#If I was only financially stable to be in theatre

[djdjdwaq]

The dream of being an artist in Broadway only to be faced with minimum pay

[strawberryscorp]

albus comes home after having a bad day and collapses into scorpius's arms

scorpius could be doing anything but he'd pause and play with albus's hair while letting him rant about his day

[blue-thief]

oh the wonders of realizing due dates are actually farther than i expected

@marcsnuffy this is all basically just based off how this guy is made up of twelve billion contradictions esp when we're considering gender expression.

i've gone over this before, but he's the type of guy who would read dazai, dostoevsky, kafka, etc in a male manipulator kind of way. this type of guy also goes in hand with the type of guy who watches fight club, american psycho, etc with zero self awareness (i'm not much of a film nerd so i can't really speak about his taste in films specifically).

his dad probably had a collection of old films he worked on, and kaiser watched them all on some old cd or cassette player in hopes of finding some with his mom. even though his mom showed up in more dramatic films rather than tougher serious ones, these ones hold a special place in his heart. he's not in denial about this, but he never brings it up to anyone. around the time he was a tween, he snuck into a movie theatre to watch one of his mom's films.

i believe it was mentioned that his parents started off in theater, and once kaiser became rich enough, he took time to see live productions at least once a month. his goal is to catch up on shakespeare since he never got a chance to learn about him at school (i had to check r/askeurope to see if shakespeare is taught there 😭😭).

as much as it's funny to imagine hamilton fan kaiser, i don't think he'd be drawn to musicals that much. he doesn't mind them, but they aren't usually on his radar. he's considered going to the opera though. for the sake of affirming to himself that he's now financially stable.

he canonically reads psychology textbooks, and i think he has read jordan peterson's books. (SCREAMING CRYING THROWING UP BECAUSE I HAVE PROBABLY WALKED ON THE SAME FLOOR AS JORDAN PETERSON ON MULTIPLE OCCASIONS GET ME OUT OF HEERREEEEEE) i don't think he'd care or agree with jordan peterson but he definitely has read him, maybe even bought some of his works shudders he also read the dictator's handbook + the art of war and has used this in ways that are disastrous for everyone involved

beyond the dazai, dostoevsky, kafka, etc vibe, i don't think there's much fiction he'd be drawn to. at some point, he decided to check out f. scott key fitzgerald, saw jay gatsby, and went "he's just like me fr" (again, zero self awareness)

as for music, i think he would listen to three days grace in particular (i have listened to exactly ONE three days grace song and that is "i am machine" and all i could think was "he would listen to this /neg" then added it to my own liked songs playlist). he might have stumbled across panic! at the disco and he probably vibed pretty well with a fever you can't sweat out. he would not care for any other panic! at the disco album. he also wouldn't care for ryden so he wouldn't read throam. but i need this guy to somehow read throam because throam!ryan ross is literally him.

he probably heard primadonna girl by marina but didn't care at first. it wasn't until he accidentally stumbled across oh no that he was like "i need to listen to the rest of this". he only ended up caring for the family jewels and electra heart, and electra heart is more feminine than most things he would allow himself to listen to, but this is just his way of going "whoa look i'm a feminist i like women i'm listening to a woman and sings about woman stuff". relates to the persona of electra heart once again because AGAIN. THIS GUY HAS ZERO SELF AWARENESS 😭😭 HE NEVER REALIZES THE ART HE CONNECTS TO IS TELLING HIM THAT HE SHOULD NOT BE THE WAY THAT HE IS 😭😭😭

but yeah. electra heart is his limit to willingly admitting to feminine art but this guy is subconsciously drawn to taylor swift but more like in the sense that he's fascinated with her presence in the cultural zeitgeist. which is a strange form of being a swiftie, but his relationship with famous women is strange considering his relationship with his mother. if his mother got big enough that she worked with americans on american projects, there's a chance that she would talk about/be publicly acquainted with a lot of young famous women for the sake of white feminism yk. he consumes their art just through cultural osmosis but his understanding of their personal drama and stuff is weirdly detailed

also these are all totally definitely absolutely not examples of me projecting 😁😁 because i AM self aware and i am better than michael kaiser in every way possible 😁😁😁

[timetravelingthroughspace]

In Which I Vent;

I don’t know if I should pause HRT. HRT is wonderful, but has mainly only resulted in breast development. I’m still undergoing laser treatments, but that is only going to eliminate about half of my facial hair by the end of my sessions. The gray hair that remains will require electrolysis. I chose to begin with laser because of the higher cost and pain associated with electrolysis, but I now feel that choice was a mistake.

The fact that HRT has not done much for me makes me realize that I will ultimately require surgical interventions that I just can’t afford. If I lived in a state like Washington or California, these procedures would be covered by health insurance, but alas i live in Florida. I also cant afford to move.

If I were to pause HRT, I could stop paying my FOLX subscription and save the money i would otherwise be spending on medication to facilitate a move.

Meanwhile, I am at something of a crossroads with my career. I am, very ironically, making more money now as a dishwasher than I was as a master electrician at a fairly well respected regional theatre, a position that I needed a degree for, a degree that I incurred private student loan debt to complete.

I frequently consider going to graduate school so that I can find work that will pay enough for me to be financially stable and self sufficient, but am terrified that this will simply incur more burdensome debt.

I just don’t know what to do about all of this. It all basically seems to come down to money.

I struggle with addiction.

I was sober for a year or so and then relapsed.

Alcohol has, for a long time, been sort of a maintenance strategy against dysphoria. When I was young I kept trying to push from my mind my desire to become a woman. I believed in god at that time, so I’d pray to become female and then left it to god to determine me worthy of transformation. This of course never happened. By 16 I realized that god would do nothing and that I couldn’t keep my thoughts and feelings from returning. And so I chose to become an addict. I could forget, if I were an addict.

I remember that day very clearly. Now I do, anyway.

Well, it worked. For a long time alcohol worked. Until it didn’t.

I’ve gained a peculiar sort of control over my alcoholism in recent months. This isn’t to say that I don’t ever over indulge, but most weeks I’m not interested in alcohol. And if I do choose to have a drink, I generally can’t have more than one nor do I wish to. I’m not sure what to attribute this to except HRT. That and the return of memories or greater details in my memories associated with my experience of dysphoria growing up.

I’m not a psychologist nor am I seeing one, but I suspect the anxiousness I experienced at one time as a desire, a compulsion to drink, was actually the anticipation of the return of thoughts and memories which I’d learned to “treat” with alcohol. I think that embracing myself and my experience has short circuited what was at one time a zombie-like need to drink.

Not sure.

I don’t really know what underlies the change in my relationship with alcohol, but I want it to continue.

If I pause HRT, what will it mean?

Yes, I mean in terms of my relationship with alcohol, but also my relationship with myself.

I’m not sure what to do yet.

[notquitesurewhoiam]

im sitting in a pub after an amateur theatre rehearsal and, for the first time in a while, managing to make decent comversation with my cast mates. my conversation partner is a man called Mark, who is a scientist specialising in bees.

"i have this crazy dream," i tell him, laughing so he knows i know it sounds ridiculous, "that one day i'll retrain as a marine biologist and get to work with sharks!"

he looks uncertain about this dream but is gently encouraging. i tell him about my favourite sharks, he tells me about his favourite bees.

"just you wait," i think to myself, "when i'm financially stable, i'll work my ass off and become a shark scientist and you'll be so shocked and so happy for me."

but that's all it is at that point - a crazy dream. there's a tonne of money involved in doing a second undergraduate and master's degree and god knows how long it will take. i'd need to be at such a different life point to be able to make that happen, and all the places i've encountered that work with sharks so far require a marine biology degree.

the dream's descriptor changes when i visit the national marine aquarium in Plymouth. aside from volunteering opportunities, the nma offer paid jobs to people who are purely enthusiastic and keen. and it gets even closer when the nma advertises for new ocean discovery rangers - people who go around the aquarium telling the public about the animals on show and about the ocean in general. suddenly the dream is sitting on my doorstep beckoning me to move a 3 hour train ride south and realise it.

only one problem:

"for the small, small price of moving miles away from everyone you've ever loved and breaking up with your partner because you can't handle long distance, you can work at your dream job! never have a dull moment at work and never have a fun moment outside of it!"

that's what the advert really reads.

and the realisation hits that no matter how long i wait that's always going to be the choice i have to make. people aren't going to move for me and neither are the sharks. only the longer i wait the harder it will get.

[void-galaxy-shenanigans]

Where do you see yourselves in the next 5 years? :)

Usually this question makes me/us glitch. The concept of being alive long enough to plan that far ahead is wild.

But...I have a few things I’m almost certain of now (combination of meds & healing that makes me start believing we’ll be alive to plan that far ahead).

We’ll be done with top surgery for sure, because we’re on the waiting list now so that should come around next summer (2025) or the one after (2026). We’ll also have done the Internal Organ Removal™ step because we’re on that list too.

We’ll also have at least one degree by then. Because we already completed all but 2 of the core requirements (equivalent of an associate’s; we now just need science labs, & have one this semester), that would be two to three years from now (allowing grace for disability).

We might do one degree at this satellite campus & then go to the main campus for the next, not sure yet. (We want to take language classes only offered at the main campus, & would also enjoy taking choir/theatre, which are also only at the main campus.) If we do it that way, it’ll be about 4 to 5 years of school & then we’ll have 2 main degrees (technically 4 total degrees, because one of those would be a triple/collective major), & if not it’ll be about 2 to 3 years for both/all.

We’d also like to be more financially stable then, & living either on our own entirely or with one roommate (likely our current roommate, who’s safe & we have a very (healthy) sibling relationship with). I want to have a service dog by then (to help make public ventures less overwhelming & to help manage tasks our disabilities make difficult to impossible), & I’d love to have the money to spoil our kitty Liliana and our service dog. Maybe we can even afford another cat, so Lili will have a friend/playmate 💜.

And I’m also hoping by then we’ll be much better at functional multiplicity. We’re currently getting better at the communication, cooperation, asking one another for help triad that’s necessary to get there. It’ll never be a perfect practice because we’re all people with different needs, personalities, & desires— but if we can semi (or even mostly) consistently get along enough for that triad to help us function together, then that’s a win.

☺💜

~Nico (he/they)

[yourtastefulcannibal]

Hello, Dr Lecter!

I took this photo of the sky which reminded me of a painting but I can't remember it's name for the life or death of me. With this picture, I'm also revealing (a bit unwillingly) my identity. I'm the same person who asked you a while ago about your diet. I would still be curious to know what naming you would give me shouldn't I have revealed my identity (I will send the following asks as anonymous though).

Since we're here, would you be so kind to tell what made you adopt this very, very polite style of life? Many of us are prone to outbursts, swearing now and then, and many other behaviours as such. But not you, which makes you a very interesting and fascinating man.

“Good evening, Aspasia. This photograph is indeed reminiscent of the art from several different artists and movement, the first coming to my mind being that of John Constable’s paintings of Hampstead Heath, which I will attach a few examples of below. The clouds do remind me of the soft realism characteristic of art created under the movement of Romanticism, which is the movement most closely associated with John Constable’s landscapes.”

“As for the reasoning behind my chosen method of lifestyle… I would say that I was raised to be an exceedingly polite child, although I had my moments.” He chuckled softly, considering those long-past moments which would only ever exist within his mind. “Fending for myself, as I was for several years, I came to have a great distaste for the way many individuals treated one another. Once I was taken in by my aunt and uncle and was more or less financially stable enough, I decided to always insist upon politeness wherever possible — as I do acknowledge that some situations cannot call for the regular rules of decorum to apply, such as within an operating theatre at times.”

He pursed his lips. “Perhaps I have not completely answered your question… in which case you may of course ask me to further explain, if you’d like, though I cannot guarantee that my next answer will sate you any further. As always, it’s been a pleasure speaking to you, Aspasia.”

[themanofgloom]

Oscar Mannington UPDATE

// Yes, I'm still dead on this blog. Yes, have Oscar update anyway

BACKSTORY:

Oscar's still got a bigass family, though their names and identities are highly underdeveloped for now. He has around 5 siblings, all adopted, and two very loving (and financially stable) parents. His very toxic relationship with his ex, Alice Little, still happened, and his strained relationship with others and his family due to mental instability still happened. Still has a big interest in theatre, and I think the only big change career-wise is that being in theatre is his career. Maybe not as much as a commercial performer anymore, but either working on costumes or tech.

The biggest change in general is that...the Earth-power verse he has is now canon! It's still underdeveloped, but still as cosmic-horror-y as it used to be. Basically, he has this horrific hivemind that's connected to him. It doesn't actively harm him, but the state of the planet certainly impacts the hivemind itself -- which then impacts Oscar. Is it actually the Earth living inside of him? Probably not. Maybe it's some fun alien shenanigans, who knows.

(Personality below)

PERSONALITY:

I remember I used to write Oscar (and Ormad, for that matter) as very emotional, rather immature characters. I didn't realize at the time, but they were like that because I was a mentally unwell teenager, and I was very heavily projecting myself into them. Now that I'm officially 18 (and much better mentally), I can look at their personalities in a more accurate and individual manner.

Oscar is a big introvert. Not shy, like he used to be, but he just doesn't like talking to people. Still suffers from a lot of anxiety due to GAD, but he makes sure to keep up with his meds, and he no longer uses his mental disorders as an excuse to act like a dick to people. That being said, despite him being rather antisocial, he is still compassionate and moral. Still loves his pet cat Marley and his pet goose Greyson, too.

He's got a nihilistic view of the world, but nihilistic in a "Nothing matters so let's do whatever the fuck we want" kinda way. He has some trouble expressing his emotions, too. If you give him a gift he is very grateful for, he won't naturally smile or laugh. He kind of has to force it because he feels bad for not reacting as one expects. Yes, he would feel incredibly grateful and happy, but it doesn't immediately travel to his face and body language. You can tell when he's super comfortable around you when he only has the tiniest expressions and doesn't react much. In that scenario, if you get him to laugh loud, you are really funny.

[callowayfcx]

{ TROYE SIVAN, TWENTY TWO, DEMI BOY, THEY/HE } Is that CALLOWAY FOX? A SOPHOMORE originally from ATLANTA, GEORGIA, they decided to come to Ogden College to study PERFORMANCE ARTS & MUSICAL THEATRE on a FINANCIAL SCHOLARSHIP. They’re THE BROKEN ACE on campus, but even they could get blamed for Greer’s disappearance.

CHARACTER INSPO — “Is it me? Am I the drama?” (Scarlet Envy), Rhys Maresh (A Darker Shade of Magic), Nico de Varona (The Atlas Six), Bonny Tarleton (Something Fabulous), Luc O’Donnell (Boyfriend Material), literally this, Natalie Scatorccio (Yellowjackets), Jaxon Vega (Crave), Anderson Walker (Kate in Waiting), Ellis Haley (A Lesson in Vengeance), Auristela (The Sunbearer Trials)  

CURRENT SOUNDTRACK — Don't Blame Me (Taylor Swift)

CHARACTER STATS:

FULL NAME: Calvin Adam Horowitz

STAGE NAME: Calloway Fox

NICKNAMES: Cal

GENDER: Demi Boy

PRONOUNS: They/He

MAJOR: Performance Arts & Musical Theatre

MINOR: None

SEXUALITY: Homosexual Homoromantic

BIRTHDAY & AGE: 15 July 2000 & 22

ZODIAC: Cancer

LANGUAGES SPOKEN: English, Hebrew, Conversational French

PHYSICAL:

FACECLAIM: Troye Sivan

HAIR COLOR & STYLE: It changes every so often, but currently is brown and curly

EYE COLOR: Blue

GLASSES/CONTACTS: No/No

HEIGHT: 5'8"

TATTOOS: None PIERCINGS: Nose, Ears

CLOTHING STYLE: Oversized sweaters or crop tops, there is no inbetween

USUAL EXPRESSION: Usually smiling

SOCIABILITY: Loves to be around people

NSFW QUESTIONS FOR DRUG / ALCOHOL RELATED QUESTIONS

ADDICTIONS: Drugs & Alcohol

DRUG USE: Frequently

ALCOHOL USE: Frequently

PERSONALITY:

THREE POSITIVE TRAITS: Cultured, Helpful, Perceptive

THREE NEGATIVE TRAITS: Airy, Escapist, Passive

THREE SKILLS: Very good at math, Can read people well, & Decent at forging signatures

HOBBIES/EXTRACIRRICULAR: Acting, Slight of hand, Sewing

FAVORITES:

COLOUR: Purple

MUSIC: Broadway

MOVIES: Rent

SPORTS: Ew, no

BEVERAGE: Water

FOOD: Anything vegan

ANIMAL: Chipmunks

ADDITIONAL INFO: 

RELATIONSHIP TO GREER: He actually first met her backstage before opening night of his first play. They had a quick chat then and probably would have thought she was an interesting person… if he could remember that conversation. He was high at the time, trying his best to hide it from everyone around them—and failing at it too. Greer would have been able to notice that in their brief conversation. That was the performance that ended their run on Broadway and was the catalyst for them going back to college. Cal had no idea she was at Ogden and was shocked when they ended up at the same party once. While they mostly ran in different social circles, they did talk to her a few times when Cal ended up going to parties that she was at, but they remained wary of her.  He mostly avoided her though because he didn’t really like her all that much and if there's anything Cal hates most, it's being around people he can't stand.  

PLEASE EXPAND ON HOW THEY EMBODY THEIR SKELETON TROPE. Cal has always been the type to know that they’re destined for more. Ever since he was a child, he knew that Broadway was the dream. They wanted to see their name in bright lights, to be up on the stage, and to be known. For them, acting has always been the goal. And though it was a rocky road, at the age of fifteen, he got there—a one off audition when he and his aunt were visiting New York City for the weekend turned into something more. Cal was heading north for a musical. After two shows, Cal started to feel some of those feelings that a ton of child actors feel. Pressure to do better and be better was greater than ever and after getting drunk and essentially sleeping with someone who was their boss and a whirlwind relationship between the two of them (despite his boss being married), Cal went down a bit of a spiral. Parties and drugs—and sure he was eighteen at the time, a barely adult who’d never really had a stable family to begin with, but it was still too much. Everything was too much and it was his only coping mechanism to deal with the way the world around them worked. Calloway was like that for three more years—until their first play. No one knew there was anything wrong then. They wouldn’t have known anything was wrong then. But a few months into their first play—after the first public performance—, Cal came to it so drunk and high that he nearly fell off the stage, couldn’t remember any of their lines, and was a genuine mess the whole show. It was enough that finally someone noticed. Cal went to rehab and then decided a change in scenery would be good for him, which is how he ended up at Ogden. He’s been broken many times, theater is his passion, but through circumstances outside their own control, Cal has only ever been left broken by the people around them. They're a tragedy of Shakespearian proportion. Time away from New York City will do him good though and maybe heal some of those wounds they never had a chance to fully heal from. And until then, they can continue to hone those skills they learned as a child at Ogden. 

EXTRACURRICULARS: Queer Alliance, Theatre Collective, Sexual Assault Peer Alliance 

BIOGRAPHICAL INFORMATION: 

trigger warnings — death

Calvin Horowitz was born to two archeologists, which meant they traveled a lot as a child, but Cal was five when their parents decided they probably could benefit from settling down in one place, so they shipped their child off to live with his aunt in the states. Since his parents didn't really get a lot of time, most of their communication was done through an occasional video call and the post cards they sent of every place they'd ever lived. While they did not the most ideal relationship, Cal eventually really liked getting to live in on place, even if they didn't always get along with their aunt.

Their relationship with their aunt was nothing if not complicated. Clearly she didn't want to bear the responsibility of raising a child that wasn't hers. She constantly fought with her sister on the phone when she thought Cal couldn't hear, but they heard about half of them. It wasn't her fault, they knew. Cal threw themself into activities that would let them be out of the house and not be a burden on their aunt. They tried everything from soccer, like so many of the other kids his age, but Cal fell in love with acting when there was a summer program for theatre. They signed up and in almost an instant everyone could see they had talent. Their relationship with their aunt somewhat changed when she realized she probably could capitalize on Cal's talent.

(death tw) One of the worst arguments that Cal got into with their parents was when they had a major role in a musical and their parents promised to come. When they didn't show up, Cal got really upset and accused them of not caring about him. Two days later, both their parents died in an accident and Cal never really forgave himself for their argument, even if it wasn't his fault. Especially since a few weeks after the accident, Cal got a callback from an audition he'd done while he and his aunt were in downtown Atlanta. The guilt didn't stop them from booking the role.

Suddenly Cal's life was rehearsals and trying on costumes. Their first role was a hit and the director, a younger up and coming playwright had the perfect role for Cal. His aunt let him drop out of school and be tutored like other child actors did. They moved to a small shitty apartment in New Jersey and Cal thrived. Their love of theatre only grew, even if it was a tough field to truly do well in. They started becoming more popular, booking bigger roles. It seemed like everything was in place for Cal to succeed in the Broadway scene.

(death tw) For Cal, school was always a struggle. He wasn’t academic in nature, often being called out by his tutors for not paying attention and constantly being a distraction. Acting was the only place they ever felt like they belonged, so that’s where they put effort. Singing lessons, dance lessons, costume fittings and rehearsals. Time was flying and moving slow at the same time. Cal's aunt was proud of them, but somehow they knew their parents wouldn't be proud. So they pushed themself to do better and be better, as a child actor. A week before Cal turned seventeen, their aunt passed away. She’d made plans to moved back home and by then, Cal was earning enough money to live comfortable in the city on their own. But three days before he turned eighteen, she passed away from a heart attack and they were once again on their own. Cal never really dealt with the grief of having lost their parents and now their aunt was gone, they didn’t really know what to do but keep acting, keep their career on track, and act like nothing was wrong because, well, he's a good actor. 

Skip a few years later and Cal was in their first play, but dealing with a lot emotionally and struggling with pressure to do better career wise. The last couple of years had been a kind of downward spiral with drugs. Their reputation was not the greatest after it was leaked that they'd been having an affair with the director that found them all those years in Atlanta—a married man. Between the affair and drugs, Cal's career was beginning to feel like it had peaked when they were younger, but directors still wanted to work with them and their agent booked them a role in a play. A bad performance and a decision to leave Broadway for education is how Cal ended up at Ogden. The official story is that he wanted to focus on his education before returning to Broadway. Tabloids long suspected he was a product of child actor syndrome. His agent said maybe a break away from everything was needed and Cal knew that was probably true.

HEADCANONS & VARIOUS FACTS:

Coming Soon !

OPEN CONNECTION: 

Coming Soon !

TASKS & MISC. LINKS:

Previous Intro

Musings

PSD Credit

[lifestylelyra]

[cis female, she/her] Welcome to Aurora Bay, [LYRA WOLF]! I couldn’t help but notice you look an awful lot like [JAMIE CHUNG]. You must be the [THIRTY SEVEN] year old [LIFESTYLE BLOGGER]. Word is you’re [BUBBLY] but can also be a bit [SUPERFICIAL] and your favorite song is [YOU GOTTA BE by DES’REE]. I also heard you’ll be staying in [CRYSTAL COVE CONDOMINIUMS]. I’m sure you’ll love it! ] tw lying, tw manipulation, tw parental death

Building yourself up to someone who seemingly has everything when you come from literally nothing is a talent in itself. So when people ask Lyra if she has any skills she replies with a resounding yes, because that’s exactly what she did. 

Born in Brooklyn to a single mom she was only six months old when they were evicted from their home and forced to move into a women’s shelter to avoid having to live on the street. Janet Wolf was a good if slightly detached mother to her two children. The oldest being Cory Wolf who was two years older than his baby sister, Lyra Wolf. People always remarked when Janet’s youngest was born that the girl seemed like a fighter - almost two months premature she was only 3.5lbs when she made her entrance into the world, totally unexpected but that would later become a bit of a trend for her.

Spending her entire childhood moving between shelters, temporary housing, and foster care Lyra was never really anywhere long enough to get accustomed to stability. It was a lot for a little girl to cope with so she would often slip into her own fantasy worlds that she created in her mind, a form of protection, somewhere she knew she could always go no matter what else was taken away from her. Even her schooling was disruptive as she was moved from place to place which meant her grades never managed to get above a C+ on a good day. Not that she minded, her sights weren’t set on anything academic, rather Lyra wanted to build for herself all the things she’d never had. Fortune, notoriety, stability, and security. She thought it would come via her singing talent and in a way she was right, but it wasn’t that she rose to become to superstar musician she thought she’d be. 

At twenty and with no formal training at all she took a risk going to some open auditions that were being held for a new off Broadway musical, Heathers. Desperate to situate herself under the bright footlights of the theatre she gave the audition her all but mortifyingly came up short, being turned down after managing to get through three rounds. So close and yet so far. But her upbringing had instilled a sense of tenacity in the young woman so she instead started her own ‘lifestyle’ instagram, full of fictionalised shopping trips and stays at five star hotels. That trick you’ve seen on TikTok of using a toilet seat to simulate an airplane window? Lyra might as well have coined that technique because you would be forgiven for thinking after a look at her social media that she was constantly jetting off across the world rather than sitting in a studio apartment in the Bronx covered in black mould and patches of damp. 

It turns out though, she did catch the eye of one of the producers at that one time audition she chanced, and not long after her twenty eighth birthday she was contacted to come in for another audition. This time for the musical adaptation of Mean Girls. It turned out the social media following she’d gathered was an added attraction to the production team and in her very own Anna Delvey style she managed to land the role of Gretchen Wieners in the original cast. From that moment on things went from zero to one hundred overnight. The fictional life she was posting on her instagram started to become a reality, her follower count skyrocketed, and she was finally on stable ground financially. It was a dream come true. 

All the press for the show lead to her being noticed by modelling scouts and soon Lyra was signed up with agents in New York, Los Angeles, and Paris. Being called in for photoshoots to be put in magazines everything became a lot more glittery, and the best thing of all was no one knew where Lyra had come from. Of the way she had manipulated her image back when she had nothing to make herself seem like a someone, and now it didn’t matter, because she truly was a someone. 

Chancing on Aurora Bay when she was doing a swimwear shoot about six years ago Lyra fell in love with the quaint little town that was just a stones throw from Los Angeles - it was the perfect middle ground for her idyllic lifestyle persona. Launching a blog in conjunction with her instagram there was nothing Lyra couldn’t sell to the chronically online masses, photos of her perfectly decorated house coupled with homemade cakes (I mean… not by her, obviously) and glamorous modelling photos she had really captured the eyes of the nation. A socialite of a sort, she had made the claim both her parents had passed to make her facade easier to manipulate. 

Vivacious, larger than life, and always with something to say there was really no escaping Lyra when she was in the general vicinity. Her laugh was boisterous, her opinions outrageous, and in general she was just a lot. The woman found it often distracted people from getting to know her too deeply if she flashed around treating them like social magpies. With no knowledge of what ended up happening to her mother or her brother she tries to repress all thoughts of them in order to focus on this new life. Under the glitter lies the secret of who she really is and her fear of that ruining everything she’s managed to build is enough to keep her tossing and turning in bed each night. 

[newpersonblog]

[cis female, she/her] Welcome to Aurora Bay, [LYRA WOLF]! I couldn’t help but notice you look an awful lot like [JAMIE CHUNG]. You must be the [THIRTY SEVEN] year old [LIFESTYLE BLOGGER]. Word is you’re [BUBBLY] but can also be a bit [SUPERFICIAL] and your favorite song is [YOU GOTTA BE by DES’REE]. I also heard you’ll be staying in [CRYSTAL COVE CONDOMINIUMS]. I’m sure you’ll love it! [indi, 30, gmt, she/her]

Building yourself up to someone who seemingly has everything when you come from literally nothing is a talent in itself. So when people ask Maia if she has any skills she replies with a resounding yes, because that’s exactly what she did. 

Born in Brooklyn to a single mom she was only six months old when they were evicted from their home and forced to move into a women’s shelter to avoid having to live on the street. Janet Wolf was a good if slightly detached mother to her two children. The oldest being Cory Wolf who was two years older than his baby sister, Maia Wolf. People always remarked when Janet’s youngest was born that the girl seemed like a fighter - almost two months premature she was only 3.5lbs when she made her entrance into the world, totally unexpected but that would later become a bit of a trend for her.

Spending her entire childhood moving between shelters, temporary housing, and foster care Maia was never really anywhere long enough to get accustomed to stability. It was a lot for a little girl to cope with so she would often slip into her own fantasy worlds that she created in her mind, a form of protection, somewhere she knew she could always go no matter what else was taken away from her. Even her schooling was disruptive as she was moved from place to place which meant her grades never managed to get above a C+ on a good day. Not that she minded, her sights weren’t set on anything academic, rather Maia wanted to build for herself all the things she’d never had. Fortune, notoriety, stability, and security. She thought it would come via her singing talent and in a way she was right, but it wasn’t that she rose to become to superstar musician she thought she’d be. 

At twenty and with no formal training at all she took a risk going to some open auditions that were being held for a new off Broadway musical, Heathers. Desperate to situate herself under the bright footlights of the theatre she gave the audition her all but mortifyingly came up short, being turned down after managing to get through three rounds. So close and yet so far. But her upbringing had instilled a sense of tenacity in the young woman so she instead started her own ‘lifestyle’ instagram, full of fictionalised shopping trips and stays at five star hotels. That trick you’ve seen on TikTok of using a toilet seat to simulate an airplane window? Maia might as well have coined that technique because you would be forgiven for thinking after a look at her social media that she was constantly jetting off across the world rather than sitting in a studio apartment in the Bronx covered in black mould and patches of damp. 

It turns out though, she did catch the eye of one of the producers at that one time audition she chanced, and not long after her twenty fifth birthday she was contacted to come in for another audition. This time for the musical adaptation of Mean Girls. It turned out the social media following she’d gathered was an added attraction to the production team and in her very own Anna Delvey style she managed to land the role of Gretchen Wieners in the original cast. From that moment on things went from zero to one hundred overnight. The fictional life she was posting on her instagram started to become a reality, her follower count skyrocketed, and she was finally on stable ground financially. It was a dream come true. 

All the press for the show lead to her being noticed by modelling scouts and soon Maia was signed up with agents in New York, Los Angeles, and Paris. Being called in for photoshoots to be put in magazines everything became a lot more glittery, and the best thing of all was no one knew where Maia had come from. Of the way she had manipulated her image back when she had nothing to make herself seem like a someone, and now it didn’t matter, because she truly was a someone. 

Chancing on Aurora Bay when she was doing a swimwear shoot about six years ago Maia fell in love with the quaint little town that was just a stones throw from Los Angeles - it was the perfect middle ground for her idyllic lifestyle persona. Launching a blog in conjunction with her instagram there was nothing Maia couldn’t sell to the chronically online masses, photos of her perfectly decorated house coupled with homemade cakes (I mean… not by her, obviously) and glamorous modelling photos she had really captured the eyes of the nation. A socialite of a sort, she had made the claim both her parents had passed to make her facade easier to manipulate. 

Vivacious, larger than life, and always with something to say there was really no escaping Maia when she was in the general vicinity. Her laugh was boisterous, her opinions outrageous, and in general she was just a lot. The woman found it often distracted people from getting to know her too deeply if she flashed around treating them like social magpies. With no knowledge of what ended up happening to her mother or her brother she tries to repress all thoughts of them in order to focus on this new life. Under the glitter lies the secret of who she really is and her fear of that ruining everything she’s managed to build is enough to keep her tossing and turning in bed each night. 

[applesfallingfromblondehair]

Mike Bartlett's Cock: looking at dysfunctional relationships through a two-way glass

POV: you’re a thirtysomething gay man who’s been in a relationship for seven years, and suddenly you realise it’s been toxic the whole time, and you need out. (Legit. It happens more often than you’d think.) It’s hard to get out, but you have a spur of courage and you say something. And, unexpectedly, it works.

Then, once you do get out, you meet someone. They’re funny, kind, and gorgeous, and they tick all those boxes your ex never even bothered to look at. The sex is amazing, they like you for who you are, and, shock horror, they don’t try and change you to fit their unrealistic standards and expectations? Imagine that.

They’re perfect, right? Wrong. There’s a catch. And the catch is that they—contrary to every prediction you’d made for your future soulmate as an out and proud gay man—are a woman. A woman, “tits and everything”, with her own history of dysfunctional relationships, a failed marriage, several disastrous dating stories, and a deeply-rooted need to stop feeling lonely.

Who would you choose?

Sitting through Mike Bartlett’s Cock is like looking through a two-way glass at a sexuality crisis, at an attempted shattering of labels that doesn’t quite go as well as anyone might have thought, and, overall, at two extremely dysfunctional relationships.

There’s M, a confidently gay man in his mid-thirties, older and more financially stable than his partner and visibly using it all as a weapon. Cocky and zingy in his bitchiness from the very first line, telling John what he’s doing is wrong, that he “can’t fucking cook” or “do anything that needs to be done” with his hands, that he describes as “tennis rackets at the end of sticks” and “satellite dishes at the end of fishing rods”. He’s clearly emotionally abusive and manipulative in his giving love and then immediately withdrawing it (or the other way round). Insulting, shouting, storming in and out of scenes, then embracing, kissing, trying a little tenderness. It’s a rollercoaster that those who have been in toxic relationships know all too well. And this rollercoaster is part of why the relationship goes south—although blaming it all on him would seriously be unfair.

No, the other reason why the relationship does not work is, of course, John. John, childish and chaotic and just as uncommunicative as his partner, because of being taught to behave like that since the relationship started, perhaps, or because of his own nature—the spectator coming in in medias res will never truly know. John, flaky and indecisive, changing his mind ten times during the course of one scene. John, who in the end can’t choose either or. John, who can’t even give himself a label because he self-admittedly has “absolutely no idea” who he is. John, the undefined. John, who meets the “woman of his dreams” and starts questioning his own identity.

The weakest, most changeable personality among those portrayed on the Ambassadors Theatre stage could only be carried this well by an incredibly strong lead. Yes, because John, despite looking like the innocent and the injured party at first glance, really is like “a picture drawn with a pencil” who “hasn’t been coloured in yet”: there is potential in him, and that potential is as destructive as a wrecking ball. No matter how many times the others’ words are meant to dwarf and demeane him, John still is the main character of this story. And Jonathan Bailey lingers on the fence between innocuously cowardly and dangerously manipulative so damn well it actively takes one’s breath away.

I said this before and I’ll say it again: it really is such a shame that Taron could not make it to the end of this run, and not just because I was desperate to see him onstage. Also because I truly feel like Jonny’s powerful, scene-filling, physically expressive John could have appeared even more credible while faced by an even more powerful and commanding presence. And that presence is felt, an echo of it at least, in Joel Harper-Jackson’s somewhat-convincing-but-not-quite-there-yet portrayal of… well, of Taron Egerton. God knows how eerie that felt, seeing him, his gestures and his quirks, and yet not seeing him, because he obviously wasn’t there. And I’m aware that must have definitely been a conscious choice, to have Joel play the part exactly as Taron would have, but that was in the context of an understudy role and doesn’t quite fit anymore, in my opinion. I really hope he comes into his own eventually, because he is a fantastic actor when he gets into the flow. But the first few scenes just did not flow. He was underacting, stilted, just delivering lines to Jonny, who looked like he was already very much in tune with his own character.

I did not have the pleasure of seeing Jade’s performance, as she was unfortunately out with COVID last weekend, but I did absolutely love Jessica’s portrayal of W. Bouncy and sunny and confident, but also vulnerable and emotional and broken. And that’s how the character is written, sure, but damn did she do an incredible job of bringing every single facet of it out of the page. She and Jonny work so well together, too, the chemistry was palpable. I truly have nothing else to say about it other than this was nothing short of a brilliant West End debut.

Phil Daniels is very believable as a well-meaning Boomer dad who really is just trying his best, and that’s about all from me on that. He’s just good, even if the character probably inherently isn’t. And the rewrite really does work in his favour sometimes, I must say—especially when F so confidently tells John, who is struggling to label himself and complaining about the concepts of “gay” and “straight” being old-fashioned, that there are “so many words to choose from” nowadays, and why won’t he just pick one of them. Really struck a chord, that one.

Ultimately, Cock is the tragic story of many modern relationships. Having to choose between what is good and what is easy. And yes, I am paraphrasing She-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named, but please give me a pass just this once: it’s just a great way of describing it. On the one hand, what is good: John accepting a different identity, unshackling himself and moving on to live a potentially happy life with this new person, someone fresh who can potentially give him happiness. (She is extremely co-dependent and flawed, too, obviously, which is how they fall into each other’s arms in the first place. But. You know. Yeah.) On the other hand, what is easy: staying. Uncomfortably, forcibly, and unhappily, but at least he won’t have to change anything about his own view of himself. Which is, apparently, what he goes for in the end.

This isn’t what I want, he says. It’s just. I think this is easier.

But ultimately, when asked, when repeatedly prompted, he just can’t. He can’t. He can’t say the words. And the spectator is left wondering, suspended between two potential versions of events, just as Mike Bartlett’s John will forever remain: trying to take a step through the sliding doors of life, except it’s a freeze-frame.

Flawless writing. Flawless Jonny. Would see again in a heartbeat.  

[ncssian]

A Favor: Part Nineteen

Nessian Modern AU

Masterlist

a/n: another chapter where the girls are clowns and cassian worships nesta's every breath 🙄 i promise some variety is headed your way soon

***

Gwyn adamantly refuses to accept any gifts for her birthday, much to Emerie’s irritation and Nesta’s relief. No amount of love for her friends can make Nesta enjoy the turmoil of hunting for the perfect gift, and she happily shows up at Gwyn’s apartment that night with nothing save for an overnight bag.

Gwyn easily has the nicest home out of all three of the girls, and it makes Nesta feel oddly proud to have a financially stable friend. Nesta herself has been flacking on her legal consultant duties to Night Court Inc., choosing to make do with the money she’s already earned while focusing on school.

Once they’ve all changed into sleep clothes and are settled around the living room coffee table with a cupcake and a glass of wine each, Gwyn pulls out a brightly colored bracelet-making kit with a sheepish grin. “I found this while I was looking through my childhood things,” she says, opening the kit. “You guys aren’t too grown for it, are you?”

“Depends,” Emerie hums, leaning over to get a closer look. “Is it Rainbow Loom?”

She gets her answer when Gwyn dumps out bundles of multicolored string instead of rubber bands onto the table. Looking disappointed, Emerie plucks up a handful of string. “Fine, I guess I can make do.”

Nesta licks cream cheese frosting off her thumb. “How do you make them? The bracelets?”

She’s met with two dumbfounded stares. “Have you never been to a thirteen year old’s slumber party?” Gwyn says.

“...No?”

When Gwyn and Emerie keep staring, Nesta feels the need to add, “I’ve never been to a sleepover. This is my first.” She was never one to be invited to sleepovers or social gatherings; even when she made acquaintances in middle and high school, they were just that—acquaintances.

“That’s… actually kind of sad,” Emerie says. Gwyn elbows her hard, making her yelp.

“I never thought of it that way,” Nesta says, shrugging. Though maybe it’s because a lot of things about her childhood were sad; it isn’t like she kept count of it all.

“Well, you can learn how to make bracelets now,” Gwyn states, taking out a little plastic baggie and emptying it out onto the table. Small silver charms scatter everywhere. “Everyone gets three colors and one charm.”

Nesta leans forward, making out the different charms. She spies one in the shape of a book, and another in the shape of a dove, and one in the shape of a music note. She snatches up the eighth note before anyone else can. Gwyn takes the book for herself, and Emerie considers the selection of charms before picking a dagger-shaped one. They prepare their string next.

“Now, we can either braid them or knot them.” Gwyn demonstrates how to do it either way, Nesta watching closely before imitating her. She braids the strings of her bracelet as best she can, her cheeks turning red with frustration whenever she spies one of the other girls’ perfect knots. Her half-eaten cupcake is forgotten as she tries to get her bracelet to stay together.

At one point she just has to accept the shoddy work she’s done and tie the bracelet off. She checks to see if it fits on her wrist.

“Now everyone give their bracelet to the person on their left,” Gwyn declares.

Nesta clutches her sloppily-made bracelet to her chest as Emerie responds, “What?”

“So we can wear each other’s bracelets,” Gwyn explains. “And carry around a part of each other all the time.”

“If I had known we were gonna be sentimental, I wouldn’t have picked the cute charm,” Emerie grumbles. Nesta agrees, but Gwyn just clicks her tongue and starts switching bracelets around. In the end, Nesta has Emerie’s dagger bracelet, Gwyn has Nesta’s music note bracelet, and Emerie has Gwyn’s book charm.

Nesta wiggles her bracelet on and turns her wrist over in the light. “That was fun,” she decides. “What happens next at a sleepover?”

“Next,” Gwyn says, “we exchange our most embarrassing secrets with each other, and then we do each other’s hair.”

Emerie shakes her head. “Okay, now I’m really too old for this. Anyone want to watch a movie?”

Gwyn nudges Emerie. “I’m the old one here, and it’s my birthday.” She raises her pert chin in a way that doesn’t look very grown up at all. “What I say goes.”

Emerie flicks up an eyebrow and stares in challenge, which Nesta interrupts by saying, rather exasperatedly, “I’ll go first, then.”

She digs around in her head for something embarrassing enough to be socially acceptable, only to realize that although a lot of embarrassing things have happened to her before, none of them are secrets. She finally settles on an admission. “When I was a kid, I had a thing for breaking and entering into rich people’s empty houses and hanging out in them. Does that count as a secret?”

Gwyn gapes, laughing in disbelief. “Are you going to leave it at that?”

“That actually sounds fun.” Emerie swirls her wine. “Why’d you stop?”

Nesta had almost forgotten. “I got caught.” She remembers the terror of being fourteen and fleeing past cherry blossom trees on her bare feet. “The owner’s family showed up early to vacation one year, and I never risked going back after that.” She shrugs. “Who’s next?”

Gwyn raises her hand excitedly. “I used to be a hardcore Gleek. Like, I had a closet full of Glee memorabilia.”

Nesta doesn’t quite know what to say. Emerie winces. “Maybe you should’ve kept that one a secret.”

“It was only one facet of my entire theatre kid personality. Should I tell you about the rest?”

Emerie raises her hands in surrender. “Please don’t. I’ll go next if it makes you stop.”

Gwyn laughs and Nesta perks up. “What’s your secret?” She hopes Emerie will finally admit to filling their shared Kindle account with lesbian spanking fiction.

But Emerie suddenly gets serious, clearing her throat and fingering the stem of her wine glass. “I might have the worst secret,” she says awkwardly. “I haven’t been honest with you guys.”

Nesta straightens, and Gwyn looks intrigued.

“In my defense,” Emerie says, “I never expected all of us to end up hanging out this much. Before Nesta and I became friends, all I did was show up to school to kick rich kids’ asses and make career connections.”

“Spit it out, Emerie,” Nesta tells her.

So she does. “I’ve been lying about my age.” Her cheeks turn red, either from alcohol or embarrassment, Nesta doesn’t know.

Nesta furrows her brows. “You’re not twenty-four?”

Emerie shakes her head in guilt.

“How old are you, then?” Gwyn says.

Emerie mutters something too low for them to hear. When Gwyn tells her to repeat herself, she says, too loudly, “Twenty-eight.”

She’s met with silence, and then—

Gwyn starts cackling, nearly keeling over. Nesta can only stare in shock. “Why would you—?”

“Because school is a shark tank,” Emerie says. “Everyone else went there straight out of undergrad, and I had to work four jobs for four years just to afford tuition. Being old at Prythian means being poor.” She quietens, looking down at her brown hands twisted together. “And by the time we started to get close, it felt too weird to bring up. So… I’m sorry?” She looks up to see if Nesta is upset.

Nesta doesn’t know what to feel, but Gwyn seems to. “You called me old,” she accuses. “You’re nearly a grandma!”

“Were you going to lie about your age forever?” Nesta interjects.

“If I had known there was going to be a forever, I would have opened up a lot sooner,” Emerie defends.

Nesta drops her head onto the table and covers her ears with her arms. “This is so weird,” she says against the wood of the table, her voice muffled. “I can never look at you the same way ever again.”

“That’s fair,” Emerie says cautiously. “But are you really mad?” Nesta feels a hesitant hand touch her shoulder.

“I need time to process,” Nesta says from her cocoon. Suddenly she hears a hum and a click, and her cocoon gets even darker. Gwyn and Emerie make twin sounds of surprise.

Poking her head up, Nesta blinks to find total darkness in the apartment. The heater has stopped running, leaving behind a quiet stillness.

“Shit,” Gwyn curses, fumbling with her phone. The flashlight turns on, lighting up her face. “I swear I paid my electric bill.”

“I don’t think it’s just you,” Emerie says, getting up to look out the window. “Look, the whole street is out.”

By the time they gather some candles and light them, the apartment has dropped twenty degrees in temperature. Nesta shudders, wishing she’d brought some warm pants with her.

“Let me get us some blankets,” Gwyn says, running off to the linen closet. Emerie and Nesta huddle together on the couch while they wait.

“So you’re really not mad at me?” Emerie asks, hope in her voice.

“Not mad,” Nesta says. “But I think we all lost a little respect for you back there.”

Emerie smiles. “Just a little?”

Gwyn comes back then wearing a thick sweater and carrying a pile of comforters. “I got a text from the landlord,” she says, unceremoniously dropping the blankets onto the couch. “Ice took out the power lines in the whole neighborhood, and we’re not getting any electricity until morning.”

“But it’s negative temperatures outside,” Nesta protests. “We’ll freeze to death.”

“Not if we all cuddle.” Gwyn tries to beam at them, but the effort is futile. “I’m sorry, guys,” she sighs, plopping onto the couch beside Nesta. “This is a terrible birthday celebration.”

Nesta wraps an arm around Gwyn and tucks her into her side, soaking up her warmth as Emerie spreads a heavy comforter over all of their legs. “What are you apologizing for? You did nothing wrong.”

The girls sit in silence for a few minutes until Emerie speaks up. “I wonder what Mr. Madani is doing right now.”

“What?” Nesta frowns.

“He’s probably all alone in his fancy heated cabin, unaware that you’re stuck in the cold dark.” Emerie suddenly smacks Nesta’s arm. “Hey. Why are we freezing our asses off here when you practically own that cabin?”

“I do not practically own that cabin,” Nesta splutters. “And this is Gwyn’s birthday. Why would I take you to Cassian’s place on her birthday?”

“Exactly!” Emerie says. “It’s Gwyn’s birthday, and she deserves better than this. Can’t your boyfriend be a little charitable and share his nice house with us?”

Nesta turns to Gwyn for help, but Gwyn just says carefully, “...Is it a big cabin?”

Emerie nods fiercely, pulling out her phone. “Eris has a picture of it from New Year’s on his Instagram. You wouldn’t believe how much money these Night Court execs make.”

Nesta makes pointed eyes at Gwyn. “You really want to spend your birthday with two strange men?” Cassian and Azriel aren’t exactly meek, nonthreatening men either—at least not at first glance. Considering the state Gwyn was in just some weeks ago, this doesn’t sound like a good idea at all.

Gwyn sounds wary but open-minded when she says, “You trust them, right? And it’s not like we’re going to let the guys join our sleepover. We’re just going to have a warm place to stay while we wait for my power to come back.”

When it’s phrased like that… Nesta purses her lips, thinking.

“Fine,” she finally decides. “Let’s go.”

***

Nesta strips off her jeans almost as soon as she enters the cabin. Much to Cassian’s pride and pleasure, this leaves her wearing only one of his old sweatshirts. Meanwhile, Gwyn and Emerie stand around awkwardly in the middle of the living area without knowing what to do next.

“Make yourselves at home.” Cassian grins at them. “Do you need anything? Food? Drinks?”

“Stop worrying,” Nesta groans. “We don’t need to be mothered.”

“I totally hear you,” he nods. “I’ll make cookies.” And maybe some hot drinks. It’s supposed to be a birthday party, after all.

Just then, Azriel appears at the top of the stairs in a dark hoodie and sweats. He’s halfway down the steps when he notices the living room full of girls and promptly turns around.

Cassian calls his name before he can escape. “Want to help me out in the kitchen?”

“No, thanks,” Az says over his shoulder, leaving Cassian alone to play host.

While Gwyn and Emerie admire the cabin (“There’s a gym down the hallway and a library upstairs,” Nesta points out to them), Cassian gathers baking ingredients in the kitchen. He rarely eats desserts or junk food, much less makes them, but surely he can manage a snack for the girls.

When he returns to the living room half an hour later with cookies and mugs of hot chocolate, the coffee table has been moved out of the way and replaced with a spread of blankets and pillows. The fire crackles hotly enough that Gwyn and Emerie have joined Nesta in discarding any extra clothing articles, and they all cheer from the couch when they spy the food.

“Goddamn,” Emerie whistles at the platter of cookies on Nesta’s lap. “Nesta told us you were a catch, Mr. Madani, but she didn’t tell us she got the full housewife package.”

“Shut up.” Nesta shoves a cookie into Emerie’s mouth and passes Gwyn some hot chocolate. Any toughness vanishes when she looks back at Cassian. “Thank you,” she mouths, and he answers by smoothing out her ponytail.

Satisfied with his work and feeling guilty for crashing the girls’ fun, he’s about to call it a night when he feels a tug at his pants. Nesta is looking up at him with eyes that ask him to stay. Cassian glances nervously to Gwyn and Emerie, who are arguing about what movie to watch from his extensive streaming collection, and glances back to Nesta. Are you sure? he asks her silently.

She nods, but it isn’t until Gwyn says, “Just sit down, you’re blocking the TV,” that he indeed sits his ass down on the floor by Nesta’s feet.

A short tug of war between Gwyn and Emerie results in Emerie getting the remote. She blows a hair triumphantly out of her face. “No Planet Earth documentary for you, then,” she says.

Gwyn sits back, grumbling, “You’d think I’d get treated better on my damn birthday.” Nesta adds, “I like documentaries.”

“You’ll like The Proposal even more,” Emerie refutes, scrolling through the TV.

The smell of melting chocolate chips must invade the rest of the cabin, because not long after the movie begins, Cassian catches Azriel sneaking downstairs. As subtle as a shadow, no one even notices him until he plucks up a cookie from the side table by Nesta.

She slides her eyes over to him without turning her head. “You look like a punk with your hood up,” she snorts. “What are you, fifteen?”

From the floor, Cassian withholds a sigh.

Az shoots her a dark look, clearly not appreciating the attention brought to his presence. “Don’t be a little shit,” he warns in a low tone. He reaches for another cookie and Nesta bats his hand away. “Those aren’t for you,” she hisses.

“Can we please not—” Cassian tries.

Az glares and goes for the cookie again. Nesta smacks him back, which results in a slap fight that is only interrupted by Gwyn pleading, “Guys, we’re missing Sandra Bullock!”

Nesta pulls away, looking apologetic, and Az flushes pink. “Sorry,” he mutters. But he snatches up three cookies with a final look at Nesta and goes to sit in the armchair on the other side of the room.

Nesta, Gwyn, and Emerie get cozy once more, quickly forgetting that Az is there. Emerie stretches her brown legs out across Gwyn’s lap like a cat. Nesta drapes her own leg over Cassian’s shoulder without warning. He turns around to meet her eyes, surprised, but she’s already intently focused on the movie. Smiling faintly to himself, he reaches up to brush her skin. It probably looks to everyone else like she owns him head to toe.

One thing Cassian quickly learns about the girls is that they simply can’t sit still. Even Nesta is more restless than usual, and she nearly kicks Cassian in the head more than once while readjusting herself on the couch. Emerie moves to sprawl on the rug. Gwyn sits upside down and watches with her head dangling off the seat.

As for Cassian, he loses all interest in the movie once Nesta joins him and Emerie on the floor, unable to contain her emotions from the couch. He glances between the movie and her face to find what’s making her so giddy, but it’s only the two main characters getting ready for a shower. He lifts a brow in amusement for no one to see, but settles back to watch her face in the glow of the dying fire. He’s waiting for her smile.

Because when Nesta really likes something, she’ll smile, and when she smiles… Everything scrunches up: her nose, her eyes, her cheeks.

On the TV, a naked Ryan Reynolds and Sandra Bullock collide into each other, toppling to the floor. Nesta’s grin makes an appearance, and she slaps Cassian’s thigh in excitement, hard enough to hurt.

He hisses in a sharp breath, but doesn’t say anything or look away. He thinks he might have to kill anyone that refuses to protect the smile on her face right now, no matter who it is.

Once the scene changes, he walks two fingers up her leg to get her attention. “Nesta,” he whispers, unable to help himself.

She glances at him for half a second before looking back to the movie. “What?”

He opens his arms and gestures her closer. Come and let me hold you.

Nesta makes a face. “Don’t embarrass me in front of the girls.”

Cassian’s lips turn down. “You don’t mean that.”

She does. To prove her point, she crawls closer to Emerie and settles down next to her. Gwyn joins them on the floor, and they all huddle together.

When he catches Az staring at him with a hint of revulsion, Cassian coughs off the yearning and rejection and glares right back.

After the movie finishes, Emerie victoriously crushes an empty can of beer in her fist. Cassian has no idea where it came from. “More Sandra!” she demands.

It takes three more movies before Emerie is knocked out cold on the arrangement of blankets and pillows on the floor, Gwyn with her. Nesta eventually came back to Cassian and fell asleep with her arms wrapped around his waist, and Azriel passed out sometime after Miss Congeniality, curled up in the armchair with his fist propping up his head.

Now, Cassian carefully untangles Nesta from himself, nudging her towards Emerie instead. In her sleep, Nesta turns over to clutch the other woman’s arm and mumbles something unintelligible.

Cassian props a pillow gently beneath her head and picks up another one, throwing it harder than he needs to at Azriel’s face. “Get up,” he hisses.

Az jerks out of his sleep, looking around the dim room in confusion. Cursing lowly, he pushes himself out of his seat and scrubs a hand through his hair. “What time is it?”

“Three.” Cassian pulls a comforter over Nesta and Emerie’s shoulders.

Az crouches and picks up the other side of the comforter, adjusting it over Gwyn’s body. Cassian thinks he might see a frown cross his face for half a second, but then Az is standing up and brushing off his clothes.

After turning off the TV, the guys head for their rooms. “I didn’t think three grown women could be so... much,” Az says as they climb up the stairs.

Cassian huffs a laugh. “We were like that when we were younger, too.”

“Yeah, but we were teenagers.”

They reach the hallway. “I don’t know about the others,” Cassian says thoughtfully, “but Nesta never got to be a normal kid.” She barely got to be a normal adult. And in a couple of short years, she’ll be working her ass off at some prestigious firm and won’t have time for simple things like sleepovers anymore.

Cassian selfishly hopes he can give Nesta all the normalcy he can before that happens.

***

a/n: i’m gonna do my best in future chapters to give cassian depth beyond just his relationship with nesta 🥴 but first, be on the lookout for a gwynriel bonus scene :)

tags: @hellasblessed @sjm-things @thewayshedreamed @drielecarla @valkyriewarriors @superspiritfestival @aliveahaahahafuck @cupcakey00 @sayosdreams @rainbowcheetah512 @claralady @thebluemartini @nessiantho @missing-merlin @duskandstarlight @lucy617 @sleeping-and-books @everything-that-i-love @cassianscool @swankii-art-teacher @awesomelena555 @julemmaes @wickedqueenoffantasy @poisonous-bloom @observationanxioustheorist @gisellefigue08 @courtofjurdan @theoverlyenthusiasticwriter @wolfiixxx @cass-nes @seashade @royaltykxx @illyrianundercover @queenestarcheron @monstrousloves-explodinggalaxies @humanexile @that-golden-lyre @agentsofsheilds @mercy-is-alive @cassiansbigwingspan @laylaameer01 @verypaleninja @maastrash @bow-dawn @perseusannabeth @dead-on-the-inside666 @jlinez @hungryreadingaddict @anidealiveson @planet-faerie @shallowhighwaters @ghostlyrose2 @chosenfamily-valkyriequeens @rarephloxes @readiajin @nessiantrashh @live-the-fangirl-life @ifinallygavein @xoblivisci @sjmships @jungtaekwoonie-is-life @lysandra-tiara9 @lanyjoy-13 @frosted-crackers @post-it-notes33 @loosingdreams @fromthelibraryofemilyj @18moneytoad

[nellygwyn]

different anon, thoughts of harlots portrayal of historical sex work?

I got another anon asking for a similar thing so here it goes:

Season 1, in particular, I think, had a really nuanced approach to sex work, historical and contemporary. It says a lot that some of my friends who are full service sex workers felt it explored a lot of the complex thoughts they have about being sex workers. We had Charlotte and Emily who are both ambivalent and ambitious, practical, knowing that money is the most important thing in their world whilst also being unattainable for them in other socially acceptable careers (also, since I did my MA thesis on the rape of working class adolescent girls in Georgian London, where I basically found that working in a pub or as a servant in a house could just as unsavory, if not worse, as being a sex worker in the same time period, I like to think Charlotte in particular knows this very well and that's why she wants to control her own narrative so much). We also have Lucy, who hates it and is taken advantage of by her mother in many ways, and other characters who end up in the sex industry through ~Hogarthian~ methods i.e. tricked by a kindly older woman who turns out to be an unscrupulous brothel-keeper a la Mother Needham. This kind of thing certainly happened, though not as often as 18th century moralists might like you to think, but in the show, it plays into the overarching theme that this is a world where the people who should be looking after sex workers and making sure they aren't treated like shit literally do not care (which definitely mirrors our own times). Like, Emily likes sex work in many ways but when she experiences awful aspects of it? It's always because of powerful people letting other powerful people do whatever they want to these women....the only thing outside forces ever seem to do is moralise or take away their money, or punish them. People who have the power to actually transform the system are basically useless, except Josiah in S2 who initially starts off as useless but does later try to make amends.....he's just not powerful ENOUGH though.

I do wish they hadn't made so much of the '1 in 5 women in Georgian London sell sex' because....that's not necessarily a false statistic but it doesn't actually just include sex workers, it also includes women who lived with men they weren't married to which could've been a financial arrangement or could've been simply women living with long term partners. It also includes women who dabbled in sex work, which was extremely common in a world where other, more socially acceptable jobs for working women didn't always pay very well. We know that a lot of women who were in domestic service in Georgian London also had what we might call 'a side hustle' as sex workers, specifically strollers and bunters (sex workers who didn't work in a brothel and usually picked up clients/did work on the streets). I think Harlots did a good job of showing us like, sex workers who work in brothels but also more independent sex workers like Nancy and Violet, but it would've been nice to have a character who was a maid in a middle class home most of the time but occasionally dabbled in sex work in the late evening. It would've emphasised the theme of money being important and barely within reach, but also would've shown the reality of women's work in this period OUTSIDE OF sex work.

The diversity of the industry was also good, although it's a shame that the show kind of failed at showing us male sex workers, or queer sex workers - I mean, we did see mollies (contemporary name for gay men sex workers) but not in a particularly meaningful way imo. Plus, we could've had a trans woman sex worker, especially as there is precedent in this period! Princess Serefina, for example, was probably a transgender woman and one of the most famous sex workers of the early 18th century. But I think Harlots did show us the amount of women of colour who not only lived in Georgian London, but who worked there and not just as sex workers. We also had sex workers with disabilities, too. One of my favourite details is that Harriet Lennox is inspired by a real Georgian sex worker called Black Harriet who only employed sex workers of colour at her brothel (which Harriet Lennox also does in S2 and 3). And there is quite an admirable attempt to explore intersectionality in the series - Harriet doesn't just experience sexism but pretty awful racism (I mean, she literally used to be enslaved by the first man who made her his mistress)....and this changes the way she experiences the world.

My biggest criticism is of the way Charlotte was killed off. Well, first of all, I have an issue with the fact Season 3 put her in a relationship with a pimp, which is so fucked up on every level. Like, not even just a pimp but a pimp who tried to kill her and the women she lives with. Then, she ends up being ACTUALLY killed off by said pimp and his brother (also a pimp) in the most deranged way possible a.k.a getting in the way of a fight and being pushed down the stairs. So many stories about sex workers, historical and contemporary, employ the 'Dead Hooker' trope and I hate it and I especially hate it for this time period because dying violently or tragically as a sex worker doesn't have much basis in reality. Charlotte specifically was inspired by famous courtesans of the time like Kitty Fisher and Fanny Murray. Both of whom......met someone who was willing to keep them long term/marry them and left the industry, financially stable and contented. This series wanted to honour women like that but I don't understand how it could do that by killing Charlotte violently (and other characters violently). We know that most sex workers left the industry around their mid twenties, usually because they had found a long term keeper/husband or because they became actresses/singers in the London theatres (a job that had strong links to sex work and courtesanry at the time). There were so many options for Charlotte but the writers picked that one, as her exit. It just brings us back to the fact that for some people, sex workers don't deserve any kind of happy ending. In fact, John Cleland, the writer of the scandalous c. 1749 erotic novel 'Fanny Hill,' had his book banned and criticised not just because it was obscene but because Fanny never repents her life as a sex worker. Instead, she marries a decent man and has a decent life and explictly says she doesn't feel bad or upset about her old job. Like, that's an example from the actual time period so imagine my disappointment when history seemed to repeat itself in a period series c. 2019.

[callowayfox]

( TROYE SIVAN, TWENTY TWO, DEMI MAN, THEY/HE ) Is that CALLOWAY FOX? A SOPHOMORE originally from SYDNEY, AUSTRALIA, they decided to come to Ogden College to study MUSIC & MUSICAL THEATRE on a FINANCIAL SCHOLARSHIP. They’re THE BROKEN ACE on campus, but even they could get blamed for Greer’s disappearance.

character inspo — “is it me? am i the drama?” (scarlet envy), rhys maresh (a darker shade of magic), nico de varona (atlas six), bonny tarleton (something fabulous), luc o’donnell (boyfriend material), literally this 

content warnings: car crash, drowning, grief

BASIC—

full name: calvin horowitz stage name: calloway fox nicknames: cal, fox age: 22 date of birth: 15 july hometown: sydney, australia  gender: demi boy pronouns: he/they sexual orientation: homosexual languages spoken: english, french, hebrew, bits of german & russian

PHYSICAL—

fc: troye sivan hair color: brown eye color: blue height: 5'8" tattoos: none piercings: ears clothing style: if it's not a crop top or see through, they're not going to wear it usual expression: resting bitch face sociability: likes large groups nsfw below for drug / alcohol related questions addictions: drugs drug use: frequently alcohol use: socially

PERSONALITY—

positive traits: cultured, helpful, perceptive negative traits: airy, escapist, passive hobbies: theatre, acting

FAVORITES—

colour: pink, blue music: show tunes   movies: hamilton sport: none beverage: water food: anything vegan animal: chipmunk

EXTRAS—

greek zodiac: cancer element: water celtic zodiac: holly seven roles: the artisan moral alignment: chaotic good

BIOGRAPHY—

Cal’s parents are both archeologists, so he travelled a ton as a child. His mom was from a small town in the United States, while his father was from South Africa. The two of them met in college and married young. Calvin got to see a ton of places as he grew up because of his parent’s jobs. He enjoyed being able to travel and see the world, though there was always a part of him that wanted to have a stable life. Getting to see new places was fun though and Cal was a clever kid, able to pick up bits and pieces of the languages in the places that they got to visit. He got to visit his aunt in the states often. 

He had a complicated relationship with their parents. Cal was always closer with their mom than their father, who always said Cal was a little too dramatic at times. However, their mom was someone they gravitated towards. That’s not to say that Cal hated either of his parents, just that his mom was a bit more tolerant of Cal’s theatrics than their father was. 

( car crash & drowning / death tw ) Cal was ten when the first accident happened. He and his mother both in the car at the time someone ran them off the road. Somehow, Cal managed to get through it with a few scratches and a broken arm. His mother not so lucky. Although rushed to the hospital, there was nothing they could do to save her. Cal and their father went to visit their aunt to bury his mom in their family cemetery. Only two days later did Cal get into another accident, this time not a car, but a boat. Cal accidently fell off the boat and their father jumped in after, only he slipped and his his head. 

Cal was left in the care of his aunt, the only family he’d ever known. They got along with their aunt, bonding over their mutual love of Broadway. Cal expressed their want to be on Broadway one day. Their aunt got them involved with local theatre and from there, Cal thrived. Their love of theatre only grew and it was a tradition every summer for Cal and their aunt to go see a show on Broadway over the summer. 

For Cal, school was always a struggle. He wasn’t academic in nature, often being called out by his teachers for not paying attention and being dramatic. Theatre was the only place they ever felt like they belonged, so that’s where they put effort. Singing lessons, dance lessons, and both school and local productions, it was clear they had talent. 

The summer they turned fifteen, Cal and their aunt went to NYC like they always did and Cal noticed a casting call. It was a one off audition, but Cal got a callback. And got the part. Still a minor at the time, Cal’s aunt moved them to the city, a small apartment barely big enough for the two of them. Their dream was about to happen. The little Calvin Horowitz became Calloway Fox, a stage name that they felt fit better. 

( death tw ) It didn’t take long for Cal to become overwhelmed with the pressure to do better and get better roles as they grew as an actor. A week before Cal turned eighteen, their aunt passed away. She’d made plans to moved back home and by then, Cal was earning enough money to live comfortable in the city on their own. But three days before he turned eighteen, she passed away from a heart attack and they were once again on their own. Cal never really dealt with the grief of having lost their parents and now their aunt was gone, they didn’t really know what to do but keep acting, keep their career on track, and act like nothing was wrong because he’s good at that. 

Skip to two and a half years later and Cal was in their first play, but dealing with a lot emotionally. A bad performance and a decision to leave Broadway for education is how Cal ended up at Ogden. The official story is that he wanted to focus on his education before returning to Broadway. But tabloids have been speculating that’s not true, especially since a ton of them have caught photos of him throughout the years at some of the more wild parties and have thought he had the whole “child actor syndrome.”

RELATIONSHIP TO GREER— He actually first met her backstage before opening night of his first play. That was the performance that ended their run on Broadway and was the catalyst for them going back to college. Cal had no idea she was at Ogden and while they mostly ran in different social circles, they did talk to her a few times when Cal ended up going to parties that she was at. He mostly avoided her though because he didn’t really like her all that much.

[musesforamonday]

the conundrum of a liberal arts degree

Go ahead. Press play on the song I've included above. I promise it's not a mistake. I have included a recording of New Zealand baritone, Teddy Tahu Rhodes, singing the infamous Toreador song from Bizet's Carmen for your listening pleasure and to be the background music for the following blog post.

This is hopefully the first of many weekly Monday posts, my ADHD willing. I have returned to my 2014 One Direction obsessed roots and have come crawling back to the blogging platform of Tumblr to express my thoughts. Mostly because Twitter stresses me out and I have already scared away too many of my Instagram followers.

So why did you choose to make your readers (hopefully there are more of you than just my Mom) listen to opera as they read your chaotic and unorganized thoughts, Maryn? I'll tell you. I graduated with my bachelors degree in music where I focused my studies on opera and musical theatre performance. Not to toot my own horn or anything, but I'm fairly good at what I do and was recognized for my hard work throughout my time as a liberal arts college student. I can sing in four languages, tap dance, analyze 18th century music, and explain to you how Wagnerian opera changed the world and the entertainment industry as we know it. So why the opera? Simply to be pretentious if we're being honest but mostly because I have to have a soundtrack to everything I do and that will now extend to me forcing my readers to live their lives as I do, fully believing that they are the main character and that Bizet orchestrated their lives.

As I laid out in the previous paragraph, I know what I'm talking about and was considered a respected student and performer among my community. Once I graduated I got an incredible performing job (which I still have. It's great, HOWEVER most performing jobs are not full time and do not offer benefits and are not stable. But that could just be on me for wanting to tap dance for a living.) but found myself working a 9 to 5 customer service job to pay the bills. I was terrible at it.

I had visions of working as a florist and being with plants all day (how main character of me) so I took a customer service job in a flower shop. I really loved the people I worked with and it was not a terrible job, but one thing I had failed to realize was that 90% of the work in the floral industry is working in funerals. Customer service for funeral work is not for the faint of heart and ESPECIALLY not for highly sensitive people like myself. I had to make a change when I found myself having to take a walk around the block sobbing my mascara into a dark pool on my cheeks that prompted a rather large and gruff-looking man to yell at me across the street "You okay? You're beautiful, don't let life get you down!"

I was frustrated with myself. I was once one of the most respected lyrical sopranos in my area and here I was, reduced to tears by some woman furious beyond belief over a single Gerber daisy. I voiced my feelings to my friends who are also in the same boat that I'm in, incredibly talented individuals working mundane jobs to pay for their performing careers that may or may not take off. I couldn't help but think of the astonishing vocalists and performers I work with and interact with on the daily and how they are teachers, engineers, and secretaries among many other things. Why do we spend so much of our time honing our craft only to barely use it because it isn't financially lucrative? How do you represent creative people on paper when what we do is emotional and lasts a fleeting two and half hours?

Creative people are problem solvers, empaths, and good at so much more than just singing and dancing, but the problem is we are confined to an 8.5x11 piece of paper that tells indeed.com that we are qualified for jack squat. So that is why I have revived my dormant tumblr blog. To find a creative way to represent myself on paper. (Or in this case, a shoddy html code that I taught myself how to create in high school.) I have a complicated and eccentric personality that takes many a while to get to know and appreciate. Hopefully a weekly post is going to expedite that process. XOXO, future employers. I promise I'm really funny and will find a point to this blog soon.

As we say in the opera world, Toi toi toi!

-Maryn