#Sincerely Tyra

[teachussomethin]

A Reminder to #ProtectUs

Lest we forget: Day after IWD + I wonder what accomplishments these women/Queens could have been celebrating today. —Sincerely, Tyra 🖤 #ProtectUs #EbonySunCHI #chicago #womenshistorymonth #awareness #internationalwomensday #blackwomen

[cupoftrembling]

The first thing Vera noticed was the flies.

Mariposa was not a particularly humid city, despite what its place on the coast of the Screaming Seas might lead you to believe. It was often cooler, even into the summertime, with wafting breeze coming from across the rocks on the Butterfly Bay. In fact, it is that cool breeze that allowed the city to become something of a mercantile hub, with the tradewinds stretching far across the continent, from the Coalition of Eastern Regencies to the Empire of Night. The air does not stick to the lungs, sweat does not coat the back of your head when you toil.

And yet, there the flies were. In the sticky, sweet air in Manor Tyra, just in the corner of the room, she saw them buzzing around a vent in the wall, flying in and out of the metal opening. They almost seem to dance, their humming almost melodic in its grating. They disperse across the room as they leave the air vent, maybe three, maybe four. One lands on a blood red chrysanthemum, one lands right on the cheek of the large painting of Rosalind Tyra, one lands on the brow of the head butler.

“Why do you want this position, Miss Hershal?” The head butler asks. If he notices it, if his brow twitching is in response to the little bug, Vera does not know. She did not quite get his name, with the introductions having been drowned out by the flies' incessant din. 

Vera responds, but not in any way she can really articulate. Something about dreams, as if every moment in Vera’s life was leading to her dusting and cooking. The buzzing of the flies has turned musical almost, as if their wings were harmonizing with the dust in the air, in the oscillation of the light coming from dim bulbs, in the growl of her stomach. Work was hard to find in Mariposa, but the corporate lords pay well.

The head butler coughs again, this time with less politeness and more hoarse. It is stern enough to bring Vera back to herself, as if he knew she was somewhere else. “So, Miss Hershal.”

Vera looks back towards the butler, still straining one ear to listen to the buzzing. “Please, Vera is alright I think.”

Behind the head butler, Rosalind’s daughter taps her finger just once. Enough to be almost imperceptible, save for the fact that she had not moved this whole conversation. The head butler scowles just slightly. “We prize objectivity here, Miss Vera. We may be a family, but we need to keep things courteous.”

Vera nods, a slight, warm and red blush creeps across the bridge of her nose. “Oh, then yea, um. Miss Hershal works.”

Rosalind’s daughter smiles. Besides her foot is a hunter’s ax. It leans against her leather boot. And even at this distance, Vera smells something of ash. The head butler continues. “Out of all the applicants, you’ve been selected for Rosalind’s personal aide. You must feel honored.”

Vera nods. “Oh yes! Very, very.” Her voice is dripping with faux sincerity.

“Technically, you’re the personal aide for the Tyra family as well.” The head butler rejoined. “Including Crimson, here. You serve at their pleasure. Tyra Logistics and Transportation welcomes you.”

The woman behind the head butler smiles and raises a single finger in recognition. Her grin is plastered in red rouge. She opens her mouth to say something, her teeth are pearlescent, almost clear. A single smudge of the lipstick marks her canine. “Charles.” Her voice is soft, lacking in any of the formality that the head butler prided himself in. “I might be getting ahead of myself, but-”

Vera’s face dropped, her hands fidgeted in her lap. The fabric of her dress was threadbare and hand hewn, her boots, which were still tapping on the ground in tune with the fragrant buzzing, were had nails driven through the sole. “A-Ahead of yourself?” Vera manages to get out. She brings her hands to her mouth in shock at the interruption. Tyra smiles.

“Really, Miss Tyra?” The head butler nods, refusing to look over his shoulder at the corporate lord behind him. 

“Oh of course I’m sure.” Crimson rejoins. She looks back towards Vera. “I think I’m ready to welcome you to the family, my attendant.”

Vera looks back at the woman. Crimson’s face is unreadable. It has a smile on it, and narrow eyes. But no actual emotion is anywhere to be found. She reaches over to her discarded glass of wine on the end table beside her. It is red and full bodied. One of the flies has landed on the surface, struggling to break the surface tension. Tyra brings the glass to her lips as the fly thrashes, as if she does not notice. A single drop of the bordeaux lands on her cheek. Her skin is like cotton, it absorbs the wine just as fast. 

“There are, of course, responsibilities to the task.” The head butler rejoins. Crimson brings the wine glass just below her lips. The fly has stopped thrashing. Its buzz still rings, maybe even a bit louder. “An important position such as this can’t just go to anyone.”

“If you don’t mind me being so bold.” Vera asks, fighting back a smug smile. “If it's so important, why me?”

Crimson looks back towards the portrait behind her. Her mother’s kind face. It’s eyes are locked on Vera. Wine drips from the edges of Crimsons’ lips. The edge of Vera’s body was thrumming in time with the gnashing tune on the fly’s wings. She looks back up towards the vent in the corner of the room. A maggot falls out between the metal slats. Vera licks her lips slightly. Behind her, a single petal falls from off the chrysanthemum. The sound it makes while falling is the exact same note as the buzzing of the fly’s wings. Crimson scowles at the painting.

“Call it a mother’s intuition.” 

A pen click. The butler coughs. “Are you still interested?”

Vera turns towards the head butler and smiles. “Yea, I am, I think.”

-------------------------------------------------------------------------

The servants quarters were surprisingly large. 

The last place Vera worked at, a home of a minor ambassador from a foreign land, was little more than a broom closet with a gas range. The air smells like sulfur and blood, laiden so thick that you could taste it on the back of your tongue.

The Tyra Manor did not smell like sulfur and the quarters had their own kitchen attached to it. Vera counted six additional bodies in the communal space. One was smoking a cigarette, one was playing chess with another. Each were young, attractive types, like Crimson Tyra was. Hard bodies, pretty hair. Obsessively clean, as well. One held a glass up to the light, his fingernails were bitten to stumps with not a speck of dirt or grime underneath them. That melodic buzzing could still be heard here, yet it didn’t seem to bother anyone in the room. Each of them were conversing, rapt entirely in their companionship. Vera could have been a fly on the wall for all she knew. She placed her bag on the ground next to the door, enough to be out of sight from the hallway, lest any of the Tyra’s see her belongings.

It was the man at the window between the kitchen and the common area who noticed her first. His teeth were perfectly aligned, and only slightly yellowed. His eyes had a slight band of copper between the iris and the sclera, and his eyelashes were long and inviting. He extended his hand up to beckon her further. It was at that moment, the other’s in the servants quarters turned to look at her. Not all in unison, mind you. But with a noticeable, almost deliberate delay in their towards her. Not unlike when an actor knows he is to be cut off in the script.

“New girl, right?” The man with the pretty eyes said as if they were waiting for her. Vera began walking towards him before he had even called her over. Yet when he spoke, when the words dripped from his mouth, she stopped, acutely aware of her movement. She felt them watch her and felt almost comforted by it. To be the center of their obsession, if but for a moment. The man continued, his smile still wide and boisterous.“Come come, get a drink in you.” 

She walks up to the window to the kitchen, as if this room was repurposed from some entertaining space. There were no stools next to the window, so Vera opted to stand. She wants to tell them she doesn’t drink, but can’t find it in her to lie. “Are we supposed to be drinking on the clock?” Vera asks instead.

“Bit of a teetotaler, hey?” The woman next to her responds. Her hair is auburn and she has long, slender arms. Her fingers are marred with scratches, each appearing now to only just be healing. Burrowing scars mark the length of her forearm. She sees Vera eyeing her and flashes her a coy smile. “Daphne.” She extends her hand towards Vera and she takes it. Her grip is delicate, and they hold for what seems a moment too long. 

“Vera Hershal.” Vera says almost off handedly. She still has not let go of her hand.

“You from Mariposa, Vera?” Daphne asks as the man with the pretty eyes fills a pristine glass with a slightly brown liquid. It sloshes around as if the consistency of syrup. 

“Who is?” The man with the pretty eyes chuffs, as if it was some grand joke.

“No, actually.” Vera smiles and takes her hand from Daphne’s to the glass. There is no discernible change in warmth between the two of them. “I’m from up north. Hinterlands. Near Verak.”

“You miss it?” Daphne asks, rolling her finger around the rim of her drink.

Vera takes hold of the drink in both of her hands. She rubs the ridge of the glass absentmindedly for a moment. The man with the pretty eyes leans forward a bit too far. So does Daphne.

“Do any of you actually hear that?” Vera finally asks. That buzzing, that droning, that gnawing sound. It was all Vera could do to actually pay attention to the two of them. It was at once melodic and dissonant, not altogether unpleasant. But its ever presentness, its continuity, flowed around hallways and into the rooms of Manor Tyra. There weren’t even any flies here, nor had she seen any in her walk down to the servants quarters. This place had looked scoured and clean, with hard pressed wood, treated with any sort of preservatives, and paneling placed at odd angles with secant points. The whole of the manor seemed to converge on what? All the pointing lines that focused on what? 

Daphne smiles. “No, not really.” Her thumb is pressing deep and hard into the ridge on the bottom of her drink. Vera furrows her brow. Her eyes dilate, her throat feels thick and full. Daphne looks over to Vera and nudges her with her own shoulder. “Not a lot of people regret moving to Mariposa, so I don’t blame you.”

Vera sighs and brings the cup to her lips. It is sweet, whatever is inside of it. Like rosewater, or hibiscus. Absolutely no discernable taste of alcohol. Like drinking liquified potpourri. Whatever grain or fruit the spirit was made from, this mixer almost fully masked its flavor. Vera, for a moment, closes her eyes, ignoring the frustration of being misunderstood building behind them. It does not taste like Verak. She is almost certain of it. But it doesn’t taste like Mariposa, either. She has had plenty of drinks in her stay here, and this certainly was not one of them.

“I’m Adrien.” The man with the pretty eyes finally coughs out. Vera opens her eyes and realizes just how long she had been drinking. The glass in her hands was half gone. “I’m the entremétier in the Tyra kitchen.”

“Which means he also cooks our meals too.” Daphne gesticulates towards the kitchen, glass still in hand. It was a small, cozy thing. Still unheard of in Mariposa, a kitchen for use only by the help staff. But the size of the Tyra manor almost required such atomization of labor. “He’s only typically on call when Tyra is hosting the Queen.”

“So it means, Miss Hershal, you’re stuck with me.” Adrien smiles and leans on the kitchen windowsill. His arms are toned and sinewy. He looks as if he’d be stringy, chalky in any sort of long standing soup. A thin, bristly mustache covers his upper lip, as if he was proud to be sporting it. “I hope the other’s like you just as much as the miss does”

Daphne snorts, undignified and beautiful. She is still shoulder to shoulder with Vera. “I think they will, yea.” She takes another drink. A fly, small thing with beady, crimson eyes, crawls from behind Daphne’s ear. Its wings harmonized with that buzzing that Vera could not get from out of her mind. If anyone saw it, no one made mention of it. The rest of the servants in the quarters were each obsessed with their conversational partners, enraptured with each other. The air was warm and sickly sweet. Like the potpourri that was at Vera’s mother’s wake.

“You’re so sure, huh?” Vera slightly bumps back into Daphne, separating the two of them for a moment.

“Yeah, you’re so sure, huh?” Adrien begins to pour himself his own drink. “You said that about the last girl, too.”

“What happened to her?” Vera asked.

“Rosalind liked her a little too much, so Crimson let her go.” Daphne sighed wistfully, as if she liked her just as much. As her mouth opened, that same buzzing came from inside Daphne. As if her lips were not making the same movements as they were before, like they were simply opening up for the noise to come out instead of forming the words themselves. “Our employer is a bit of a meticulous one.”

“Heard she works down near Le Marc street, in the lower wards.” Adrien lifts the liquor to his mouth and drinks it greedily. Liquid spills from the sides of his lips, his mouth open too wide for the mouth of the glass. His tongue lulls out the side.

“Nice one, too.” Daphne sighs, her voice almost drowned out by Adrien’s drinking. Like a pig drinking from a trough, guttural and wet. Vera looks at Adrien, at his bulging throat and his ragged breath when he takes the drink away from his lips. “Sweet girl, ya know? She brought a little basket of treats to introduce herself. Cared a bit too much. Cute little thing.” Adrien places the glass back on the table a little too forcefully, fills it again from the brown bottle, and then begins drinking again. The liquor spills around his hand, as if the act of pouring is foreign to him. He catches his breath. “Like, ah, you.”

“Is he-” Vera looks back at Daphne for a moment, then back at Adrien. His glass is on the table, he has resumed his previous position, resting against the counter. The glass is empty. It is dripping with condensation. A pool of liquid has formed from where he spilled the drink in haste. His hands are dripping wet. The words die in Vera’s throat.

Daphne raises an eyebrow. “Is he?”

Vera puts her own glass down.

----------------------------------------------------------------------

“If you ask me, I think she has the Scarlet Song.”

The light is dim in their shared bedroom. Vera had, by chance, been assigned to the room that Daphne had been staying in. Two queen beds, facing each other on opposite sides of a room. In many of the workhouses of Mariposa, servants were assigned twin beds, as if to keep from any impropriety on company time. The walls were dark, with painted and stained wood paneling along the lower half of the wall. Vera had retired to bed some time ago, her arms behind her head as she stared at the ceiling.

When Daphne started to talk, Vera almost instinctively looked over to the corner of the room, on the side of where the door was. A single, budding chrysanthemum sat on an end table in that corner. It's leaves having all fallen off long ago, yet regrowing new ones outside of their budding season. She watches as a maggot crawls along the stem. Vera swears she sees it look at her.

“Scarlet Song?” Vera asks after exchanging glances with the maggot. She sits up in her bed, her nightgown feeling a bit too thin in the chill of the night’s air.

“Yea, Rosalind.” Daphne had already been sitting up, her arms wrapped around her knees. Her hair was up in a bun, her makeup had been removed. She had no wrinkles, at least less than she had during the previous day. Her hands were still immaculate, palms red from her repeated washing. “She goes out for a hunt in Blackvien years ago, then traps herself in her room.”

“Did you meet with her when you were hired?” Vera tilts her head to the side somewhat.

“Yea I did. We sat in the rose garden with her wife.” Daphne looks towards the dead chrysanthemum in the corner of the room, a plant she had been meaning to get rid of for some time. Its leaves have long wilted away. “She asked me some weird questions, then said congrats.”

“Oh,” Vera sighed. “Crimson and the head butler did my interview.”

Daphne sits up a bit higher. Her voice is still hushed. “See! That’s exactly what I mean.” She leans forward in the bed. “She goes on some hunting trip just before the last outbreak happened there. Comes back and locks herself in that room.”

“Or Crimson locks her in that room.”

“Might be.”

“Might be?” 

“Maybe she wants to keep Mariposa safe, or her mother safe.” Vera sighs and looks back towards the blooming plant. “It’s the disease of undeath, right?”

Daphne takes her arms from off around her knees and moves towards the edge of the bed. “Scarlet Song is a psychosocial illness. You don’t just catch it by being near someone who’s sick.”

“That wasn’t how I heard it spread.”

“Well obviously, if you’re around someone who’s sick, you might get sick.” Daphne rolls her eyes. Her iris glowed in the dim of the room. The way the stray light came in through the window, it almost made Daphne look like a cat you shined a light at. Red, like a photo caught mid flash. “But that’s only because you’re caring for them, because you pour so much into them.”

Vera brings her knees to her chest. The maggot begins to sing, harmonizing with the buzzing that had been blaring in her ears. “How do you get it then?”

“It worms its way into the parts of your mind that care.” Daphne finishes moving, sitting on the edge of the bed now. She was no more than a couple feet from Vera, but Vera could feel the warmth of her breath, the sickly, floral flavor on the tongue. Her lips were scarlet, her arms were slender and inviting. “Poisons your thoughts into obsession and infatuation. Makes you an object of desire, makes your vices just that much more apparent. Gluttony, lust, wrath.They call it the undead disease because of conservation of energy. All that obsession can’t just disappear once you die.”

Shambling corpses, replete of any desire but what was core to them.

“You hear voices, you see things, you misattribute motivations and feelings towards someone else.” Daphne gets up from off the bed. She is standing now, in naught but a night shirt. Her skin is translucent in the moonlight, like still water. Her eyes red and beautiful. “You could be infected, and just not know. It creeps into your mind, makes a vice of your heart.”

There is little now between their two beds, with Daphne standing square between them. Vera traced the lines of her shoulders, of her chin, of her lips. The edges of Daphne hummed and thrummed, as if their component parts sang with the maggot. Like a lichtenberg figure, Daphne seemed all secant lines. Convergent points, each inviting further study and obsession. Vera closed her eyes.“It almost sounds nice.”

Daph leans forward, towering over Vera on the bed. She raises a hand and, for a moment, Vera worries Daph might strike her. Her hand is now on Vera’s cheek, fingers finding themselves resting on her cheekbone. Vera, instinctually, bites Daphne’s palm. Daphne grips her head a bit tighter, blood running rivulets down into Vera’s hungry mouth. It is sweet, like the potpourri at her mother’s wake. Her other hand rests where Vera’s neck meets her shoulders, thumb placed gingerly just above her adam’s apple. Vera leans into the embrace, not sure whether Daphne will choke her or kiss her back. She would beckon either, readily and happily. Her skin was hot, roiling chaos. The cells across her body a throng of music, a veritable choir of blissful immolate. 

Daphne gasps, the heat proving too much for her. She opens her eyes and sees Daphne there, sitting on the edge of her bed, now seeming so far apart. Vera didn’t even notice her moving. Her skin was flush, her hands trembling, hand dripping blood onto her white gown. Daphne will not look her in the eyes, but a blissful smile is plastered on her face. She is shaking. “Yea, it does sound nice.”

-------------------------------------------------------------------------

Rosalind Tyra had a portrait of her wife on the bed stand next to her.

This was the first thing that Vera noticed when walking into the magnate’s room. Not the flowers that should have rotted months ago, not the empty plate picked clean of bones, not even the unmoving, veiled form that lay on the bed, covered by a single, white sheet. It was a simple photo, and the lights in the room had long been burnt out. A golden leaf frame surrounded the photo, with no glass covering it. The photo was yellowed and sour. Mary Tyra-Dayshaper was a young woman again, her hair it's natural blonde instead of the gray it was now. In the background, one of Rosalind’s kills at their chateau near Blackvien. Some grand reptile, head severed and blood dripping into a nearby patch of chrysanthemums. Mary was smiling, with a kind set of eyes. In her hair, a little flower pin. Sitting beside her, a child. Scarlet red hair and a bearded ax next to her. She was not smiling and she was staring a hunter’s stare at Vera.

The portrait was facing Rosalind’s bed, where she lay under a perfectly white sheet. No stains, like Vera had expected. No grime or muck or even dust. The room looked well kept, the room looked as pristine as the rest of the house. This is what Vera would be hired to do. To keep Rosalind company, to keep where she lays. Rosalind seemingly did not notice Vera’s entrance, even if the maid wasn’t particularly keen on staying quiet. As soon as she entered the small room, however, she felt almost reverent. As if her breaths must be measured as not to take too much oxygen, as if her feet must be kept in check lest it squash some beast underfoot. The stained glass window let in multi-colored light, trickling in and catching dust in its delicate beams. It was midmorning after a fitful night. The sky in Mariposa had that post-dawn haze, with nary a cloud in sight. Vera entered and shut the door.

The second thing that Vera noticed was the incessant, beautiful melody that had suffused the entirety of Tyra Manor had ceased as soon as she shut the door. It had become so much that Vera had almost tuned it out entirely by the time she woke next to Daphne this morning. And yet, in shutting it out, Vera had missed it in its absence. The walls vibrated, like being trapped in a room without air, like being stuck in the center of a storm. The silence rattles the wood, it rattles the bed frame, it rattles Vera’s bones.

“Good morning, Mrs. Tyra.” Vera says in a cloying affect like she was instructed. “Have you been sleeping well?”

The body does not respond. There is no rising and falling of the chest. Vera crosses the room gingerly. The tray in her hands rattles somewhat. The hem of her skirt rises with each step. Vera waits for a response that will never come. She places the tray down on the end table, next to the photo of Mary Tyra-Dayshaper. It is dried ham and it costs more than Vera will make that day. Mary is stout and elegant. Her sun kissed skin catches the Blackvien light just so and her hair smells of seabreeze and salt. 

“I have your meal.” Vera continues in rote repetition. Do not deviate, she tells herself.. “Will you eat it here or should we be expecting you down today?”

The body does not respond. Vera sits on the edge of the bed next to her in a fit of compassion. She was a nurse, before she was a maid. Back when money could be made in healing. She places her hand on the sheet almost absentmindedly, breaking the script. Perhaps she is just sleeping a bit tighter, perhaps she is just too cozy in the warmth of the morning. Vera creeps a smile as her hands reach the hem of the bedline.

“It’d be nice if you’d join us, I’m sure your daughter would-”

And that is when she hears it. The song. Not the disjointed choir of the maggots, not the single-noted sludge of the servants. But the whole of it. Every note, their counterplay, the harmonies, the sharps and the flats. It is like a cacophony of angels, like every tragedian of Mariposa was caught alight in a single, raptorious song. It is like screaming. It is like pain. It is like the crackling of ash and the dripping love of slavering mouths. It is incineration of the stars in the sky.

It is pure beauty and it drives Vera to tears. 

It drives her to the floor.

Sorrow was now burning into her cheeks. Her tears sublimating in time with the harmonies that now echo in her ears. She brings her hands to her face, as if she were to sob. A choked, painful note comes out of Vera’s mouth as the song stops, as she leaves Rosalind Tyra. She thinks she hears the whole manor scream.

The body does not respond. It sits there, mocking what obvious love Vera had felt come from her touch. This was not Rosalind as she knew Rosalind. Rosalind was the violent song that now dripped from her open mouth, not the meat sitting ripe and raw under the sheets. The song crawls from Vera’s pours like maggots. They stain the hem of Vera’s dress, mixing with the blood and bile that were pooling from her screaming, singing mouth. They are slick and inviting.

And then the discordance creeps back in.

Vera shoots her eyes towards the door as the incessant and beautiful song of the maggots is in her ears again, eyes burning from between her stained fingers. Red petals flow down her cheeks. And her mouth tastes only of song. In the doorway stands Crimson Tyra. Her boots are muddy and on her shoulder is a worn rifle. Its barrel still hot from the hunt. In her other hand, her dominant hand, her killing hand, was a hunting ax. It was bearded. It was dripping with ash.

“Did you do this to her?” Vera manages to get out as the song creeps behind her now fractiline eyes.

“I knew you’d break.” Crimson smirks, then quickly scowles. “What did my mother say?” Her voice is lacking any of the congeniality she once had. She takes a step forward, tracking the mud into the sickly sweet room.

Vera choked again, maggots spilling from her lips. She pulled herself forward. If only she could share this love with Crimson, maybe, maybe, maybe.

Crimson brings her boot down on what once was Vera’s hand, skin now splitting, unable to contain the flowers anymore. “I hired you for this reason, Miss Hershal.” Her voice was cruel, spitting and cutting. “Now, what did my mother say?”

“Sorry!” Vera sings, her bones breaking and eating away at her skin. “She says she’s sorry!”

Crimson sighs and frowns. She places the rifle on the floor. She hefts her hunting ax with both hands now. Its blade is dripping with blood. “That’s what she said the last time.” Crimson rejoins.

If Vera could just get to Daphne, just show her how beautiful this was when everything could be better. What once was Vera’s lips are replete with words and notes, some begging, some hateful, some pleading for violence. “I can make you! We can feel better!” Vera manages something coherent. “You need me! Love!”

Crimson smiles. She brings the ax above her head. Everything could be better, if she just opened her heart to the song. “I only needed you for this, Miss Hershal.”

Then, the body does not respond.

-----------------------------------------------------------------------

“We are in need of an entire new staff, Miss DuBois.” The head butler asks. Anne sat in front of him, her legs crossed at the ankles. Behind him, Crimson sat in her thick, leather chair. Behind them both, a painted portrait of Rosalind Tyra. “So, let me ask you. Why is it you want this job?”

Crimson smiles and taps her finger just once.

And the flies begin crawling from the vents.

[mskyrathefroggo]

The Fall of Tyra

In the celestial realm, there once was a fallen angel named Tyra. In her prime, she had been one of God's most perfect and high-ranking angels and even Gods favorite Angel. Her beauty and grace were renowned throughout the heavens, and her laughter had been like music to the divine ears.

However, Tyra's story took a sorrowful turn. She had succumbed to pride and ambition, harboring thoughts of challenging the very Creator who had fashioned her. In her arrogance, she led a rebellion, hoping to dethrone the Lord. Her actions were a grave betrayal of the divine trust, and for her sins, Tyra fell from grace.

As Tyra descended from the heavens, her radiant wings turned ashen, and her once luminous eyes filled with tears. She became a pariah, an embarrassment to the angelic host, and her heart was heavy with the weight of her regrets. Day and night, Tyra begged the Lord for forgiveness. She pleaded for a chance to redeem herself, to make amends for her rebellion, and to return to the grace of heaven. Her cries echoed in the celestial void, a mournful melody that reached the ears of the divine. The Lord, in all His wisdom, listened to Tyra's pleas, but forgiveness did not come easily. Tyra's actions had been a severe affront to the divine order, and her fall had been a lesson for all of creation. The Lord spoke to her, "Tyra, your remorse is genuine, and your suffering is evident. But the path to redemption is not one that can be traversed lightly. You must carry the burden of your actions and learn from your fall."

Tyra, tears streaming down her cheeks, vowed to do whatever it took to regain the Lord's favor. She undertook a journey of self-discovery and penance. She wandered through the mortal realm, offering guidance and comfort to the lost and suffering, hoping to ease their pain in the name of the divine.

Years turned into centuries, and Tyra's heart began to heal. Her once sorrowful cries transformed into prayers of gratitude, thanking the Lord for the opportunity to make amends. Yet, despite her efforts, the Lord's forgiveness remained elusive.

One day, as Tyra gazed upon the heavens with longing in her eyes, a radiant beam of divine light enveloped her. The Lord's presence surrounded her, and His voice resonated like a celestial symphony. "Tyra, your journey of redemption has been a testament to the strength of your remorse and the depth of your regret. For your unwavering devotion, I offer you a chance to return to the celestial realm."

Tears of joy flowed down Tyra's face as she accepted the Lord's grace. She understood that forgiveness, even for the most fallen, could be achieved through sincere remorse and a commitment to rectify one's past actions. Tyra's story served as a testament to the power of redemption, reminding all that even in the depths of despair, the chance to rise anew was never truly lost.

The End?

[pearlycomplaints]

I started watching Drag Race and I sincerely hope that the show gets more accepting. Season 1 was pretty good, I was annoyed that they sent the plus size queen home first. However, for the most part everyone was able to treat one another well and it looks like some walked away with friends. Seeing actual tears shed when some girls were eliminated and seeing one another being able to celebrate others victories was so inspiring and it’s how I believe competitions should be. I have zero tolerance for the “I’m not here to make friends I’m here to win” attitude. Because only one person will win and the prize you’re mostly likely to walk home with memories and friendships. So they should cherish the experience.

Season 2 however is PISSING me off. I hate all those bitches. They bullied the shit out of the plus size queen and they are constantly treating each other like shit. The way they treated Mystique is disgusting. I was also super pissed in the first episode that they didn’t even provide a plus size mannequin for Mystique or Victoria Parker. When Mystique brought it up to Ru Paul he was like, “Just pad it, this is a challenge after all embrace it” like NO this isn’t part of the challenge. I don’t see you giving the other girls such a detrimental disadvantage and calling it a challenge. Someone please tell me that they knock off this fat phobic behavior soon. I’m going to fight Raven, Sonique, Tyra and Morgan. Those bitches are going down. Tatianna was so awesome for standing up for Mystique in the episode after she was eliminated and those assholes were talking shit. I also like Jessica.

[msclaritea]

The Power of the Gay Following | News | BET

https://www.bet.com/article/i3jvuj/the-power-of-the-gay-following

The Power of the Gay Following

Is the love some artists give the LGBT community genuine or just about garnering a strong fan base?

By Starr Rhett

June 30, 2011 / 4:00 PM

"On one hand, we live in a society that is still very homophobic despite some small progress. But ironically, the gay community drives some of pop culture’s leading trends. Even Samantha Jones in an episode of Sex and the City once said to budding actor Smith Jarrod, “First you win over the gays, then the teenage girls, then Hollywood will follow.” Tyra Banks, Kimora Lee and Naomi Campbell learned how to walk from a man, “Miss J” (J. Alexander). Patti LaBelle has a huge gay following, which was no surprise since her style borrowed a page from the book of drag queens. Derek J is one of the leading celebrity hairstylists in the country, probably the world, and the list goes on.

My point is, having a gay following can be beneficial to an artist’s career and while artists in the past may have gained said fans unintentionally, divas like Nicki Minaj, Lady Gaga and even rapper Lil’ B, have purposefully made it work for themselves. Here’s why: People will like them for being pro gay, which opens up chances to perform more places, and people who are anti-gay will still track their every move because they want to track their enemy. In other words, it’s a hate crush.

Most celebrities in today’s pop culture get famous because they either hopped on any bandwagon that rode by or because there’s some shock factor attached to their schtick. Lil’ B named his debut album I’m Gay, which in theory could be career suicide for a rapper. However, it turned out to be a smart marketing move because Lil’ B’s whole existence is based on outrageous behavior. By declaring that he is “gay"—which he has explained that he means it in the original sense of the word (“happy")—he is taking away some of the stigma that the word has developed over the past few decades. However, he still managed to piss some people off in the process. Lil’ B’s plan is working, albeit disingenuous.

Lady Gaga and Nicki Minaj are probably more sincere given each of their backgrounds, but in today’s blog culture it’s "cool" to be outspoken. Therefore, more artists will probably champion LGBT rights whether they are genuine or not. It’s a smart move either way you look at it because not only will they draw more attention to themselves, but it forces more people to talk and face issues (and their own feelings) that affects the gay community today, primarily marriage and bigotry. What better way to do it than through music, the language of the world?

Having a gay following can lockdown the longevity of an artist. So, all you up and coming pop stars, R&B divas and the occasional hip hop head, be good to the LGBT community and you might have a career like Janet Jackson, Chaka Khan, or Diana Ross."

Janet Jackson is all good, but my girl Chaka Khan has been a Scientologist for decades. Diana Ross' daughter? Is in American Fiction.

Meantime, Kim Cantrell is NO role model for women, if she can go along with encouraging us to give up our power, in such an underhanded fashion. Women invented fandom.

[kyiche]

Now that were all caught up were long overdue for some official introductions!

Tyra Martin~

Traits: Romantic, Self-Assured, Humble, Love Outdoors, Dreamer, Cheerful, Carefree, Freegan

Reward Traits: Strong Immune System, Tinkering Hobby, Waterproof Sim, Would Be Happy to Have a Child, Marketable, Always Welcome, Muser, Jester, Innocent

Emiliano Deluca~

Traits: Foodie, Loyal, Good, Proper, Determined, Cheerful, Perfectionist

Reward Traits: Normal Immune System, Nature Hobby (He Gardens and makes Flower Arrangements!), Waterproof Sim, Chronic Migraines, Neutral about Having Children, Alluring, Caregiver, Innocent

Bear Martin~

Traits: Carefree, Adorable

Reward Traits: Top Notch Infant, Child of Fall, Child of the Sun, Strong Immune System

Leroy Hackett~

Traits: Genius, Noncommittal, Snob, Warm Hearted, High Spirted

Reward Traits: Cuisine Hobby, Does Not Want a Child Right Now, Jester, Sage

Knox Greenburg~ (Emiliano's Best Friend)

Traits: Bro, Old Soul, Green Fiend, Lovers Outdoors, Self Assured

Reward Traits: Would Be Happy to Have a Child, Eco Master, Collector, Jester, Caregiver

Celene Lopez~

Traits: Outgoing, Neat, Affectionate, Ambitious

Reward Traits: Cuisine Hobby, Would Be Happy to Have a Child, Werewolf Ally, Gregarious, Jester, Sage, Friend of the Moonwood Collective, Friend of The Wildfangs

Blossom Greenburg~ (Knox's Mom but basically the mom of the whole group)

Traits: Creative, Freegan, Maker, Sincere, Optimistic

Reward Traits: Muser, Caregiver, Artist

Dawn Whimsy~

Traits: Feminine, Affectionate, Loves Outdoors, Family Oriented

Reward Traits: Weak immune System, Neutral about Having Children, Domestic, Caregiver

Thats All Folks~

[unitedfact]

Heather Gray Cause of Death: Everything We Need to Know!

Heather Gray Cause of Death: Everything We Need to Know!

Heather Gray was an executive producer for the CBS series “The Talk.” She passed away at the age of 50 after winning an Emmy Award for her work on the show. A former supervising producer for “The Tyra Banks Show,” Heather Gray currently works in the television industry. “We would like to offer our sincere sympathies to you and your family on the tragic loss of our cherished Heather. She…

[stephspurs]

ONLY ANGEL - A John Stones Fanfiction

STEPHSPURS. - THE MASTERLIST ONLY ANGEL - FANFICTION MASTERLIST

The lights go down, the room turns dark, a murmur of people still trying to find their seats settles into the otherwise silence. The floor to ceiling screen behind the runway awakens to show a video montage of arguably the most famous supermodels in the world. “It’s difficult being a woman, and other women understand that...but it’s also fun to be a woman and I think we should be able to own that”

The Victoria’s Secret Fashion Show is unlike any other in the world, it is the equivalent of the SuperBowl for supermodels. Bodies like Gisele Bundchen, Heidi Klum, Tyra Banks, grace the runway year in year out for the most-celebrated lingerie event in the runway calendar. A change of scenery for the traditionally American-based fashion show saw the glittery stage set up and a plethora of beautiful women touch down in London town.

Josephine Andersen, a 25 year old Danish-born supermodel found herself sitting backstage in hair and makeup, in a scantily-clad lingerie set with the iconic barely-there silk wrap adorned with the famous branding across the back of her shoulders and ‘Angel Josephine’ across her left side, right above her beating heart. Make no mistake, Josephine was meant to be here. She had worked hard every single day since the last runway event that she was fortunate enough to have walked in for the lingerie brand, to prove her rightful place as an Angel.

Yes, success is the direct result of hard work - and there was no denying that Josephine was a hard worker. She knew that she wasn’t special, and like most, she would have to work for what she wanted out of her life. What she didn’t know before going into the modelling industry at the ripe old age of 13, was that it was as mentally challenging as it was physical. Everyday was a constant battle between her head, her heart, and her agent. Nevertheless, she was aware of how difficult it was to be a woman, but she was also aware of just how fun it could be too.

John Stones, a 27 year old Barnsley-born (although his mate Kyle Walker would argue the point that his postcode says Sheffield but that's a story for another time) footballer for Manchester City Football Club, found himself sitting front row of the Victoria’s Secret Fashion Show in London. He had never attended an event quite like it before, his mates sat either side of him ready to enjoy the spectacle that he didn’t think he would ever have the pleasure of attending. With the current season underway and the fact that his home club was a whole 4 hour drive away from his current location, it was a small miracle that the group of lads from Manchester were allowed to attend at all. These boys were down for a night of beautiful women, lingerie and getting up to no good.

The music started, the screen went black, the crowd erupted in applause for the first model through the parting screen - Angel Josephine. Strutting down the runway to Harry Styles' live version of Only Angel, John was mesmerised by the woman before him. She was working the crowd, sensual glances, little smirks, a cheeky grin here and there. Standing at the end of the runway, facing the abundance of cameras, Josephine gave her best smile and a confident wink to the camera before tossing her hair over her shoulder and proceeding to walk back up the runway.

John hadn’t been able to take his eyes off of the girl, he wasn’t sure he had blinked since she stepped foot out on the runway - if he closed his eyes for just a millisecond he would miss too much. He was addicted to her beauty, never having seen something so ethereal in his life. Maybe it was the atmosphere, maybe it was the champagne, but he honestly believed that there was an angel before him. Following her with his eyes as she walked back towards where he was seated, he made eye contact with her and she held it. Sending him a wink, and blowing him a kiss before smirking to herself and exiting the stage. She had no idea the effect that she had on the otherwise cocky man, she had reduced him to a puddle of mush, too intimidated by her beauty. The moment she was out of his sight, it was like he could breathe again, the sound that was previously muted around him returned to its full volume and his tunnel vision had widened to take in the whole show. Taking another sip of his champagne, he caught the eye of his best friend Kyle (yes, the same Kyle from earlier) who smirked and gave him a pat on the shoulder. Kyle had seen the whole interaction, albeit limited and largely one sided, and knew exactly what kind of trouble his friend could get himself into here.

Backstage Josephine was being ushered from the runway to the small curtain that was hanging from a clothes rack, providing a make-shift dressing room for her to strip off of the current segments undergarments and into the next set that had been so kindly draped over the top rail by one of the wardrobe assistants. Normally she would be thriving under the fast paced nature of the evening, the adrenaline pumping through her veins like a drug, however she was encumbered by her own thoughts of the devilishly handsome man in the front row. His eyes were engraved in the back of her mind, when she shut her own eyes she could see the intensity of his stare - it was numbing her, slowing her down. She was desperate for another glance at him, being brought back into the moment by the yell of a backstage hand asking for her to hurry and get into her next wings, she stripped and redressed. Was she lightheaded from the pressure that she had placed on herself to prepare for the evening, or was it because he seemed to take up all of the air in the room and space in her brain? She could argue that she was fulfilling her role as an Angel by winking at him and blowing him a little kiss. It was her job to flirt with the crowd and put on a show after all, but she knew exactly what her intentions were and they were nothing but devilish.

Perhaps the only event more iconic than the fashion show itself, the afterparty was what most people involved in the show looked forward to. The humans, even with their celebrity status, had the opportunity to mix with the angels - who, for one night only, let go of their halos and swapped them for horns. For one night, the beautiful women of the Victoria’s Secret Fashion show in all of their angelic glory; could be as bad as they dared to. This was the unspoken truth of the after party, and if you had the fortune of being able to attend, it was not an event easily passed up.

John found himself once again surrounded by his mates, mingling with the models and his celebrity pals alike. Not once had he forgotten about the first angel he had ever laid eyes on, he didn’t even know her name but by God did he know her body. It was as though the 30-odd seconds she was before him his eyes scanned her from head to toe, every curve of her body engraved into his memory. He could remember how the light reflected off of the body shimmer she had bathed in before walking the runway, how the curve of her waist continued at the perfect degree to complete her perfectly-sized derriere. Before long, he felt the room get smaller and smaller, the air was thicker and his hearing had started to muffle. She was standing in his direct line of sight - not that it would matter if she was standing on the other side of the room, behind a crowd of people, John’s eyes would find and fixate on her.

John watched as she worked the room, obligatory pleasantries flowing from her lips as she double kissed the cheeks of men who were old enough to be her grandfather. He watched their leather-like hands wrap themselves around her lower back, too low for his liking. He watched her smile and pretend that she was comfortable, but he could see the look behind her eyes scream that she shouldn’t trust their words - that they didn’t want to just buy her a drink. Without realising, his hands started to curl around his scotch glass until he had to put it down on the table before him and excuse himself from the company of his friends and the new company they had invited to their table. Weaving his way through the crowd, eyes never leaving the side of her face, he began to make his way towards her. No plan of action, nothing to say, anything would be good enough in an attempt to rescue her from what is looking to be her own personal version of hell. As though the universe had willed it, she looked into the crowd and locked onto the gaze of the tall man who was currently striding towards her. The look on his face told everyone around them that they weren’t to get in his way, to mess with him.

Reaching her, she held her breath and waited for his next steps. Josephine didn’t know what to expect, but the handsome smile that erupted from his previously pursed lips and filled up his face had sent her heart into a frenzy. For just that moment, she chose to believe that that smile was reserved for her and only her. Reaching forward and coincidentally knocking the older man’s arm from around her waist and replacing it with his own, he leant forward and planted a loud kiss to her cheek before wrapping her in a hug that warmed her soul. Her whole body pushed into his, she was unable to see his face but she could hear his heart and it told her that she was safe.

“I’m so proud of you, babe. I reckon I'm the luckiest guy in the room to be able to call you my girlfriend” He said into her ear, loud enough for the group of older men to hear and begin to talk amongst themselves after realising they had no chance with the Danish beauty, not that she ever gave them that impression to begin with.

Pulling away from the tall man, she looked up at him and gave him her best smile, a sincere smile. She ran her hands down from his back and found his hands that were placed on her waist, lacing their fingers together and pulling him off into the crowd to the bar.

“So, boyfriend, do you have a name?” She spoke whilst picking up the vodka on the rocks - not her favourite drink but it had little to no calories and anything that had a calorie count lower than her weight, which was difficult enough to find in the first place, was a win in her eyes.

“John, but I prefer to be called your boyfriend, even if it's only for one night” John spoke back to her, looking down at the angel who had covered herself up a bit more since the last time he had the pleasure of looking at her. However, the outfit she was currently wearing still allowed John’s mind, and eyes, to wander. A secret moment shared between the two in an overcrowded room.

PART 2. (smut warning)

[zelenacat]

When We Were Young- Chapter 28- An Obitine Story (almost content warning?)

Satine was overjoyed and terrified when she heard the news. She was sitting in a meeting with the Ruling Council when Obi-Wan called.

“Satine?”

The Duchess stood and excused herself.

“Mara and Tristan are safe,” Obi-Wan began calmly, “and-”

“Korkie?”

“They were holding him on a different planet, a Separatist World.”

Satine dropped the comm.

“Your Grace?”

“Parna,” Satine turned, “tell the Ruling Council that Tristan Wren and Mara Supreis have been saved.”

There were tears of joy from Ursa Wren, and congratulations for the safety of Parna’s niece.

“And the Duke of Sundari?”

Satine hadn’t realized she’d been staring at the wall, so she picked up her broken comm and returned to the council chamber.

“My apologies, Your Grace.” Count Awuad offered.

It was evident on her face then, Korkie had not been rescued.

“My,” Satine swallowed, “my Korkie, they’re holding him on a Seperatist world.”

“Where?” The Duchess let her eyes fall to the comm in her hand.

“Oh, Satine,” Ursa stood, “I’m so sorry.” 

“If Mandalore’s heir is not returned alive-”

“Silence,” Satine bellowed, “he will be.”

“Your Grace,” Countess Bralor continued, “you will likely need to produce an heir.”

Satine would’ve told them then and there, if Parna had not interjected and offered to fix her comm.

“Yes, thank you, Parna.”

“It would benefit Dooku if the Duke dies,” Countess Saxon ventured, “you have-”

“I could never marry the Count after this.” Satine countered.

“We should think about possible suitors,” Countess Eldar advised, “and the engagement should be officially broken off.”

“I agree.” Prime Minister Djarin added, as if Satine would disagree with the notion.

“We’ll set up a press conference, when the Duke of Sundari has been returned,” Satine decided, “in the meantime, I think we should all keep an eye on the news.”

“The-”

“Breaking,” Count Awuad’s comm beeped, “the mystery Sith Lord has been found!”

Countess Bralor raised an eyebrow. So did Satine.

“If the Jedi have their hands full,” Count Mudhorn frowned, “then what do we do about the Duke?”

“Perhaps if we help Death Watch, they will help us.” Satine suggested.

After the meeting, Satine was on her way to find Parna when Countess Bralor and Countess Saxon stopped her.

“A word, please, Your Grace?”

“Of course.”

A Countess walked on either side of the Duchess, looping their arms through hers.

“We have heard a rumor that may interest you,” Countess Bralor began, “it is about the line of succession.”

“Oh?”

“The Vizsla Clan and many in the underworld believe,” Countess Saxon interjected, “that you have children, and that they were the four teenagers taken by Darth Maul.”

Satine opened her mouth to defend herself.

“We are neither agreeing nor denying this rumor,” Countess Bralor continued, “but it is very dangerous.”

“I agree,” Satine nodded, “are there any other pieces to this rumor?”

“Some say,” Countess Saxon added, “that their father is none other than Jedi Master Obi-Wan Kenobi.”

The Duchess gasped at that.

“This rumor has much credence to it,” Countess Bralor frowned, “there are no adoption records for Tristan Wren, Mara Supreis doesn’t have her adoptive father’s coloring, and the Duke-”

“Ridiculous.” Satine growled.

“We are only warning you, Duchess,” Countess Saxon held up her hands, “times have changed since Queen Mara’s time.”

Satine nodded, “Thank you.”

Parna had fixed her comm, and the first call Satine made on it was to her sister.

“How can I help?” Bo-Katan asked.

“It’s you I’m worried about,” Satine frowned, “and these rumors.”

“You need evidence,” the warrior advised, “and I need a win.”

“What kind of a win?” the Duchess asked.

“You could always try to find out where Korkie is being hidden,” Satine offered, “prove your an opponent to worry about.”

“That’s a you problem-”

“Bo-”

“No,” the Lady shook her head, “I could never win that.”

“The Vizslas have criminal connections in the underworld, they’ve been spreading this rumor,” Satine suggested, “you could kill the contacts and stage the bodies.”

Bo-Katan looked pleased, “I like how you’ve changed sister.”

Satine squirmed, “Being a mother has made me so.”

“Ah, yes, how many was it?”

“Six.”

Bo-Katan’s eyebrows shot up.

“Bo-”

“Who would’ve thought?”

“Bo?”

“What?”

Satine opened and closed her mouth, “If I die-”

“You won’t.”

“My children, Bo,” Satine swallowed, “they’ll need help.”

Lady Bo-Katan Kryze was silent for a long time.

“Alright.”

Satine sobbed.

“Oh, ew.”

“Sorry, sorry,” the Duchess wiped her eyes, “good luck with your endeavors.”

Parna returned with Ursa Wren soon after Satine had finished her call.

“Your Grace.” the countess curtsied.

“The false DNA tests and birth certificate-” “I have them, and copies.” Ursa replied.

“Send me the copies,” Satine ordered, “we’ll release them when the rumors are written down.”

Within two days, those rumors gained footing and appeared in every Mandalorian gossip column. Fortunately for the Duchess, she was ready, two hours after Satine read the morning paper, Tristan Wren’s DNA test and birth certificate were released, as well as that of Mara Supreis. Tyra was quoted as saying the Jedi were her only family, and a statement from the Duchess herself reminded everyone that she raised her nephew out of familial love and duty.

“Such drama this will cause if it ever gets out.” Parna observed.

“It won’t,” Khaami stated, “the Duchess has done well thus far.”

Satine apprepricated that, but now she wasn’t so sure.

“Your Grace?”

Satine turned, Gorg was in his civilian clothes.

“Would you do me the honor of a final walk?” asked the foreigner guard.

The Duchess smiled, “Of course.”

They walked through the gardens, Khaami and Parna trailing at a distance.

“The said I should be the one to tell you-”

“Tell me what?” Satine wondered aloud.

Gorg smiled, “The Jedi Council commed just this morning, Korkie has been saved.”

“Oh,” Satine shook, beginning to bawl, “that is the most wonderful news.”

The former guard caught Satine as she slipped towards the floor. Her ladies ran up to her.

“Korkie is safe,” the Duchess breathed, “Korkie is safe!”

“He’s on Coruscant,” Gorg continued, “the Jedi are seeing to him.”

Parna helped Satine stand and the Duchess began to cry on her shoulder.

“Thank you, Gorg,” Khaami nodded, “we are most joyous at this news.”

“Thank you,” Gorg replied, “for all your kindness in my departure.”

The former guard kissed Satine’s hand one last time and left, then the Duchess made her way to her rooms.

“Isn’t this wonderful?” Parna smiled.

“Yes,” Satine nodded, “Khaami, please tell the Ruling Council.”

“Of course.”

Later that day, the Duchess held a short press conference to announce that the Duke of Sundari was safe.

“We don’t have all the details,” she stated, grinning, “but he is alive and healing among the safety of friends.”

Applause broke out from the reporters.

“Moreover,” Satine continued, “I would like to officially announce the dissolution of my engagement to Count Dooku.”

Cheers went up from a couple of attendants, which pleased the Duchess very much.

Satine stood, “Thank you for your time.”

That evening, the Duchess personally flew to Coruscant with Tyra to see her secret sons and daughter.

“It’s going to be okay, Lady Mother.” Tyra whispered, reaching for Satine’s hand.

“I just,” the Duchess sighed, “I can’t wait to see them.”

Inside the Jedi Temple, a line of masters were waiting to greet them. Master Secura embraced Satine and Tyra, saying they had both been so courageous.

“But so have you,” the Duchess smiled, “thank you for helping save my children.”

Master Mundi was next, and he gave a similar reception.

“Although,” he smiled, “next time you realize our children are courting, do let me know.”

Satine laughed, “Naturally.”

Master Yoda was the kindest of all, praising Tyra in his personal way and congratulating the Duchess with sincere happiness.

“Thank you, Master Jedi,” Satine curtsied, “my family is pleased to be reunited.”

“Follow me, you must,” the Jedi grinned, “to see your children and their father.”

“I would very much appreciate that.”

Mara and Tristan were sitting up in bed, each holding a bundle in their arms.

“Oh, oh, my children!”

Satine kissed each of the twins on the head, even Jynn and Lyra.

“Look how big you’ve gotten,” Satine cooed to the little ones, “do you know how brave your big brothers and sisters are?”

“Very brave indeed,” Obi-Wan walked in, “and there’s much to talk about.”

“Oh, Ben,” Satine huffed, “let them rest.”

Korkie had his arm in a sling and his face was bruised, “Mama-”

“Shh, darling,” Satine rushed over to her heir, “you must rest.”

“Mother-”

Satine grasped her son’s hand, “Yes?”

“He wants to tell you he’s happy to see you,” Tyra translated, “I can feel it in his mind.”

Satine kissed her son’s hand.

“Tell us what happened, can you?” Master Yoda asked.

“We all have different stories.” Tyra blushed.

Jynn gurgled and Satine moved to pick her up.

“Children,” the Duchess goaded, “I think you should tell Master Yoda your stories, however different they may be.”

Tyra began, telling about how she was left on Count Dooku’s ship.

“I was quite surprised when Je’er came,” Tyra swallowed, “I was surprised he cared.”

“Young Master Palpatine has been helpful,” Obi-Wan stated, “we have his father in custody, he’s quite the public speaker.”

The Duchess’ eldest daughter’s head snapped towards Tristan, “That’s not funny.”

Mara giggled, and Lyra harrumphed, Satine picked up the other twin in her arms, wondering what the children were on about. 

Obi-Wan burst forward to help, “Darling-”

Jynn raised her hands up to her father and squealed.

“Oh, look, Ben, she wants you to hold her.”

“Alright then, Jynn.”

“Tristan and I were held on Mustafar,” Mara jumped into the silence, “they wanted to study us as scientific specimens.”

“But why split you up?” Satine asked.

“To test us?” Tristan hesitated.

Tyra walked about and took Korkie’s good hand, nodding.

“They were surprised at Korkie’s ability,” her eyes watered, “they tried to get into his mind.”

The Duchess was filled with rage, her children were bruised and battered by this Sith Lord, she hated him.

“-and he thinks they were also testing Je’er.”  Tyra concluded.

Satine clenched her jaw, she would like some words with this Sith Lord.

“Tired, you must be,” Master Yoda observed, “show you to your rooms, Master Kenobi shall.”

“Thank you, Master Jedi,” Satine asked, “and will my daughters be able to stay with me?”

“Put in cribs, Senator Amidala has.”

The Duchess smiled, “I shall have to thank her.”

Her room was in the Senate rooms building, but close to the Jedi Temple. There were twin cribs, a warm bed, and a nice smelling fresher.

“Satine!”

“Oh, Padme,” the Duchess kissed both of the Senator’s cheeks, “you’ve been so kind.”

“I helped!” Anakin added, setting down a stack of towels.

Obi-Wan snorted, “I’m sure you did.”

Lyra squealed when she saw Padme and the Senator was thrilled.

“Oh, Anakin, look at her tiny fingers!” she cooed.

“Um-”

“And her little eyeses, aren’t you cute, Lyra?”

Lyra giggled.

“We’ll let you sleep,” Anakini decided, half-dragging Padme out, “the twins must be tired.”

Padme waved, “Bye-bye, babies.”

Satine made Lyra wave.

“Uh,” she sniffed, “change time.”

The Duchess made towards the fresher.

“Satine, I can do that.”

“No no,” Satine scolded, “I’m their mother, I should do this.”

It was messy, and Obi-Wan actually had to help her.

“You know,” Satine stated, “I generally left Korkie to his nanny when this happened.”

“That was my guess.” Obi-Wan agreed, setting Lyra down in her crib and picking up Jynn.

Satine was suddenly sad, “Did Tyra have a good childhood? I know Tristan had a nanny and Mara had a step-father.”

“I’m sure she did,” Obi-Wan assured, handing Satine a clean diaper, “I had a great childhood here.”

“That’s good to know,” the Duchess smiled, going misty-eyed, “I love them all so much.”

“I love them too.” Obi-Wan agreed.

Jynn went in her crib too, and Satine washed her hands.

“Ben,” Satine sensed with her back turned, “you have a question.”

“Am I staying,” Obi-Wan asked quietly, “because if you’re not-”

“Why wouldn't I be,” Satine shrugged, “Obi, we have six children.”

The Jedi gave a sheepish smile, “We do.”

“You’re staying with me for the rest of our lives.”

Obi-Wan kissed Satine, “I’m glad to hear it.”

The Duchess fell asleep very quickly cuddling with her Jedi, Obi-Wan didn’t, he listened to her breathing and thought about how lucky he was. When Satine woke up, her Jedi was meditating and the twins were resting, having woken up only once in the night.

“Morning, love.”

“Good morning, Obi,” Satine sat up, “where did Anakin leave the extra towels?”

“In a messy pile on the floor,” Obi-Wan answered, “are you interested in showering?”

“I am.”

The Jedi grinned, opening his eyes, “I’ll join you.”

Satine raised an eyebrow, “Will you?”

Obi-Wan bounced up, searching for kisses like a little puppy.

The Duchess sighed, “As long as we don’t wake the twins.”

The shower water was nice and warm, and Obi-Wan was very happy to have a moment alone with his Duchess.

“Is this,” he asked, his hands trailing her hips, “from the children?”

“Yes,” Satine nodded, hands on her stomach, “and I’m afraid so is this.”

Obi-Wan kissed his Duchess, “You’re beautiful, Satine, so beautiful.”

“Ben, please,-”

“You are,” the Jedi insisted, kissing Satine’s neck, “and we’re going to be together forever.”

Satine smiled, “Of course we are.”

One of the twins cried then, and the couple both dried off to tend to the little ones. Ben was out first, so Satine had time to dry her hair fully before dressing.

“Where’s your lady?” Obi-Wan asked, opening Satine’s bags.

“Helping stabilize Mandalore,” the Duchess answered, “I don’t know if you’ve heard, but there’s a rumor going round that the children taken belonged to us.”

Obi-Wan sighed.

“What?”

“I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be,” Satine scoffed, “we can handle it.”

“But your people will be upset.” Obi-Wan protested.

“Not as upset as I would be if we couldn’t be together.” Satine countered.

Obi-Wan gave a wholeful smile to his Duchess.

“What?”

“I’m so glad I’m leaving the Order when the war ends.”

“Well,” Satine teased, “make sure you finish it quickly then.”

Obi-Wan was actually very helpful with Satine’s corset, which she couldn’t do up on her own. 

“Why-”

“To hide the fact that I gave birth five months ago,” Satine explained, “also, I’m not as thin as I once was.”

Obi-Wan clicked his tongue, “Oh, Satine.”

“Six children, Ben,” the Duchess wagged her finger, “I know who’s responsible.”

The Jedi laughed, “Glad to know you care, darling.”

Obi-Wan was also kind enough to help Satine into her dress and button the back.

“You do this every day?” he asked, bewildered.

“Today is a nicer dress,” Satine smiled down at her green and gold ensemble, “because I’m visiting a planet.”

“Ah.”

Obi-Wan got dressed while Satine fixed her hair, and soon enough, the day began.

“What’s happening for you today?” she asked, picking up Jynn.

“Lots of explaining to the public about what happened over the last couple days,” the Jedi answered, “and then protecting the senate from these new Seperatist attacks.”

Satine groaned, “Sounds full.”

“You?”

“I have to bring Korkie, Mara, and Tristan home,” Satine frowned, “but I have the morning to speak to senators about Mandalore’s new position.”

“Just as droll, honestly.” Obi-Wan stated, picking up Lyra.

“See you for lunch?” Satine asked hopefully.

“I’ll meet you here,” the Jedi agreed, “with food.”

Obi-Wan took the twins back to the other Jedi younglings while Satine went in search of Padme.

“Hi, Momdalore!”

“Ahsoka,” Satine smiled, “good to see you.”

“I’m supposed to accompany you around,” the Padawan clapped, “I’m so excited.”

The Duchess gave Ahsoka the side eye, “I hope you don’t mind schmoozing senators.” 

“Actually,” the Padawan winked, “I smooch Padme all the time.”

Satine laughed, “Not quite, Ahsoka.”

“So,” Ahsoka goaded in a sing-song voice, “do you have any new news, Satine?”

“No, Ahsoka,” the Duchess scolded, “no more for me.”

“Aw, but you make the cutest babies with-”

“Ahsoka!”

The Padawan burst into laughter. Satine sighed.

“You and Anakin think you’re so funny.”

“We are,” Ahsoka assured, “have you heard the story about the time my Master covered the temple in balloons for Master Yoda’s birthday?”

Satine found herself mildly amused, “Did something terrible happen?”

“Yes, terribly hilarious!”

“Then that’s all I need to know, however,” Satine grinned, “if you ever need a funny story, ask your grandmaster about the time we hid in a house of ill repute while on the run.”

Ahsoka’s eyes went wide, “No?”

“Yes.”

“Wow,” the Padawan shook her head, “you must tell the best drunk stories, Momdalore.”

“I don’t get drunk, Ahsoka.” Satine replied.

Ahsoka frowned.

“But if I did,” the Duchess winked, “someone better warn Master Kenobi.”

Ahsoka giggled.

“If I may ask,” Bail Organa approached, Padme on his arm, “what’s so funny?”

“Nothing.” the Duchess and Padawan agreed simultaneously.

“Well then,” Padme smiled, “why don’t we round up some Senators and discuss politics.”

“Why don’t we?” Satine agreed.

The Duchess was very much looking forward to lunch after hours of pleasant conversation and polite nodding, and apparently, so was Obi-Wan.

“Darling,” he opened the door for her, “do come in.”

Satine gasped. A beautiful table was set up with candles and napkins and Satine’s favorite juice which was a terribly expensive import. The curtains were drawn to give them privacy, but the Duchess had to laugh at the food.

“Dex’s Diner.” she shook her head.

“Gotta love ‘em.” Obi-Wan agreed, pulling Satine inside.

The food was actually delicious, the Duchess could not lie.

“Is this where you go after late nights of saving the galaxy?” Satine questioned.

“Uh huh,” Obi-Wan nodded, mouth full, “where do you go?”

Satine raised an eyebrow, “The palace kitchens.”

“Oh.”

The Duchess snorted.

“Careful, darling,” Obi-Wan teased, “soon you’ll lose all your manners and end up like us Jedi.”

“Oh, I could never,” Satine gestured, “I don’t have an uncivilized luminescent wand.”

The Jedi rolled his eyes, the Duchess stuffed herself with more breakfast food.

“You know,” Obi-Wan began, “our children might have uncivilized luminescent wands.”

“They will not,” Satine crossed her arms, “you’ll make sure of that.”

“Will I?”

“Yes,” the Duchess sighed, “because I have had enough of this force nonsense and I’m delegating you to oversee our children’s education in that field.”

Obi-Wan glowed, “Really?”

Satine smiled, “Yes, Ben.” 

“Uncivilized luminescent wands it is,” Obi-Wan clapped, “can I get you some more juice?”

“Please.”

They ate in happy silence before Satine burst out.

“They delayed our ship,” she grinned, “we’re not leaving till four.”

“More time together,” Obi-Wan’s eyes sparkled, “I wonder what we’ll do?”

“Obi!”

“Just saying,” the Jedi shrugged, “uncivilized wands and all.”

Satine acted horrified, “Obi-Wan Kenobi!”

“Not sorry.” the Jedi winked.

The Duchess played along, “Where do you have to be?” 

“A defense detail, but Anakin can cover for me.”

Satine raised an eyebrow, “He’ll want a reason.”

Obi-Wan clicked his tongue, “I wonder what I’ll say.”

Finishing her meal, the Duchess stood and knelt before Obi-Wan.

“Well, shall we get on with it, then?”

“Certainly,” Obi-Wan undid his robes, “but I won’t be kind.”

Satine sighed, “How chivalrous.”

[itspileofgoodthings]

Let’s all applaud Tyra’s self-control for turning down Tim Riggins coming to her with his heart in his hand and in his eyes saying softly and completely sincerely “it would be so different this time”

[tosikoarts]

SFW Alphabet | Vasily

You can check tosikowrites tag for more as well as you can send character suggestion for SFW alphabet. Warning: there’s a lot under the cut.

A = Affection (How affectionate are they? How do they show affection?)

Caught in Japan mute and technically deaf, since people speaking Russian are a quite rare finding in Hokkaido, Vasily is limited in his expression of affection. Obviously, first thing that comes to mind is communication though his amazing drawings but they are static and, therefore, lacking small details that are so important in dialogue. So he pays much more attention to non-verbal part of communication (probably unknowingly) to win a person.

He tries to sit by their side, not opposing but not siding, just right to attract attention. When “talking” to them, Vasily’s eyes become hundred times more expressive: he raises eyebrows in shock, frowns to show misunderstanding or anger, bulges eyes in surprise, squints eyes in disbelief. He has no idea what they are saying unless they draw responses as well. In all other cases Vasily trusts his guts, their general looks, and tone of the voice.

Speaking of drawings. We all can agree Vasily secretly draws them and hides pictures everywhere. He always keeps one, the best one in his opinion, close to the heart. Sugimoto found one of portraits and Vasily waved his arms so hard that he almost took off, but Saichi just smiled and promised to take his secret to the grave. Vasily will definitely show his creations to them when the time comes.

Physical affection. It is so hard. He needs a lot of clues to avoid awkward situations. No hugs, no big skin-to-skin contact unless he is at least 50% sure in their consent. Such low percentage because how much can you tell in situation like his? Vasily loves to be close to them and gets overly excited when they initiate holding hands even if it’s only for a few seconds.

B = Best friend (What would they be like as a best friend? How would the friendship start?)

He is such an unpredictable friend to be honest. You never know what to expect. Today he disappears into thin air just to fall on your head tomorrow with a weird-looking kettle. It’s a new shiny samovar! Now you can drink real tea!

Vasily will follow you anywhere. Just call him, and you will have the best travel companion in the whole world. During the trip, he collects various trinkets and wraps them into his sketches. He drags you to the most crowded places where all fun takes place. Let’s skip the fact that “fun” is not always safe.

Before Vasily met Ogata, he loved to sing in a company. His bass-baritone was a gem of any gatherings and worked on girls like a charm. Now Vasya can’t say a word but you can catch him humming unfamiliar melodies from time to time. If his friend joins in singing, Vasily will clap hands in admiration.

The best around to get drunk with. His self-control is commendable since Vasily knows exact amount of alcohol he can take. He is in charge of bringing everybody back to camp if they decide to take a walk and slapping their hands when they reach for another glass. Not a mother type. His control extends only to drinking.

C = Cuddles (Do they like to cuddle? How would they cuddle?)

Classical big spoon and won’t let them be one if they are smaller than him. Vasily likes to cuddle but short cuddling annoys the hell out of him so his ideal cuddle session has to last at least half of hour without any interruptions. He also likes when partner lies on his chest. This position gives Vasya chance to slowly rub their back, ruffle their hair or play with it.

D = Domestic (Do they want to settle down? How are they at cooking and cleaning?)

He… never thought about it? Despite widespread Slavic tradition of having large family and house in which sound of children’s stomping never dies down, Vasily never discussed settling down or getting married with anyone. It is not like he is not capable of living sedentary way of life, it just wasn’t relevant. Vasily needs someone to push him towards changing his lifestyle if they want to settle down in a future.

E = Ending (If they had to break up with their partner, how would they do it?)

Unlike the others, Vasily can’t explain himself and simply say “well, it won’t work out, let’s stay friends”. So he gives up trying. There are only two options:

In first Vasily slowly distances himself from them, growing abyss gets increasingly noticeable every next day. In the beginning, he ignores them loudly calling his name in the woods. Then he stops to turn around to their voice, he looks away just not to look them right in the eyes. The more assertive person is, the more they resist his cold treatment, the harsher Vasily becomes.

In second Vasily abruptly leaves country and goes back to Russian Empire. No notice. Nothing. The only reminder of his existence is a trail of shallow footprints in the snow and one or two drawing he did not manage to burn.

F = Fiance(e) (How do they feel about commitment? How quick would they want to get married?)

Once again, he haven’t thought about it at all. If his loved one brought up a marriage, Vasily would need to have a mental sit down. There is a ton of responsibilities hidden under the marriage concept, it makes ephemeral bond between two dryly official, but Vasily, will marry them if it will make them happier. He is ready to pop a question after two years, and only after another person shows their interest in it.

G = Gentle (How gentle are they, both physically and emotionally?)

Stoic and collected in a professional sense but sincere and rough-ly gentle in everyday life. Turgenev, a Russian novelist, wrote that a real Russian has a heart of a child, and Vasily surely falls into this category: behind the image of a cold-blooded sniper hides a personality prone to vivid sensual experiences. He holds loved one like the most precious thing in the world and cares for them deeply.

H = Hugs (Do they like hugs? How often do they do it? What are their hugs like?)

Loves hugs with all his heart. After long time apart Vasily will squeeze them in a bear hug, leaving their legs hanging freely in the air. During the day Vasily likes to randomly come up from behind and place hands on their waist or thighs, while resting his chin on their shoulder or head. If his partner is teeny-tiny he can’t resist the urge to place them between his legs, their back to his chest, and press them closer, hiding them in his big ass coat.

I = I love you (How fast do they say the L-word?)

After good interpreter magically appears on the horizon? In any case, if he tries to do it without someone who understands Russian, you’ll get funny pantomime accompanied by sighs in different keys. He will write “Я люблю тебя” under another portrait just to get upset that nobody understands him.

It depends not on the time spent together but on events that they lived through, so it may take from one month to few years. By the time Vasily feels like saying “I love you” they probably realize it by his amorous behavior.

J = Jealousy (How jealous do they get? What do they do when they’re jealous?)

Patient jealous type. But before we get to it, let’s say few people will take a risk and flirt with a partner of such a mysterious stranger. He carries a riffle, which means he shoots living creatures. Nobody wants to get shot, okay. One can hit on his partner and pray nobody points to it. When it happens, Vasily takes a silent stand behind his loved one and just stares at love rival until they go away. If it doesn’t help, Vasya may flip and take person to the ground with one hard blow. He keeps poker face the whole time.

His partner is flirting with someone? Gets touchy and lovey-dovey? After long  monitoring and accepting an unpleasant fact, Vasily bounces back and forth between the stages of denial and anger. Next days he shoos them away with a hand gesture and tortures himself, overthinking if it really was what he thought it was. Puppy eyes and gentle pats are usually enough to calm him down.

K = Kisses (What are their kisses like? Where do they like to kiss you? Where do they like to be kissed?)

In the beginning Vasily dodges kisses like Neo does bullets. Very unobtrusively all attempts to kiss him come to naught, he rises hand in stop sign or turns around, tightening bashlyk in hurry. Not that he doesn’t want to, he is just afraid. No, not that they will gasp in fright or find scars on his cheeks ugly. He is afraid of pain. Thought of someone touching his face sends unpleasant tingle down to the jaw. Given the physiological position of the tongue and teeth, you can imagine what that bullet… well, better not.

Later Vasily relaxes enough to let them kiss him in the forehead. In return he nuzzles in their hair or neck or anywhere they allow to. As long as they are satisfied with such a surrogate, he is chill and forgets about his deformation.

One day Vasily surrenders to their wishes and lets them unwrap bashlyk like a birthday present. He closes eyes in praying for gentle touch. After realizing the light touch on the lips does not cause pain Vasya develops much more positive attitude towards kissing. Now he kisses them himself, hooray. On the nose, one the cheeks, on the lips. No tongue tho. He prefers to do it in private, far from prying eyes.

L = Little ones (How are they around children?)

For some vague reason kids seem to really like him? They love his silence and smiling eyes (Tyra Banks is proud of you, sweetie) just as much as his willingness to play with them. Vasily sees no problem to run around enjoying games that have Russian equivalent: kakurenbo/hide and seek similar to “прятки” and janken/rock paper scissors is identical to “камень, ножницы, бумага”. Moreover Vasily’s physical states are impressive: he throws kids in the air and catches them like it’s nothing, spins them around until he gets dizzy, etc. Feels more comfortable to play with little kids and toddlers than teenagers.

M = Morning (How are mornings spent with them?)

Immediately after waking up, Vasily gets up and thoroughly stretches. Usually his partner is still asleep so he has some time to do some housework. In summer and spring, Vasya grabs a scythe and mows overgrown weeds near the house, in fall he cuts firewood for the next season, and in winter you can catch him by the window, looking at endless white fields where he doesn’t have anything to do! After morning routine is over, he greats now woken up partner with a temple kiss and together they decide what to cook for breakfast.

N = Night (How are nights spent with them?)

Likes to enjoy privacy of his home. After the list of useful (and not so useful) things has been done, Vasily wants to bury his face in the partner’s neck and relax. He is all about tea party with fresh baked buttered buns, inept massage, cuddling with fingers intertwined. If night out occurs, it is a casual walk around the city/village with a purpose of catching hot news and exchanging niceties.

O = Open (When would they start revealing things about themselves? Do they say everything all at once or wait a while to reveal things slowly?)

Vasily has his soul wide open and is ready to tell his partner about the past, family, friends, traditions, and many-many other things, but does he really have an opportunity? During the journey, Vasya tries to get around the inability to speak by drawing and pointing to somehow related items but it rarely makes any sense. In general, he does not dump everything at once so he can back to topic and start conversation from where they left it.

P = Patience (How easily angered are they?)

He has a good understanding that cool head is a main tool in problem solving. You can annoy Vasily as much as you like, he will just shrug his shoulders and shake his head because there’s no point in responding aggressively. In the event of a serious incident (category includes betrayal, treason, encroachment on something important to him) Vasily will hold strong emotions back anyway. It is not that he doesn’t want to tear wrongdoer to pieces, no. He will do it, directing all the destructive power of hatred into action itself.

Q = Quizzes (How much would they remember about you? Do they remember every little detail you mention in passing, or do they kind of forget everything?)

Great memory, especially visual memory that helps him to find way back to camp or hotel without asking for anyone’s help. Vasily’s watchfulness plays a big role in interaction with others, especially with loved one. Did their gaze linger on a certain stuff? Was it flower? Weapon? Some sort of food? What was their facial expression? He picks up whether they press received present to the chest or try to hide it as soon as possible. Vasily may surprise loved one with a gift that they were staring in the shop but didn’t buy even after few months pass.  

R = Remember (What is their favorite moment in your relationship?)

The time is far past midnight. Heavy clouds cover the sky over the river valley, and the only source of light are anvil crawlers, sprawled between bare branches of oaks and beeches. Vasily is wide awake. Rolling thunder has nothing to do with it. He is too concentrated on a person quietly snuffling on his chest. They are so close. He is so happy. He feels… important? Special? Lucky? When they wanted snuggle up to someone in seek of protection, they went to Vasily. Not to Sugimoto whose yell fills people with a primal fear. Not to Shiraishi whose dumb jokes can distract from looming threat. To him. Vasily keeps wondering how his loud heartbeat didn’t wake them up. He can’t wait for a morning to plant a dozen kisses on their cute sleepy face.

S = Security (How protective are they? How would they protect you? How would they like to be protected?)

It completely depends on another person’s self-defense skills. If they can take care of themselves, Vasily won’t worry much. They are not a child to have someone watching their every step. If they are less skilled, then he will keep an eye on them. One dirty look is enough for Vasily to become alert and sneak closer to the partner. He will try to avoid a direct confrontation but if it is impossible Vasily will aim for a head.

T = Try (How much effort would they put into dates, anniversaries, gifts, everyday tasks?)

The very presence of Vasily in another country is an endless trying so he is used to give his best. Most of Vasya's time is spent on picking social clues and particular interaction qualities between Japanese people, comparison with those in his own culture, and application of synthesized results in his own relationship. For example, if there’s a chance Vasily would buy them the sweetest marshmallow from famous Abrikosov confectionery concern, but following Japanese tradition he would… well, he’ll stick to Russian presents until he spends enough time in Japan. Doesn’t care about anniversaries so do not expect extra effort.  

U = Ugly (What would be some bad habits of theirs?)

It can be difficult for a serious person to be with Vasily because of his childish behavior. Yes, it's fun to fool around with the person from outside that is in such a sad position that he has no other choice but to laugh. Only at some point will it seem stupid and unreasonable.

Still, in the Slavic countries, a man has always been considered the leader of the relationship and his opinion was put above all others. Sometimes Vasily tries to change his partner and impose his vision of the world on them. He doesn't look like an strictly uncompromising individual but Vasily may have a little bit of this in him.

V = Vanity (How concerned are they with their looks?)

Comfort and warmth are the main criteria for Vasily when choosing clothes. In addition, face protection is important to him as well because a good soldier knows how to cover his weaknesses and leave opponents without any benefits. Vasily values his sideburns and takes a good care of them himself. In addition, he is aware his blue eyes are hypnotic secret weapon of Russian Empire and they are another thing he really likes in own appearance.

W = Whole (Would they feel incomplete without you?)

Crossing the border illegally, he didn’t expect to make friends in the first place, leave alone jumping into romantic relationship. Ending up cuffed instead of having a little fun as a side mission in spontaneous sniper hunt surely leaves him attached. Attachment leads to hurt. If they decide to end the relationship Vasily’s feelings are crushed. You can catch the moment of realization: his shoulders drop and eyebrows rise in surprise as he takes step back. That’s okay. Vasily doesn’t hold grudges. His behavior remains positive despite being hurt.

If they were killed, Vasily will cross the whole damn country to find the culprit. He will search every corner, turn every stone to make them pay. Only then Vasily will allow himself to mourn properly, pray for them. After returning back home, he will light a candle in their memory during each church visit.

X = Xtra (A random headcanon for them.)

Vasily is far from “innocent” persona people try to picture him. His disability and unfamiliar environment gave him a great disguise but Vasily is sniper, he is deadly. Given his size and physique, Vasya, probably, can suffocate person with single hand, and squeaky sound of leather gloves friction sends goosebumps down his spine.

Corporal punishment was allowed up until 1904 both in army and navy of Russian Empire. I can see Vasily as someone who got into minor troubles but was disliked by his mentors so he got a bit of whipping, flogging, maybe, even running the gauntlet. His back is covered in merely visible thin white and pink lines.

Y = Yuck (What are some things they wouldn’t like, either in general or in a partner?)

Controlling partner is a big no-no. There are people that tolerate their loved one directing everything, gently pushing towards favored decisions, but Vasily isn’t one of them. It irritates him to the point where Vasya crosses his hands on the chest and throws a mum fit.

Vasily is a smart man, Vasily knows that good things take time. That’s why he can’t imagine himself with an impatient person by his side. In addition, you’ll need patience to deal with his forced silence that prevents intelligible communication.

Pretence. Mostly because Vasily can’t get why would you fake something? It doesn’t make you successful person, it just make you a liar.

Z = Zzz (What is a sleep habit of theirs?)

Doesn’t care where to sleep while it’s still dark. As soon as the first sunbeam hits his face, Vasily quickly jumps on his feet and gets to work. Same goes for any other light source like candle, lamp, torch. Prefers to doze with rifle by his side so that in the case of danger he could easily protect himself and others. Also Vasily sleeps exclusively on his back to minimize face contact with hard surfaces.

The thought of his homeland makes Vasily's heart ache, mostly because he misses sleeping on the Russian stove (remember “печка”?). There’s nothing even close to the heat it radiates. He just wants to curl on the stove and eat fresh kalaches.

Sleep quality is inversely proportional to the presence of dreams. It is easy to understand that Vasily had one: his face expresses complete detachment, and in his eyes you can see immeasurable sadness.

[teachussomethin]

My List of More

Hi! My name is TyraShange + I want to know some of your favorite things. A while ago, I created a list of (some of) my favorite things. I took some time to update it with a few more things that I think would make me smile in this season in life. “Tyra’s List of More”More writing.More writing on pink frilly paper.More passion tea.More rain before clear skies.More faux fur throws.More cozy,…

[aslanjadecarlyle]

Master List of Black Creators, Owners, & Public Figures

Master List of Black Creators, Owners, & Public Figures

DISCLAIMER: I am fucking whiter than white. I compiled this list to boost black creators and public figures, but if I am overstepping at all PLEASE let me know! 

Also, I tried to research these in a timely manner. If anyone in these lists is problematic or should not be supported, let me know. :)

(Of course, this is only a TINY portion! Feel free to add more names, businesses, and creators!)

——

Activists:

•Naomi Anderson

•Maya Angelou

•James Baldwin

•Lillie Mae Bradford

•Mari Copeny

•Frederick Douglass

•Ruth Ellis

•Erica Garner

•Alicia Garza

•Ernest Green

•Fannie Lou Hamer

•Frances Harper

•Langston Hughes

•Marsha P. Johnson

•Alberta Odell Jones

•Quincy Jones

•Martin Luther King Jr.

•Audre Lorde

•Bree Newsome

•Huey P. Newton

•Rosa Parks

-Bayard Rustin

•Sojourner Truth

•Harriet Tubman

•Madam C.J. Walker

•Ida B. Wells

•Malcolm X

Actors/Actresses & Directors:

•Yahya Abdul-Mateen II

•James Avery

•Angela Bassett

•Halle Berry

•John Boyega

•Levar Burton

•Nick Cannon

•Michael Clarke Duncan

•Zendaya Coleman

•Terry Crews

•Viola Davis

•Idris Elba

•Jamie Foxx

•Morgan Freeman

•Whoopi Goldberg

•Tiffany Haddish

•Skai Jackson

•William Jackson Harper

•Kevin Hart

•Steve Harvey

•Jennifer Hudson

•Ice Cube

•Spike Lee

•Phill Lewis

•Bernie Mac

•Eddie Murphy

•Keke Palmer

•James Pickens Jr.

•Chris Rock

•Will Smith

•Raven Symonè

•Denzel Washington

•Jesse Williams

•Chandra Wilson

•Oprah Winfrey

•John Witherspoon

Authors & Poets:

•Elizabeth Acevedo

•Tomi Adeyemi

•Kwame Alexander

•Maya Angelou

•Rena Barron

•Paula Chase

•Dhonielle Clayton

•Brandy Colbert

•Jay Coles

•Dana Davis

•Tanita S. Davis

•Sharon M. Draper

•Paul Laurence Dunbar

•Akwaeke Emezi

•Sharon G. Flake

•Kristina Forest

•L.R. Giles

•Whitney D. Grandison

•Nikki Grimes

•Justina Ireland

•Tiffany D. Jackson

•Kimberly Jones

•Claire Kann

•Kekla Magoon

•Janice Lynn Mather

•Tony Medina

•Candice Montgomery

•David Barclay Moore

•Britney Morris

•Bethany C. Morrow

•Greg Neri

•Nnedi Okorafor

•Tochi Onyebuchi

•Morgan Parker

•Junauda Petrus

•Ben Philippe

•Jason Reynolds

•Debbie Rigaud

•Ilyasah Shabazz

•Nic Stone

•Liara Tamani

•Mildred D. Taylor

•Angie Thomas

•Brian F. Walker

•Booker T. Washington

•Renée Watson

•Alicia Williams

•August Wilson

•C.E. Wilson

•Ashley Woodfolk

•Jacqueline Woodson

•Nicola Yoon

•Ibi Aanu Zoboi

Black-Owned Bookstores:

•Grassrootz Bookstore (Phoenix, AZ)

•Eso Won Books (Los Angeles, CA)

•Malik Books (Los Angeles, CA)

•Marcus Books (Oakland, CA)

•Shades of Afrika (Long Beach, CA)

•Shop At Matter (Denver, CO)

•Pyramid Books (Boynton Beach, FL)

•For Keeps Books (Atlanta, GA)

•Bunnie Hillard (Decatur, GA)

•Challenges Games & Comics (Decatur, GA)

•Semicolon (Chicago, IL)

•Wild Fig Books (Lexington, KY)

•Frugal Bookstore (Boston, MA)

•Loyalty Books (Silver Springs, MD)

•Loving Me Books (Detroit, MI)

•Source Booksellers (Detroit, MI)

•Mind’s Eye Comics (Burnsville, MN)

•Eye See Me (St. Louis, MO)

•Source of Knowledge (Newark, NJ)

•The Lit Bar (The Bronx, NY)

•Cafe Con Libros (Brooklyn, NY)

•Megabrain Comics (Rhinebeck, NY)

•The Schomburg Shop (Harlem, NY)

•Sister’s Uptown (New York, NY)

•Fulton Street Books (Tulsa, OK)

•Third Eye Bag (Portland, OR)

•Amalgam Comics (Philadelphia, PA)

•Harriett’s Bookshop (Philadelphia, PA)

•Uncle Bobbie’s (Philadelphia, PA)

•Turning Page Bookshop (Goose Creek, SC)

•Black Pearl Books (Austin, TX)

•The Dock (Fort Worth, TX)

•Loyalty Books (Washington DC)

•MahoganyBooks (Washington DC)

Other Black-Owned Businesses:

•228 Grant Street Candle Company (228grantstreet.com)

•Aamir Graphics (jaizthedesigner.mystrikingly.com)

•Ailey Extension (aileyextension.com)

•Aminah Abdul Jillil (aminahabdujillil.com)

•Anya Lust (anyalust.com)

•AphroChic (aphrochic.com)

•Basbaas Foods (basbaassauce.com)

•Beauty Bakerie (beautybakerie.com)

•Beauty Stat Cosmetics (beautystatcosmetics.com)

•BedStuyFly (bedstuyfly.com)

•Bel Lumière (thebellumiereco.com)

•Beneath Your Mask (beneathyourmask.com)

•Black Enterprise (blackenterprise.com)

•Black Girl Sunscreen (blackgirlsunscreen.com)

•Black Girls Run (blackgirlsrun.com)

•The Black Home (theblackhome.com)

•Black Pepper Paperie Company (shopbpco.com)

•Blavity (blavity.com)

•BLK MKT Vintage (blkmktvintage.com)

•Body Space Fitness (bodyspacefitness.com)

•Bold Xchange (boldxchange.com)

•Bolé Road Textiles (boleroadtextiles.com)

•Briogeo (briogeohair.com)

•Brooklyn Circus (thebkcircus.com)

•Brooklyn Tea (brooklyntea.com)

•Brother Vellies (brothervellies.com)

•Camille Rose (camillerose.com)

•Carlis Design Studio LLC (carlisdesignstudio.net)

•Castamira (castamira.com)

•CBAAF (comebackasaflower.com)

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[elopez7228]

Scenic Route 24/47

Read on AO3 : https://archiveofourown.org/works/18268208/chapters/43229774 

Start over : https://elopez7228.tumblr.com/post/620919089893933056/scenic-route-0147

***

Gripping the steering wheel, Syed inhaled deeply. Her heart was beating wildly out of pace.

I only did my duty she repeated to herself—her new mantra. Kylo was getting sloppy and it was my duty to alert Snoke.

She wondered how she was going to explain herself, to convince the others. It had been six years since she joined the Knights of Ren: Skylar, Saul, Shakti, Kelsi, and Tyra.

They were more than colleagues, more than friends. They were almost like brothers and sisters, with their conflicts, their arguments, their crazy pranks,  their terrifyingly close calls, and—if she was being honest—the occasional make out session.

Above all, they had one constant rule: Kylo Ren was their leader and they would sacrifice everything for him if needed.

It's not betrayal. I’m doing my duty. It was him, Kylo Ren, who was betraying his mentor and his mission. He put FORCE in danger for a pair of pretty eyes.

He had always been overly impulsive and capricious. Syed admired that, most of the time. They were alike in that regard. They loved passionately, hated passionately, and they lived without compromise. It was all or nothing. But this time, Kylo has gone too far.

As for herself, now that she had dared to contact Hux directly, she could no longer go back. She had crossed the point of return. Kylo Ren would suffer for his choices at Snoke’s hand, he would be humiliated...and then? Then he would shred her to pieces. He had underestimated the consequences of his actions, but she would not commit the same mistake. He would kill her. Or would have her killed.

By taking a stand against him, she had just lost the right to peace of mind. He could spend every day and night getting revenge...unless she acted first. Trying not to panic, she calmed herself enough to unlock her phone.

*

Rey gripped the leash tightly, for fear of losing BB8 as she navigated the pre-marked trails. On the other end, BB8 trotted along happily, wagging her tail with excitement.

Mammoth was an absolute tourist trap, full of geysers more than anything else. Rey had become accustomed to seeing them within the park, but they were still geological marvels in their own right, a fascinating spectacle of hot water cascading against a bed of immaculately calcified rock to form an overflowing basin. Rey took a few photos while Maz stepped aside to take an incoming call. When she returned, Rey was sure that something was wrong as soon as she saw Maz’s concerned expression.

“Rey, I just received a call from a fellow hitchhiker who is willing to split a ride with me. I’d posted a request on a travel forum online.”

“Okay?” Rey nodded, unsure of what she was asking for.

“They’re going all the way from Bozeman to Seattle but they leave tomorrow morning.”

“Oh...” Rey’s face fell even as she tried to understand. “Is this good news or bad news, then?”

“Well,” Maz sighed, a hint of embarrassment in her voice, “it’s good news for me, I’ll be able to go almost all the way up to the Canadian border. But as for the concert...”

“Oh?” Rey managed, her vocabulary coming up a bit short. “You’re going to have to leave me already...”

“It’s alright, Rey, don’t worry. I can refuse the ride. We can go to the concert together, I can see it’s very important to you.”

Rey shook her head, forcing herself to smile. “No, Maz, you have to make it to that car. Life on the road is unpredictable and you can’t afford to pass up a good opportunity like this.”

“Are you sure?”

“I’m positive,” Rey said as firmly as she could, “you need to get to Bozeman and I can take you there.”

Maz opened her mouth to refuse but Rey interjected. “Come on, I insist. It’s not like I have anything better to do. I would rather not walk around alone for the rest of the day. You need be in Bozeman tomorrow morning so it’s best if we leave now and spend the night there.”

In the end, they finished walking along the marked trail before finding their way back to the Falcon.

Rey froze in her tracks as soon as they arrived. There it was again, the same charcoal grey SUV she had seen next to the river, now sitting motionless in the visitor parking.

It could have been mere coincidence. After all, weren’t there plenty of high-end vehicles out here in the park? Only one way to find out.

Syed jumped when Rey knocked on the driver-side window, eyes widening  in surprise when she recognized the face on the other side. But she quickly schooled her features into a more neutral expression.

“Hello, Rey. Having fun?”

Rey offered no greeting in return.

“Are you following me?” she demanded instead, staring the other woman down with flinty eyes.

It would have been a ridiculous question, even a paranoid one, had it not been the case. Syed seemed taken aback.

“Following you? What for?”

“You tell me. I saw your car at the river, and I told myself it looked familiar but it was probably a coincidence. But you were at Old Faithful and Grand Prismatic Spring too, weren’t you? Either this is an incredible coincidence or you’ve been chasing me. So you tell me why.”

“Yellowstone is always worth the trip,” Syed hissed through gritted teeth. “You think I came all the way out here just because of you?”

Rey crossed her arms.

“Oh, really? You had a concert yesterday. Did you really ditch your job to come play tourist?”

“It’s a free country, I can go wherever I please. Kylo didn’t need me for a while so I took the day off.”

“Did he put you up to this?”

Syed paused to take a breath. She’d been caught red-handed, her cover blown and her mission compromised. But the tables had turned too, she was no longer on Kylo’s side even though Rey was still the target. She had to handle this carefully...no use in hiding, Rey was on to her. It was time to switch to subtler tactics.

“Okay, fine. Look, Kylo was worried about you.” She admitted, sounding sincerely embarrassed even to her own ears. “You told him a woman was following you and trying to steal your car. He just wanted to make sure nothing happened to you, that’s all.”

At that, Rey’s arms fell limply to her sides. She had been expecting more denial, or a fight, really anything but this kind of sincerity.

“No...but, I—“ she stammered, “that—that’s not a reason!”

Sensing her weakness, Syed played the ultimate card...by saying exactly nothing. She pursed her lips and gave Rey a chagrined look, wordlessly conveying the misfortune of the unintended situation in her had found themselves in.

Rey was speechless. She didn’t khnow whether to be furious or grateful. Was he really tracking her to keep her safe? Wasn’t she the one who asked for help—could she really blame him for this? She really didn’t know.

Maz placed a gentle hand on her arm. “Rey,” she sighed, “we really have to get going. Come, let’s go.”

She led Rey a little further away before turning to wave Syed off. “Sorry about the misunderstanding. Give our regards to Ben, won’t you? Bye!”

Syed watched them walk away with a polite smile on her face, before suddenly  collapsing into a boneless heap at the steering wheel. She buried her face in her hands and rerouted into nervous laughter.

Fuck. She’d come within inches of an outright disaster. Her whole plan was ruined, not that it mattered now. She had bigger things at stake. If she could give Snoke what he wanted, to hell with the other FORCE agents. She could become the new master of the Knights of Ren. She would recruit new members and start over. No way she would trust anyone who had been loyal to Kylo. All of them were unpredictable...she wouldn’t spend every waking hour of the next few years wondering which one of them would betray her next.

She was so heartbroken that she lost the battle with the bile rising in her throat. She got out of the car to throw up.

Why was she like this, wasn’t this what she wanted? Why was she cracking under the pressure now, when she had been through worse before?

Rhetorical questions. She knew exactly why. She knew that by actively going against Kylo’s orders like this that they would be through. Everything would be lost, their history, their connection, their respect. It didn’t matter how strong it had gotten over the years. After this betrayal, he would look at her only in disdain.

He wouldn’t love her anymore. The would only be hate.

Syed leaned against the car for support as another wave of nausea overtook her.

Fortunately, Rey and her companion saw nothing of this as Maz continued to lead the way to the Millenium Falcon, far from the SUV and its owner.

“Rey,” Maz began, “I don’t know what’s going on between you and this Ben, Kylo, or whatever his name is. Did someone really try to steal your car?”

“Yes,” Rey nodded. “It’s true.” And Ben asking Syed to keep an eye on her was likely the truth as well. Wasn’t she the one who called him in the middle of the night from a campsite, demanding his protection? Could she really fault him for taking it so seriously?  

Maz looked up at her with a worried expression. “I wish I could tell you that I would join you for the concert after what just happened...it’s a tough call to leave you with such an eccentric man involved. But I think I would be the last person you need if you really want to get through this.”

Rey cocked her head to one side in confusion.

“Listen,” Maz said in a serious tone, all traces of a smile gone from her face. She straightened to her full height as she continued. “You’re not a damsel in distress. You don’t need a strong man to protect you, or some sort of fairy godmother. Get out of that mindset. You are strong and brave in your own right. You’ve travelled all this way alone and you’ve even faced a bear alone. You don’t need to prove yourself to anyone.”

“But I—“ Rey began before Maz interrupted her again. “You’re feeling fragile because of the emotional trauma you’ve endured. That’s normal. It’s perfectly natural to want to be comforted, to be reassured, after what happened to you. But that’s no reason to fall for the first man who is interested. If you want someone, stay with them because you want them, not because you need them. Do you understand?”

Rey pursed her lips. It was an awkward conversation to have. She felt like Maz was undressing her somehow, seeing past her paper-thin defenses, straight into her soul, and laying bare the years of lies and self-persuasion. She hated this. Being drilled into and cracked open, being hit exactly where it hurt. She acquiesced, tears pooling in her eyes.

“Don’t make any rash decisions.” Maz continued still. “Don’t hang on to people like lifelines. That makes you dependent. Dependence leads to an unbalanced relationship. What Ben did to you, having you followed without your consent, was to put you in a gilded cage. And you played the part of the princess in need. That’s not a relationship. You deserve better than that, Rey.”

“What am I supposed to do then?” Asked Rey, her voice on the verge of breaking.

“It’s not my place to tell you. Listen to your heart. Decide for yourself what is important, what is necessary or tolerable, or not tolerable at all. And then make a decision. Act on it, and move forward.”

Sensing her friend’s unhappiness, BB8 leapt up onto her hind legs, nuzzling Rey’s leg and begging to be cuddled. It made Rey smile, despite her tears.

“An unhappy princess, a crazy adventure, an adorable sidekick...it’s all here. I guess that makes you my fairy godmother, doesn’t  it?”

Maz rolled her eyes. “Very well,” she said, holding her hands out as if to cast a magic spell, “by the powers vested in me as you fairy godmother,” she intoned solemnly, “I hereby declare you, Rey Jakku, free of your own personal prison! You may dance and shout “fuck” all night if you want to, amen.”

She didn’t know if it was the magic spell or the power of self-determination, but suddenly Rey felt a million times lighter. She couldn’t help laughing. Once again, this strange little woman had hurt her in the best way, tearing her false hopes and convictions into shreds in order to face the unknown. But she was right. Rey didn’t owe anything to anyone. Who was she afraid of displeasing now tat she no longer fit the description of the pretty little city girl she had built up for herself? It was her choice.

As for Ben Solo, what he want from her? What did he think she could bring him? If he thought she was just a fragile plaything, he was sorely mistaken.

And as for the concert...she would see.

“All aboard!” Rey announced as she carried BB8 to the back seat. “We have two hours to get to Bozeman and that’ll give us just enough time to look for a place to stay tonight.”

“I know the perfect motel,” Maz agreed. “My treat. I know this detour is for me ans it’s the least I can do. How about a real mattress, and a real shower with quality shampoo? How does that sound?”

That sounded amazing.

The Millenium Falcon soared past the northern entrance of the park, merging onto I-89 towards Bozeman.

Rey searched for Syed’s SUV in the rear view mirror, but it never appeared.

Was she finally free?

[stonerbughead]

maria watches friday night lights (#4)

season 2, pt 2!! (2x08-2x15)

ugh Matt is really having his Being A Stupid Teenage Boy season huh?

-lol love a good naked dude being chased scene — in this case, Smash on his recruiting trip being chased around by a potential future teammate. Classic.

(it’s kinda cute that Matt came to pick him up tho)

- the latest in season 2 being off the fucking rails: really? Riggins’ new digs include a meth lab on wheels??

-Landry confessing to murdering someone and then having his sheriff dad drag him out of the station to go home is the whitest shit EVER. Like, Landry is literally *trying* to be punished and they just won’t punish his white, cop-kid ass. ‘Murica. (I mean don’t get me wrong: it WAS self defense against someone literally stalking and trying to rape Tyra, but the point still stands that if Landry was a black kid he’d have been tried as an adult and convicted no doubt)

-YESSSSS a MySpace shoutout! we love to see it

“I hate you” - Santiago (and also me) @ Buddy Garrity

-omg Coach Taylor noticing that things aren’t good at home for Riggins and taking him in, my heart!

-Wow in just one scene Riggins charmed baby Grace, warned Tami’s sister not to shame women for eating a lot (“it can lead to anorexia, especially in girls”) and then offered to go out to the store to get baby formula in the pouring rain. What a man.

-and yes, Shelly, you fully grown woman, it IS a bad idea to lust after a TEENAGE BOY

-wow Riggins protecting Julie from the SUPER DRAMATIC TORNADO that made me laugh. Do we get to have a Riggins-Julie friendship??? bc I’d be down. We need more friendships.

-Thank you, Tami, saying “EW” to her sister watching Riggins work out! Someone has sense to know a fully grown woman shouldn’t be lusting after a teenager! Julie can lust if she wants tho, that’s age appropriate.

-DYING at Landry being aghast that Tyra’s never heard of West Side Story.

-oh god, Lyla — it is totally fair to assume your mom would tell your dad she’s getting remarried, especially if she knew you’d be seeing him — so I’m sorry you’re the one who accidentally set off whatever nonsense Buddy is gonna pull now that he knows his ex wife is “marrying that treehugger.”

“Who’s that?” “Some douchebag named Chip. who names their kid Chip anyway?” Same, Tyra, same.

-Landry, one of my biggest pet peeves is asking someone out while they’re on the clock. Like, come on! let Tyra work, boy.

-Jesus Christ it’s like everywhere Julie looks, she has to see Matt making out with someone. That’s rough.

-and oop Matt you busted bc Julie actually knows who Carlotta is!

-once a cheater, always a cheater, Buddy. And yes to Pam for being like “nah bye I’m happy now, it is over.” You treated her like garbage so here we are, sir!

-hilarious that Landry is the one who ends up throwing the first punch that gets the post-tornado, school-crossover tensions to finally boil over

-I like that they show both the fall formal and the party where everyone who didn’t go to the formal is. Nice.

-Aw poor Julie got drunk af to deal with all her feelings. This really is the season where they have Julie and Matt being sixteen year olds in the most painful ways. So maybe it’s good they’re not together during this tho I’m still looking forward to when the tide turns their way again.

-anyway, Tim is a good friend for getting the creep who thought he was “one beer away from getting laid” off of Julie.

-And....in true Texas dad fashion, Eric Taylor misinterprets everything! Noooo. We can’t have nice things.

-This Noelle-Smash partnership is definitely an interesting pairing. Two very ambitious football people courting all these recruiters while Smash’s mom side eyes them in the corner? Hilarious.

-omg not this Oklahoma tech recruiter harassing smash’s mom in the grocery store! GTFO here! Give her some fucking personal space. They really do such a good job of showing as much of the toxic shit about football culture as the inspiring, big moments.

-Aw and I love that Tami tried to help Mama Smash get the guy to go away. It’s such a familiar scene, women helping each other get a dude harassing them away. And then they have a heart to heart in the parking lot? Love that.

-omg what a throwback that Shelly TAPED OVER Eric’s football game to tape a NEW EPISODE of The Office! Love it. “Y’all should get a TiVo.”

-omg watching Tami and Eric work out arguments is so beautiful, they communicate very well! We stan a good marriage.

-wow seeing the other coach from tornado school lose his shit publicly after he knocked down Riggins was uh....wild???? This is the second time he put his hands on Riggins!

-awww Eric actually coming to apologize to riggins for overreacting about Julie when he hears the real story??? Love it.

-Weevil from Veronica Mars shows up as a friend of Santiago’s? Of course.

-WOW and Logan from Gilmore girls as a Christian radio host...tracks.

“Is that your way of telling her you like her?” Jason making a surprisingly astute observation about Tim. (And Lyla.)

-yo why would you invite your daughter’s boyfriend’s family over for dinner just to say they shouldn’t date? (And bc it’s an interracial relationship.) Southern culture is wild to me lol

-wow the racist coach from last season is now off spouting his mouth about how “no wife of mine would be working with a kid at home.” I love that Eric calls him out as sounding stupid and ignorant — you better!

-hearing that Lyla burned her cheerleading uniform is one of the most badass things she’s done so far tbh along with that dealership destruction

-off the rails update: 2x12 was toooo much!! Like, Jesus between Smash’s sister getting harassed at the movie theater by the racists who hate on smash and Noelle...and this plotline with Santiago and his old friends trashing Buddy’s place...it’s like, can we breathe.

-I could not be more excited for Carlotta to leave and another teenage boy with adult woman relationship to end.

-wow can’t believe the plotline where Riggins stole $3000 from a drug dealer isn’t ending well for him. And now Smash is getting arrested bc of those racist guys from the movie theater episode? One recap I read said that too many of this season’s plots feel contrived and I think that sums it up.

-is there any character who HASN’T worked at Buddy Garrity’s dealership at this point?!

-and yikes at all the other salespeople being mad that a salesperson in a wheelchair was hired...y’all mad ugly and ableist for that

-Tyra and Landry are....confusing

-Wait Logan from GG is an actual preacher and not just a Christian radio host? CREEPY. And he kissed Lyla? A lot to unpack there.

-lol Tim trying to woo Lyla is kinda funny to watch simply bc Tim is clearly so confounded by rejection

-I love how much space they give for Smash’s sister’s pain in the Noelle-Smash theater incident. A lesser show wouldn’t have centered her as much.

-is it mean of me to say Jason is boring AF most of the time

-yeah this dreads girl is seemingly way more compatible with Landry than Tyra yikes! Like she made him a power metal mix cd???

-wow this Smash storyline where mouthing off to the press is what gets him suspended....really checks out bc teenage boys are dumb

-I love Tami as a volleyball coach and getting to see another sport! Also as someone who’s been on a losing team I know that feeling of finally winning a game!!! Go Dillon volleyball!!! (Am I maybe currently writing a Bughead fic based on my underdog field hockey experiences? ;) yes yes I am)

-Oh shit now Saracen’s at the nihilistic Nothing Matters phase of teenage angst. Right on schedule!

-lol these two short haired blondes (white dreads Jean and Tyra) being in a love triangle with Landry is wild

-Omg jean just said, “are you a friend or are you competition?” She is not playing!

-I love Riggins dragging Saracen to practice

“I don’t want you to become at an at-risk youth” -Landry teasing Saracen while also sincerely caring about him is some of the best friendship banter on this show. The accuracy 😂

-It seems like Julie gets a lot of hate? But I think I have such a soft spot for Julie bc I was a bitchy teenager with undiagnosed mental health disorders and I just wish so much #growth for her! Also I really do miss her and Saracen’s relationship, I’m so excited I’m almost at S3 where it seems like it’s happening again?

-LOL this guy at the dmv is the first person in Dillon to be like, “no I hate football.” That tracks.

-wow Saracen is getting driven to the hospital to make sure his grandma is okay by the sex worker who was just giving him a lap dance. Amazing.

-also I hope grandma is okay!

-okay Tyra throwing her hat in the ring for Landry at the last minute? Idk I think Jean deserves the win but there’s no way it’ll happen bc she’s a guest actor?!

-awww Saracen’s abandonment issues coming out whiles he in the tub after being sobered up by Eric Taylor. “There’s nothing wrong with you.” 😭 and “your daughter left me for a better guy” - will take that crumb — first mention of Julie out of Saracen’s mouth in a minute

-hey, Landry, my friend: flirting with a girl (Jean) to get her outside then dumping her immediately is kind of a wild bait and switch. But I get it, he’s been in love with Tyra for a long time and Tyra IS right — they had a very fucked up start to their relationship so it makes sense she needed a minute to process her ~feelings~. however I definitely identified closer to a jean in my high school experience L O L (minus the unacceptable white dreads)

-these Julie and Tami driving scenes are painfully accurate, btw. Love them.

-wow the scene of Smash hyping everyone up, the adrenaline/energy of the team cheering with helmets and a classic “clear eyes, full hearts, can’t lose” - then the whole team running out onto the field and leaving an empty locker room with just Smash breaking down into tears....#art

-alright y’all I’m gearing up for the last episode of S2! Thanks to @lockitin for reminding me this is the writers’ strike season — I was in eighth grade then and remember being pissedddd about the shortened fourth season of “the office” — so I’m fully prepared for the abruptness to come.

-I love when they parallel showing the white church and the black church

-and Tim going to church just to see Lyla makes me laugh

-ooooof Jason you cannot put on this waitress you had a one night stand with the fact that this could be your only chance to have a baby!!! Omg this poor woman who just pointed out she, too, is NINETEEN.

-wait so is Riggins doing a sports show on a Christian radio station? What?

“I think you’re really hot. Your long hair reminds me of Jesus” -Christian girls being horny for Riggins LOL

-awww Saracen being like “okay Landry you’re gonna impress Tyra right now” before that football play was a cute friendship moment for those two

-aww I love how this Smash storyline is turning out with Coach Deeks whose had his eye on him for six years my heart 😭

-also unclear to me whether Logan Huntzberger the Preacher is a fully grown adult dating a high school senior?? Biggest teen drama pet peeve once again! Stop this!

-Tami is my heroine for just leaving Eric at the restaurant fighting with her ex. “see you at home, honey!”

-I’m sorry, is Jason gonna like actually convince this girl to have a baby with her one night stand at 19??? Oh lol wait THAT ended up being the cliffhanger of the whole season? Fucking hilarious.

well I made it through season 2!!! Super psyched for Season 3, Jay has been hyping me up for it. See y’all next time! (I’ll try to post more for season 3 bc this accidentally got long af.)

[jaytopmodelrankings]

1. Lisa

This was a well-deserved FCO for Lisa. She was the only one to excel in all three areas that were judged this week, and she didn’t just perform well- she outclassed everyone, period. Her commercial was my favourite hands down. I absolutely agree with Tyra’s reaction in that it was beautiful enough to be tear-inducing. Something about the sincerity in her smile and the twinkle of vulnerability in her eyes worked so well with her words (which were so genuine and aspirational) that she delivered seamlessly. The interview portion was amazing too; Lisa’s actually a really effective spokesperson because she’s unique and distinct thanks to her loud personality, but she’s also good at remembering the product and always keeping it as the key topic of the discussion, with boldness and a charm to her forwardness. Finally, her picture would have been my favourite were it not for Nicole’s surprise home run in that department. Even so, the shot still has plenty to praise. There’s a sweet and youthful energy to her that we’d never seen before. She looks so warm and approachable, she’s almost radiant. I also have to praise Lisa for managing to look ten years younger in all three assignments this week since her look tended to photograph more maturely. I was very proud of her this week, she really embodied an intimate kindness that worked perfectly for the brief.