’s one of the biggest names in the business, a positive word from her would go a long way to getting this place back on the right track.”

“I don’t want or need anything from her.”

“If you say so. But I think you’re making a mistake.”

“So be it. There will be plenty of time for me to rub her stupid, smug review into her stupid, smug face.”

https://archiveofourown.org/works/24578872

Define Normal by Jean Genie (LetYourselfGo) (E)

How do Eve and Villanelle end up living a not-so-normal life together in a chateau in the south of France nine months after realizing that they can't walk away from one another? A lot of traveling, shopping, kissing, fucking, dancing, laughing, crying, coping, topping, bottoming, murdering, and some truly fabulous food and drink.

https://archiveofourown.org/works/24889048

Specialities by villanellesgun (Teen And Up Audiences)

Eve is an established Trauma Surgeon working at St. Thomas’ Hospital in Central London, England.

Villanelle is a second-year registrar and has transferred to St.Thomas due to an incident at another hospital.

Villanelle still hasn’t completely decided on her chosen specialty, despite the pressure from her peers and consultants, but there’s one thing she is sure of -- Eve.

And Villanelle always gets what she wants.

https://archiveofourown.org/works/24766636

The Miseducation of Eve Polastri by Justanothergirl (M)

My own take on "What happens after the bridge scene."

Rating changes in Chapter 5.

Also, Villaneve is canon, y'all. Let's drink to that.

https://archiveofourown.org/works/24717658

now we walk by behindthec (M)

“Stay until you hate me.” Post 3x08.

https://archiveofourown.org/works/24498097

lost on you by charizona (E)

“Eve,” Villanelle says. “I can’t stop thinking about you.” There’s a pause, then a breathless laugh. “So I waited a socially acceptable amount of time to call you.”

Eve fights a smile. “It’s been, like, five hours.”

“I am social,” Villanelle argues, “and I’m accepting it.”

A very loose, very chaotic Mr. and Mrs. Smith AU.

https://archiveofourown.org/works/24528724

are you bored yet? by crowdyke, Toucanna (M)

They stare at each other for a long time. Thirty seconds after the Season 3 finale, Eve and Villanelle answer the question "Where do we go from here?"

https://archiveofourown.org/works/24597121

Albuquerque by oksana1 (Not rated)

“Eve,” the woman enunciated the name like it was fine art, tongue slipping around each sound with care. She had a cheshire cat smile, and she was suddenly closer, too-close, elbows propped up on the counter, inches away from Eve’s face, “so you are Eve, and you sell artifacts.”

Eve sells antiques in New Mexico. Villanelle is a collector with very specific tastes

https://archiveofourown.org/works/24671413

From The Same Star by almostafantasia (M)

In a world where your soulmate’s initials appear on your skin after you meet for the first time, Eve’s life gets turned upside down when the single letter ‘V’ appears on her abdomen on the same day that a senior MI6 official gets assassinated just down the road from where she works.

https://archiveofourown.org/works/24544438

At The Cliff's Edge by filthy_nebula (M)

Eve is living in self imposed isolation along the coast. Oksana washes up one morning after a storm. Cue uneasy domesticity, secrets lives, and confessions in the rain à la Notebook (2004).

https://archiveofourown.org/works/19732525

The Heat of the Moment by imunbreakabledude (M)

Olympic boxer Oksana Astankova is looking to break into MMA.

Sought-after manager Eve Polastri is looking for a brand new fighter to coach from the ground up.

They'll beat the crap out of everyone in their way.

https://archiveofourown.org/works/23262682

Death Wears McQueen by HenryMercury (E)

Reporting on Fashion Week isn't the investigative journalism Eve Polastri signed up for.

That is, until a runway assassination and a one night stand throw her into the path of Oksana Astankova—the unbearably hot new Editor of Villanelle Magazine.

https://archiveofourown.org/works/24404530

Love at First Swipe by estvillanelle (M)

The tinder AU no one asked.

Eve's being catfished.

https://archiveofourown.org/works/24451078

these mortifying ordeals by coldmackerel (M)

it only takes one summer to: retire, go on holiday, try fishing, get half-stabbed to death in the aftermath of a fallen global crime conglomerate, fake your death, get nostalgic for an ex, show up unannounced, get answers.

https://archiveofourown.org/works/23364403

Two wrongs make a right by Vracs (E)

Just two morons on a mission to take down the bad guys and get in each other's pants.

No but seriously, it's a little story of give and take, hard and soft, until they finally meet somewhere in between.

https://archiveofourown.org/works/24026908

Notting Hill by Wrongplaceperson (Teen And Up Audiences)

Eve Polastri is the owner of a quaint little bookstore in London.

Villanelle Astankova is a Hollywood superstar.

Villanelle lives in Beverly Hills. Eve lives in Notting Hill.

Their lives couldn't be more different

They meet when Villanelle visits Eve's bookstore one morning.

Will this meeting change their lives?

Notting Hill AU

https://archiveofourown.org/works/24647626

what we deserve by lisewrites (M)

“But I deserve to be kissed nicely. I want you to kiss me nicely Eve.”

https://archiveofourown.org/works/24717211

You, Me and The Twelve by HardSeltzer (Teen And Up Audiences)

Eve and Villanelle are competing CEOs fighting for the biggest deal. Who will come out on top? Or will they just end up on top of each other?

https://archiveofourown.org/works/24361501

darkest minds by deletetheadjectives (M)

Almost two years after Rome, Eve is living a bitter life as a dish washer in London—the only job she could get without proper identification when Carolyn made sure Eve Polastri was dead to those who knew her.

Following a tip from an unexpected source, Eve learns of Villanelle’s location: working as a waitress in a diner in the Middle-of-Nowhere, USA.

And so Eve’s plans for revenge start to form…

https://archiveofourown.org/works/20825711

My Darling, I Am Yours (And You Are Mine) by Trufreak89 (M)

“Shh. It’s okay.” She tenderly tucks a strand of the woman’s hair behind her ear. “I’ve got you, Eve. I’m going to look after you… You’ll see.”

https://archiveofourown.org/works/18965383

She's (Not) Afraid by villanellessuit (M)

Villanelle sticks by her 'no dating rule' until a certain curly-haired woman makes her a coffee on her way to work one cold morning.

That one where Villanelle is a rich interior designer and Eve is the owner of an unsuccessful coffee shop.

https://archiveofourown.org/works/24668410

and i like the way you kiss me (don’t know if i should) by taare (Teen And Up Audiences)

Having Eve this close again is intoxicating.

Eve, for her part, is looking directly at her, breathing hard, eyes wide open, closing the distance between them.

And then Eve’s lips are on hers, and her eyes are still open — Villanelle knows, because her eyes are open too — and she does not know what to make of this new sensation because how do you react when what you’ve been chasing for the better part of a year (and maybe your whole life?) finally catches up to you?

—

If Episode 3 had ended the way we all wanted it to.

I can't, I won't. by p28 (M)

POST 3x08. Sooooo not only do we get survive 3x08 but now we also have to survive until s4 so rip us clowns.

"I can't, I won't."

"Aren't you quite the romantic?"

https://archiveofourown.org/works/24505006

Powerful Beyond Measure by Kai_ROz (E)

After their encounter on the bus, Villanelle knows she has the upper hand and wants to make her next move ...

Villanelle is a chaotic idiot when it comes to Eve.

https://archiveofourown.org/works/23925631

First Comes Marriage... by melvncholymvmi (M)

'"So," Hugo asked, grinning as wide as the Cheshire cat, "how's the sex?"

"I have had better." Villanelle responded with a shrug as she stared Eve down.

"Baby, you've never had it as good as me." Eve replied, grip on the crystal tumbler tightening.

"We will see."

Fuck, she hadn't meant that the way it came out. Or had she?'

The Proposal AU where Villanelle's visa expired and Eve needs her to stay.

https://archiveofourown.org/works/23685679

Say Something Before I Go Crazy Now by KillingVillanelle (Not rated)

"I was wondering if we could switch to weekly sessions?" Villanelle asks, biting her lip to contain a smirk.

"Why?"

"Well, with this movie and stuff. I'm worried it might stir up some stuff and you are so good at helping me. Only if you can fit it in your schedule."

"I can. Anything to help you," Eve says, not hiding the way her eyes traveled down to Villanelle's lips.

"Anything?"

Or the one where Eve is a very ethical and rule following therapist and Villanelle is her most challenging client to date.

https://archiveofourown.org/works/22281589

Enemies With Disregard by yotoob (Not rated)

It's probably easier for them to not be in the same room, at least for a while.

https://archiveofourown.org/works/19163476

Home by emdash90 (M)

The interior design slow-burn romcom AU literally no one asked for.

OR!

Newly single and (begrudgingly) ready to mingle, Eve trudges her way through the unspectacular world of online dating as she takes on an 8-week interior design reno with Konstantin's niece at the helm.

https://archiveofourown.org/works/21538177

Oceans Brawl by emdash90 (M)

When time slinked forward, glacially, endlessly, and Eve had run out of ways to keep herself distracted, her attention diverted, her thoughts desperately anchored to anyone, anything else — there she was.

Waiting to bulldoze through the delicate balance of sanity she had managed to piece together, grain by grain, since Villanelle had set her world alight with a douse of gasoline and a match tossed carelessly over her shoulder.

Thrown in opposite directions in the aftermath of Rome, Eve and Villanelle find their own ways to cope with the fallout. But with the Twelve knocking on both of their doors, it's only a matter of time until these two are reunited — whether they like it or not.

https://archiveofourown.org/works/20129578

Ghost of Murder's Past by Aerstes (M)

TAKES PLACE AFTER THE SEASON 2 FINALE SO SPOILERS BEWARE. Eve is recovering in the hospital. A familiar face begins to appear while she sleeps. I have no idea where this story is going...

https://archiveofourown.org/works/19021294

If she belonged to me by songforeverystory (M)

Post Season 2. Eve is recruited as Villanelle's handler. Neither are very happy about it.

https://archiveofourown.org/works/19860391

Now I Don't Feel Those Kinds of Things by saltandsunscreen (M)

“Do you two know each other?” Elena asks, passing Eve a fresh cup of coffee. “You and the new lawyer, I mean.”

For a second, Eve imagines telling her everything. Saying, remember that night Niko left last year, and I thought we were really one? Well, I went out, got drunk, met her, and we fuc--

Eve can’t even make her pretend-self confess it all to Elena, not under the stark fluorescent lighting of their office. She can’t come up with a good lie, either -- a whole two seconds after seeing Villanelle again, her brain is still busy numbly cataloguing her every too-fast breath and rushed heartbeat. “Uh, I’m pretty sure we ran into each other at a conference, once?”

“Oh.” Elena pauses. “I wish I had her jacket. Her outfit is amazing.”

Eve’s smile would probably be a little less fake if she could entirely convince herself that she’s also thinking about Villanelle’s clothes, and not what’s underneath them.

But she and Niko are trying, right? So she smiles harder.

https://archiveofourown.org/works/19113304

#killing eve #ke #villanelle #eve polastri #villaneve #fanfiction #fanfic

69 notes · View notes

kelelamentia · 5 years ago

Text

Dinner at Wayne Manor

@ozmav you wound me up and set me loose.

Wayne Manor:

In the front hall standing in a line was Bruce, Dick, Jason, Tim and Damien; in that orders, with Alfred standing in front of them like an officer in front of his troops.

“Now, when Ms.Marinette arrives there will be no inappropriate language, no crude gestures or noises, and there will be no interrogation. Do you gentlemen understand?”

“Yes Alfred.” Was the group response, Damien felt that he should add something.

“I would never behave in such manner in front of Marinette.”

“So you’ll do it behind her?” Tim prodded.

“No! Of course not Drake, Marinette deserves a gentleman.”

“So you’re going to look for one for her Baby Bird? Is that why you’re bringing her here, to introduce her to us?” Dick teased looking over to the youngest. Damien growled at Dick.

“Boys please don’t get into a fight, Alfred just cleaned and we want to NOT look like idiots for our guest.” Bruce interrupted.

“I don’t think we have to worry Bruce, anyone that the Demon Spawn brings here is probably just as rude and demonic as he is.” Jason shot at Damien.

“Shut up Todd, I’m not demonic and neither is Marinette.”

“You can be a bit…rude little D.” Dick pointed out.

“I’ve improved Grayson, unlike these two.” Damien nodded towards Jason and Tim, who were trying to guess what Marinette looked like.

“How much do you want to bet this girl has piercings Timmy-Boy.”

“Piercings, no, leather, spikes and combat boots? Totally, Jason.”

“Or maybe tattoos.”

“Boys!” Bruce yelled, getting their attention.

“That is rude and uncalled for, stop.”

“Aw, come on Bruce you can’t honestly believe that…”

*Ahem*

Alfred cut Jason off by clearing his throat.

“What did I just go over Master Jason?”

“Sorry Alfred.”

“Indeed, now Ms.Marinette will here in just a moment and I want you to at least pretend to be respectable young men.”

*Doorbell rings*

“There she is now, if you would please wait in the living room, I will greet Ms.Marinette.” Alfred announced.

“How does he do that!?” Everyone muttered as they walked to the living room.

Living Room:

The Wayne family was sitting around in various spots when Alfred brought in a young girl wearing a sky blue sun dress, with a light gray cropped jacket (Which, unknown to them had a hidden pocket for TIkki), wearing light gray flats, carrying a medium sized box.

“Hello everyone I’m Marinette Dupain-Cheng, it’s nice to meet you.” Marinette introduced herself.

Damien was the first to respond, the other left mute at what they were seeing.

“Hello Marinette I’m thrilled you come.”

“Hi Damien, I’m happy you invited me.” Marinette said turning a bit shy.

Burce was the first one to snap out of his haze.

“Hello Marinette, I’m Bruce Wayne, welcome to our home.”

“Hello Mr.Wayne.”

“Please call me Bruce Marinette, I want you to feel welcome. Let me introduce the rest of the boys.” Burce started, turning towards the other three boys in the room.

“This is my eldest, Dick.”

“You.Are.So.Cute.” Dick said in rhythm of him bouncing on his chair, making Marinette blush, Damien grit his teeth, and Bruce sigh.

“My second eldest, Jason.”

“Blink twice if you’re here against your will Sweet heart.” Jason winked, Damien was now gritting his teeth and glaring, Bruce plowed on.

“And my second youngest, Tim.”

“You’re cute, and calm, and not glaring at everything. You‘re Damien’s girl! I can’t believe it!” Tim stressed as he pulled his hair with both of his hands. Damien was now giving out a low growl; Marinette decided it would be best if she stepped in.

“It’s nice to meet all of you, but I’m not here against my will and I’m not Damien’s g-girl.” Marinette started strong and finish faintly. A secret smile was shared between Bruce and Alfred, Bruce’s attention was then drawn towards the box Marinette held.

“Did you bring something Marinette?”

“Yes, I brought some Macrons that I hope everyone will enjoy.”

Damien jolted.

“You didn’t have to bring anything Marinette.”

“Master Damien is correct Ms.Marinette, this was not necessary.” Alfred added.

“I didn’t have to, but I wanted to, so I did.” Marinette chirped opening up the box show them what’s inside.

Inside was 15 macrons, each styled after a member of the Bat-family.

“I hope you don’t mind if they are decorated after Gotham’s heroes.” Marinette questioned. The male were gathered around the box in stunned silence, when Dick broke it.

“I’ve never seen anything like this around Gotham before, and there is a lot of bat-themed stuff out there.”

“That’s because I made them!” Marinette cheered.

“What?!” was the group response.

“You made these Marinette? These look better that any other Bat-themed cookie I’ve seen before.” Bruce praised.

“These look marvelous Marinette, but where did you make them? Your hotel room doesn’t have a kitchen.” Damien asked, unaware that his brother’s will be teasing him about know what Marinette’s hotel room looked like later.

“I asked the hotel kitchen staff if I could. They said yes, but only if they could have the left over cookies.”

“What flavours are they?” Jason questioned, Marinette began her answer.

“The Batman ones are a black-berry, the Nightwing ones are blue-berry, the Red Hood ones are spiced dark chocolate, the Red Robin ones are mocha (Because, I heard he likes coffee), and the Robin ones are strawberry.”

“Wow, this must have taken you awhile to make.” Dick commented.

“It wasn’t hard, my family owns a bakery in Paris, and so I’ve had lots of practice.”

“Wait! You’re cute, sweet, bake AND you STILL like Damien??!!” Tim just couldn’t understand! As Tim was having a brake-down, Jason was reaching for one of the cookies; only to have his hand slapped away by Alfred.

“Now Master Jason these macrons will be save for after dinner.” Alfred scolded taking the box from Marinette’s hands.

“Everyone please make their way to the dining room dinner is now ready.”

*Oven timer ding*

Alfred walks to the kitchen leaving the boys to bring Marinette to the table.

“How did he do that?” Marinette asked, and everyone answered.

“We don’t know.”

Dining room:

Alfred brought out a delicious meal of roasted chicken and steam vegetables, with a garlic toast side. With the main meal out of the way, they felt they should let their meal settle before having cookies and decided to get to know Marinette better.

“So Marinette, what are you interested in doing, Damien had mentioned you like designing.” Bruce began.

“I do, just recently I finished a project for Jagged Stone and…”

“Wait!” Tim shouted.

“You are THAT Marinette Dupain-Cheng, the one who made Jagged Stone’s “Hard Rock” Album cover and famous Eiffel tower glasses, and inspired Clara Nightingale to change music video, at 14! And most recently just made both their outfits for the World Wide Music Awards?!” Tim exclaimed pointing at Marinette.

“The f-“

“Jason!” Bruce managed to cut off the swear word before it left his mouth.

“I loved Jagged’s suit” Dick reminisced fondly, Jagged Stone was very popular in the Wayne house.

Damien just stared in wonder at the girl sitting beside him, she has already achieved great things, but is still humble, not bring it up unless someone asked her first.

“That is very impressive Ms.Marinette, I look forward to seeing your designs in person one day.”

“Thank you Alfred.” Marinette managed to squeak out.

“You’re welcome, now I believe it is time for cookies.” Alfred returned to the kitchen to bring the box out and giving everyone a chance to calm down.

Cookies were brought out and everyone grabbed one, with the exception Marinette saying she already had plenty of cookies. Bruce and Alfred had Batman cookies, Dick; Nightwing, Jason: Red Hood, Tim; Red Robin, and Damien; Robin.

In synchronous, everybody took a bite.

Marinette fidgeted nervously in her chair, waiting for a reaction.

Dick started the chain.

“WHOA!”

“Holy Sh-“Jason was cut off again by Bruce.

“Jason! But, these are fabulous cookies Marinette”

“Agreed Master Bruce, I must get your recipe Ms.Marinette.”

Tim was just staring at his cookie, like it could answer all his questions.

“Marinette these taste as fantastic as they look.” Damien complemented.

“Thank you Damien, your opinion means so much to me.” Marinette smiled at Damien, she then continued.

“Did save one of each to leave on the balcony for Gotham’s Heroes (I hear that’s popular). Do you think they would like them?”

Bruce froze and recovered.

“I’m sure they would love them just as much we do.”

The evening went on and soon it was time for Marinette to leave.

Front Entrance:

“I’m sorry to say that I have to leave, but I should get back to the hotel before it becomes too dark.”

“Its fine Marinette, I’d rather you get back safely more than anything else.” Damien assured.

Marinette then turned her attention to everyone else.

“Thank you have having me, it was great to meet all of you, and I hope you enjoy the cookies.”

“I’m glad you came to visit Marinette, I hope to see you again soon.” Bruce nodded.

“Yeah come by again little Lady and bring more cookies.” Dick grinned.

“Any baked good you bring will be welcome here Pixie-Pop.” Jason smirked.

“Yes welcome to come by again.” Tim distracted by his phone said, causing Alfred to shoot a sharp look at him.

“I hope you enjoy the rest of your evening Ms.Marinette.” Alfred said in farewell, holding the door open her.

Marinette got in her ride and drove away; a new topic came up from Tim.

“Hey Brat, what kind of ring do you want to get Marinette?”

“What?!” Damien turned his head so fast, it’s miracle he didn’t snap his neck.

“Hey! You found a girl that’s cute, sweet, bakes, started/runs her own business at 14, and can tame your sorry butt. The smartest thing to do right now is keep her, now what kind of ring.”

“Drake!”

“Choose pink diamonds Tim, she likes pink.”

“Grayson!”

“On a silver band, that would look nice.” Dick inputted.

“On it.”

“Hey Demon Spawn.” Jason called drawing Damien’s attention.

“How do you know what her hotel room looks like? Were you spying on her?”

“NO Todd! I would never do such a thing!”

“Rrrrrrrrrrriiiiiiiiigggggggggggghhhhhhhhhhhttttttttt” Jason dragged out.

As the bickering continued Alfred and Bruce stood off to the side, and sighed, both knowing something was going to get broken before patrol.

End.

That was Dinner at Wayne Manor

Also…

Extra:

Later that night Marinette left a box of Batfam themed cookies on her balcony, with a note saying;

“Thank you, for all that you do. –Marinette”

And went to bed.

The next morning the box was empty and a new note was left behind.

“We do what we can, thank you for the cookies, they’re great.” It was signed by all of them.

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wolfpawn · 5 years ago

Text

I Hate You, I Love You, Chapter 50

Chapter Summary - Tom decides to get the last few bits of shopping, and hopes bringing Emma with him will clear the air, leading to arguments between the usually close siblings. While that occurs, Danielle decides to go trail biking, but with her mind on Tom and the situation with Emma, she is not paying full attention to her surrounds, leading to potentially dangerous outcomes

Previous Chapter

Rating - Mature (some chapters contain smut)

Triggers - references to Tom Hiddleston’s work with the #MeToo Movement. That chapter will be tagged accordingly.

authors Note - I have been working on this for the last 3 years, it is currently 180+ chapters long. This will be updated daily, so long as I can get time to do so, obviously

After 100,000 words we are finally to chapter 50, what will happen when Emma is finally confronted.

tags: @sweetkingdomstarlight-blog @jessibelle-nerdy-mum @nonsensicalobsessions @damalseer @hiddlesbitch1 @winterisakiller @fairlightswiftly @salempoe @lys-syl @youcantcatchafallingstar

If you wish to be tagged, please let me know.

“Tom?” Diana looked at her son, “Are you alright, Sweetheart?”

Tom forced himself out of his head. “Yeah, I am just thinking about what I need to do today.”

“And what does that include?”

“Get one or two more things, wrap a few presents and see if Danielle wants to go out for a while, you?”

“Well, I saw her walking off a while ago with Mac and her bike, so I think she will be gone for a bit, I have to get a few last bits for the dinner tomorrow, do not tell me you left gifts until the last minute again?”

“Mum, that was three years ago, I was working until the day before Christmas Eve and I don’t know why you are going on about it, I got you that nice perfume you have not stopped wearing since.”

“It is true. What have you gotten Danielle?”

“I got her a surprise,” he replied cryptically.

“Thomas, please tell me you have not waited until last minute to get that girl her present.” His mother half pleaded.

“I haven’t.”

“Thomas…”

“I have most of it.”

“Oh for goodness sake Tom, you are just like your father.”

“Well with the hours she works, how do you know Elle has anything done for me?” He challenged with a cheeky smile.

“Do you honestly think that that pathetic attempt at getting me to tell you what she got you will work?” Diana laughed, causing Tom’s face to fall. “Not going to happen son of mine, and with regards what she got you, she has it gotten with a month.”

“You know what it is?” Tom asked excitedly.

“But of course I do. I am the matriarch of this family, I keep an eye on everything.” his mother smiled.

“What is it?”

“Do you think I would tell you?”

“Is it good?”

“It is exactly something you would love.” she declared, “That is all you are getting, so get your ass in gear and get the rest of hers.”

“Right, I’ll ask Em if she wants to come.” Tom grinned, walking back into the house. Diana nodded in approval as she went about her own business.

“What do you think?” Tom asked excitedly as he held up the item in hand.

“It’s a scarf, Tom.” Emma snapped back. “Is that all you are getting her or am I going to have to endure this for the day.”

Tom looked at the scarf for another moment, having checked online to see if it was even available in shops and not from ordering online and was elated when he realised it was for sale near his mother’s. Making the decision to add it to Danielle’s gifts he already got her, he turned and brought it to the till. When he paid, he walked out of the shop and went back to his car without waiting for Emma. With a sour face, Emma got in next to him. “What the hell is your problem Emma, you need to spit it out now since you didn’t have the decency to speak to me or Danielle regarding it before now, instead you just act like a spoilt brat. We get it, it is a little weird for you, but are you actually that spiteful that you would allow yourself to be the reason that not one, but two people you say you care about be unhappy?” he started up the car and revved the engine before driving towards their next stop.

“Neither of you asked me,” she started.

“Why would we, what would we even ask? We are two responsible adults, we can’t ask anyone about how we feel for one another, there is nothing to ask. We wanted to tell you ourselves, same as with mum, but she got to you first, and for that, I really am sorry, that is not the way to find out, but for fuck sake Emma, we are not going to stop loving each other just because you are getting bratty.”

“She was my friend, you had the choice of every woman in the world and you chose her.” Emma shouted at him, tears in her eyes, “It ruined everything, I thought I had one friend that actually cared about me, and was not trying to use me to get to you, and now I can’t even have that.”

“‘Was’? So that’s it, she is cast aside because, in addition to being your best friend, she is not permitted to love me, is that it? Your friends cannot love more than one Hiddleston, there’s a fucking quota because you know how mum feels about her, and how she feels with regards mum, why is that different to her and me?”

“Because one of you will fuck it up, and she will never speak to me again.”

“So, because we are not perfect, cut her loose before she leaves, is that the plan? She adores you Em, she sees you as a sister.”

“Well, then she shouldn’t have even considered you then, should she?”

“She never saw me and Sarah the same way she saw you, she adores you, and you doing this is breaking her heart.”

“Not enough for her to stop it.”

“If you dare ask her to, then you don’t deserve her friendship. No real friend would ever make such an ultimatum.” Tom growled. “And the mere idea you would do that to someone I love sickens me.”

“You are with one another a few weeks, it’s not love, Tom.”

Tom pulled in and glared at her. “I do not need to explain myself to you, but here it is, I have been in love with Elle since before your wedding,” Emma stared at him in shock. “It was in the preparations for which, when I was spending more time than I ever had before in her company, I realised she was the most amazing, brilliant and beautiful woman I had ever known and when I saw her in that dress, I, to this day, regret not pulling her aside and kissing her. I love her Emma, and she says she loves me too, and I believe her, so stop being a selfish bitch and ruining everyone's Christmas. As Elle had to say to me not too long ago, get over yourself.” Emma said nothing for a minute, instead she just stared out the window. “And why the fuck do you think this would ever end, much less in a manner that would mean your friendship being in jeopardy?”

“Because you sabotage every relationship you ever had, well the ones before Taylor, that joke doesn’t count. As soon as you get the first hint of trouble, you run, and this time, you cannot, Elle lives next to mum, you can’t avoid her when this is done.”

“I don’t want it to be ‘done’, I love her, I have not loved anyone in years.”

“You loved Susannah.”

“We were young and wanted entirely different things in life, I loved her, but not like I love Elle, we were not compatible.”

Emma scoffed, still looking out the window. “And you think you and Elle are?”

“We’ve spoken about what we want, and yes, they are somewhat similar, I know she prefers the country, yet she knows I need to be near the city, so I will happily move to a leafy suburb if it would make her happy and make the commute into town when needed, we discussed that and she was happy with it,”

“And I can imagine the whole kid's conversation going so smoothly.”

“Two,” She turned to face Tom. “Well, I wanted three, but she doesn’t want more than she has hands to hold, so,” he shrugged.

“You spoke to her about this?”

“Yes, you don’t seem to be getting this Emma, I want to be with her, I want with her what Ben and Sophie have, what you and Sarah both have, I want that, and Elle is the only woman I have looked at and thought that she would be the one I will have that with, that she is who I will be happy with, every time I am with her, I feel so much like how I used to be before all the world was staring, normal, happy. You would have noticed if you bothered to even speak to us, to be around us. I genuinely thought you would be happy for us, she has been so hurt that you have given her the cold shoulder, that you won’t talk to her.”

Emma sighed. “I’m sorry.” Tom looked at her. “I’m sorry I got bratty, are you happy?”

“That is not what you have to apologise for Emma.”

“I am sorry I did not simply voice my upset and went and said what I said.” she clarified, “Better?”

“Yes.” Tom indicated for the car to go back into traffic again. “We care about you Em, we wanted to talk to you about this.”

“Well, hearing from mum wasn’t the best way to find out.” She looked out the window again. “I can’t believe you talked about kids. Danielle never said whether or not she wanted any.”

“What? She doesn’t want kids?”

“I never said she didn’t want any, I said she never made mention of it either way. Oh my God, she could end up marrying you and being my sister-in-law.”

“You’ll be a shoo-in for maid of honour.” Tom joked.

“If that happened, she could end up having your baby.” Emma looked him up and down in disgust.

“Would that be a bad thing?” Tom laughed.

“My best friend, pregnant with my brother’s baby, what do you think?”

“Well as said brother, if it were to happen in the future, I would think it would be a very happy thing.”

“It’s weird, Tom.”

“I promise you’d be Godmother.” he smiled.

“Over Sarah?”

“Yep.”

“Fine.” Tom looked over to see Emma looking at him with a big smile on her face, “I’ll apologise to Elle when we get back.”

“She will cry with happiness Emma, she misses you so much, she feels lost without you there.”

“What can I say, I am just that fabulous.”

“When you are not being an annoying little brat, you might just be.” Tom smiled, relieved to be finally able to have Elle and Emma talking again, and in turn, hopefully, lift that dark cloud he had noticed over Elle.

Danielle knew she was pushing herself too much, she knew she was going too fast, too deep in the woodland and that she would ache more for it tomorrow, but frustration and hurt built and built, until finally, she was splashing her way through the woodland trail, mud staining her face, arms and legs, and if she could see the back of her cycling jacket, that too.

Emma had asked she have her brother for a time, there was nothing wrong with that, she had had him for a fortnight straight, but the idea of spending Christmas day away from him and everyone else she considered family, hurt; she felt incredibly isolated and alone. She had distant relatives in Ireland, but they were never close, so why would she go to them. Perhaps for a while, she and Tom could go for a walk, she wanted to give him his present, she would only have to wait and see.

She realised then that Mac was not in front of her any longer and turned her head slightly to see if he was behind her, seeing him in the distance, she pulled on the brakes to get the bike to stop, but her peculiar angle caused the bike to skid sideways. Putting her hands out, she fell to the ground with a painful thud, the sound of Mac barking frantically as he rushed over to her and the clouded sky above her the only two things she could focus on as she lay there.

#I Hate You I Love You #chapter 50 #tom hiddleston #tom hiddleston fic

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johnclapperne · 6 years ago

Text

{#TransparentTuesday} New Self-Worth Paradigm

Bleary eyed from having just woken up, I stood in front of the mirror and checked my abs.

This was a daily ritual, one I had been practicing for years since becoming a personal trainer. I wanted to look the part, to prove that I knew how to get people results. I’d been working hard to sculpt the “ideal female fitness body,” coveted by women and desired by men, and it was working.

Checking my abs in the morning was how I checked on my progress, and what I saw there had the power to determine my mood for the day.

Do I have abs today, or am I bloated?

I posed and flexed, surveying the work that still needed to be done, focusing on tiny flaws I was still working to tighten, lift, build, or lose, and decided my belly wasn’t flat enough to wear a tight top that day. For the millionth time, I looked forward to the day I “finished” sculpting the body I wanted, when I would finally feel free enough to wear whatever I wanted, and could stop checking on all these little flaws.

I threw on a loose top and grabbed a coffee and egg white omelette on my way to work, where I was known as the “model whisperer,” because I took naturally gorgeous models whose agencies wanted them to tighten up, and gave them The Right Look without cardio or dieting, by maximizing legit strength gains. The girls (and the agency) loved me, and I took a special pride in introducing 105lb gazelles to deadlifts and pull-ups, and then watching them kick ass.

This particular morning I was training a Victoria’s Secret model, who was one of the most strikingly attractive humans I had ever seen. She sashayed in the door with giant sunglasses and hair in a messy bun (looking fabulous as usual), grabbed my hand, and pulled me in front of the mirror– shushing me when I tried to ask what was happening. When we got there, she paused for dramatic effect, then dropped her sweatpants and pointed silently to the back of her thighs, right under her butt.

I stood there for a minute, staring at her ass, while she anxiously searched my face.

Eventually I looked up and asked what I was supposed to be looking for. She let out an exasperated sigh, and explained in a thick accent that her butt cheeks didn’t “pop” off her thighs the right way, so the whole thing just looked flabby and needed to be fixed.

This was a game-changing moment for me.

Staring at the half-naked backside of a woman whose body and beauty literally sets the standard for female attractiveness in our culture while she picked her body apart… something clicked for me.

“It’s never going to end,” I thought.

I had been waiting until my body was “good enough,” when I had fixed all the flaws and achieved body perfection, so that I could finally feel how I imagined women like my client felt every day– perfect.

I realized in that moment that trying to fix your body is a wild goose chase; no matter what we change, we’re never going to reach the point of being “done.” (In fact, as I had noticed in both myself and my clients, the more we focused on our bodies and the closer we got to conventional “perfection,” the more obsessive and unhappy we became.)

A tiny niggling truth that I had been avoiding for a long time rose up in that moment:body insecurity has nothing to do with what your body looks like.

Shit shit shit shit SHIT.

I believed in the power of feeling confident, and I was proud of helping my clients feel better in their own skin.

I had been making a living helping women lose weight, tone up, build juicy butts, and get strong AF. But I suddenly understood that the confidence we deserve– the sustainable kind of deep-down confidence that is so elusive for so many women and non-binary individuals, is never going to come from “fixing” all our flaws or fitting the social standard.

It’s a rigged game.

That’s when I decided I need to find where real confidence comes from, and how to help my clients achieve it. I took a yearlong life-coaching certification program, gave up my successful fitness business, moved out of NYC, and started working on the real issues surrounding chronic insecurity, self-criticism, and body perfectionism– both for myself and my clients.

Through my own personal healing, and working with hundreds of women, I discovered that true confidence doesn’t come from fitting conventional beauty/body standards, but it also doesn’t come from deciding to just “stop caring what people think.” (A troubling message I see frequently repeated in the body positivity community.)

After all, body image issues are about feeling disconnected, unwelcome, or like we don’t belong. How could the solution possibly be to isolate ourselves further?! No way.

True confidence comes from something else entirely, something I’ve never heard anyone else talk about, which I call the The New Self-Worth Paradigm.

Learning to love the skin you’re in requires redefining who you are and where your confidence comes from, as well as developing a strong sense of self, and learning to let yourself connect authentically with others.

Using the New Self-Worth Paradigm has completely changed the way I feel about myself, and the way I work with my clients.

Now instead of going around in circles trying to figure out why they feel insecure (something a lot of my clients have talked to death in therapy already!), I help my clients go deep below the surface to reconnect with their body’s lost language, untangle their self-worth from their appearance, and discover and express their authentic selves.

The best part about this new way of approaching confidence is that it actually helps them get more of the nourishing connection, acceptance, approval, and belonging that they need and want.

Nowadays, I no longer check my abs in the mirror, or hide my body under loose tops. There’s no need– not because my belly is always flat (it’s not), but because using the New Self-Worth Paradigm, I feel safe and comfortable in my body no matter what it looks like.

Whether my belly is flat or bloated doesn’t affect my mood, both because I no longer rely on my body to fight my self-worth battles for me, and because the way I feel about myself is no longer based on how other people feel about me.

The confidence that came from this new paradigm naturally spilled over into every other area of my life, seeming to spontaneously draw in a tribe of super-intimate friendships, a thriving business, mind-blowing sex, and a feeling of living my highest purpose on a daily basis.

I often see the same thing happen to my clients, who seemingly “out of nowhere” stumble upon strong and mutually nourishing relationships, alignment in their career or business, and more fun and pleasure after working with me.

Take my client Leah, who I worked with for a year as she completely changed her life, started exploring and enjoying her sexuality for the first time in her life, and launched a new business helping other women step into their fullest sexual selves.

Leah completely rewrote her script about what makes a woman valuable and lovable.

One of the most powerful breakthroughs in our work together was when she gave up the idea that she needed to be “conventionally attractive” in order to get the connection, acceptance, approval, and belonging she craved… and just started going out and getting it.

Another client named Maria said she “became friends with her body” during our work together, and was surprised by how many areas of her life were affected by improving her relationship with her body, from enjoying her free time more to finally feeling safe to come out as an activist.

Having been introduced to the New Self-Worth Paradigm, Maria no longer picks her body apart in the mirror, goes overboard with exercise, diets, or worries about food.

The old paradigm says that the only way to feel good enough is to feel better than other women. Confidence is supposed to come from being thinner, younger, prettier, sexier, cooler, or more pulled-together than other women.

Fuck that.

The old paradigm just makes everyone feel isolated and lonely, and leads to us obsessively criticizing our bodies in the mirror, scrolling through instagram and comparing ourselves to everyone, and feeling like absolute shit about ourselves– even if we fit (or even set, for god’s sake!) the conventional beauty/body standards.

Let’s play a totally different game.

Let’s redefine what confidence means, and what it looks like, and where it comes from. Let’s restore ourselves to integrated wholeness, reconnect to our bodies, and reunite with each other.

We’ve got this,

<3 Jessi

The post {#TransparentTuesday} New Self-Worth Paradigm appeared first on Jessi Kneeland.

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#{TransparentTuesday} New Self-Worth Paradigm

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albertcaldwellne · 6 years ago

Text

{#TransparentTuesday} New Self-Worth Paradigm

Bleary eyed from having just woken up, I stood in front of the mirror and checked my abs.

Checking my abs in the morning was how I checked on my progress, and what I saw there had the power to determine my mood for the day.

Do I have abs today, or am I bloated?

I stood there for a minute, staring at her ass, while she anxiously searched my face.

This was a game-changing moment for me.

Staring at the half-naked backside of a woman whose body and beauty literally sets the standard for female attractiveness in our culture while she picked her body apart… something clicked for me.

“It’s never going to end,” I thought.

A tiny niggling truth that I had been avoiding for a long time rose up in that moment:body insecurity has nothing to do with what your body looks like.

Shit shit shit shit SHIT.

I believed in the power of feeling confident, and I was proud of helping my clients feel better in their own skin.

It’s a rigged game.

After all, body image issues are about feeling disconnected, unwelcome, or like we don’t belong. How could the solution possibly be to isolate ourselves further?! No way.

True confidence comes from something else entirely, something I’ve never heard anyone else talk about, which I call the The New Self-Worth Paradigm.

Using the New Self-Worth Paradigm has completely changed the way I feel about myself, and the way I work with my clients.

The best part about this new way of approaching confidence is that it actually helps them get more of the nourishing connection, acceptance, approval, and belonging that they need and want.

Leah completely rewrote her script about what makes a woman valuable and lovable.

Having been introduced to the New Self-Worth Paradigm, Maria no longer picks her body apart in the mirror, goes overboard with exercise, diets, or worries about food.

Fuck that.

Let’s play a totally different game.

Let’s redefine what confidence means, and what it looks like, and where it comes from. Let’s restore ourselves to integrated wholeness, reconnect to our bodies, and reunite with each other.

We’ve got this,

<3 Jessi

The post {#TransparentTuesday} New Self-Worth Paradigm appeared first on Jessi Kneeland.

https://ift.tt/2Qg01PP

#{TransparentTuesday} New Self-Worth Paradigm

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joshuabradleyn · 6 years ago

Text

{#TransparentTuesday} New Self-Worth Paradigm

Bleary eyed from having just woken up, I stood in front of the mirror and checked my abs.

Checking my abs in the morning was how I checked on my progress, and what I saw there had the power to determine my mood for the day.

Do I have abs today, or am I bloated?

I stood there for a minute, staring at her ass, while she anxiously searched my face.

This was a game-changing moment for me.

Staring at the half-naked backside of a woman whose body and beauty literally sets the standard for female attractiveness in our culture while she picked her body apart… something clicked for me.

“It’s never going to end,” I thought.

A tiny niggling truth that I had been avoiding for a long time rose up in that moment:body insecurity has nothing to do with what your body looks like.

Shit shit shit shit SHIT.

I believed in the power of feeling confident, and I was proud of helping my clients feel better in their own skin.

It’s a rigged game.

After all, body image issues are about feeling disconnected, unwelcome, or like we don’t belong. How could the solution possibly be to isolate ourselves further?! No way.

True confidence comes from something else entirely, something I’ve never heard anyone else talk about, which I call the The New Self-Worth Paradigm.

Using the New Self-Worth Paradigm has completely changed the way I feel about myself, and the way I work with my clients.

The best part about this new way of approaching confidence is that it actually helps them get more of the nourishing connection, acceptance, approval, and belonging that they need and want.

Leah completely rewrote her script about what makes a woman valuable and lovable.

Having been introduced to the New Self-Worth Paradigm, Maria no longer picks her body apart in the mirror, goes overboard with exercise, diets, or worries about food.

Fuck that.

Let’s play a totally different game.

Let’s redefine what confidence means, and what it looks like, and where it comes from. Let’s restore ourselves to integrated wholeness, reconnect to our bodies, and reunite with each other.

We’ve got this,

<3 Jessi

The post {#TransparentTuesday} New Self-Worth Paradigm appeared first on Jessi Kneeland.

https://ift.tt/2Qg01PP

#{TransparentTuesday} New Self-Worth Paradigm

0 notes

neilmillerne · 6 years ago

Text

{#TransparentTuesday} New Self-Worth Paradigm

Bleary eyed from having just woken up, I stood in front of the mirror and checked my abs.

Checking my abs in the morning was how I checked on my progress, and what I saw there had the power to determine my mood for the day.

Do I have abs today, or am I bloated?

I stood there for a minute, staring at her ass, while she anxiously searched my face.

This was a game-changing moment for me.

Staring at the half-naked backside of a woman whose body and beauty literally sets the standard for female attractiveness in our culture while she picked her body apart… something clicked for me.

“It’s never going to end,” I thought.

A tiny niggling truth that I had been avoiding for a long time rose up in that moment:body insecurity has nothing to do with what your body looks like.

Shit shit shit shit SHIT.

I believed in the power of feeling confident, and I was proud of helping my clients feel better in their own skin.

It’s a rigged game.

After all, body image issues are about feeling disconnected, unwelcome, or like we don’t belong. How could the solution possibly be to isolate ourselves further?! No way.

True confidence comes from something else entirely, something I’ve never heard anyone else talk about, which I call the The New Self-Worth Paradigm.

Using the New Self-Worth Paradigm has completely changed the way I feel about myself, and the way I work with my clients.

The best part about this new way of approaching confidence is that it actually helps them get more of the nourishing connection, acceptance, approval, and belonging that they need and want.

Leah completely rewrote her script about what makes a woman valuable and lovable.

Having been introduced to the New Self-Worth Paradigm, Maria no longer picks her body apart in the mirror, goes overboard with exercise, diets, or worries about food.

Fuck that.

Let’s play a totally different game.

Let’s redefine what confidence means, and what it looks like, and where it comes from. Let’s restore ourselves to integrated wholeness, reconnect to our bodies, and reunite with each other.

We’ve got this,

<3 Jessi

The post {#TransparentTuesday} New Self-Worth Paradigm appeared first on Jessi Kneeland.

https://ift.tt/2Qg01PP

#{TransparentTuesday} New Self-Worth Paradigm

0 notes

almajonesnjna · 6 years ago

Text

{#TransparentTuesday} New Self-Worth Paradigm

Bleary eyed from having just woken up, I stood in front of the mirror and checked my abs.

Checking my abs in the morning was how I checked on my progress, and what I saw there had the power to determine my mood for the day.

Do I have abs today, or am I bloated?

I stood there for a minute, staring at her ass, while she anxiously searched my face.

This was a game-changing moment for me.

Staring at the half-naked backside of a woman whose body and beauty literally sets the standard for female attractiveness in our culture while she picked her body apart… something clicked for me.

“It’s never going to end,” I thought.

A tiny niggling truth that I had been avoiding for a long time rose up in that moment:body insecurity has nothing to do with what your body looks like.

Shit shit shit shit SHIT.

I believed in the power of feeling confident, and I was proud of helping my clients feel better in their own skin.

It’s a rigged game.

After all, body image issues are about feeling disconnected, unwelcome, or like we don’t belong. How could the solution possibly be to isolate ourselves further?! No way.

True confidence comes from something else entirely, something I’ve never heard anyone else talk about, which I call the The New Self-Worth Paradigm.

Using the New Self-Worth Paradigm has completely changed the way I feel about myself, and the way I work with my clients.

The best part about this new way of approaching confidence is that it actually helps them get more of the nourishing connection, acceptance, approval, and belonging that they need and want.

Leah completely rewrote her script about what makes a woman valuable and lovable.

Having been introduced to the New Self-Worth Paradigm, Maria no longer picks her body apart in the mirror, goes overboard with exercise, diets, or worries about food.

Fuck that.

Let’s play a totally different game.

Let’s redefine what confidence means, and what it looks like, and where it comes from. Let’s restore ourselves to integrated wholeness, reconnect to our bodies, and reunite with each other.

We’ve got this,

<3 Jessi

The post {#TransparentTuesday} New Self-Worth Paradigm appeared first on Jessi Kneeland.

https://ift.tt/2Qg01PP

#{TransparentTuesday} New Self-Worth Paradigm

0 notes