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audreydoeskaren · 4 years ago

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do you know Chinese symbolism for homosexuality?

tw homophobia, pedophilia

Hi again, for gay men there are a couple really well known ones but I’m not sure if they were real or fabricated, because all the articles describing them always cite the same couple sources from Antiquity... I tried to verify them but the only articles that didn’t copy and paste from the same source came across as extremely homophobic, so I decided to give up. The most common and reliable one is probably 断袖 or “cut sleeve”, which I mentioned in a previous ask. I would like to use this opportunity to talk about some tangential but more important topics regarding homosexuality in China though.

As a followup to my previous ask where I said I'd look through some Ming and Qing novels to see how homosexuality was perceived at the time, the conclusion I (unfortunately) came to was that homophobia was very much alive and well in Chinese literature and society. A lot of people like to argue that gay people fared pretty well in China historically by either pointing to emperors who were or were rumored to be gay or time periods where gay sex was prevalent as a form of consumption. This is extremely shallow and also kind of Orientalist in my opinion, these arguments always go for the emperors and do not take nuance into consideration or dive into wider societal discourses on homosexuality in imperial China. If you research homosexuality in Europe by only looking at royalty, you’ll find plenty of homosexual behavior too, does that mean gay people had it very easy in Europe historically?? Not to mention that they usually don’t differentiate between dynasties, let alone centuries or decades, even though public opinion on homosexuality in China (or anywhere in the world tbh) could change very quickly. This is also sort of Orientalist, assuming “imperial China” to be a never changing entity with a never changing stance on homosexuality. Since I know nothing prior to the Ming Dynasty I’ll share some of my random findings on homosexuality and homophobia in the Ming, Qing and 20th century.

Gayness as disease

Nowadays the symbol of the cut sleeve is just a benign historical allusion but historically it seems that it was used in a negative and condemning sense, implying that people thought of homosexuality as a disease or deviation from the norm. The common phrase used for the cut sleeve is "断袖之癖", usually translated as "the passion of the cut sleeve" nowadays, but the meaning of the word 癖 here leans more toward "fetish", "obsession" or "hobby" with pathological connotations. I thought maybe this word had a different, nuanced meaning historically but it seems that it was used to describe what it means :(( The only silver lining is probably that with the progression of language it isn’t offensive anymore.

In a lot of popular novels from the Ming and Qing, homosexuality was depicted as a "perversion" and a decadent lifestyle that plagues morality, and gay characters were often either killed or straightened out by the end of the story. An example of this is the story 黄九郎 Huang Jiulang from the series 聊斋志异 Strange Tales from a Chinese Studio by 蒲松龄 Pu Songling written in the 17th century. In this story, one of the protagonists was gay; he died after confessing his love to the other guy in a very fast paced bury your gays arc which somehow reminded me of the Supernatural finale, and reincarnated as a straight man because of his piety. Thanks I hate it. Pu uses the symbol of the cut sleeve to refer to the protagonist, presumably in a negative manner.

Gayness as power/status symbol

Another thing was that historically in China a lot of people confused homosexuality with pedophilia. This is a global thing, but its presence in China is often overlooked. This could be seen in the popularity of another term for homosexuality, "娈童", meaning something similar to "pederasty". I read somewhere that since the late Ming, pederasty was considered a type of tasteful consumption for high society, along with things like fashion, food, music and art. This was not equivalent to the "cut sleeve" or homosexuality as we know it nowadays, which refers to a personal sexual orientation, pederasty historically often refers to an imbalanced power dynamic where a wealthy, privileged man takes advantage of a young boy as a leisurely activity. It’s more to show off that someone in a position of privilege and wealth has the power to procure sexual objects, gender and age don’t matter much in this regard. I cannot help but cringe violently whenever someone brings up pederasty as proof of China’s historical “openness” toward gay people. Talk to me again when in this time and place you could marry someone of your sex (not a minor) and be considered a respectable couple instead of two jerks with a degenerate fetish (not saying that gay people have to marry, it’s just that the ability to do so is an important indicator of equality imo). Pedophilia and homosexuality are not one and the same good heavens.

I hypothesize that the reason why Chinese society was historically homophobic despite having no religious condemnation of homosexual individuals was the idea that having many concubines and male children was a status symbol for men. Women of marriageable age were seen more or less as commodities and male children could supposedly "continue the bloodline" 传香火 and were vessels for passing down prestige, so having them were of utmost importance to a privileged man. Being just gay or lesbian, however, meant that you didn't perform the "man strong working woman weak making babies" heteronormative family prototype, and was thus prone to criticism. When gay men didn’t have children they “couldn’t continue their bloodline” and were emasculated, when gay women didn’t have children they failed to “fulfill their duties as a woman” and were shamed.

It kind of makes sense considering how being bisexual was never a problem in comparison, especially for men. If you were a rich guy who had both male and female partners, you would still have children and concubines both male and female so nobody gives a shit. Emperor Zhengde of the Ming (reign 1505-21) was presumably bisexual and had both male and female lovers, nobody had a bone to pick with that; he famously liked to fuck around but those who criticized him did so for his debauchery instead of focusing on the gender of his partners. This is different to homophobia in Europe where same sex attraction was considered evil and immoral in and of itself because of religious reasons, in China it was rather the other practical implications of homosexuality (not having children or a family) that attracted hate.

By the way can we just take a moment to talk about bi erasure in Chinese history. From all accounts of Emperor Zhengde I’ve read he comes across as extremely bisexual, but a lot of people try to make him a gay icon? I mean, he liked women too.

One interesting homophobic angle in ye olde China which I find kind of funny was straight women who wanted to climb the social ladder by marrying rich men talking shit about them after figuring out they were gay lmao. Historically, there were not so many work opportunities for women, so the easiest way to improve social standing was to marry a rich and powerful guy. Not saying that women didn't work, they did but their upward social mobility was restricted because they couldn't enter the imperial examination system which was how men became rich and powerful. This angle is relatively benign and kind of helps illustrate that historical Chinese homophobia was indeed fueled by classism and patriarchy.

Gayness as crime

I used to think that there were no anti-sodomy statutes in China (laws prohibiting sex between gay men), but it turns out that there was one decree in the Jiajing era (1521-67) and one in 1740, and private gay sex was not actually decriminalized until 1957. Same sex marriage is still not legal in China at time of writing. I couldn’t find detailed information on what these laws entailed or how they were enforced, but they’re enough to prove that homosexuality in China was legally punishable from the 16th century onward. On top of that, even when there was no law prohibiting private sex acts between people of the same sex, displays of gay affection such as kissing or holding hands could still be legally punished under “public indecency” or “hooliganism”, which was frequently what happened in the 20th century.

#lgbt #queer history #chinese history #gay #mlm #ming dynasty #qing dynasty #republican era

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metvmorqhoses · 3 years ago

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How do you see Voldemort and Nagini's dynamic? Some people say he cared more about her than Bella but that has always indicated superficial understanding to me. Pure drivel. His reactions at both their deaths alone prove how much stronger his fondness was for Bella, despite Nagini being a Horcrux, not to mention the rest of their scenes.

You know, the dynamic between Voldemort and Nagini has always truly intrigued me. Their relationship has a true potential for complexity and meaning, to the point I’m sure it must have been born in depth. I can say this even while virtually knowing nothing about it. You can just sense its nature here and there, between the lines, suspended from silence to silence, as many of the various truths concerning Voldemort often are.

The possibilities regarding this dynamic are just endless and potentially so fascinating - if people would only stop being so impossibly absurd about it.

Speaking of which, and as much as I’m interested in this relationship and its possible wide ramifications, I absolutely cannot stand the custom widespread fashion of desperately trying to throw Bellatrix in the equation, an equation she absolutely does not belong to, and only with the aim of debasing her.

It drives me absolutely mad.

The implication that Voldemort cared more about his pet snake than Bellatrix is, of course, pure nonsense. Yet, if the said nonsense is actually genuine misreading of Voldemort’s rather normal actions or if it’s of a more “biased” nature, that is surely up to interpretation.

As far as I’m concerned, people are at best naively mistaking the damning-free displays of rather patronizing affection Voldemort bestowed upon Nagini (the pet which carried a part of himself) with the carefully conceived, always quite suggestive (and way different in nature!) acts of fondness he reserved to Bella only (amongst the entire human race), many times almost as if despite himself and possibly not even quite realizing it - or at worst they are purposely choosing the interpretation that serves their own personal agenda better.

And in my experience it’s sadly always the latter.

The thing that really irks me, beyond personal opinions or beliefs, is that the entirety of those "theories" regarding Nagini always seem to be devised to somehow threaten Bellatrix and the special place she held in Voldemort’s... heart?, instead of coming from genuine literary analysis or curiosity towards certain obscure aspects of the story.

The only true interest every single hp sub-fandom seem to share is the obnoxious goal of lessening Bellatrix - one of the strongest and most complex characters of the series, not to mention the strongest and most complex female character in there -, while at the same time shaping every single ridiculous love interest of Voldemort (be that Harry, Hermione or original character) specifically after her, sometimes even consciously and/or explicitly drawing parallels.

Even while theorizing Bellatrix being secretly a horcrux, thing that may sound at first pretty deep and even "romantic", people are somehow implicitly diminishing her unframable importance to Voldemort, while at the same time denying him his own right to complexity, because of course he could only egoistically (do find me a real relationship with no egoism involved, even between parents and children, I'll wait) "care" for a vessel of a torn piece of his own disgusting soul, right?

This not only tells me people lack understanding and taste, but it also shows me that pretty much everyone deep down to some degree does sense Bellamort's value, to the point of it probably becoming intolerable in the face of their non-canon subpar ships. How can these two monstrous people have something so inexplicable, intense and special going on? How can we deny it? How can we copy it?

Quite simply, they feel the need to bash what they cannot understand but inadvertently feel the superiority of.

To this add the fact that Bella is too much of an "unconventionally" powerful woman not to be automatically hated by society even as a fictional character, pared with the holier-than-thou exaggerated importance Rowling gave Dumbledore's opinions (because he states himself they are just that, opinions and deductions - and as much as I love Dumbledore as a character precisely because of this perfectly masked villainy, I'm astonished by the way characters and readers alike merrily ignored his duplicity, toxicity and hypocrisy, blindly believing everything such a person was literally selling for the truth), and here you have the perfect storm.

So yes, the Nagini debate is in my opinion part of this widespread sad phenomenon, the "Voldemort cannot feel (but Tom could and only for the characters I want to!)" crusade paired with the "Bella would have never been the object of it anyway" reassuring propaganda.

People are not so much interested in how much Voldemort cared for Nagini nor the nature of their relationship, as in stating that he didn't care about Bella to the point of his equally unemotional, once human and now evil snake was more important to him than the one sentimental relationship of his existence (and only because said pet was a horcrux).

Putting Bella at Nagini's level or under it in this way strips her of her value, her power and the deep meaning of what she and Voldemort shared, easily making her less than a woman and quite akin to some sort of faithful adoring slave or fellow pet of whom even a magical snake is nonetheless superior (of course unless we are talking about people who believe Nagini to be the romantic interest here lol in that case we are just wildly venturing into ooc and non canon and I won’t even bother to try to make them see sense - as long as they are aware it’s an au, they can ship whatever brings them joy).

Not only I find all this absolutely squalid, but I’m even quite astonished people find it a valid argument against Bellamort even in the most general declination of the issue. Nagini is a pet.

(Nagini is obviously not a normal pet, nor I think Voldemort saw her as one would an average animal, but she is nevertheless very akin to one in his eyes, so I’m using the term as I would use it for my own cat, considering him his own valuable, intelligent person but nonetheless an extension of me).

With this I don’t want absolutely to imply animal companions cannot be adored more than human people, because I think it’s absolutely the case and especially when we talk about a person like Voldemort and his views towards humanity as a whole, but, honestly, to what absurd minds a pet and a love interest are mutually exclusive or even belonging in the same argument?

How can you dream of disproving someone’s feelings for a person bringing up an animal - and a horcrux? Even if Voldemort cared about Nagini, because he did and probably for more than one valid reason, what the hell does Bellatrix have to do with it? You don’t see the fandom comparing Ginny to Edwige or Ron to Crookshanks or Hermione to fucking rat Peter Pettigrew (to whom Ron bestowed oceans of affection while being an outward dick to Hermione by the way lol), stating that if the heroes doted on their pets than they didn’t give a fuck about humans.

If we follow this logic, I bet every pet in existence was more lavished with open affection than the actual people their humans cared about. Why? Because it’s socially acceptable and without consequence to show affection to pets, while if you show as little as a smile to another human being surely it is immediately perceived as damning.

Could the incarnation of evil send kisses to Bella over the fucking DE meeting table? Of course not (he actually threw her sexual innuendos over the said table, but I digress). Could he whisper sweet nothings to a gigantic snake everyone was terrorized of while ordering her to tear someone apart? Absolutely yes. It’s non-damning and absolutely socially appropriate, as much as caressing a cat while sitting on a tall armchair looking very villainous is socially cool lol

I am using silly examples to disprove silly theories and even in this case I think my point is quite blatant.

I understand people like to use the horcrux argument to link Voldemort’s care to his egoistical needs and being done with it, finally framing his grey areas in comforting bi-dimensional black.

It’s obvious Nagini was precious because she was an horcrux, in the sense it was imperative nothing happened to her, but if people are still convinced Voldemort sentimentally, genuinely cared about his own soul, more specifically its pieces, and that Nagini was on the other end of that affection, gosh if they are all in for a shock.

We are talking about pieces of a torn soul. We are talking about someone who did this to himself.

Voldemort horcruxes are precious because they are instrumental to his immortality, to prevent him the final indignity of death, not because he thinks his soul has intrinsic value.

As every narcissist he fucking loathes himself. He mutilated himself since tender age. He had always believed himself imperfect and marred, no matter how he tried to make up for it with exceptionality and power. Just as someone who feels psychologically dirty constantly tries to wash themselves, Voldemort shrouded himself in mythical heirlooms, titles and formidable magic to embellish the rotting corpse he had always felt he was.

To him, putting a piece of himself in something or someone else is not a honor to the receiver, I dare say much more a curse. This doesn’t mean he didn’t search for the best vessels to contain himself, always following the previously stated way of thinking. But certainly he would have never put a shred of himself in anything he truly cared about (hence why Bella couldn’t possibly be a horcrux, hence why Delphi was an accident, hence why he wanted to annihilate Harry - himself - with so much hatred).

The process of thought towards Nagini wasn’t “I found someone worthy of having a piece of me in them”, it was more “I found someone suitable to carry a piece of the burden of my immortality for me”. And Nagini, being the only living horcrux besides Harry (who wasn’t chosen and who wasn’t entirely a true horcrux), must have been perfect and therefore “special” for some logistical reason.

It would be interesting to know why. Was Nagini immortal for starters? Because I would imagine you would not make a temporary horcrux, even if we are talking about a lifespan of hundreds of years, right? Also, was Nagini aware of her former humanity? Was she such a potent magical creature she could somehow be constantly reborn (horoboros-like - also a nice dark parallelism to Dumbledore’s phoenix)? Was this why her venom had life-sustenance properties and could keep Voldemort alive and even in a temporary body (by the way “milking” a snake is a scientific term to indicate the act of collecting its venom, just saying for the zoophilists Nagimorts in the back). So many questions and so many options.

What makes his “affection” towards Nagini so interesting to me though, besides those obvious technical reasons, it’s the simple fact that Nagini was a talking part of himself that he actually seemed to get along with, and to the point of even developing for her some sort of fondness. I can totally see him punishing and disagreeing with Nagini and I quite enjoy seeing her acting as his voice of reason in fanfics, but the fact stands. He eventually grew to like her as he liked rare worthy people in different degrees - Snape, the Lestranges, Bella, etc.

We know very little about their relationship, so I can only say how I would have written their dynamic playing out, but in my mind Voldemort regarded Nagini as a very special and rather... accomplished creature.

I don’t view Nagini as a cursed desperate human being who is progressively more and more trapped in a snake’s body, eventually for good - the victim of a terrible and dehumanizing blood curse, as probably the movies implied. I view her as a powerful witch who has always felt more snake than woman since she was born and who embraced her own metamorphosis as some ascetic form of becoming, morphing into a magical snake both physically and, much more importantly, psychologically. She retains the superior intelligence of a witch, but there’s nothing human in her anymore, nor her mind nor her soul.

Does it ring a bell?

I think Voldemort would have adored such a creature as a companion (a pet yes, but in the sense I for example view my cat as my pet, almost a relative of a different kind, someone loyal, worthy, amusing, definitely not a human but perhaps even more valuable because of it). He would have even admired her change, seen it as an improvement, something he himself wanted to achieve, the self-sufficient perfection of the most intelligent of snakes. This dynamic totally makes sense, it leaves much space for depth and complexity and moreover it’s beyond in character for Voldemort.

It’s only my vaguely books-supported opinion, but I think Voldemort loved animals as much as he despised people. Animals, especially snakes, were his first and only “friends” as a child. He could possess their minds and make them do things. He admired their natural, guilt-free cruel instincts. While half-dead, he constantly inhabited animals and chose the wilderness as his hiding place. I view him as definitely one of those people who prefer the company of animals than of humans, but maybe it’s just me.

To conclude, because once again I accidentally wrote an essay, I totally believe Voldemort was “fond” of Nagini for her own spirit and nature, despite her major importance as a horcrux, and I recognize that scream at her death could have been as much for her as a person than for witnessing the last piece of his soul destroyed, but still I think that what Voldemort felt for Bella stands on a total different level and is completely different in nature and depth.

The reaction at Bella’s death tells it all, really. It’s incomparable to what he did when Nagini was killed. While Nagini was a loyal and I’m sure intimate non-human companion, she carried in her the object of Voldemort’s every fear, regret, hatred and I’m sure it definitely showed many times in their relationship - while Bella was, known to him or not, the symbol of his every hope, dream and even of his impossible salvation.

#fugamalefica #dear sorry if I took this long but I've been off line for a while lately #I hope I answered your question and I wasn't too boring #bellamort #lord voldemort #nagini #bellatrix black #bellatrix lestrange #hp #asks/replies #one and one thousand stories lis told #tom marvolo riddle

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theolsentimes · 4 years ago

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Mary-Kate Olsen's Singular Style

She came to fame as a twin, but the actress's cultish look is entirely her own. Here, with Lauren Hutton, she pays homage to another fashion inspiration, Grey Gardens. Written by Laura Brown, with photography by Peter Lindbergh (Harper's Bazaar, 2007)

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Mary-Kate Olsen may be the only young actress who breezes into her local Starbucks wearing towering, fashion-fierce Balenciaga boots, who arrives at her latest premiere (in Mary-Kate's case, for the new season of Showtime's Weeds, in which she plays a devout Christian with a pot fetish) sporting an oversize cross, and whose favorite band is Led Zeppelin. She may, in fact, be the only young actress who knows who Led Zeppelin is. MK, as she is known to her friends and family, is also a punctual and professional sort. She arrives for a poolside tea in Los Angeles 10 minutes early, ordering a hot chocolate while explaining her fetish for all things sweet — "I'm a candy girl, like Tootsie Rolls and Swedish Fish" — and objecting when the waiter tries to take the sugar bowl away. She is wearing a nautical striped T-shirt (her mom's, from the '70s), tucked into two black Wolford slips rolled down and turned into a tight, Robert-Palmer-video-style mini, and multicolored sparkly Christian Louboutin stilettos. She's just had her hair colored, returning to a sunnier shade after some experiments with both peroxide ("I woke up one morning and was like, I want white-trash hair today") and the dark side (an auburn-haired near-Goth moment last year). She's carrying a large black fringed leather Prada tote — she doesn't do small bags — and her fingers are covered with rings, most notably two vintage coiled gold snakes stacked on top of each other. ("They remind me of twins, sort of double headed.") Altogether, the effect is less her famed "bag-lady chic" than an edgy, body-conscious, and, yes, sexy silhouette. If she weren't 21, she could be 40. And French.

Few people need reminding that Mary-Kate — with her twin sister, Ashley — literally crawled into celebrity aged nine months (courtesy of Full House) and has not been out of the spotlight ever since. She has been a celebrity for more than two decades. Perhaps that's one reason she seems as if she came out of the womb worldly, the textbook old soul. "Yeah," she says with a small shrug. "I get that a lot." With all of that attention and all of the money (her and Ashley's company, Dualstar, has famously become a "billion-dollar business"), Mary-Kate could easily have ended up the type who wears pink terry cloth and carries a variety of small dogs. "Could you imagine?" she says with the politest version of a snort. "No way." She credits her exceptionally close-knit family (she has five siblings) and, interestingly, early stardom with helping her keep her perspective. "I think it helped that I started in front of the camera, so it didn't come as a shock. If I was a teenager and was thrown into the spotlight, I don't know how I would react, to be honest." Though the tabloids are all too keen to brand her a skinny, nervous deer in the headlights, in person Mary-Kate is easy in her skin, confident and surprisingly tactile, curling up in her seat and touching you on the arm to make a point. She laments the generic style of most actresses and cites only men as style inspirations: "Heath Ledger, Johnny Depp. Men, they just dress the way they want, and they don't think about Who Wore It Best." She doesn't much care for Who Wore It Best, noting she avoids those pages by "wearing vintage so often. I just dress the way I feel instead of looking for what's the new handbag." If Mary-Kate and Ashley have their way, more people will be wearing clothes and carrying bags the way they do. They have just shown the fifth collection of their ready-to-wear line, the Row, and recently launched a contemporary label, Elizabeth and James, named after a sister and a brother. The Row's holiday collection (in stores next month) is a slick mix of skinny leather pants, razor-cut blazers, butter-soft, slouchy tees, and a destined-to-be-cultish pullover fur. Lauren Hutton, who stars in the Row's Spring '08 look book, says, "The clothes are extraordinary. A man I was with just loved them. The pieces are just so genius, soft like a baby's skin. Simple minimalist stuff, but really spectacular." Mary-Kate, designer, faces an interesting challenge. She has to marry Dualstar — which has made its fortune selling tween-tastic DVDs and pastel Mary-Kate and Ashley T-shirts at Wal-Mart — with her increasingly edgy and subversive taste. Dualstar executives, some of whom have worked with her since she was a child, often nag her, mom-style, about pulling her hair back "or wearing a color," she says with a laugh. "I had this event recently, and I was like, They're going to be so happy that I'm wearing ... purple. I actually have to think about those things, though, you know, so I don't get trashed." Get trashed sometimes she does. Hutton says, "Once in a while, she'll wear something and I'll think, Oh, baby doll, take another look. But to have the bravery, to take the chance to do that, is pretty wonderful. She is making her own way, which is hardly ever done in Hollywood." Of Mary-Kate's penchant for gigantic Balenciaga heels, Jenji Kohan, the creator of Weeds, says, laughing, "I'd be like, 'It's Tuesday. Do you really want to be wearing those shoes?' But she pulls it off." Designer Giambattista Valli, a friend, says, "She likes to take risks, but because she has such strong personal style, she always manages to make it work. Even if she had nothing on, she'd have style." And MK chic is spreading. "Sometimes I'll look at people or at a magazine and I'll do a double take because I'm like, Oh, my God, that's my outfit, but that's not me," Mary-Kate says. Playing with her wire-rimmed aviators, she jokes wryly that she should have bought shares in Ray-Ban. (She and Chloë Sevigny pretty much brought back white '80s Wayfarers.) She tends to fall in love with a look, then wear it until she's done. "If I put together a good outfit, I'll wear it for three days and then switch it up with a blazer," she says. "I still love my vintage jeans, my tights, and my pants, though." She didn't start wearing heels, in fact, until a couple of years ago: "I kept watching Ashley walk around in them so gracefully, and I'm such a klutz. But I ended up loving heels, and I don't usually take them off." She wears precisely one pair of flat shoes: Chanel's knee-high patent-leather gladiator sandals. This season, it's Balenciaga's fall collection — all of it — that has Mary-Kate obsessed. She is close to designer Nicolas Ghesquière and says, "He is so talented, but he's the nicest, most down-to-earth guy, and that makes everything he does more brilliant. I bought everything, but I haven't got anything yet," she says like a girl impatiently waiting for Christmas. Will she wear the new pieces with her infamous clodhopper boots? "Uh-huh. Wore them the other day, actually." Mary-Kate always goes with her gut, even if some people (back to those tabloids) don't quite get it. "The tabloids say things about me? What do they say?" she asks archly. "People are going to write what they want, and everyone's going to have their own idea of who I am. But I'm not trying to be friends with the people who are reading them, really." After a rough couple of years filled with near-forensic scrutiny of her weight, she'll have you know that she does eat. "This is not going to sound good," she laughs, "but I like making crispy tofu sticks with peanut sauce. I love my sashimi and my salmon and my vegetables." She observes, "Stress plays a big role in how I look day-to-day. I've always been very active — Pilates, yoga. I grew up horseback riding every day for hours. I love dancing. I usually last longer than anyone on the dance floor." A common image of Mary-Kate has her emerging from a coffee joint with an oversize cup. "I always get creamed for having my Starbucks cup," she says, sighing. "But the only time people get photos of me is when I'm getting coffee, when I can't sneak away from the camera." She also resents the pictorial implication that she and Ashley are dilettantes. "They take photos of us going into our offices, and it's 'Mary-Kate and Ashley shopping again.' But I'm going to work for eight hours, and we're working so hard. ..." She trails off. "It just shows how people want to think of you." Mary-Kate is not above celeb watching herself, however. Newly obsessed with Victoria Beckham, she notes she avidly watched Beckham's Coming to America documentary: "She's running around in a bikini and heels, and I'm like, Oh, my God! I do that, too!" How positively Grey Gardens. "I run around my house naked with heels all the time. It's so funny. All my friends will tell you I love running around in kimonos and jewelry or naked with jewelry." More people will be watching Mary-Kate soon, thanks to her role in the Emmy-nominated Weeds. "I am a very good Christian girl," she says with a wink. "She has her moral beliefs — and she happens to smoke pot." Of her newest cast member, Kohan adds, "Mary-Kate is complicated. She's a big celebrity, a huge media icon, but you have to separate the media images from someone who has the same issues, the same desires, as anyone else." Of course, Mary-Kate's image, in all its incarnations — from high fashion to small screen — is her strongest asset. And she has yet to settle on one. "I feel like I've lived 10 different lives already and I'm only 21," she says, almost as a reminder to herself. "But I also feel like I'm entering a new chapter." One thing on which she is clear, though: She doesn't need to be looked at all the time. What would she do for a day if she were invisible? "I would probably go to a restaurant with my friends, who would be able to see me, of course," she adds pragmatically, "and I would sit outside and enjoy a nice lunch with them. Then I would walk down the street." The old soul takes a sip of her little-girl-sweet hot chocolate. "That's what I would do."

#Mary Kate Olsen #mary kate and ashley #Ashley Olsen #harper's bazaar #magazines #articles #photoshoot

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thepatricktreestump · 4 years ago

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whatever you say - peter parker imagine

A/N: I don’t normally write nsfw spidey things but my fingers just wouldn’t stop typing so please do forgive me… not any actual smut, just lots of flirting and implications of sexual favors

It was strange, but for some reason, you found complete comfort in the simplicity that was Peter Parker. He lived in a small apartment with his Aunt May in Forest Hills, went to Midtown High, and at first glance, seemed like your typical teenage boy. May worked as an ER nurse and Peter kept up on his studies, proving to be a straight A student who succeeded not only in school, but in extracurriculars and academic teams as well. He liked science and math, he was really good at building robots, and he thoroughly enjoyed memorizing equations. When he wasn’t acing his tests, he spent his free time building LEGOs and watching Star Wars in his apartment or walking through town and debating between eating pizza or sub sandwiches. He had a messy bedroom cluttered with dirty laundry, an assortment of different computer parts, and countless science textbooks and academic journals. Three months ago, when you first started dating Peter Parker, this is the boy you thought you knew.

Your life, however, felt like the complete opposite. Being the daughter of Tony Stark, your day to day was far from simple. You lived in Stark Tower with Tony, cooped up on a floor with everything you could ever want or need, a master bedroom with a flat screen television, personal jacuzzi, walk in closet, arcade- you name it, Tony had it. School proved to be a breeze, and you had your MIT valedictorian of a father to thank for that, leaving you plenty of time for your own sort of extracurriculars. Rather than hang out at school and build lousy robots with Peter Parker, you’d much rather go to the lab and work on some high tech AI coding, super suit dynamics, or machine prototypes with your dad and the other avengers. He often urged you not to get too involved for your own safety, but you found yourself growing close with Bruce and Sam, bonding over your shared love for innovation. You’d be lying if you said you didn’t take after your father.

However, months passed, and the more time you spent with Peter Parker, the more you caught onto the fact that his life might not have been as normal as you initially thought it was. He kept disappearing randomly, ghosting you on planned dates, or not showing up at school. At first you thought he was just nervous, or maybe he didn’t really like you, but upon further investigation, it was evident. His life was just as crazy as yours. Although you thought it was weird that he never bothered telling you he was Spider-Man, and even weirder he didn’t inform you that he previously knew your dad, you almost liked the fact that you could share your secret world of superhero knowledge with him. You found yourselves relating to each other by joking about Steve’s old fashioned manners or Natasha’s resting bitch face. Although, other times also through confiding secret fears or discussing worst possible outcomes.

Tonight was one of the latter, you and Peter talking on the phone despite the time reading two in the morning, him trying to ease your anxiety. “It’s just been a couple days and Tony’s still not back yet…” you sighed, shrouded by your blankets, the soft glow of your phone illuminating the dark room. “He’s with Sam and he’s probably going to be just fine, but I’m still scared. And I know, I know. I’m not supposed have knowledge about those affiliated with the mission or his location, but sometimes I just can’t help but worry.”

“It must be hard,” Peter hummed in sympathy. “I’m sorry you have to go through that. May feels the same way about me.”

You paused for a moment. “I know it’s a horrible thing to think, and I’m probably just psyching myself out but-” your voice caught, shaking your head, closing your eyes. “Sometimes I wonder what if one day he just doesn’t come back.”

“Hey,” Peter hushed. “Try not to think about that, okay? He’s Iron Man, y/n, he’s fought alien monsters and literal gods, he should be just fine. Mr. Stark never goes down without a fight, he’ll be back. I’m sure of it.”

“I just can’t sleep not knowing,” you confessed, feeling sorry for dragging Peter into your own personal troubles. “I don’t know, I’m sorry… I’m probably keeping you up, and you have a calc test tomorrow-”

“No, no, don’t apologize, you’re okay,” your sweet boyfriend insisted. He paused, listening to your heavy breathing. “Do you want me to come over?”

“W-what?” you asked, confused.

“I know it’s late but if it would make you feel better, I can come over,” Peter offered. “I’ll just come to your window and you can let me in that way. I can keep you company, you can talk to me, or we can watch a movie to get your mind off things, I don’t know. Only if you want to.”

“You’d do that for me?” you wondered, growing soft at his words.

“I just don’t want you to be sad,” he explained. “And I know it’s hard with your dad being gone and all, and sure Pepper’s there, but I know you’ve never really been that close with her, and I just- I don’t know. I feel like you’re lonely, and I want to help.”

“Yeah, thank you,” you gave a soft smile. “I mean, if you want to, I wouldn’t fight you on it.”

“Just be sure to disarm FRIDAY before I come,” he reminded. “I don’t need your dad putting bars on your windows the next time I try to visit you like this.”

“Oh right!” you suddenly came to the realization. “Smart. I’ll go do that now.”

“Cool, I’ll see you in a few. Don’t miss me too much,” he teased.

“Hey, be safe! No texting and swinging!” you reminded playfully as you hung up and instantly got to work, shedding your sheets and grabbing your laptop, sliding back into bed and working out some coding.

Just as Tony had previously set up a baby monitor protocol on Peter’s suit, he had likewise set up parental controls through FRIDAY on all of your tower floor. You learned this when you tried to sneak out to a party Tony specifically forbid you from going to, and when you finally reached the elevator doors, FRIDAY locked you inside and you had to wait for Tony to come and get you. Since then, you’d been smart enough to disarm the system anytime you left your room after curfew or got into any other business Tony would obviously disapprove of. Spider-Man sneaking through your window at two in the morning to give you comfort cuddles? Probably something your father would disapprove of.

Peter tapped twice and waved, you rolling your eyes and laughing, motioning for him to come in before he slid up the glass of your window and crawled through, brushing off his suit and tugging off his mask, smiling once he clearly saw you sitting in bed, wearing one of his hoodies, grinning back at him.

“Hey Spidey,” you beamed, watching as he walked over towards your bed, kissing you softly. He tasted sweet, like candy, and you melted into the kiss, grabbing the back of his head and staying there for a moment before pulling away. He gave the best kisses.

“Heard someone needed some cheering up,” he whispered, tossing his mask on your night stand as you made grabby hands begging him to crawl into bed with you. He chuckled, giving in and situating himself underneath your covers awkwardly. You laughed alongside him, tugging him closer, pulling the sheets up over both of you, initially wincing at how cold his suit was when you went to wrap your arms around him.

“You’re freezing, Peter,” you hissed and he chuckled, rolling his eyes.

“It was windy outside, alright?” he sighed. “Come warm me up.”

“Well come closer, doofus,” you chuckled. He wrapped his arms around your waist and pulled you closer to him, your head resting against his shoulder, arm draped over his chest, fingers playing with locks of his hair. Your voice grew to a soft whisper. “Thanks for coming, baby.”

“Anything for you, love,” he insisted, his hand rubbing soft circles on the small of your back. The room grew quiet, his hands trailing up and down your back, your fingers brushing through his messy brown locks, both of you simply enjoying each other’s company. At some point you both fell asleep, soft snores dissipating throughout the room, holding each other.

In the morning, Peter begrudgingly convinced himself he had to get up and get ready for school, kissing you on the forehead and reassuring he’d see you at lunch later that day. You groaned yourself, realizing you should probably get up and resume FRIDAY’s commands before Pepper or Happy got suspicious as to why she wasn’t giving them any updates on your morning status. You took a shower and threw on some clothes, getting ready for the school day, smiling once you saw Peter waiting for you by your locker, a Starbucks cup in his hand.

“What’s this?” you couldn’t help but laugh in surprise.

“Well I know you were sad last night and again, I just wanted to cheer you up,” he shrugged, and you found it adorable that you had been dating for going on four months now and he still got flustered being around you. “I know you like the pink one with the strawberries and the coconuts, but they were out, so I got you a peach lemonade instead, I hope that’s okay-”

“It’s wonderful, Peter,” you insisted, taking a sip and smiling fondly at your boyfriend. “Thank you. For everything. Really.”

“Damn Peter, you’re buying y/n Starbucks now?” Ned approached both of you. “You never buy me Starbucks.”

“I’m not dating you, Ned,” Peter narrowed his eyes, laughing.

“You don’t have to kiss me to buy me a cold brew,” Ned sighed.

“Anyways,” you rolled your eyes at the two boys quarreling. “You ready for that calculus exam?”

“I studied all night,” Ned smiled. “I’ve got this one down. How about you, Parker? I bet you were up late last night studying too, huh?”

“Up late last night,” you agreed. “I don’t know about studying though.”

Ned’s eyes went wide and both you and Peter laughed, the bell ringing and all of you walking to your classes. As they day went by, you started to find your mind lingering back to your dad. As much of an asshole as he was sometimes, and as overbearing and overprotective as he could get, you really did love him and care about him. Others would probably call you lame, but you really did see Tony as one of your best friends. He helped you build amazing inventions, supported you in all your academic endeavors, and did his best to look out for you. Whenever he was gone on missions for longer than a week, you always started to get worried as far as whether or not he would come back.

Peter could sense your anxiety, trying to lighten your mood with jokes or place a hand on your shoulder as a sign of affection. Afterschool he approached you, clutching onto the straps of his backpack, seeming nervous. “I’m sorry you’ve had such a rough day. I was thinking we could take your mind off of things and you could spend the night at my place tonight?” he offered.

“Really?” your eyes lit up, thinking how you would love more than anything to get out and do something tonight. Nothing was worse than staying at home and wallowing in your feelings.

“Yeah,” he gave a soft smile, thinking about how adorable you looked when you got excited. “Aunt May is working night shift so maybe, if it’s cool with you, we can grab a pizza, play some video games, and then watch a movie?”

“Of course,” he insisted. “And we can stop somewhere on the way home to grab some snacks too.”

“I’ll give Pepper a call and ask if I can stay over tonight, I’ll probably just say I’m with Gwen or something,” you grinned. “She’ll say yes, she usually lets me have free rein whenever Tony’s out of town.”

“Awesome,” Peter beamed.

Sure enough, you found the two of you hours later on the floor of his bedroom, eyes fixated on a television screen, playing Mario Kart and chowing down on some pepperoni pizza and cherry slushies. It was practically a ritual for you to hang out with Peter on weekends. As long as he didn’t have an academic decathlon the next morning, Aunt May let you stay as late as you wanted on Fridays. Saturdays you spent fooling around in the lab working on suit modifications, recalibrating certain machinery, or working on new projects. Sundays were official lazy days, both of you usually sleeping in and meeting up midday to cuddle on the couch and watch a movie, usually wrapping up with finishing your weekend homework over facetime. However, on the weekends in which Tony or May were out of the house, the two of you liked to have sleepovers. Usually at Peter’s for the sake of having to navigate FRIDAY’s complicated algorithms.

It wasn’t like anything particularly steamy happened between the two of you. You had been only dating for a handful of months now, and you were both in high school. Sure, you and Peter liked to cuddle a lot, and hold hands, and play with each other’s hair, but that was simply just affection. And of course, you loved kissing each other, especially when nobody else was around to make fun of you or scold you. Sometimes you found yourself getting into make out sessions, pressed up against each other and finding it hard to catch your breath, hearts racing and desperately clinging onto each other.

Occasionally it would heat up a little bit more than that, some grinding and groping and moaning, and a handful of times Peter’s taken his shirt off, but that was about it. You hadn’t even really reached second base with him yet. And you weren’t complaining, you were glad you were taking things slow. But at this point, you were ready. It just felt like it was time. But you knew this was Peter’s first serious relationship, and you didn’t want to put any pressure on him or rush him into things, so you were complacent with playing Mario Kart and eating pizza in the meantime.

“I am sooo going to kick your ass,” you warned Peter, pressing down hard on your Wii remote and hitting him with a red shell as your character zoomed past him on the race track, and he simply just laughed.

“Yeah? Wait till I break out Rainbow Road,” he insisted.

“Are you actually Satan or do you just hate me?” you narrowed your eyes. “There is no way I’m playing that shit, I think I’d rather forfeit.”

“It’s all about strategy and focus,” he argued, knocking Luigi out from second place, tailing right behind you, eyes glued to the screen.

“Strategy? You sound like Ned,” you snorted, drifting a curve and heading towards a shortcut. “That racetrack is nothing but a holographic highway of death.”

“If we had it your way, we would be playing Moo Moo Meadows on an endless loop,” Peter teased and you gasped playfully.

“What? It has fun music and I like looking at the cows,” you whined and he laughed, passing you at the last minute and scoring first place, making your jaw drop. “What the hell? How?”

“What can I say? You’re dating a winner, baby,” he grinned and you rolled your eyes, shaking your head and taking another bite of your pizza.

“I’m dating a jackass,” you joked. “You can’t let me win just once? Come on, be nice.”

“I used to do that, and you made fun of me for it,” he pointed out. “Remember the first week we started dating?”

“You literally used to go in reverse until I caught up with you,” you replied flatly. “It was ridiculous, Peter. It’s not like you made it subtle that I happened to suck at the game or anything.”

“I just didn’t want you to feel bad,” he reassured, and you chuckled, taking a sip of your slurpee and sighing, leaning your head on his shoulder.

“So another round or are we going to move onto Smash Bros?” you raised an eyebrow.

“Up to you,” he shrugged, taking a bite of his pizza as well.

“How about we play another round of Mario Kart,” you suggested. “But whoever wins gets a prize.”

“Like what?” he crossed his arms over his chest, looking at the mischievous grin on your face, doubtful.

“I don’t know, a hoodie or something,” you perused innocently and he let out a breathy laugh.

“You’ve already stolen all of mine, so I’m not sure I’d have another one to give you quite honestly,” he admitted and you smiled, mind wandering elsewhere.

“What about…” you pouted your lips, trying to think up something good. “What about if I win, I get to do anything I want to you? And if you win, you get to do anything you want to me. All within reasonable boundaries of course.”

“Woah,” Peter’s eyes widened. “Is this the part when you tell me you actually work for Hydra and you gut me like a fish or something?”

“Pshh no that’s ridiculous,” you shook your head.

“What do you mean ‘do whatever you want to me?’ Huh?” he inquired, mischievously raising an eyebrow. “This seems oddly torture-like.”

“It’s not going to be torturing,” you stared at him, unamused. “I could never hurt you.”

“Then what could you possibly want to do to me?” he sighed, looking at you, entertained with your shenanigans, taking a sip of his cherry slushie.

“I dunno,” you shrugged, stirring your straw in your cup a couple times before casually telling him your suggestion. “Suck your dick I guess.”

He instantly spat out his slurpee, eyes widening, shocked. “E-excuse me, what?”

“I said if I win, I’d probably suck your dick I guess,” you shrugged again and he blinked at you, entire face flushed red, stuttering and stunned all at the same time. Your lips curled up in a small smile, thinking of how much you loved to see him like this, a literal blushing virgin. He was adorable, really.

“Well gosh, I uh…” he looked down at the red icee he had spat all over his t-shirt and then up at you, still at a loss for words. “You don’t really have to beat me at Mario Kart to get my permission to do that, you know.”

“Yeah, but this way makes it a lot more fun, yes?” you smirked and he swallowed awkwardly, absolutely frazzled.

“S-sure, I guess you’re right there,” he nodded slowly, still staring blankly at the slushie stains. “How do you know I’m not going to just let you win?”

“Because…” you drew out, looking at him, still smirking. “If you win, then you get to do whatever you want to me.”

He paused, turning towards you, breath hitching. “Anything?”

“Well again, no torture or killing or whatever but-” you clarified and he laughed, rolling his eyes.

“Yeah, of course, but uh…” he got lost staring at you again and you couldn’t help but wonder what he could possibly be thinking of. “Shit, I’m in.”

“Really?” you bit down on your lower lip, almost too excited for this bet.

“Definitely,” he nodded, feeling a bit more confident. “Just give me a second.” He slipped off his t-shirt and you watched intently, noting how built and lean he was. There were certain perks to dating Spider-Man, and it was moments when your boyfriend was sitting in front of you shirtless like this that you were ever most grateful for them.

“Well shit, Parker,” you laughed to yourself and he stared at you, confused.

“What? My shirt had slushie all over it,” he insisted and you looked at him, narrowing your eyes.

“Uh huh…”

“No for real!”

“Totally not trying to tease me or anything over here.”

“Oh whatever! Just start the game.”

“Give me a second,” you insisted, reaching down and deciding to take it one step further, slipping off your own sweatshirt and revealing your bra underneath, looking at him, anticipating his reaction. Seeing him like this, you wanted to take a picture and capture it forever. He looked breathless, staring at you, his eyes dark and fixated, his lips parted, mesmerized. You couldn’t help but smile. “See something you like, Spidey?”

“Yeah,” his eyes flickered up to yours, still blushing. “You.”

Grinning, you leaned over to kiss him, then pulled away, picking up your Wii remote and selecting your favorite racetrack. “Good luck,” you winked.

“Good luck yourself,” he laughed. “Seeing as the only time you ever beat me in Mario Kart is when my controller dies, I think you’re the one who’s going to need it.”

“Fine, to hell with luck,” you rolled your eyes as the countdown started. “Maximum effort.”

Both of you pressed down hard, zooming through the track, eyes fixated on the screen, cursing and screaming and hooting and hollering as you gained power ups and got knocked off the road by each other. By far, the most intense game of Mario Kart you’ve ever played in your life. Each round you seemed to egg each other on more and more, and although you clearly knew how this was going to end, you couldn’t help but at least try your very best. First place trophy spinning on the screen, Peter’s tongue ran over his lower lip, glancing over at you as nervousness flowered in your chest. What did he have in mind?

“I don’t think either of us saw that coming,” he stated sarcastically and you looked at him incredulously.

“Alright then Peter Parker,” you hummed lightheartedly, shutting off the television and setting your controller down, sighing as you leaned back and rest your weight upon your backwards palms. “What do you have planned for me?”

“Well…” he looked at you shyly, almost hesitant, and you began to grow even more curious. “I know you said ‘anything I wanted’ or whatever, but I want to make this enjoyable for you too, and that sure you’re okay with everything I’m doing.”

“By all means, don’t stop for me,” you insisted, small smile tugging on the edge of your lips. “If you say or do anything I don’t like, I’ll speak up. Don’t worry.” He hummed softly in acknowledgment, nodding as he looked towards the floor, still nervous, then cleared his throat.

“I think seeing as your intentions were to seduce me, I guess I have no choice but to go along with the theme,” he rolled his eyes playfully, slowly gaining confidence and crawling closer to you, making your heart beat twice as fast. He kissed you on the lips, soft and sweet and slow, and then pulled away, lowering his face so that his mouth was barely brushing up against your ear, his voice lowering to a whisper. The entire mood of the room shifted, into something more serious. “So, I think you should lay on the bed for me.”

“Whatever you say,” you smiled sweetly, trying to hide your nervousness and doing as told, getting up and making your way to his bed, laying down on your back, watching as he stood at the end, looking you up and down, licking his lips. You could tell something inside of him changed. He didn’t seem so timid anymore, afraid to suggest something or speak up. His shoulders rolled back, his feet planted solid in the ground, his entire stance exuding confidence. It was different, dominant and alluring, and you couldn’t help but be captivated by it. He was entrancing like this, dark eyes gazing over your body, shirtless, hands dipping down into the waistband of his jeans, brows furrowed, pondering what to do with you.

“Hands up. Against the bedframe,” he ordered, and you looked at him, trying to analyze what he had in mind as you tentatively did as instructed, positioning your arms above you, against the wooden frame. In what seemed like an instant, he suddenly flicked his wrists outward, webs springing from his fingers and you gasped as the sticky substance pinned your hands above you, a mess of webs fixating them to the wooden plank. You eyes widened and then narrowed.

“Didn’t know Spidey was into bondage,” you bit down on your lower lip, aroused by his dominance and playfulness all the same.

“Didn’t know you could be so naughty,” he quipped back and you blushed, trying to look away, shy.

“Nuh uh, none of that,” he argued with a chuckle, crawling on top of you and raising your face to look at him with one of his hands, making your eyes meet. “If I do recall correctly, you were offering to suck me off a moment earlier. Seemed pretty eager too.”

“Still am if that’s what you fancy, Peter,” you suggested, eyes twinkling with a glint of naughtiness, but he just shook his head, smiling.

“I think I have other plans for you tonight,” he insisted, kissing you again this time, but rougher, his tongue sliding in between your lips and up against your own, then retreating to have his teeth catch your lower lip, dragging it between them before he pulled away, devilish smirk on his face.

“Mind filling me in on the agenda?” you asked with a breathy voice, fluttering your eyelids and parting your lips, bucking your hips up to meet his.

“It involves your pants off, and my head between your legs, and you moaning my name,” his eyes flickered up to meet yours. “And then me fucking you into this bed until those moans turn into screams.”

“Holy fuck,” you whispered, eyes glazed over, staring at him, practically speechless.

“Sound good to you, sweetheart?” he hummed, fingers tracing over your stomach, playing with the hem of your waistband.

“Shit…” you laughed to yourself quietly, eyes still fixated on him, feeling unbelievably flustered. “I think I ought to up the ante on Mario Kart wins a whole lot more from now on.”

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shemakesmusic-uk · 4 years ago

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Beloved K-pop girl group Red Velvet release their brand-new mini album, Queendom alongside the video for the title track. 'Queendom' is a refreshing pop dance song featuring catchy hooks and the members’ cheerful vocals. The lyrics relay the positive message that we are all “queens” of our lives and that we shine more beautifully together.

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Kat Von D unveils the self directed cathartic new video for ‘Fear You’, the latest single from her debut LP, Love Made Me Do It, out August 27. “I wanted to create a storyline that exemplifies violence in a way that was therapeutic and not self destructive. I wrote and directed this video to tell the story of not only the pain of heartbreak, but the power of the support from the friends around you,” Kat Von D says. The visuals perfectly depict the song’s lyrical content; trust, self-exploration and the concept of overcoming your inner fears when it comes to fully committing your heart to a loved one. “The video starts off with me picking up my bandmates for band practice, but quickly discovering that Sammi and Gregg are experiencing turmoil within their relationships,” Kat says. “It inspires me to throw band practice on the back burner, and take my mates on a journey to a mystery destination.” Describing the video Kat says: “We all pile in to an immaculately restored black 1957 Chevy convertible, and embark on our journey down a desolate highway, passing a hitchhiker (special cameo of Prayers), and finally exit and park in an abandoned ghost town where I finally reveal my surprise plan to my mates after I open the truck of the car to reveal an Arsenal of weapons for each of them to choose from. This leads us to a beautiful display of all red glass objects all perfectly arranged for us to take out our frustrations on together. There’s nothing more satisfying to watch than slow motion shots of the destruction of something so delicate and beautiful. After channeling all our frustrations out into the glass, we all feel a sense of relief and return to the car to drive off into the night. One step closer to healing.”

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Lorde has dropped 'Mood Ring,' the latest song off her third studio album, Solar Power. The song comes alongside an epic music video featuring LORDE as you’ve never seen her before. Of the song Lorde says, “This is a song I am very excited about, it’s so much fun to me. Obviously when making this album I did a deep-dive into 60s, Flower Child culture. I wanted to understand the commune life, dropping out from society and trying to start again. That really resonated to me when writing this album. One thing that occurred to me as a major parallel between that time and our time is our wellness culture and our culture of spirituality, pseudo-spirituality, wellness, pseudo-wellness. Things like eating a macro-biotic vegan diet or burning sage, keeping crystals, reading tarot cards or your horoscope. These were all things that they were dabbling in back then, and that me and my girlfriends are dabbling in today. I was like “I think there’s a pop song in here”. So this is kind of my extremely satirical look at all of those vibes.”

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Liz Lawrence shares arresting and Lynchian visuals for her latest single ‘Drive’ taken from her upcoming third studio album The Avalanche, due digitally on September 17. ‘Drive’ is a rhythmically dynamic and 90s tinged analysis of the sometimes romantic, often fractious connection between people and their devices. Speaking about the video, directed by Rebecca Nicholson, Liz adds: “It's an analogue fable about the digital age. I'm consuming the promise of information but becoming more and more confused by it, while something strange and menacing is lurking outside. We wanted it to be as absurd as it is creepy and I never want to eat jelly again.”

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Electro-pop cabaret trash queen Scarlett Lashes aka Jess Haugh tackles the hot topic of wellness with full force in her single and video 'Culture and Wellbeing Committee'. Conjuring a nightmarish vision of so-called personal improvement, corporate office culture rampages wild through the suburbs in Haugh's self-directed clip — declaring "smile motherfucker" while performing lobotomies for the greater good of team-building. You'll be waving that resting bitch face goodbye when the Culture and Wellbeing Committee knock on your door. [via Under the Radar]

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Impossibly exciting top-level popster in waiting Willow Kayne has debuted a new video for her most recent single ‘I Don’t Wanna Know’. The follow-up to May’s debut offering ‘Two Seater’, ‘I Don’t Wanna Know’ was made with fellow popster of note Oscar Scheller, and comes along with a Bedroom (Beabadoobee, Arlo Parks, Sports Team) directed video which skewers ridiculous online trolls. [via Dork]

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Ellevator know how to pay homage to their influences in the very best way possible. 'Easy' is a track that offers plenty of different paths on which to embark, whether one favors the slinky, dark guitar rock of Spoon or the ever-changing sonic landscape of Arcade Fire. The track, the first off the trio's upcoming 2022 album on Canadian label Arts & Crafts chronicles lead singer Nabi Sue Bersche’s shape-shifting upbringing, heavily influenced by religion in ways that go beyond typical Sunday church outings. “As a child, I spoke in tongues and prayed until my body swayed with a gentle force like wind knocking me backward,” Nabi Sue says. “A deep and abiding love of the natural world took hold of me. I witnessed firsthand the wild power of music – how it could uplift, ensnare, console, inspire. When I was 17 I moved to the other side of the world and joined what would most accurately be described as a cult. I prayed for strangers I met in parking lots. I shut my eyes and read the dappled light between my lashes like tea leaves that could divine the future. Vulnerability was a badge in that community so I learned to overshare. Teachings were given in the language of freedom while the stiff hand of purity reduced my body to a shameful temptation. Growing up like that gave me a love of music, a nose for bullshit, and a lot to unravel. This song is about the good and evil things we are raised to believe. I was held captive by an ideology that severely limited my life and my perspective of the world around me. It’s a process I’m still in the middle of, this work of extraction." The band have certainly translated Nabi Sue’s emotional upbringing into diverse and complex work that keeps the listener guessing. 'Easy' has pulsing synths, crashing drums and intricate guitar, all weaving in and out of each other. The equally striking music video features the band and Nabi Sue performing under both a setting sun and the spare fluorescent lights of a parking garage in their hometown; Hamilton, Ontario. As she repeats the refrain “Easy does it,” close-up zooms overlap in a dizzying array. [via Line Of Best Fit]

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Alice Longyu Gao is back with a glittery and frenetic new single called 'Kanpai,' whose chorus is some silly nonsense: “My name on your lips like liquor lipstick.” It’s good fun! Here’s Gao on the track: "My best friend Madison Emiko Love and I wrote this song three years ago. Her grandma is a Japanese immigrant and we always want to champion & plug our culture everywhere we go. We’ve been waiting to put this song out, cuz back then no one with power in western music realized the power of Asian pop culture, no one really cared to put Asian talents on the table. The material world was asleep cuz they didn’t see the money-benefits. ‘Kanpai’ means cheers in Chinese, Japanese and Korean; the joyful vibe translates perfectly throughout the song. The braggy-docious, rap-y bridge part in the song is what I wish for, it’s not my reality yet. Last year was dark for me, and for everyone. But now it is time to regroup and restart, this song wakes me up in the morning, it reminds me that I came to this earth with a mission. I aspire to inspire and benefit other people’s lives. I do that through my art." [via Stereogum]

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Sydney-based three-piece Middle Kids have shared a new video for 'Stacking Chairs', the surging album highlight which encapsulates the extraordinary intimacy and creativity that gave rise to their critically acclaimed second album Today We’re The Greatest, released earlier this year. 'Stacking Chairs” reveals a band at full-flight, imbued with mellotron and great peels of electric guitar - it’s one of the most immediate songs on an album full of astonishing hooks and textures. Directed by collaborator W.A.M. Bleakley, the video mixes offbeat humour with a stylised but literal interpretation of the song’s lyrics.

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Australia-born artist AViVA makes her Capitol Records debut with 'Melancholy' — a new single and video spotlighting her immersive and electrifying brand of alt-pop. An unfiltered look at the downward pull of depression, 'Melancholy' also showcases the uncompromising originality that’s earned AViVA a passionate global following in recent years. With its moody backdrop of minimalist beats, 'Melancholy' sets its emotionally vivid lyrics to an infectious sing-song melody (“One, two, three, four/Vicious, knocking at my door/Seven, eight, nine, ten/Burn the candle at both ends”). Throughout the track, AViVA delivers a captivating vocal performance, flaunting her effortless flow and fierce yet vulnerable presence. On the single, AViVA says, “Seemingly cheerful and upbeat from the outside, it doesn’t matter what makes you feel that way, sometimes feeling down is the only way you can feel, but the power of the last line ‘it will never be the same’ is where the core message of the song lies. Even though after negative experiences things often aren’t the same, we are always free to learn and grow from our experiences. Feeling melancholy, like so many feelings, is just a temporary state. Things will, as they always do, get better.” The video for 'Melancholy,' co-directed by AViVA and long-time collaborator Jeffeton James, amplifies the song’s raw and powerful intimacy. To that end, the wildly colorful visual places AViVA in a series of isolated situations: lying in a hospital bed, trapped behind a school desk, singing to her own reflection inside the room of an abandoned and decaying home. As the song unfolds, the 27-year-old artist reveals her unapologetically punk spirit, inhabiting each frame with a feverish intensity.

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David Wrench and Evangeline Ling, aka audiobooks, have shared the video for their latest single, 'LaLaLa It's the Good Life', crafted by creative team Rottingdean Bazar and photographer Annie Collinge. audiobooks' new album Astro Tough is due for release on October 1 via Heavenly Recordings. Brighton-based Rottingdean Bazar say of the project: "We conceived and made the video with photographer Annie Collinge who we work with a lot, although usually on still fashion photographs. Rephotographing fabric prints of people is something we had already been experimenting with in stills, and whilst doing that we noticed that it lends itself to moving image. We photographed the band in a studio and laid out prints of them and other objects. After that just the three of us spent time in Rottingdean capturing the prints in movement. James (Rottingdean Bazaar) took the lead in the movement and acted as the hand model, as he has the best timing of all of us." [via Broadway World]

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Anna Akana shares new single and music video 'Wanted Woman' ft. Macedo following EP No Longer Yours. 'Wanted Woman' is about staying in your power when roaming the badlands of love. Maggie Levin, director of My Valentine and screenwriter of the upcoming Labyrinth reboot, said, "I found the song so unabashedly sexy and fun from the very first listen, and knew in my gut that underlining the lyrical concept (in rhinestones and fringe) was the only way to go. It was a real joy to to build this flamboyant, maximalist Wild West-world together with Anna, Macedo and the entire creative team. If the video looks like a party, that’s because it was."

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JoJo has released new single 'Worst (I Assume)', the lead single from her upcoming "capsule project" Trying Not To Think About It. 'Worst (I Assume)' follows May's 'Creature of Habit' track, and is accompanied by a Alfredo Flores-directed video that features a note from JoJo at the end. In the note, JoJo writes, "You know when you've been through shit in the past and it makes you put up your guard in relationships moving forward? Yeah. Over time, we develop mechanisms that try and protect ourselves from real or perceived pain. We cope with fear of potential hurt or disappointment in different ways, one of which often includes: trying not to think about it. Which may or may not lead to... The desire to stay in bed all day. The tendency to self-medicate. Withdrawal from friends/family. Disassociation. Hurting others before they can hurt you." JoJo's note also ecourages people to "keep going" and to "be kind to yourself". [via Line Of Best Fit]

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GRACEY has delivered new break-up anthem 'What A Waste' which is accompanied by news of her upcoming EP Fragile. "I wrote 'What A Waste' in the first raw moments of a recent break-up, when all I felt was the initial loss," explains GRACEY. "Everyone goes through that gut punch of disappointment and frustration at the beginning, when you’re looking back at the time, love and energy you put into something that no longer exists and you feel like you wasted your time. Luckily it’s just a moment that passes and there’s lots to look forward to on the other side, but those initial emotions are still valid. Hopefully this will help others going through something similar." [via Line Of Best Fit]

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Melbourne multi-disciplinary artist Hannah Crofts has signed with ABC Music alongside the launch of her new solo project Baby Velvet. Crofts, who sings and plays ukulele with fellow ABC Music signees All Our Exes Live in Texas, has also shared her first single under the Baby Velvet moniker today with ‘Call Me’, a retro-inspired number that showcases her strengths as a vocalist and lyricist alike. The new single is also paired with a Thelma & Louise-inspired clip created by Crofts alongside Lazy Susan and Kewl Studios, and serves as the first taste of Baby Velvet’s debut album, set for release in 2022. [via The Music Network]

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Polly Scattergood has announced a new EP, In the Absence of Light, out on September 15, made with collaborators Jim Sclavunos (Nick Cave & the Bad Seeds, Grinderman) and Glenn Kerrigan. The title of new single 'Saturn 9' is a play on the word saturnine. “Saturnine means gloomy and so we decided to write a song about emerging from this kind of darkness, this kind of gloomy heaviness, looking forward into a bright, hopeful positive space,” Scattergood explains. “I wanted the video to represent the music in a way that everyone would understand and there were a couple of key lines that jumped out to me,” says Scattergood. One was “The hieroglyphics of our soul/We keep on moving/Time evolves.” The lyrics stuck with Scattergood as she tried to figure out how to represent them visually. She found inspiration in an emoji. “The smiley face emoji came into my head,” she says. “That represents the modern day hieroglyphic. It’s what we all send to each other.” Scattergood also wanted to incorporate dancing into the video because it was a song written during the lockdown. “I liked the idea of a group of friends being out, having fun, dancing together and looking to the future,” she says. “That’s where I went with it.” The clip, which she also directed, interjects the smiley face emoji, a symbol that could also serve as a reference to the rave heyday of the early ‘90s, between scenes of aerobics dancers cutting loose to the bouncy, synthpunk track outside in ‘80s workout garb. [via Audiofemme]

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After introducing her new solo project Flossing earlier this year, Bodega’s Heather Elle is now gearing up to share her debut Flossing EP Queen Of The Mall on September 10 on Brace Yourself Records, and now she’s sharing her latest single ‘Add To Cart’. Written while on a solo trip in London between tours in the summer of 2019 “after microdosing magic mushrooms” in Abney Park, a dishevelled graveyard established in 1840, she began to think about “modern day internet nausea”. In her own words: “American statistician Edward Tufte once said, ‘There are only two industries that refer to their customers as users: illegal drugs and software.’” [via DIY]

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St. Vincent (aka Annie Clark) has shared a music video for the title track from her latest album Daddy’s Home. In the Bill Benz-directed clip, Clark rides on the back of a truck down a street, singing and playing guitar. Towards the end of the video, a newspaper flashes onscreen with the headline “DADDY HOME: Singer alleges daddy’s home from back of truck”. [via NME]

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TikTok’s favorite girl group Boys World is breaking new ground. The quintet — made up of members and close friends Olivia, Elana, Queenie, Lillian, and Makhyli — has released their new single 'Something In The Water,' a smooth and danceable pop anthem about budding crushes that arrives with a colorful music video. With no true lead singer — each member takes a turn occupying that role — Boys World is carving their own path to stardom while upending traditional girl group expectations along the way. The lyrical content of their songs reflects the reality of their lives and the band’s commitment to authenticity pushes back against any claims of a manufactured friendship. [via NYLON]

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Thai-Italian singer SILVY has released her debut single ‘XL’. ‘XL’ is a personal manifesto of sorts for SILVY – real name Silvy Pavida – and an unabashed body positivity anthem. The celebratory track is driven by a propulsive bass beat with pounding percussion. ‘XL’ also chronicles – per a press release – the artist’s past experiences with being forced to conform to her prior record labels’ ideal image, flesh out through lyrics like “People used to put me in a box / They made me something that I’m not”. SILVY said of the track via a press release: “I wanted to make a track about my story so far, and include [the] main theme of my life (body positivity). I had the time of my life working on this song.” In a voice snippet shared on Spotify prior to the release of ‘XL’, SILVY spoke about the track’s themes: “This song ‘XL’ is all about confidence. I wanted to write a song that people can sing, dance, shake their booties to with pride – no matter what shape or size they are. I really share my personal story in this one, about the time I overcame my deepest insecurity”. [via NME]

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Electropop musician Kilo Kish has just released a new single titled 'Bloody Future.' It’s a retro number fit for the ’80s with Halloween-style synths, tiny harpsichord riffs, and deadpan singing verging on spoken rap. In a press release, Kilo Kish explained that she wanted 'Bloody Future' to be a “hot and sweaty dance club” song that explores global warming, cultural changes, and an onslaught of media. “I’ve noticed myself not paying attention to critical information when the music or surrounding visual elements are alluring, beautiful, or fun,” she said. “Our society often operates in the same way, concealing insidious issues like environmental decline while satisfying with entertainment and distraction. When it all boils over, we’re left shocked and dazed. My lyrics explore this blissfully unaware feeling of still being entranced before coming to our senses.” Those themes are further drawn out in the music video accompanying 'Bloody Future.' In the clip, Kilo Kish can be seen dancing by a piano, doing garden work, and hanging out with a lifesize robot who’s fascinated by everything she experiences. The whole time, Kilo Kish is bleeding from her nose and striking poses. The casual gruffness brings to mind the work of M.I.A. — of course, it helps that the song sounds like an early cut by the rapper, too. [via Consequence]

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snowflake-of-destruction · 4 years ago

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~gives you an excuse to infodump about mermaid aus~

How does it feel to be my current favorite?

FIRST WORLDBUILDING, I SWEAR IT’S NECESSARY TO SET THE SCENE

Okay, in this world, merfolk and aquatic sirens are seen as two separate species. This is mostly perpetuated by the merfolk themselves who are peaceful versus man-eating and don’t have the same mystical vocal powers sirens use to hypnotize or paralyze prey. There are also other differences, such as jaw/tooth structure. Mermaids--many of them at least, may have sharp, interlocking, predator teeth, but sirens have a specific fang structure in the front of their mouth. Protruding fangs for causing wounds that will bleed the most with the least “effort,” the “puncture teeth” for quicker kills. There are also curved fangs for skinning/descaling prey.

These latter fangs are important for more than hunting. The siren society has a culture of scarification. Each family has a crest, with individuals therein creating their own variant when they come of age. Who you are is branded/bitten/scarred into your skin, and then you mark your mate and children. There can also be specific circumstances for marks, such as a lifelong debt. For the most part though, you only bare 1 to 2 marks (depending on if you keep your family crest and make your new tattoo separate or if you bare both a mate and an individual mark) and these are taken super seriously in both who you are and who belongs to you until the day they die.

READ MORE FOR LENGTH

Sirens dwell in the deeper trenches of the ocean for the most part and have adapted for it, and who are known to not only drown humans and eat them, but to even sometimes sneak up on a merperson swimming alone, drag them to depths where the pressure starts interfering with their ability to fight back with a clear head, overpower them, and turn (basically) cannibal.

Why do I say basically cannibal? Because the sirens are taught that really they are one common people, just adapted differently as the merfolk denied some of their true nature and excommunicated those that did not want to live oppressed. There are subsets of mers who have all sort of different tails, sizes, and talents and are still called merfolk, so why should those that “have the song” (and the taste for more than fish) be treated differently? They would also say that more merfolk (senselessly) kill sirens than the opposite, and this hate combined with the fact that Sirens hunt the surface less and less as humans grow more creative and vicious, means they are dying out.

Humans (the ones that have seen these sea creatures and believe in them at all) just know pretty-half fish= probably dangerous and don't distinguish between merfolk and sirens at all. If you’re close enough to study their teeth it’s probably too late.

Adam and Tadashi= sirens

Langa and Shadow=mermen

Miya- Either a merman or just straight up I make him a salt-water catfish to be funny. He is identified as “sidekick” more than an actual species in my mind so far

Cherry, Joe and Reki= human sailors

Oka= a human but not a sailor, someone who runs a store in a port the Matchablossom ship often restocks and Reki's former boss before he left to sail with Joe and Cherry

ARE YOU WITH ME SO FAR? GOOD, BECAUSE HERE COMES PLOT PREMISE[

THE BACKSTORIES

So we have Adam and Tadashi when they were but tiny things playing around, exploring where they were not supposed to go, and they get attacked by some other dangerous sea creature with things only getting worse when they almost get caught in a net when they flee to the shallow. The net gets very badly wrapped around tiny Tadashi’s throat and he suffers vocal cord damage and loses his main power as a siren before he even grows into it--a consequence of curiosity, Tadashi views it, and though he escapes the net, does he ever really?

Adam learns zero lessons, and a bit later in life he dabbles in a Little Mermaid type narrative with Cherry and Joe when they were younger and dumber...until they discover Adam luring more weak minded sailors to their doom and prove some people just aren't down with murder for fun and food.

PRESENT DAY

Captain Kaoru and first mate Kojiro (Though Kaoru and Kojiro keep saying Carla, Kaoru's really fancy nautical compass is the first mate, and Kojiro is just hanging around) take on the plunky Reki as a new crew mate. Reki spots Langa or vice versa and the love at first sight strikes hard. They continue to find ways to interact, but mostly moon over each other in typical teen star-crossed fashion. The “true” Little Mermaid narrative vibes begin. Joe and Cherry find out about their little meetups and warn Reki about the “dangers and demons of the deep” but Reki can’t fathom Langa being like the stories they tell.

Langa’s mother would not be thrilled with him revealing himself to a human, but the real danger for Langa, though he doesn’t know it, is when Adam hears Langa happily singing to himself about a day spent with Reki. He becomes convinced Langa has “the song” and can bend the world to his will, and runs far with the implications, convinced that he’ll somehow unite mer kingdoms, bringing the sirens out of the depths to the more hospitable merfolk territory and plentiful hunting grounds.

The only thing standing in the way is Reki and all that needs to happen is to get rid of him or have Langa do it through a little bit of trickery in saying that if Reki's love is true when Langa sings he'll grow gills.

Well, not the only thing, because then we have Matchablossom, already feeling like it's their burden to kill Adam.

And maybe I have some other tricks planned, but I feel like this is enough of an explosion of info.

Unless anyone wants to ask more questions...

#sk8 siren au #renga #matchablossom #lovematchablossom #ainosuke shindo #reki kyan #langa hasegawa #and on and on all the characters #Anonymous #infinite depths

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aelin-queen-of-terrasen · 4 years ago

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𝐕𝐚𝐥𝐢𝐚𝐧𝐭 | 𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 - 𝐅𝐨𝐮𝐫

full masterlist - fic masterlist

The next morning found all the townhouse residents asleep, Celaena decided to take her leave of her brother—how she marveled at the word—through a note, citing prior obligations that needed to be attended though he was welcome to visit her in the evening if his duties could spare him, which she left with the efficient butler, who assured her the message would be delivered. The ride back home was unexpectedly short considering the roads were teeming with entourages of families returning from their country estates for the London Season or ladies running off to modistes to have their wardrobes updated with the latest fashions before the invitations started rolling ko in.

Her relief at returning was great, though she purposefully hid from her parents—or her elder sister, Eleanor—attending diligently to her correspondence. It was a miracle the stack of letters thinned at all, considering how preoccupied her mind was. Two hours after the torment of trying to focus on her letters, Celaena gave it up in favour of returning Countess Lieven's visit from last week. There was a considerable difference in age, personality and social ranks between them but both enjoyed each other's conversation, and the russian ambassadress was excellent company. Celaena did not expect to find the woman alone—the countess' drawing rooms rarely ever were—but she did look forward to sensible conversation about politics and such and was thoroughly displeased to find that esteemed lady attempting to look interested in Lady Jersey's—another lady patroness of the Almack's and a social leader whose favourite pastime was gossip—rants about the latest love affairs of Lady Caroline Lamb, and Mrs Burnwell among other ladies, who though a sensible lady did not look much pleased with Celaena, though she could not tell if it was because of her rank or her public insult to the lady's beloved niece—Lady Perrington—at the dinner party the other day. Despite the former's thrice professed hatred for the topic, Lady Jersey lament about Caroline Lamb extensively and with all the knowledge of one well-informed of her activities. The other ladies listened keenly and with interest, and by the end of their visit, Celaena felt she knew Caroline's social life better than her own and the countess looked ready to pull her hair out.

"I cannot stand her hypocrisy," said Her Ladyship once they were alone, "condemning Caroline—as obnoxious as she is—for her 'love affairs' when her own mother-in-law is so infamous a mistress to the Prince of Wales. If she thinks it is different just because the Royal House of Hanover is involved—oh, I cannot countenance her. It is a pity she should be such a public figure that I cannot avoid her, or I should happily see the back of that one. Come, my dear," said she, noticing her friend smile behind her teacup, "you came looking for an enjoyable half hour and were instead subjected to gossip and derision. You cannot have anything to say in Lady Jersey's defence?" this said with a tone that indicated she did not know how anyone could have anything to say in Lady Jersey's defence.

"I cannot defend her, but I can understand why she thinks the situations are different—it's not because the prince regent is involved, but rather Caroline's utter lack of discretion. I could easily forgive her affairs if they caused harm to no one but herself, but alas, as it is, her husband's standing in society is affected by her behaviour." This was said in reference to Lady Heathcote's ball in July, 1813 where, after being publicly insulted by her—former?—lover, Lord Byron, she had slashed at her wrists with a broken wineglass and only her mother-in-law Lady Melbourne's prompt thinking and quick intervention had kept her from serious harm. When it became clear she had no suicidal tendencies, the whole affair attached such a ridiculous air to all the parties involved, it could not have been in anyone's favour.

"You would condone her actions if she were only being discreet?" asked Countess Lieven, surprised.

"Perhaps not condone, no," said she, "but I would not object to them. Really, she and her husband are both adults in a marriage that is less a marriage and more a business contract based on terms and conditions. If both decide between themselves that the other can look for love—or rather, a lover—outside their household, and if they can manage it discreetly, what is the harm in it? Viscount Melbourne admits himself he does not care for his wife, nor she for him. If they must remain in a marriage neither wants, I do not see the harm in looking for satisfaction outside with both spouses' consent."

"But you would not act in the same way in her place," accused she.

"If my marriage was more like hers?" she wondered aloud. "I would hope to reach an understanding with my husband we can both be happy with." Seeing her friend look unconvinced, she said, "Really, I strongly believe that if something makes you happy, you must ask yourself if it harms someone? If it does not, I would not hold myself back out of respect for society's ridiculous edicts; not at the expense of my happiness."

"Adultery would be a disrespect to one's marital vows."

"Oh, certainly," agreed she, "but are they not already disrespecting their marital vows by vowing to love each other? I would rather a husband and wife live by an arrangement that keeps both happy than be miserable trying to respect marriage vows they never truly meant."

Countess Lieven who herself was faithful to her husband—a rarity among the upper ten thousands, whose own marriage was arranged and who lived—if not happily, than in a content state of harmony with her husband, could have nothing more to say on this subject, so she steered the conversation away from it. "I suppose you are thinking of the Whitethorns when you mention that example? I admit I was surprised to hear from Mrs Burnwell earlier Mr Whitethorn appreciated your company so—oh, do not be offended, dear—it is only that I have never seen him appreciate anyone's company at all, though I say he has fine taste if he does indeed show you preference."

Celaena had been thinking of him in relation to the subject, but denied it. "I do not think their troubles can be solved simply by taking lovers." Celaena put her teacup down and leaned forward, more to stop drinking the overly sweet concoction than to show interest in the subject. "I had the impression those two do not get on because she is not suited to the duties his rank and station entails and he is not equipped with enough knowledge or patience to know how to guide her in it. They are bound by constraints of society in a marriage that makes both miserable."

Countess Lieven looked at her speculatively before the subject was dropped.

A perverse curiosity drove her to mention meeting Mr Galathynius and Lord Fenrys, which had the happy effect of inducing the countess to volunteer information about that family.

"The House of Galathynius," said she, "has been suffering from a lack of inactivity. Lord Rhoe lost a child some years ago and has not been the same since. His father abdicated his title after a severe bout of influenza in their county, but he soon recovered. The damage was done; Rhoe, the poor man was not prepared for the title and his estates and position suffered for it; now his sons take care of the properties while he pursues politics. The grandfather constantly battles them for power but he does not have half the influence as Viscount Layton—that is the elder brother, hardly social at all, so solemn and reserved but he is a responsible man. Far better than the rakes and dandies of town spending their days in the club, neck deep in debts of honor."

"Viscount Layton? I have not heard much of him at all, aside from his fondness for the written word."

"So you would not, for Galathynius is a name that does not appear in the tabloids often. The younger son does not have the trademark grave countenance of his forefathers—he inherited the ashryver charm from his mother and the elder is so antisocial, he hides himself in the country. For two boys who lost their sister and mother at an early age and were brought up by an uninterested father, they grew up to be fine indeed."

"The Countess of Narrowcreek, yes. Mrs Burnwell told me she was a fine lady."

"Lady Helen was, not pretty but so well-mannered and polite! She died of fever an year after her daughter, though some say it was the heartbreak that killed her."

"They are a big family, are they not? You said something about the ashryvers? I met one of them."

"Yes, the cousins," said she, "fine young men, all either determined bachelors or trapped in poor marriages. The ashryvers don't have their Galathynius cousins' impeccable reputations but the natural ashryver charm easily accounts for that." The Countess smiled knowingly and she shifted in her seat at the silent implication that she was interested in one of them—god forbid—and not wanting to further this idea, Celaena was obliged to put an end to this line of inquiry and introduced a generally neutral topic of conversation. Though Celaena was far too aware of the speculative look on the countess' face everytime she looked at her, the visit ended pleasantly on both sides, with one party anxious and the other intrigued with the subjects of conversation introduced.

That afternoon, Celaena was admitted into Lysandra's modest apartments by a housemaid who bade her to wait in the drawing room. Impatient to her own detriment, she thought nothing of barging into her friends' room and was wholly unprepared for the sight she was met with.

"Oh, no," said she, stupidly, "I-I came to talk, I didn't know—Captain Ashryver, I-I-oh."

Celaena flushed, prompting the colonel to fish for his clothes while he clutched the bedsheet in an attempt to cover his lower-half. The poor man looked ready to fling himself off the nearest cliff, which soothed her mortification somewhat. Like all englishwomen of respectable birth, Celaena had a suppressed but prurient curiosity that was only encouraged by the books available in her father's well-stocked library. Her odd fascination with the ladies of the demi-monde had been one of the initial reasons she extended an acquaintanceship with the courtesan who was now her dearest friend, though she soon learned to love the lady for her own merits. However, all education in that area did not prepare her for exposure to such a sight. She colored, gaped, stammered an incoherent excuse about needing air and fled the room. Her distress increased when Captain Ashryver stepped out of the room first, properly dressed to the boot.

He bowed formally, which seemed absurd given what had passed before.

"Captain Ashryver."

He flushed. "Miss Sardothein. It is—it is actually Colonel Ashryver now."

Celaena murmured vague congratulations, studiously avoiding his eyes. "I thought you were still with the army, sir, in Brussels—I am surprised to find you here. Do you know yet how long you will stay with us?"

"Six months," said he, looking away.

"Aedion," called she, startling him with her address of his given name, "I hope you know you are as dear to me as a brother. If there is anything you wish to talk about, I would happily listen to you."

Hesitation warred with trust in his eyes, and he looked cautiously towards the bedroom.

"I will not betray your confidence to anyone," she assured him firmly.

Aedion looked at his hands, blonde strands of hair falling in front of his eyes. "I was offered a posting here in London and—and I am not sure if I can accept it."

"It must be hard," she observed, "to give up a career you spent half your life pursuing."

"It is, and yet, it is not the only reason. I didn't choose to go to the army—I—when my grandfather found out about my inclinations," this word was spat out with enough venom that she knew what he thought about the man, "he sent me there and I accepted it as my lot, as if I were a second son. I don't know if father knows why I insisted on joining the army but, gods, I did belong there, with my men—there were some others from aristocratic families like mine who hoped any unusual proclivities would be beaten out of us there. It was just part of a job—killing people was not a good thing or a bad thing—it just was. But I was at Hougomont, Celaena," this being one of the chateaus in the village of Waterloo, "and by God, I never saw so much death as I saw there, so many friends dead, their wives widowed, their—their children orphans. I did not—if I have to see a war half so drastic as that again, I do not think I will survive it."

Celaena reached for his hand, frowning. "Then why hesitate?"

"I did not go there by choice; he—my grandfather, that is—forced me into it and he will not be pleased if I am against him. If he decides to cut off my allowance, on a colonel's payroll alone, I will not have nearly enough to pay off Lysandra's debts."

"I can help with that—"

"No." His voice was soft, but firm.

"Aedion, don't be foolish. You haven't much choice. You said yourself you could not survive another war and I could—"

"I said no."

"Pride goeth before a fall, colonel."

"Pride!" exclaimed he, looking resentful at the implication. "It is hardly that. You know what Arobynn did the last time you tried to pay off those debts—and whatever you can spare from your allowance, you need to save for your own future. Lysandra is not the only one bound to a monster by law."

She did know, but because she felt like being difficult, Celaena scoffed. "Say what you mean, sir. You do not wish to have help from a woman. If it had been a male friend offering instead, you would have jumped to accept—"

He threw his hands up. "You are putting words in my mouth."

"I am saying what you are too proud to admit out loud."

Aedion did not take the bait, replying calmly that he would not save one of his ladies from the Hamel's fire only to throw the other in it. Celaena could find nothing snappish to say to that, but having gotten over her own embarassment, she was determined to be difficult. "This is all well and good," said she, "but I hope the next time you will lock your door."

"The maid knew to leave you here," argued he. "If you had followed the instructions—"

"Instructions!" cried she. "This is not an army camp, colonel, and I am not a fellow soldier under your authority."

"I say, a good thing you are not. You have not the discipline for a soldier's life."

"If all your men are as disagreeable as you, I am happy to have missed the chance." Clamping down on the very inappropriate desire to stomp her foot on the ground, she turned her face away. "At least I am well-mannered enough to not lay blame on others for my own faults."

"Fine manners you have indeed, walking into someone's bedroom unannounced."

"The door was open," argued she, weakly.

"The latch broke last night," he flushed and she decided she did not wish to know how. Celaena felt a pair of accusing eyes fixed on her. "But the incident was a fitting punishment for you—I hope you will think twice before doing that again."

To no one's surprise, they retreated into a calm silence while their tempers cooled off. Both were impulsive and hot-headed, too similar to never fight and too prideful to give in, and they had surprised everyone—including themselves—by striking up a lasting friendship that had suffered through time and distance. Propriety dictated an unmarried woman could not write to a bachelor, so she had her father address it for her; society said they would be ruined if they were found together without a chaperone, so they started meeting in each other's homes, where they could not be found at all; decorum demanded they speak not a word of love untill the gentleman offered marriage—and that the lady should not at all say anything but a polite yes, so they talked of everything but marriage. Their showdowns with each other were frequent something to watch—and friend was not at all an ideal title to assign to an eligible gentleman; it raised many an eyebrow at balls and dinner parties where the Colonel was so attentive to her, and all felt certain a marriage proposal was not far away. Speaking materially, it would be a splendid match—with his rank as the penniless second son of an earl—and her, an accomplished society woman with an inheritance big enough for all to overcome the worst of their prejudices about trade. It would have been a splendid match; if he wasn't taken and if she was more amicable to the idea of marriage, that is. Celaena thought guiltily of all he had done for her, fending off suitors determinedly like a dutiful elder brother all the while pretending to be one, and she wondered shortly what he would say if he knew who she was. Did he know her brothers, or Lord Fenrys perhaps? He would be sceptical at first, she knew, and then he would be pleased she was close to being free of Arobynn's shadow. Celaena looked up to do something—to tell him perhaps or to apologise? But there, he had his eyes fixed on her already—his eyes, thought she, were turquoise blue ringed with gold. Oh.

Celaena rose from her seat, saying unsteadily, "Forgive me, but I just remembered I have an appointment at my modiste."

"I can drop you—"

"No, no," she was already out of her seat, donning her cloak, "I came in my carriage. Pray, tell Lysandra I will return tomorrow."

The carriage ride back home was so short, she hardly felt it. Celaena had not much time to ruminate on her present realisation, but she felt stupid at her distress a few minutes ago. Her new family—a reality which had seemed like such a surety this morning—was now shrouded in doubts. Aedion had not recognised her as his cousin for years, and if he who was practically her mirror image by all accounts, did not, no one else could be expected to believe her claim by one look at her face. But what other proof had she? It was with near trepidation that she entered her house, and was happily recieved by her brother who had been waiting in her parlor for a half hour.

"I thought," said he, "I should personally come to you with an invitation to a dinner party tonight at my home—our home, rather. I should like to reintroduce you to relations who are already in town—they have all been waiting so long, Aelin, if you like? You are acquainted with most of them already, and I know father wishes to apologise."

"He does? I hope he is feeling better after that—that attack." Celaena thought ashamedly how little consideration she had given him except to worry the others might follow his lead, believing her to be a fortune huntress.

"He is," assured James, "He refused to believe me when I told him—and then to see you, looking so much like mama, he was overset. But he is fine now, and very remorseful, dearest. I hope you will not hold that first impression against him for long—we had all quite lost hope, and it seems fragile still, like I would look away from you for a moment and you would disappear into the mist, he was being cautious."

"I will try my best," she promised in an attempt to appease.

Celaena knew she was blessed with a handful of attractive features that compensated for the majority of average ones; and, by early adolescence, she had discovered that with the help of cosmetics, these average features could easily match the extraordinary assets. Vanity she had always acknowledged freely to be her chief sin after pride, and she felt her nerves ease at the familiar ritual of having herself pushed into a pretty dress, her hair tugged and pulled before an event. By the time she was dressed in a fine evening gown of soft pink muslin, golden curls pinned atop her head with diamond pins gifted by her brother—a family heirloom, apparently—she was almost beaming on her brother's arm. In the carriage, she distracted herself by asking him questions about his involvement in the House of Lords, their father's health and had the immense pleasure of hearing him talk about meating Madame d'arbley who wrote Cecilia, which had been her favourite novel since she first read it. The talk soon turned to the night's guests and she inquired after their identity.

"You already know Fenrys and the younger Mr Whitethorn; Fenrys' parents will be there, as will our father and Rowan's parents, his elder brother is out of town and his younger sister, Mrs Parkinson and her husband could not attend, and the little Whitethorn boys will come too; though their mother holds the traditional belief that children should eat in the nursery until they are fifteen, so I do not know if they will be present at dinner."

"Rowan—that is Mr Whitethorn's given name, yes? I met his children before," said she, "in the park yesterday. They were sweet, well-mannered boys."

Her brother allowed it to be so, regaling her with anecdotes of their youth and Celaena felt she had never spent a half hour half as entertained before.

"Really, Rhoe," said Lady Meave, rising from her seat, "you are being absurd. I would think thirteen years of grief would make you accept it, but you are starting to grow more deranged with time."

The family members had all arrived a half hour ago when Rhoe explained the purpose of the meeting. James believed that the family would be informed of the situation before meeting Aelin so the element of surprise would not bring out ill-mannered reactions and accusations like this one and Rhoe had agreed to do it himself as the head of the household, though whether he did out of obligation or out of a desire to redeem himself in Aelin's eyes, Fenrys could not tell. Their cousins had more or less recieved the news with good grace, curious but tentatively delighted. The Whitethorns were curious, though Lady Mora expressed her delight at the news repeatedly and tearfully. Lord Jared was more reserved in his congratulations—a reserved disposition was a Whitethorn trait—as was his son, Rowan, who seemed more curious than anything else. His wife made incoherent noises about how nice it must be to be surrounded by all of one's relations, which made her husband stiffen. It was public knowledge Mr Whitethorn's relationship with his mother-in-law was contentious. She was a widow who lived in her father the earl's home, infamous for her very public affairs with Lord Shuttleton and the Marquess of Mowry, and did not have much regard for propriety or morals. The Earl had recently sent her back to live with her relations in Scarborough, prompting Mrs Whitethorn to insist her mother be invited to stay indefinitely in her home instead, an idea which Mr Whitethorn did not approve of. This served to increase the tension between the mismatched couple, and that Mrs Whitethorn seemed wholly unaware of it only served to aggravate her husband more. Fenrys was saved from replying when Lady Meave having finally processed the news, loudly and fervently denied it.

Rhoe did not look at all perturbed. He said, "We thought Aelin died, because we found a girl's dead body—which was unrecognizable—and an anklet near it. I am now ashamed I did not once consider it might not be her, for if I had, perhaps she would have been with us—but I do intend to make up for the lost years, cousin. I believe the anklet we procured was either circumstancial evidence or a delibrate cover-up. I have hired private investigators to look into the matters, though we have not much hope, but as it stands, I believe—no, I know—Aelin is alive and will be joining us all for dinner. Oh no," he added quickly, holding up a hand to forestall their aunt's objections, "This is not a discussion where Your Ladyship can pitch in her own two cents. If you are not prepared to acknowledge Aelin, you may see yourself out."

"You are putting a lot of faith in a fortune-hunter."

"Really, my lady," interrupted Fenrys, bemusedly, "I have met the lady on three occassions before; I can assure you she looked like an ashryver—"

"That proves nothing!" cried she, acerbically. "How do we know she is not one of your father's by-blows, hoping to extract a fortune? You are the one who put this whole idea in James' head—so perhaps, perhaps you are in cahoots with her."

"Sister!" exclaimed Mora, wide-eyed at the acid spewing from her mouth.

Poor woman—bless her gentle heart—looked scandalized her sister would even think those accusations, let alone voice them out loud. Rowan patted his mother's arm, looking pained while his father turned all sorts of blue and red. Lord Jared was offended on the behalf of his dearest friend—Fenrys' father, the Earl of Bedford. To Fenrys, the idea that his noble, stuck-up, proper and prudish father would have a mistress—let alone a bastard child—was laughable.

"Hold your tongue there, Meave," chided Lord Jared disapprovingly. "This childish petulance does not become you."

"You believe him?" Seeing none of them deny the accusation, she said, "If you are determined to fool yourself, please do. I will have no part in the downfall of this family." And so saying, she turned on her heel and left.

"If anyone else has grievances with this new discovery," said Rhoe, "they may join Meave in her self-inflicted banishment from my homes."

"Oh, Rhoe," said Lady Mora, defending her sister. "I hope you will forgive her. The news was very much surprising, and I think she was much surprised. I am sure she was only being cautious to save you from one she thought was a fortune hunter. We are all very happy little Aelin is back." Fenrys thought he would not assign so pure a motive to his other aunt's outburst but Mora was a compassionate soul, incapable to think meanly of others so he let the statement go unchallenged. Before the silence could turn awkward, he heard Colonel Ashryver say dryly, "Well, at least when Aelin comes, we can assure her there is no lack of entertainment here."

"If I recall, she was rather fond of drama as a child," agreed he.

"No, no, that was Fenrys," said a voice in the doorway. "Aelin just liked to follow him in whatever he did." James looked affectionately at his sister, escorting her inside.

Aelin smiled at Fenrys who kissed her cheek. "Welcome home, Aelin."

"It's Lady Aelin now, sir."

Two different voices called 'Miss Sardothein?!' though no one paid them much attention as Lord Rhoe stepped forward tentatively in front of his daughter.

"Aelin," he said.

Fenrys tried instead to look at Rowan and Aedion, both of whom were gaping inelegantly but failed, eyes repeatedly snapping back to Aelin who was watching the old man warily. She returned his bow with a curtsy, then rose on her toes to kiss his cheek. "Father."

Lord Rhoe said tearfully, "Oh, Aelin."

"It is all forgiven," said she quietly, in response, "I was surprised too."

He was almost disappointed when Aedion interrupted the father-daughter reunion. "You," said he accusingly, turning to the lady of the hour, "You knew the truth this morning?"

"Yes."

"You didn't tell me."

"With all the commotion of the morning—which by the by was your fault—I did not realize," said Aelin. "And when I did, I was too surprised to do anything more than flee."

"Wait," said James, suspiciously. "This morning? I thought you were to attend your business affairs this morning, Aelin."

Aedion's face flushed, matching Aelin's in it's hue. "Yes, well," she said, "I had, uh, some calls to return."

"You called on Aedion?" asked Fenrys, surprised.

It was terribly improper for a gentlewoman to call alone on a bachelor, but with her formerly a tradesman's daughter, Aelin did not bother to stick with the more ridiculous edicts of society; she would not have accepted their dinner invitation if she had. Besides as far as he was concerned, Aelin could grow two heads, murder someone or dye her hair lavender and he would still consider her perfect. Fenrys did not know about the others but he had missed the little spitfire terribly; pranks were not nearly enough fun without her trying to stifle her giggles by his side.

"I did not call on him; rather, on a friend he too was calling on," she defended herself. Her face was red.

James narrowed his eyes, looking between them. "You are courting each other!"

"Heavens no!" said Aedion. "Believe me, you have nothing to fear on that account." At the look of mock-offense on her face, he smirked. "You are not half as pretty as you think you are, Cel—Aelin."

"Did I permit you to address me so informally?" she asked primly. "Considering I look almost the same as you do, my appearance is not something you should be disparaging, colonel."

Rhoe huffed in amusement, "Yes, well, come along, children, there are others waiting to be introduced."

And so they did, though Fenrys could tell James was not yet convinced there was nothing between the two. Lady Mora was every bit as pleased as she had claimed, greeting her cousins' daughter with pure delight. Lord Jared was more formal, though not at all unkind. Mrs Whitethorn had a distracted air towards her, though she did smile pleasantly and Fenrys could detect no animosity in her. It was Mr Whitethorn—Rowan—whose reaction surprised him the most. He looked—pained, almost—which did not quite make sense, though perhaps that was just his discomfort with strangers shining through. The civilities were only just exchanged when the butler announced dinner was ready and the whole party proceeded inside in an informal order, Rhoe ditching the normal propriety edicts in favour of leading his daughter into dinner. He seated her at the opposite end of the long, mahogany table as himself, in the seat reserved for the mistress of the house.

Aelin's answering smile was a lot more genuine than before.

Dinner passed almost pleasantly, the seven course meal enough to sustain the conversation for some time and if the silence ever stretched, it did not stay long. With fine conversationalists like Fenrys and James at the same table, and with Aelin's lively manners the atmosphere was merry enough to overcome even the infamous Whitethorn reserve, Lord Jared expounding passionately on the fine horses in his stables on such occassions when provoked. Mr Whitethorn talked animatedly of books—but only with Aelin and only when she delibrately directed her statements to him—and even Mrs Whitethorn ventured a few shy remarks here and there. They were in the best of spirits when in the middle of the dinner by the end when the men stood up to retire to the study for port—a traditional seperation of sexes following dinner—when the door opened. The poor butler hastily entered the room behind the new addition, struggling to keep up with the man's but determined to follow the protocol, announcing to the room between pants, Viscount Preston, Lord Edward Galathynius of Graceview.

Celaena's fork clattered on the floor; her eyes were fixed on the dark-haired man, curls just barely pushed away from his face. A light pink tinted his cheeks and the tip of his nose—a result of the biting wind outside—and dust clung to the lapels of his overcoat, white cravat almost coming apart. Edward's eyes so identical to her own were entirely cold; he bowed formally to the dinner guests and she had the impression he had stormed inside unaware of them. He did not see me, she thought, embarassed as he was at having the attention directed at him. Edward's eyes went over the crowd in a quick movement and he murmured polite greetings—until they caught on her and her heart thumped wildly inside her chest. Edward's noble mein was intimidating and his features arranged neutrally and she worried the boy whose memory she had clung to for years was but an illusion until he whispered her name 'Aelin' with a quite awe and muted wonder; for the first time, it felt like hers. Then he choked on a sob; Aelin was running at him and he had his arm around her, a movement so natural like he had been doing it all his life.

Aelin buried her face in her brother's neck, trying to commit his scent to memory.

"Shh," said he, lovingly, caressing her cheek with one hand, "Please don't cry, dearest."

"You smell like horses," said Aelin, tearfully. "It's making my eyes water."

Edward threw his head back and laughed, a sound rare enough, she could feel her cousins' surprise from behind them. He sighed quietly, a small, contented noise that made her smile. "I missed you, Aelin, though I know I have no right to say that. Had I done something differently—"

"Ridiculous man," said Aelin, tenderly wiping the tears from his cheeks. "James told me you were not four and ten; what could you have done? I have long since learned not to regret what has passed and make the best of my lot. I had a good life, brother," she told him, squeezing his hands, "if not a perfect one. I—I was brought up with an education no lady recieves. It suits my disposition perfectly and you may call me selfish but I am happy I had that chance—though I wish we had more time together."

Edward smiled softly, "We have all the time in the world now."

"Perhaps not all the time," she teased with an imp-like grin, seeing the whole table's attention fixed on them, "After all, you are in dire need of a bath and if I am forced into your vicinity for another half hour, I shall faint from the horror of it." Edward too stiffened, and she realised the extent of his shyness. "Refresh yourselves, sir," ordered Aelin, in her best haughty tone, and had the desired effect of making him laugh, "and when you are ready, you may call for me. I will bring a dinner tray to you and we may talk all we like."

Edward bowed gallantly. "I am but your loyal servant, madam." He kissed her cheek and she detected in him a hesitation to leave.

"I will not go anywhere," assured Aelin, smilingly, "I promise I will not."

Edward formally took his leave of the dinner party and retired to his rooms. Aelin collected herself, joining the ladies with an enthusiasm she did not feel.

No one commented on the happy tears that flowed from her cheeks.

tags: @thesirenwashere // @courtofjurdan //@little-crow-corvere // @the-dark-swan // @queenofgreenbriar // @clockworkgraystairs // @julemmaes // @rowaelinforeverworld // @mymultiversee // @queen-of-glass // @strangely-constructed-soul // @mijaldraws // @http-itsrebecca // @aesthetics-11 // @lord-douglas-the-third // @flowersinvegas // @towhateverend17 // @aelinchocolatelover // @justabunchoffandoms // @cool-ish-nerd // @faerie-queen-fireheart // @sad-book-whore // @didsomeonesayviolin // @atozfantazyxx // @hizqueen4life // @the-gods-killer // @booknerdproblems // @annejulianneh111 // @firestarsandseneschals // @b00kworm // @mysweetvillain // @moondancer-204 // @thesurielships // @witchling-leonor // @ladywitchling // @amren-courtofdreams // @ifinallygavein // @jlinez // @faequeenaelin // @df3ndyr // @in-love-with-caramel-macchiato // @bitchy-knees // @superspiritfestival // @xx-fiona-xx // @stardelia // @maastrash // @miihlovesnoone // @totenhamboys20 // @sanakapoor

#throne of glass #rowan x aelin #rowaelin fanfiction #throne of glass fanfiction #tog fanfiction #rowaelin #rowan whitethorn #aelin ashryver galathynius #sarah j maas

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artificialqueens · 4 years ago

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A Series Of Mutual Feelings, 1/3 (Scarjah) - Pazinae

chapter 1: i hate u (and the feelings mutual)

Chapter Summary: Ra'jah is determined to have a fresh start and be a better person, now enrolled as a first year fashion school student- but Scarlet has a way of always making her newfound plans falter. With a rocky high school history, the (not so) fortuitous pair endure some mutual hatred

A/N: enemies 2 luvers scarjah everyone xoxo meant to be a oneshot, but got a little carried away n my doc for this is currently 19 pages long ahaha so to be more palatable it will be a 4 chapter story (its says 3, but you'll see). this one is mainly the intro for the story to understand where they're at emotionally in the present, and is mostly ra'jah centric on her growth + kylie friendship fluff bc theyre the cutest, and a bit of scarlet pov. feedback super super welcome, enjoy !!!

***

Scarlet strode down the hall with a sway in her hips, her heels clacking on the laminate floor. What kind of tacky ass bitch wears heels to school anyways? Ra'jah scoffed internally, watched the girl saunter like she's on a tightrope, each tantalizing step brought her foot exactly in front of the other. Her body fell into a rhythm, stomping the fucking campus like a lion stalking the jungle for the sheer fun of watching it’s prey scamper. Scarlet's bouncing skirt, her signature grin and luscious ginger curls sprouting out her scalp made her gag. And not in the stunning way. Just as quickly as she came she was gone, and, to be fair, she was just another girl sandwiched in the masses just getting to where she’s going. But she could pluck that arrogant little redhead bitch out of any crowd. Not a conscious choice of course, hell, being reminded of her sheer presence causes a battle of trying not to roll her eyes behind her skull. She can't help that she sees her. Not when Scarlet's lips are painted the same shade of bold crimson as the tight, sleeveless top she's wearing, like a fresh drop of blood in a sea of grey clad bodies swimming around in their hoodies.

This isn't high school anymore Ra'jah. A repetitive reminder that needs to be said evermore until it's understood at her core. Because It's different now, she knows that- it has to be. No fucking way are her dreams going to get caught up in everything again, they're too big to be put at stake. She can't live just to be like that again, and this time she's too grown to waste her time on useless people. High school was a bubble, a 4 year trance that she's left and is more than ready to forget about.

"Hey, Ra'jah!" That southern, velvety voice could only belong to one stunning woman. She turned around to spot her speed walking to catch up.

"Aye! Kylie!" Ra'jah stopped and gave a little wave as Kylie approached, her highlight shining even in the shitty indoor light. The two moved over to the side of the hall, and leaned against the wall. "If it isn't Miss Kylie Sonique Love," With such a pleasing name, Ra'jah doesn't think she will, or, really can ever get tired of saying the other girl's name. "What's up?"

"Nothin', just tired as fuck," It's kinda cute, the way her accent gets stronger when she's grumpy. "I'mma pass out at some point, I did not get enough sleep." Even as a grumble her voice is so soft and angelic, Ra'jah could probably fall asleep to the blonde reading true crime murder stories.

"Goddamn, it sure as hell doesn't show!" Which is true, Kylie was as effervescent as always, any visible messy hair from under her beanie looked intentional. Even in her oversized t-shirt and shorts, there was an undeniable, captivating charm about her that made it impossible for her to look bad "You look gorgeous girl"

"Awh, thanks honey," She smiles a soft, hazy smile. "You don't look too bad yourself." She hums, eyeing her up with a grin. Before she could even argue a response, the country girl quickly perks up and slaps her hand on Ra'jah's shoulder in excitement. "Oh also! I want your opinion- I'm thinking about dying my hair pink." She can see the visible sparkle in the pair of eyes looking at hers. "Thoughts?" She asks, voice becoming giddy "Oooh bitch! You better, that'd be so fierce!" The (mostly) purple haired girl exclaimed, delight evident in her voice "For real, you'd look so good. And you know, ba-BY" she claps her hands together just for added emphasis, "I support ALL the impulsive hair decisions".

"Yess, obviously I want input only from bad bitches with the best hair"

"I told you I did these myself right?" she asked, running her shoulder length hair through her twirling fingers. "I've been really into doing hair recently"

"Wait, really? It looks so pretty, the fade to purple is so good"

"What'd you mean 'wait really' hoe, what you implying 'bout my hair skills?"

"Just that a talented woman like you should share your expertise!" Even when she was loud her voice was just as comforting, the tone reminiscent of a silk blanket on her skin

"All it took for me was bleach, a bottle of violet Arctic Fox dye, and the holy spirit of Brad Mondo"

"First of all I'm not trusting no mans named Brad," Ra'jah cackled a little because, yeah that's fair. "And secondly, if you're free, come an' help a girl out then!

"You're inviting me over? Wow we're moving kinda fast Kylie"

"Oh shut up bitch" but the undying twinkle in her eye confirmed the unsaid agreement that Ra'jah would be doing Kylie's hair, at some point.

"I'm free on Thursday, can I visit then?"

"Yea that works" She smiled, and the closeness between the two wasn't something the taller girl ever planned, or really felt before. But she had it now, a friend she really cares about, and she never wanted to lose it.

"Shit what time is it?" Even in her Shitty Human era she was still a timely gal, her mother didn't raise no late hoe. "Don't stress it Raj, we have like 15 minutes. Introduction to drafting and sewing, right?"

"Yes ma'am. Wanna start going?" "Sure thing" This year is for a new start, making new friends, and getting a chance to create new first impressions. Rebrand herself y'know, and the hindrance that is Scarlet's existence, wrapped in all the ancient things she'd rather not think about, won't stop her.

The walk to class was a pleasant blur. With Kylie yawning and walking essentially shoulder to shoulder with Ra'jah had they been the same height, they slipped into both comfortable conversation, and silence. With all the noise around them, their presence brought an ease without any awkwardness.

A trek opted through the outdoor route that was albeit a tad longer, provided some well needed greenery and fresh air.

"You excited for class?" Ra'jah asked, only half aware of where she was walking to. Her body was on autopilot, and Kylie knows the way, probably.

"You're amazing if you can get excited by class"

"It's fun!"

"Only 'cause you're good at it"

"You're good at it"

"You know what I mean. Isn't this one your favorite?"

"It's not my favorite"

"Uh huh"

"I just like it a lot. Maybee essentially jus' cause I don't hafta try" It was a mandatory course, but Ra'jah's not complaining. Perhaps it's a little vain to enjoy something just to remind everyone you can do it, but it was an easy break from the rest of the courses. And a nice little egoboost.

"So I'm right!"

"C'mon it's October and we're still on basic techniques"

"It's called introductory," She remarked. "Do you even pay attention half the time?"

"No but bitch neither do you"

"True" Kylie grinned in agreement.

"The way you're coming for me but it's easy for you too!" She hasn't been sewing as long as Ra'jah, but she has great taste so it really balanced out. "And let it be known that I use that class time to think about incredibly productive things"

"Oh that's her name?"

"What?" She didn't mean for her tone to drop. Didn't mean for her legs to stop walking, planting themselves into the cement. Didn't mean for the smile on her face to plummet at the implication. Her visceral reaction was louder than the cluelessness she gave off.

"Calm down" She giggled, as if Ra'jah's reaction woke her up from her grogginess, her breathlessness equivalent to a shot of espresso for Kylie. "You just seem really occupied sometimes is what I meant"

"Me? No I'm not" She couldn't convince herself.

"Okay babe. The models of your fashion sketches just look a little reminiscent"

"You know Scarlet isn't the only person with ginger hair right?" Ra'jah bites back, the condescending tone not her intention, but not exactly unwanted in the moment. Scarlet is insufferable, she doesn't want her own name slandered is all, being associated with the arrogant shit.

"Baby, I ain't mention Scarlet. That's all you.'' She had a shit eating smirk and maybe Ra'jah takes everything back about how nice friends are. IF there was inspiration, Scarlet is objectively nice looking so it's not a big deal there might be similarities if you squint.

"She was implied"

"If you want her to be"

They get inside and take a seat at one of the large tables, divided into stations with a sewing machine and some material at each one. Ra'jah takes a spot at the edge, with Kylie seated to her right.

On paper, it's all been planned out for Ra'jah; during her strolls between classes she'll take in all her surroundings and actively look for inspiration, pondering all the natural shapes and patterns of the world in a way she can manipulate into clothing. On paper, she'll make the most out of the introductory class, sketching designs between the minimal notes and sewing practices. On paper, she'll finish the mornings class with ease and have extra time to practice some new things.

In reality? Paper is flimsy, especially when its accountability is held by a fleeting mind. It's hard to bask in the world when unwanted questions plague her head. Mostly revolving around a certain redhead. God, fuck her. Fuck her pretty eyes and fuck her sculpted face and fuck her euphonious voice. Does everyone who sees Ra'jah see her patheticness? How she allowed some cunt to infiltrate her mind, set up home in her head and take up all the space? Let her infect every cell in the brain like a parasite until her skull is nothing but an infiltrated shell for an infestation caught up with infatuation?

"Ra'jah, you good?" The girl sat across from her, Trinity, piped up, and Ra'jah had to bite back a smile. The icy, timid girl she met just a few weeks ago was starting the conversation.

"Yeah, I'm fine, why?"

"You just looked a little spaced out"

"Nah, it's just that this class is a breeze an' I'm just thinking about a project for another class"

"Mmm"

"Plus it's hard to just think of designs when there's no inspiration"

"I mean, we're supposed to practice gathering and making ruffles right now"

"Oh shit! We are?"

"Yeah girl!" Ra'jah, shaking her head at herself, finally picked up some of the fabric around her and got to work. "You'll be alright?"

"Oh don't worry about me! I'm all good"

"Okayyy if you need anything just yell" Ra'jah replied with a hum and a nod. Watching the girl running the fabric under the machine, memories of the first time they'd talked flashed, days of the nearly silent girl feeling so distant.

"I really like your earrings" The girl raised her head, looking left and right a little as if making sure it was directed at her.

"Thanks." She mumbled, vaguely looking at Ra'jah's direction.

"If you don't mind, where'd you get them?"

"Uh, I thrifted it."

"Oh, cool" Ra'jah smiled, before quickly adding "Thanks". The raven haired girl didn't reply. The start of the intriguing game of 'does she hate me, is she shy, or both?'

After all the awkward attempts made for the quiet girl to be comfortable and maybe make a friend, a sense of pride rang through her. She met Kylie and Trinity here a mere month ago, and yeah, maybe she could be nice. She could walk the fineline of warm socialization without being annoying. The new Ra'jah doesn't do unnecessary mean quips just for the sake of a little power rush. She can be authentically her while being polite. New Ra'jah makes friends- not enemies.

"Oh by the way" Ra'jah snapped her head up at Trinity's voice

"Yeah, what's up?"

"I know it's a little random but do you know what you're gonna be for Halloween?"

"Huh. Well, I haven't really thought about it" Ra'jah remarked, "I just don't care for Halloween and all that"

"Really? Girl, you're not gonna do anything, dress up, go out, nothing?"

"Baby all that work and money for some costume I'll wear once? No ma'am- and the fuck will I do, I barely have ideas for school!"

"Hey, you could wear anything and it's a costume. Wear a black dress, you're a cat"

"You think I'm that basic?"

"Yeah?"

"Fuck you" She snorted, and Trinity had a goofy smile, looking at Ra'jah with a sense of familiar fondness. "And thanks, really, but I don't care for all that spooky shit anyways"

"Damn, alright!" Teeth out and all, she laughed. The blonde on the right leaned in a little, a pleasant opposition of Trinity's hesitation is Kylie's eagerness

"Jesus Ra'jah, what did Halloween do to you?" The southern girl butts in. "You could dress as the grinch of Halloween, steal children's candy"

"You know what, yeah, I'll be a sluttified grinch"

"You're kinda built the same already" Trinity joins with a grin

"Hey!"

"Sluttified? Are you implying the grinch isn't sexy enough?" Ra'jah choked a little at that, found herself smiling with some dopey content, at what exactly she's not sure.

"Do ya'll think being the grinch would count as like, being a furry?" Trinity asked, voice dripping in an odd amount of seriousness.

"What? Baby no" Kylie jumped in. "Yes! absolutely, how would it NOT?" Trinity argues, and maybe it's the easiness of everything. Of how nice it is to just fall into banter when you let people in. Bouncing off the two girls, she doesn't need to think of how to be funny, how to one up herself, remind everyone of why she's worthy. She can just, be. And that warrants a smile.

With Ra'jah's elbow propped on the table, she rested her cheek against her palm to face forward, before turning a little to face Trinity

"But why do ya ask Trin? About Halloween"

"Oh, kinda last minute but I just want some ideas to figure mine out" She shrugs, and Kylie leans over once more. It's a little heartwarming, how physically close she always instinctively wants to be.

"Oh! Are you going to the Halloween party this weekend?"

"Nah parties aren't really my thing"

"Awh, but it'll be fun!"

"Yeah standing in a mass of people I won't talk to will be so fun"

"Fine- Ra'jah, are you goin'?" Rajah turns her head to follow the voices like a cat keeping up with a beam of light.

"Uh..."

"RIGHT, forgot, Halloween's not your thing". A party where she can have a disguise, let loose and have fun. It feels almost embarrassing to admit to her newfound friends that she's never been to a party, and the thought of a Halloween party didn't even cross her mind. Maybe Halloween isn't not her thing, it's just not something she'd indulge in. For reasons. Like, schoolwork.

"Welllllll…" Ra'jah hummed, dragging on with a small grin

"OH the prospect of partying changes things huh?"

"You know, me an' Halloween, we complicated okay!" They laugh, but Ra'jah's left thinking. New or old Ra'jah both, spends a little too much time in the internal realm of the brain.

The class falls silent except the murmurs of the buzzing machines, and the three chatter in whispers. Although usually it's mostly her and Kylie with occasional injections of confirmation from Trinity

"You're insane if you think spaghettini is better than fettuccine" Kylie protested "Spaghettini is literally the objective worst"

"Says who?!" Ra'jah paused sewing to look up at Kylie in defiance

"Me!"

"Trinity which is better"

"Huh? Ya'll It's too early for this." Trinity complained.

"Oh, says the bitch who asked if the grinch was a furry" Ra'jah retorted, but Trinity brushed her off to look at Kylie "Oh wait! Also, Kylie, what're you gonna be for Halloween?" She gave a little snicker before answering

"Don't come for me but honestly? Was thinking about being a cat"

"AAAAAH!" Ra'jah and Trinity erupted laughing.

"But like, a hot one okay!" Ra'jah quickly tried to redeem herself.

"You'll be the hottest ass cat around" Plus, worse comes to worst, Ra'jah will be a witch or something, and they can be hot and basic together.

When the class ended, they packed their things, and exchanged their goodbyes

"I'll see y'all around!"

"See you! Good luck on your textile project Trin"

"Thanks!" She waved, yelling a final "Bye!"

"Bye!" The three part, and Ra'jah makes her way to her second class. History of costume and design was next, and quickly weighing it out, she decided to take a quicker path through the halls. Suddenly, the weight of a body knocked at her side, the two stumbling around for a few seconds. A gust of papers had fallen from both parties' arms, and landed on the floor.

"Oh shit! I'm so-" Scarlet cuts herself off when she looks up at whom she's bumped into.

"Maybe watch where you're going" Ra'jah snorts out of sheer instinct, squatting down to gather her papers where Scarlet follows suit, just a little too close. The vague, sweet scent of strawberries she gives off is suffocating.

"Maybe if you weren't such a stuck up cunt taking up half the hallway I wouldn't hit you" The attention sends a masochistic jolt down her spine

"Uh oh someone's in a bad mood. Stuck up cunt that's a new one! Love the creativity. You should drop out of this school and be a writer" As much as she screamed internally to just shut the fuck up and get your things, it was so easy to slip back to this.

"Thanks but I'm good! When you fail out this year you can give it a try"

"Baby, me? Fail out?" Please don't imply that. Please don't make me doubt that I can and deserve to be here. I don't want to seek approval from others, but I can't help but be hurt at disapproval. Of course, her thoughts don't verbalize as the words that come out of her mouth. "That's a lot of talk for a girl who probably spends more hours getting fucked than studying" Before she can think it through, process the flash of hurt on her face and the way her fingers tense around the last piece of paper, before Ra'jah can really understand the weight of her own words she continues. "But I guess that's how you get yo' A's right?"

Their exchanges were in aggressive whispers, hushed to anyone above them. To most people, they'd find a sight of two girls muttering to one another while they pick up some things they've dropped.

"You're so much prettier when you're quiet" Scarlet huffed, standing up in one swift motion. Those words aren't a compliment. Like, at all. So why does Ra'jah's dumb, twisted heart stop for a second? The implied connection of herself and 'pretty' slows her body and slurs her mind until she's pushing herself up off the ground in slow motion. It's been so many months of mundanity, the small interaction felt all so familiar and foreign and exciting at the same time.But the haziness of her words and their little games makes her forget for a second of what the fuck just happened, and a wave of patheticness washed over her as she started to walk, eyes focused at the cream walls. For all her hemming and hawing, Ra'jah hasn't. Fucking. Changed.

A rush of everything dives into her guts, a sick adrenaline coated in dread, self loathing and the slight urge to cry, nestling in her stomach like a bird claiming a branch as it's home. Her skin was electric, and she hated to admit she loved it, the thrill of interacting with her, cattiness and all. Imagine feeling this much from fucking bumping into someone? Fingers clenched, nails digging in her own palms at how much she hates her. Intense emotions are a high of their own, and Ra'jah can't help but indulge. The piercing sting of her flesh being pressed in with her nails is intensified as she listens for the faint voice of that lanky girl always accompanying Scarlet.

"You good Scarlet?"

"Yeah, thanks" She can't look back, but she can't help but wonder- are they hugging? Holding hands? It doesn't- it shouldn't matter to her. The fun amusement pales in comparison to the misery settling in. The realization that she's fighting with Scarlet like they're 16 at the back of English class.

Of all the schools, why'd that girl have to come here? Of all the things to pursue, why the same as herself? Of all the people, why'd it have to be her? Ra'jah didn't have the audacity to explore the last question. What she means, she's not too sure. The only thing in the world she's sure of is that she can't be both New Ra'jah™ and Old Ra'jah™ to different people. The line between the two existences isn't so bold anymore, and painting over the bumps isn't as effective as she'd hoped.

***

Truth be told, watching herself move around in skirts was one of her favorite things- just about tied with watching others watch her. Maybe that's why she joined cheer in highschool. Especially with the support from (or, lack of thereof) a certain grimacing purple haired girl, a runaway model from a fashion show who wound up wandering this school. She never needed to turn and look, didn't need sight to know there's a burn at her back, nor who it's radiating from. Scarlet always walked with just a bit of a straighter back, just a bit more purpose, and just a bit more stride in her step when her favorite pair of wandering eyes were around. A small part of her always wants to turn around, catch her gaze and watch her frantically look away and pretend she's talking to someone. Or maybe she'll hold it, stare back with just as much intensity. But her wistful attention is enough of an ego boost. The scowl ridden bitch, smile washed away just for her, and yet that's where her attention lied. It made her bite back a smile.

Scarlet is a pretty thing, and she didn't need constant confirmation to remind her that she's beautiful. She's hot, she knows it, Ra'jah knows it, and Scarlet knows that's all she is to her. A pretty thing. Whatever. She's not important.

In fear of her brain melting, and/or being fried to a crisp, Scarlet doesn't bother having two classes back to back. Her mental capacity is full, and a nice salad will probably help with that. She's on her way to meet with Yvie for lunch, thinking about their weekend plans, when she takes a misstep and stumbles, all her weight focused in her shoulder which slams against someone else's side.

"Oh shit! I'm so-" the universe is an asshole. May the odds never be in my favor.

"Maybe watch where you're going" Her sneer is venomous, and the universe has suddenly become just the second biggest asshole.

"Maybe if you weren't such a stuck up cunt taking up half the hallway I wouldn't hit you" Ra'jah didn't do anything, a rational voice lectures, but she ignores it the way she's ignoring the taller girls face. Scarlet's grabbing at her papers, avoiding eye contact because that selfish pile of shit on her right takes up enough space as is, and if she looks into her eyes, sees that stupid fucking face this close she might do something bad. Like, in the sense of, punching her. Yeah, she can't look at her or she'll beat her up. Because that's a fight she'd win.

"Uh oh someone's in a bad mood. Stuck up cunt that's a new one! Love the creativity. You should drop out of this school and be a writer" Ra'jah snides, and she needs to drop out before Scarlet gets grey hair from her.

"Thanks but I'm good! When you fail out this year you can give it a try" Her words are about as empty as her own stomach, because she hasn't eaten since last night, and Ra'jah will quit fashion school and become a science engineer before she fails out.

"Baby, me? Fail out?" Yeah, with the flawless outfit you're wearing that you sure as hell made just because you were bored one night. Your pants could literally be sold as a luxury brand. The girl who started sewing when she a embryo in the womb, you'll fucking fail out. "That's a lot of talk for a girl who probably spends more hours getting fucked than studying- But I guess that's how you get yo' A's right?" Scarlet looks up, not at Ra'jah but away from the ground, and the urge to yell, hit her, and cry come up at the same time. She wants to scream, get everyone in hearing range to know that Ra'jah is a loser who will amount to nothing. She wants to reach out and choke her. But articulating her anger into words is too much, and she ends up just whispering whatever words are willing to come out as she gets up, not caring if she left any papers behind.

"You're so much prettier when you're quiet" And that's the closest thing to honest Scarlet's said all day.

In the distance, she sees Yvie walking towards her, so she waits until the freshly dyed green haired girl is caught up beside her.

"You good Scarlet?"

"Yeah, thanks" The two walk together, side by side, and Scarlet loops her arm through Yvie's, linking the pair.

"You know, Scarlie, you should stop wearing heels before you break your ankles"

"Hey!" She giggled, slapping the taller girl's arm in response. "I never fall, people just get in my way" Yvie scoffs, unable to stop the corners of her lips turning up and giving her away, forever endeared by the shorter girl. Scarlet's affection makes her forget that they've only known each other for a month. They reach a set of blue doors, and Yvie opens it, holding it for Scarlet to come through. Her face seems puzzled

"Are you down to go to Mika's Cafe? I want to get some coffee"

"Sure, they have nice breakfast sandwiches and omelettes, I'm down" It's only a few minutes away from campus

"What's on your mind"

"Just like, school stuff. I have to make a dress for creative fashion design, and I'm just thinking about it, and what I wanna do" Would it be tmi to blurt that Ra'jah is insufferable?

"Cool," Yvie hummed, and spiteful words cycled through Scarlet's head, deciding on what exactly to say, before Yvie beats her to it, whipping her head in some seeming urgency

"OH by the way, I know you're busy with your project and you're determined on getting in the top 5 and all,"

"Uh huh"

"Buuuuut, there's a Halloween party this weekend, and I was gonna go with Brooke and her friends but they're not going anymore," Scarlet knows how Yvie feels about Brooke, and to be fair she's only met her a few times in passing, but how someone like Yvie could fall for someone as uptight as the boring blonde is beyond her. She doesn't dare bring up another possibility of why her dorm mate would be avoiding the stoic girl, a possibility involving a particularly hot headed latina glued to the Canadians side. "They decided clubbing downtown would be more fun or whatever," They're outside on the pavement now, and the afternoon breeze graces their skin. It's a welcome environment, and Scarlet slows down her pace to enjoy the air, with Yvie quickly matching her pace.

"Wouldn't you rather go clubbing though? Like not with Brooke and them but with others," Scarlet is friendly and all, but she swears Yvie is somehow friends with half the school. She sure as hell can find a group to go with.

"I guess, but I want to go to the party," she quiets a little as she continues, "There are some people I want to see there, for fun and stuff"

"Mmmm!" Scarlet widens her eyes, looking at the taller girl with a knowing glare, sprinkled with a teeny bit of judgement.

"It's kinda lame to go there alone!"

"No it's not!"

"Scarls, yeah it is"

"Why do you even care? Wanna impress some girls?" In response, Yvie rolled her eyes so hard Scarlet could practically feel it.

"'Cause you want me to go to a fun Halloween party by myself?

"Yes! You could walk up to anyone and there's like an 80% chance you already know them, and a 100% chance you'll become friends anyways" The quirky girl's charm is undeniable, she'll be fine without Scarlet. Yvie gives a defeated sigh

"Seems kinda homophobic"

"Ugh you know what's actually homophobic? The fact that more people aren't madly in love with me. I'm LITERALLY perfect" The prospect of love feels like it's been dangled infront of her, her whole life. Imagine looking like Scarlet, and never dated before?

"You're right girl, you are" Yvie laughed her deep, hearty cackle and Scarlet wanted to melt a little.

"Thank you, finally someone with taste" Looking at her outfit, she remembers that the tall girl's taste is kind of debatable, and Scarlet almost wants to say she takes it back

"You think Ra'jah has good taste then?"

"What?"

"Also a party seems like the best way to meet more people y'know?" She brushes over her last question, and it's much better that way.

"You know what, whatever 'll go with you" Scarlet agrees so she'll shut up. If she hears her roommate bring up she-who-shall-not-be-named-because-shes-a-stick-in-the-ass anymore she might lose her mind. And, she really doesn't have any other plans for the night so might as well.

***

AN: going to be a while for the next chapter bc im busy so here's a lil thing lol xo

***

They weren't supposed to meet here. Weren't supposed to see each other. At least, that's what Scarlet tries to tell herself.

"You are such a fucking pain, oh my god" Scarlet seethed because everything is hazy except the impassive girl standing before her and she can't think straight. Her cold eyes are apathetic and Scarlet wants to implode, like a glass thermostat engulfed in a burning heat where it's not a question of if, but an inevitable when? "Maybe I am arrogant" Her voice was coated in a sickly sweet frustration. She pushed further into Ra'jah's space, the taller girl stiffening at the ever decreasing space between the two. How can she be so still, so unreactive? This is all so amusing to her? Is she having fun, so fucking detached from everything and watching Scarlet crumble? Pretending like she cares about Scarlet past her pretty face? Enjoying her sadistic game? Fuck her, fuck her, fuck her.

"Maybe I am narcissistic" Their faces were inches apart, and Ra'jah could feel the angry womans hot breathe on her cheek, the pungent smell of alcohol intruding her nose.

"But I'd rather be a confident, arrogant narcissist than whatever kind of sad fuck you are"

Scarlet growled, and she wanted to breathe fire, burn Ra'jah's existence out of her mind and scream at everything she felt because of her. Except that she sees her, and wants her, wants to hurt her and touch her and without thinking her hands are digging around Ra'jah's waist.

"You are such-" Scarlet was interrupted as the other girl leaned in, framed the shorter girl's face with both her hands, and pressed her lips against Scarlets. Any thoughts or mental functionality she had were put to an abrupt stop. This wasn't supposed to happen. It's been so long, but no time has passed since they were last like this. The plug to her brain was pulled, and it's all static and her bodys done a full 180. Ra'jah's piercing lips are numbing, and her overheated body feels like it's been dunked in ice where all her nerves are all in shock. They weren't supposed to do this anymore, it's the only thing they've ever been able to agree on. She was frozen, unable to move, or think, far too busy being hyper focused on the familiar sugary lips on hers, sending waves of nostalgia through her body. Time has only heighted the intoxication. She gains some composure and surges forward, but Ra'jah's pulling away, opening her mouth to finally say something.

"You're so much prettier when you're quiet"

#rpdr fanfiction #as6 #ra'jah o'hara #scarlet envy #trinity k bonet #kylie sonique love #yvie oddly #ra'jah x scarlet #enemies to lovers #lesbian au #fashion school au #a series of mutual feelings #pazinae #concrit welcome

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kinncman · 5 years ago

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A LIST OF PLOTLESS TOWN RP-FRIENDLY CHARACTER IDEAS & CONNECTIONS INSPIRED BY MOVIES! (PART 2)

once again, you can obviously spin any of this in any way (platonic, romantic, familial) etc, and not all of these are the exact plots of the movies they are referencing so pls don’t @ me i am but a lowly translator of ideas.

click here for part one.

content warnings for: drugs, food, hospital, light implications to a toxic former relationship

THE LAKE HOUSE // basically, the lake house except nobody is a ghost and everyone is from the same year <3 muse a is an architect who has been living in The House they built. for reasons utp, they are forced to sell it. muse b is the buyer. muse a can’t let go of the house so even though the title has been transferred to muse b, they keep making excuses to visit The House.

LIGHT SLEEPER // muse a is a former drug addict whose job is delivering drugs to high-profile clients. muse b is their ex and also a former drug addict, with whom their relationship fell out bc of the drug abuse. they coincidentally meet again in a hospital when muse a visits a regular client of their boss who OD’d and muse b’s mother is in for chemo/other intense procedures. muse a and muse b reconnect. they both confess that they are now clean and sober. muse b doesn’t believe muse a since muse a admits that they still work for their old boss, but muse a insists that they haven’t used in years. muse b, on the other hand, is a successful business person who’s really cleaned up their act and is nothing like the person muse a knew before (i.e. a Mess TM). despite the feelings that they hold towards muse b, muse a knows that they should keep their distance since they are the reason that muse b started using in the first place and they wouldn’t want to throw any progress away. HOWEVER, fate seems to keep bringing them together in the most inconvenient places and when they least expect it the most; they allow themselves to indulge in old habits (sex, not drugs) even tho they know they’re totally bad for each other. just when they’re starting to become regular fixtures in each other’s lives again, muse b disappears for weeks on end. as it turns out, they were the one who was never clean and sober to begin with.

PHANTOM THREAD // muse a is a highly-renowned fashion designer / artist / photographer who meets muse b and decides that they want them to be their muse (after already having had a string of former muses). being invisible all their life, muse b accepts this new role— however, to muse a’s dismay, they are nothing like any muse they’ve had before in that instead of having their muse wrapped around their finger, muse b has them wrapped around theirs. great for exploring shifting power dynamics!

GRAY MATTERS // (originally a familial and queer relationship but hey whatever floats your boat) muse a and muse b are siblings (or best friends could work, too). muse a gets engaged to muse c and muse b is their maid-of-honor / best man. because muse c and muse b are the two most important people in muse a’s lives, muse a makes them spend the week before the wedding together bUT OOPS muse b realizes that they have feelings for muse c and they share a drunken kiss which muse c instantly forgets about in the morning??? which is #awkward because 1) MUSE C IS MUSE A’S SPOUSE-TO-BE and 2) MUSE B NEVER REALIZED THAT THEY’RE NOT STRAIGHT. so now they’re trying to deal with coming to terms with this newfound attraction that never thought they could have with the same sex on top of trying to decide whether or not to remind muse c of what they did that one night (since they seem to have zERO recollection) and come clean to their sibling / best friend.

LONG SHOT // muse a works for muse b, who is a very powerful exec / influential artist / whatever. muse a is very much infatuated by muse b, who thinks that they are way out of muse a’s league. muse a reveals that muse b used to come over to muse a’s house to babysit them (because lbr, even tho the the age gap might not be that much, a 14 yr-old will be paid to watch over a 10 yr old). what happens from there?

VELVET BUZZSAW // muse a and muse b are rival art curators / music producers who claim that they are the ones who have rightfully ‘discovered’ muse c. muse a and muse b then go through great lengths to try and win muse c to sign over to them. muse c has no plans of defecting to either sides but decide to string them along for the perks (and for the attention). great for exploring a kooky triad of frenemies or a polyship.

PORTRAIT OF A LADY ON FIRE // muse a is a painter / filmmaker / photographer who is tasked with relaunching muse b’s career. muse a thinks that muse b is a brat. muse b thinks that muse a is full of themself.

I’M HUNGRY, I’M COLD // you might wanna try and watch it here first, it’s v short! muse a and muse b are best friends who’ve been on the lam for a long time (for reasons utp) and are now broke bc they blew up all their funds on life’s little pleasures. maybe they start conning people? maybe they try to get a dozen dead-end jobs at once that they suck at so they keep going back to square one? either way, they must decide whether or not they should finally face the music and go home. or maybe they just need to find the means (and a reason) to stay in their current town, and fast.

BABETTE’S FEAST // muse a is formerly the head chef of a michelin-star awarded restaurant who is now working as something else. muse b had one unforgettable (for sentimental purposes, reasons utp) meal in said restaurant which, unbeknownst to them, was cooked by muse a. the two meet in the current setting, several years later, and become friends / lovers / etc, with muse b sparking muse a’s interest in cooking once again. muse a cooks The Meal™️ for muse b, not knowing what it means to them, and muse b finally recognizes who muse a is as they are flooded by memories of that night they first tasted the dish.

CIGARETTES & COFFEE // muse a and muse b are newlyweds who are in town for their honeymoon. however, things go awry on day 1 when muse a blows it all on some stupid, petty thing (in the original, they blew it on a game of craps in a casino when they’ve neVER played craps before and muse b is fuckin LIVID it’s just hilarious and sad) and their relationship is immediately put to the test when they have to figure out how to scrape money to get home (but also maybe kind of fall in love with the place??? and decide to start their family there??? idk)

SUCCESSION (this is a tv show but this particular dynamic is just too damn good not to include) with a little bit of THE PANIC IN NEEDLE PARK // muse a and muse b come from rivaling families (for whatever business, but they gotta be high profile). they meet while theyre trying to be lowkey doing ~~normal people stuff and instantly click despite their families’ tumultuous history, but have to keep their relationship (platonic or otherwise) away from the public eye to avoid raising suspicion from the critics. they think they can help each other’s recoveries by being in each other’s company but all they do is enable each other, further destroying not only their lives, but their families’ reputations as well.

#rpc #rph #rp help #writing help #plot ideas #*

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valeriehervo · 4 years ago

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Valérie Hervo runs Les Chandelles, the legendary Paris sex club where members of French high society, politicians, barristers and rock stars (and an increasing number of Brits) come to indulge their erotic fantasies. Can it survive the twin threats of the pandemic and a moral backlash?

Adam Sage

Saturday March 20 2021,

Valérie Hervo is outraged. She has just been listening to a radio station where two male presenters, chatting about her forthcoming appearance on their show, kept referring to her as the owner of a “group sex club”.

“That really is low-class vocabulary,” she tells me. “It’s very macho as well. Only a man would say something like that.

“And it is not what this place is about. To me, it is a journey through the mystery of the senses to a land of sensuality and encounters.”

Hervo is particularly aggrieved at what she took to be the implication that she organised sexual games for the benefit of men.

Nothing could be further from the truth, she insists. “Here, everything revolves around women’s pleasure. This is a place where a woman can do what she wants, when she wants and with whom she wants – and if she wants to do nothing, she does nothing.”

Hervo opened Les Chandelles, her recreational club – as she would prefer it described – in 1993, and it has since become a part of French high-society folklore.

Any Parisian will tell you that this is the place where the country’s political, economic and cultural elites live out their sexual fantasies beyond the sight of ordinary mortals, where government ministers, television presenters, rock stars and chief executives engage in the ancient practice of libertinage.

But what exactly goes on behind the plain façade in a narrow street near the Louvre in central Paris? And what might this tell us about French values? Or indeed about British values, given the steady flow of clients rumoured to have crossed the channel in recent years in the hope of fulfilling their “erotic potential” under Hervo’s stewardship?

With telephones barred from the club (they have to be left at the entrance) and hardly anyone willing to talk openly about their evenings there – “It’s a matter of intimacy,” says Hervo. “You don’t start telling everyone about your sex life at dinner parties” – such questions have given rise to few answers and much speculation.

Now, with the club closed because of the pandemic, Hervo, 53, has written a book that explains what happens when the dancefloor empties, usually around 1.30am, and the salons around it fill with writhing, sighing bodies.

Les dessous des Chandelles, which could be translated either figuratively as The Secrets of the Chandelles or literally as Underneath the Candelabras, is the portrait of a quintessentially French establishment.

Where else would the lost property include designer thongs or customers eat Ladurée macarons off the back of a naked woman, a famous male barrister end up in an alcove with his female rival days after their clash in a criminal court, or Mick Jagger reportedly be turned away for wearing a pair of jeans?

Hervo explains that her club is a bastion of French “savoir vivre”, where a select group of beautiful, intelligent and well-educated people conduct themselves in a way befitting a nation that has given the world some of its greatest suggestive literature, from Molière’s Dom Juan to Laclos’ Les liaisons dangereuses.

Consider, for example, her account of one of the Eyes Wide Shut theme parties she holds from time to time. “A naked woman, her gaze hidden by a Venetian mask, lies on a table,” she writes. “A nymph in a transparent toga joins her. She kneels down and delicately pulls her legs apart.”

She has torrid encounters herself, for instance with a woman whose perfume she found bewitching and whose body she discovered behind a veil in an alcove.

Much of her time, however, is spent looking after her patrons, like the couple of regulars who realised to their horror that their adult son and his partner had also begun going to Les Chandelles. Hervo tells how they begged her to help them avoid what they said would be a “regrettable” meeting.

On another occasion, a male customer arrived with his mistress, explaining to Hervo that his wife was stuck at home because she was ill. An hour later, the wife arrived with a younger man, she writes. “Don’t say anything to my husband,” she told Hervo. “He thinks I’ve got the flu.”

Hervo promptly rushed downstairs where she found the husband, “naked and frolicking with his partner and a few other accomplices”. She advised him to leave through the emergency exit.

I am discussing these and more adventures with Hervo at a table in her club’s pink and white restaurant, which is to be found at the bottom of stairs that wind down from an ordinary-looking blue door on the street.

Opposite us is another staircase that leads to what could easily be mistaken for an 18th- century Parisian literary salon – were it not for the mattress in the alcove at the end of it.

A third staircase, encased in walls painted in gold leaf, descends to a dancefloor, a bar and more salons with their alcoves, benches and mattresses.

It is difficult to find an English word to describe Les Chandelles. Some have called it a swingers’ club, although that conveys none of the cerebral sophistication and cultural aspirations that go with elite sex in France.

Others have used the term wife-swapping (or échangisme, as the French call it), but Hervo is no more happier with that than with group sex.

“For me, échangisme is very reductive and sad,” Hervo explains. “It involves some kind of contract between four people and they all need to agree, which can’t happen very often.”

What prevails at her club, she says, is libertinage, a concept dating back to a 12th-century rebellion against the church by disaffected clerics who were determined to place physical love above the courtly version promoted by troubadours and their ilk.

The contemporary version of this philosophy involves making “everything possible and nothing obligatory”, Hervo says.

One couple might go for sex, either with each other or with someone else, she says. A second might go along to watch. A third could be happy with a turn on the dancefloor.

“For some, it is enough to have an imaginary journey. For others, they will want a little bit more. But what happens in the salons is the icing on the cake and it doesn’t matter if nothing happens, because we’ve had such fun with the preliminaries.

“Everyone goes at their own rhythm. You may be happy with a look, a caress or with voyeurism. But that is all very different to échangisme.”

Libertinage, which has come and gone in France over the centuries – the early 17th and the mid-18th being among the high points – enjoyed a return to fashion from the late Nineties with the emergence of hundreds of clubs amid a spirit of unrestrained freedom.

The number has since fallen, with adepts taking to organising their own house parties. At the last count there were 269 such clubs left, according to French state radio.

The health crisis looks likely to drive many more out of business, their activities scarcely being compatible with social distancing.

Les Chandelles, however, has a status apart, and this should offer it protection against the vicissitudes of fortune.

Hervo says her customers include “politicians from both the left and the right” and “celebrities from across the whole world” (she refuses to divulge their names).

Hervo says that as her club’s fame has grown, so has its allure to visitors from Europe, the US, Asia and “a lot from Britain”.

It is not enough just to cross the channel and knock on the door, though. In order to get in, you need erotic knowhow, Hervo says, along with familiarity with Parisian savoir-vivre.

“It is an alchemy. A way of being,” she says.

In his Histoire du libertinage, Didier Foucault, a history lecturer at Toulouse University who is a specialist on the subject, writes of how the practice became fashionable after 1600 among aristocrats driven “by a haughty refusal to bow either to common law or to any authority whatsoever, be it temporal or divine”.

There may be something similar about the French elite that frequents Les Chandelles. The entrance fee is €96 for two, or €310 with dinner and a bottle of Deutz champagne thrown in. If Deutz is too downmarket, there is Cristal Roederer for €490 or Dom Pérignon Rosé for €470.

But the selection policy is not based on money, Hervo insists. More important to her are “elegance, refinement, education and taste.

“I have a very tough door policy. I turn away a lot of people.”

The badly dressed, the ugly, the vulgar, have no hope of getting past her, she says, while the overweight may struggle as well, at least if they are male.

“I know I shouldn’t be saying this, but I am going to say it anyway. I think I would be more concerned by a fat man than a round woman. Round women can be very beautiful but, in general, men who are fat are… Well, someone who lets himself go physically is someone who does… not respect himself. And if he doesn’t respect himself, he is less likely to respect other people.”

Les dessous des Chandelles is a strange, almost dual work. On the one hand, it is a window onto this secretive world of privilege and exclusion created by Hervo beneath Rue Thérèse in the French capital.

On the other, it is a tale of the author’s personal voyage through libertinage and her claim that the sexual liberation she found along the way, first in other clubs and then in her own, helped to unshackle her from a traumatic childhood marked by incest, guilt and depression.

Our conversation reflects the same duality.

For much of the interview, Hervo comes across as the archetypal Parisian businesswoman, complete with carefully applied make-up, an elegant hairdo, an articulate discourse, a headstrong Yorkshire terrier and a well-trained fiancé – Tom, the maker of an excellent Sancerre white wine, who rushes off shortly after I arrive and returns later with an armful of her outfits for the photoshoot, including an all-white suit and a glittering jacket.

One minute she is talking with off-putting clarity about the female orgasm, telling me in a tone that brooks no argument that “a woman’s sexuality is so much richer than that of a man”. The next she is explaining, with equal equanimity, how she resisted underworld attempts to take over her club following her divorce in 2005.

Like all self-respecting Parisiennes, she knows how to throw a strategic fit of pique as well, announcing that the photographer is driving her mad and that Tom had better summon a friend for help, and be quick about it. The friend duly arrives with a bottle of sancerre to enable Hervo to get through the afternoon session.

Yet, from time to time, there are signs of the scars left by childhood, as when she concedes that she took refuge in libertinage in part because “at night-time, you can’t see the suffering so much… the glitter masks the pain”.

At one point, her eyes fill with tears as she discloses that her relatives have refused to speak to her since the publication of her book, which recounts her rape by her grandfather as a young girl, her parents’ refusal to believe her, her teenage struggles with depression, her toxic marriage to a man 20-odd years her senior, and her salvation in swingers’ clubs.

It was her former husband who introduced her to libertinage. She writes of her first experience in a club where “in a salon plunged into darkness… some couples are making love while others are observing them”.

She did not want to join in – at least not the first time – but says, “My emotion [was]great and my excitement real.”

“I was 24 and I instinctively knew it was right for me,” Hervo tells me. “What I liked in those places was a feeling of freedom and especially a feeling that I was meeting couples who seemed to get on well together.

“That was not the image of the couple I had received as a child because my parents argued all the time. It was like Disneyland as far as I was concerned.”

When her former husband suggested opening their own swingers’ club in Paris, she jumped at the chance. He put up some of the money, they borrowed the rest and she became the manager.

“It was a success straight away, because I think it was the first club to give so much importance to women,” she says. “At that time, in 1993, in other clubs, the women were just treated as objects and it was the men who took charge of the games and who brought along their wives.

“I think that they were probably men of little courage who were not able to cheat on their wives and who went to this sort of place instead. But that was not at all in the spirit of libertinage.”

Les Chandelles would be different, she decided. “Women who are objects are women without humanity. Here, I made sure that the women were subjects.

“In fact, I created here what I never had myself. I tried to encourage women to take their time, to dare to set the tempo, to ask men to be attentive and unhurried and to be gallant, because women adore gallantry.”

She says her door policy has always involved refusing entrance to couples if she suspects that the woman is being dragged along against her will or kept in the dark about the true nature of Les Chandelles. “Even now in 2021, there are boors who don’t tell their partners where they are taking them,” she says. “It’s increasingly rare but it still happens. But if I have the slightest doubt, I question them. You get a feeling for these things.”

Inside the club, no means no, she says, explaining that men can be expelled for repeating a request to a female customer if they are turned down the first time.

“I think women are much safer in this sort of place than in traditional nightclubs where they get hassled all the time,” she tells me.

She says that she herself came to see Les Chandelles – of which she has been the sole owner since extracting herself from her disastrous marriage 16 years ago and buying her former husband’s share – as a refuge from the wounds left by her troubled childhood.

“This has been my bunker and my incubator,” she says. “It was where I revitalised myself, and where I discovered myself too.”

Can her club really be as idyllic as she pretends?

For years, Les Chandelles has been described in the French press as a favourite haunt of Dominique Strauss-Kahn, the former head of the International Monetary Fund, who resigned following his arrest on suspicion of rape. Although the charge was ultimately dropped, reports of his attendance at Les Chandelles have done nothing for its image.

Recently, it has also been linked with Gérald Darminin, President Macron’s interior minister, who, it has emerged, went to Les Chandelles in 2009 with a woman who had asked him for help in overturning her criminal conviction – he was legal affairs adviser for an opposition political party at the time – and who has accused him of raping her later that evening.

He denies her claim, but the publicity has scarcely been an advertisement for Hervo’s establishment.

She says the coverage has been misleading and unfair. DSK, for instance, barely ever visited Les Chandelles, she insists.

“There are many other politicians who came more often than him and who were much more important than him,” she says.

As for Darmanin, she says that when he dropped into the club a little over a decade ago, he was a young bachelor, and that young bachelors sometimes visit “for an evening with – what’s that word they use now? – oh yes, les sex friends, that’s it.

“And there’s nothing wrong with that. If you find yourself on your own for a year or so, you might want a regular one of those. Why not?”

Until now, the interview has gone smoothly enough, interrupted only by the barking of Cerise, Hervo’s Yorkshire terrier, at the emergence of the photographer from below.

But then I make a big mistake. Noting the entrance policy favours single women – who are allowed in on evenings otherwise reserved for couples, when single men are banned – I ask Hervo whether she uses them as an enticement for male patrons seeking a threesome with their wives and another partner.

She looks daggers across the table. “That is really a stupid, male, Cro-Magnon thing to say,” she tells me. “It’s very maladroit of you.

“Single women come because they want to have fun, because they could meet a man who pleases them, or a woman, or perhaps neither. Sometimes, it’s just two women friends who come for a drink because they know that here they won’t be bothered and because they will be appreciated because they are pretty.

“When I began here, I didn’t receive single women in the evening, because society considered that a woman who came alone to an establishment like mine was either a whore or a bitch. I fought to make people understand that life does not work like that, and I am proud to say that today I have single women among my customers.”

I ask Hervo if she is a feminist. “I certainly am not a neo-feminist,” she says, explaining that she laughs off wolf whistles in the street, likes being complimented on her looks and wants to “seduce or to be seduced, freely. But I am feminist for some things. I am in favour of women being able to experience pleasure alone at first, to discover their bodies and to enjoy their bodies, and only afterwards to share all that with a partner if they so wish.

“That sort of thing has not always been possible in the past.”

Pointing out that Foucault’s history of libertinage shows how sexual freedoms have come and gone over the centuries in France, I wonder out loud whether the country is shifting back towards greater restraint.

“You’re right, it is,” she says. “The difference is that today, it is not religion that is trying to cover everything up, it’s our moralising society. There is a very prudish scent around these days.”

In a thinly veiled attack on #MeToo, she complains in her book that the social networks have been transformed into “popular tribunals”, that the law has come to treat women “as weak beings which have to be protected” and that the ancestral French game of seduction is being subjected to new codes and new rules.

It is difficult to determine whether the pandemic will brake or accelerate this trend. Some predict that when the crisis ends, we will see a repeat of les années folles (the mad years), as the Twenties were known in France, with a yearning for freedom, parties and libertinage.

Others forecast the continued spread of the Anglo-Saxon-style feminism that Hervo abhors and the curtailment of French love-making and seduction. She is not overly worried, though. On a personal level, she has emerged from years of therapy able to confront her past and look forward to the future, she says. She has become a part-time therapist herself, has a house in the country, where she has spent much of the past year, and is planning to “marry the man I love” this summer.

Even if the moral backlash gathers strength, she thinks that Les Chandelles will continue to triumph.

“There have always been currents and countercurrents, but if society goes one way, people will need a place of liberty where they can do what they want, where they will have the freedom to talk, to exchange.”

Indeed, she believes that her club may even come to play a role similar to that of literary salons in the 18th century, when they nurtured the ideas that helped to topple the ancien régime.

Only in France could there be dreams of Enlightenment amid the shadows of a basement sex club. Les dessous des Chandelles by Valérie Hervo is published by Cherche Midi

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mystiika · 4 years ago

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@soarae asked: a tiny soul has since been put to bed. her hands busied with dishes from a dinner for three, heart swelling at feeling included in his life so personally. she doesn’t realize the smile tugging at the corners of her lips; bright && full of life. warmth ever present as it should be. but all at once, whatever thought process is cut short by a song beginning to play. it’s something she’s heard maybe once from a family reunion. handpicked but her late grandfather && were she uncultured she might’ve teased him. but music means so much to her, echoing through her bones; she hums along to the melody. never mind the hands that guide her away from her task. handsome features coming into view && causing her eyes to light up with delight. be it then that her hand falls into his, opposite reserving itself to the junction of shoulder && the column of his throat. && it leads into their steps amidst song. giving way to the love assimilating in her gaze for this man. manifesting as the way she tiptoes just enough to find his lips with her own && she practically swoons. having never felt so complete before him. && it brings an old tune just the same within her mind. echoing across lovestruck existence. so this is love? /for Tyrus. 🥰

oh how wonderful his life had become. it seems so sudden that this woman, this amazing woman, had waltzed her way into his world & he would be remiss to push her away. so he didn’t, she broke down his walls with such ease he was impressed & scared all at once. but seeing how they’d fallen into this picture-esk domesticity he couldn’t help but feel... just so... content.

a glance to her in the kitchen before making his way to the record player in the living room. it was an old fashioned love he had for, matched well by his record collection but it matched him well. so he leaves through the covers for a moment, but he chooses quickly, a gentle drop of the needle to vinyl before he finds himself in the kitchen, arms snaking around her waist & a gentle pull to draw her from the sink. ❝ come querida... the dishes won’t go anywhere, ❞ spoken softly into her ear until she turns to face him & her hand falls so perfectly into his own.

the music rings out softly so as not to wake delilah in her still light sleep. but the lyrics are clear as day. it starts with a hum, his voice low, pulling her closer until there’s barely an inch between them. a gentle sway as he starts to sing softly along in a private serenade.

❝ unforgettable... in every way. ❞ cheek to cheek he wonders if she could feel his smile. ❝ & forever more, that's how you'll stay. ❞ a pull away to spin her half way, warms around her waist again as he sways her from behind for a few seconds, even sneaking in a kiss to her neck in the process. ❝ that's why, darling, it's incredible. ❞ a slow spin back to his face, as he leans towards a kiss but holding back just enough to tease. ❝ that someone so unforgettable, thinks that I am unforgettable too. ❞ his smile widens again, just in time to kiss her properly. a silent ❛ i love you ❜ coming through his touch as he holds her tight ( with one kiss turning into a few more as the song continues to play out ).

❝ dessert tastes sweeter from your lips, what a wonder you are, ❞ he compliments with a smile. ❝ you know... ❞ he trails off, lips wandering to kiss along her neck. ❝ it’d be a shame... ❞ a finger reaching to move a lock of hair from his path. ❝ not to listen... ❞ his other hand sliding down from her waist to her hip. ❝ to another song or two... ❞ ( though the implication of what to do was dubious at best ). ❝ so what’ll it be, your wish is my command. ❞

#soarae #querida means dear btw !#i feel like he loves pet names and he remembers his father using them when talking to his mother #so it's a happy memory thing but also means that he's so in love with her that he's using it in the first place #also the song is unforgettable by nat king cole... a personal favourite <3 #❘❙❚ ┊ asks ➳ ❛ you have a question & i have an answer ❜#❘❙❚ ┊ t. henderson. v. 1 ➳ ❛ children must be taught how to think‚ not what to think ❜

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hamburgerhelpersotherhand · 5 years ago

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Could you write an imagine were Yandere Randy Meeks being obsessed with an GN actor that stars in horror movies mostly?. He has posters , magazines of photoshoots that the reader has been in .Also he owns every movie that they've been in.

The reader goes to his school ,but since they're even more popular than Billy and Stu ,they never talk. One day the reader goes to one of Stu's parties , Randy finds the reader making out with Tatum (who is single)

I hope you accept my request!!!

Thank you for requesting! I’m really into Scream so, of course I’m jumping on any opportunity to write about it 😔💝

It’s cut pretty short but I hope it still meets your expectations 💕

Warnings: Stalking, mentioned non-con, and loose ending.

You weren’t a big name out there— in Hollywood- but you were the biggest name in Woodsboro.

You were this small town’s very own celebrity and you were one of the good ones, too. Not like those who move to big cities to follow even bigger dreams, no. You always came back for the new semester and you always stayed humble.

It’s admirable, really. And that’s just what Randy Meeks is doing... admiring. He’s a cinephile, after all. A movie buff. He’s gotta see every film at least once before he dies, so it’s a no brainer he’d see yours eventually.

You’re a horror actor. One the studio picked up to surprise audiences— nobody suspects the unknown actor to be the last one standing, after all. And holy shit do you look good covered in blood.

When your movies were turned into vhs tapes, Randy stocked them on the shelves of the local video store he somehow still worked at. He’d pocket a copy every time. You never stepped foot in there, to no surprise. During the fall season, your face was plastered on nearly every surface. It would creep him out too, if he was you.

Randy doesn’t read much, but he grew an unhealthy habit of buying any magazine that would simply mention your name. The teen issues always had posters. He liked those, but he enjoyed the exclusive photoshoots even more. They were mainly to promote the movies you starred in, but boy were they something else. You just can’t get away with the same stuff on a magazine poster. He kept those under his bed. To, you know... admire. But— you- you were never suggestive in any of them. The real teasing was from the movies themselves.

On a particularly cool night, Stu decided to host a party. Randy almost declined his invitation, ready to stay home and binge a series he’d seen more than once, until he heard you were making an appearance at the Macher residence. He doesn’t know how you had agreed to any of it— you always seemed like the type to avoid parties and you didn’t know a single person from his circle- but he was all for it. There was no other greater opportunity to approach you than that very night.

The party started off slow, not a lot of people were keen on arriving early (or while the sun was still up), but sure enough the number of guests soon snowballed. Randy had spotted you when you had arrived and kept his eyes glued to your head. You were greeted by so many people, it was almost impossible to miss.

Randy took a swig of his beer.

Tatum split from her friend Sidney quick and approached you quicker. Her hands were all over you in a second, dragging you around the house. It was supposedly to show you around, but Randy didn’t feel good about it.

He followed at a distance, pretending to converse with Stu’s other friends.

Tatum was basically glued to you the entire night, giving Randy no room to get you alone. It made him want to squeeze his glass bottle ‘til it popped.

Before he knows it, you’re drunk and she’s sitting you on the couch.

At this point, people had started to leave. Things were settling and Stu wanted to pop in a movie while everyone else finished up the snacks.

As Stu was fiddling with the VHS, Randy watched Tatum gradually get closer and closer. Way too close.

You both lean in... and there’s a peck.

Randy has a white knuckle grip on his drink as he watches with widened eyes. He’s mad.

Sidney grabs his arm, only partially taking his attention off of the events unfolding on the couch.

“Have you seen Tatum?” Sidney asks him.

Randy points with his drink and Sidney spots the two of you getting a little too comfortable out in the open.

She sighs and pulls on his arm again.

“Could you drive me home? Tatum was my ride.”

“I hitched a ride with Stu. Don’t have a car.” Randy replies in an almost whispery fashion. He wouldn’t want to drive Sidney home anyway, not when Tatum is taking advantage of you like that. It boils his blood to see it, but he hasn’t the courage to intervene.

Stu finally gets a movie playing and snatches the remote. He plops down on the sofa, right next to the couch where you and Tatum are having your disgusting little make-out session.

It’s not the beginning of the film, actually very close to the end. The scene... he’s watched your films so many times that he recognizes it almost immediately and it would seem you do too.

You pull away from Tatum, while she attacks your neck with love-bites, and watch the screen.

The scene before you is from a movie you’ve starred in. And it seems to be making you uncomfortable.

“Oh, that’s in poor taste.” Sidney says, watching the television.

The contents of the scene are very graphic, Randy would even go as far as to say the implications at the end are even worse. But... the sequel lets you make it out alive, give or take a couple sanity points.

Stu sees your discomfort and laughs.

“Look at the way the big bad groped you! Doesn’t feel like acting to me.”

“Stu, leave them alone. You’re making things weird.” Tatum speaks out, probably because Stu’s butting into her kissing session.

All the while Randy is watching your reaction to the screen. You genuinely look hurt as you watch the scene play, it makes him wonder what really happened on set.

“I’m going home.” You finally state and Randy’s heart starts beating again.

Tatum whines, tells you she’s sorry about Stu and Stu just gives you a haunting grin. Sidney doesn’t talk to you, just waves, and neither does Randy, though he doesn’t wave. They then watch you get up, grab your coat, and leave.

But, this is his chance. Randy could approach you right now and comfort you. Could he do that? Does he know how to comfort someone right now? He’s not sure but, a couple minutes after you leave, he tells everyone he’ll be right back.

On his way out the door, he wonders if he’s a bad liar.

#ghostface x reader #yandere x reader #yandere #ghostface #randy meeks x reader #randy Meeks #stu macher #ask

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skinks · 5 years ago

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I see your “fake/pretend dating” scenarios and I ask instead of you: “we’re secretly together and desperately trying to hide it” scenarios

Richie and Eddie finally get their shit together a week before Bev and Ben’s wedding, and after a whole lot of arguing and contingency plans and naked, sweaty discussion, they decide that if they don’t wanna steal that hetero thunder, they have to try their hardest to act like they’re not a Thing

and it’s a mess. They spend the whole week of bachelor parties (Losers plus Patty sans Bev get sad drunk and wish Bev was there) and bachelorette parties (Losers plus Patty sans Ben wear feather boas and get sorority drunk with Bev’s fashion friends, gossip about Ben and sing karaoke) pretending they’re not sneaking off to bone in every unoccupied room they possibly can

It’s a MESS. Richie figures the years of practice at pathetic, secret longing mean they should be better at this than they are. Like yeah, they’re still hovering in this awkward limbo stage where it’s both terribly exciting and horribly embarrassing to be crossing meat swords with your long lost best bro, while knowing you’re both totally into it, but they already acted so couple-y beforehand that it’s probably WEIRDER if Eddie stops smiling all fond and fixing Richie’s hair, or if Richie stops slinging his arm around Eddie at every opportunity. But that’s letting their guard down, and they keep freezing and jumping apart in the middle of casual conversation. They’re standing with Bill and Audra and Patty and Mike in some hotel function room, discussing whether or not stealing Ben’s yacht is feasible when Richie oh-so-gently says “hey—c’mere,” and wipes a smudge of chocolate fondue (contains nuts!!) from Eddie’s mouth with his thumb. Everyone stops talking. Everyone stares. Eddie stares. And Richie needs to duck and cover so he sort of - slaps him? Not even hard enough to make a noise, it’s more of a tap-then-push. He pushes Eddie’s face. “Is that Staniel I hear,” Richie says, after a moment.

“I don’t hear anything,” Patty says.

“No no, that’s definitely Stan,” Richie says, backing swiftly to the door. Eddie’s eyes are on him accusing and hot, dark brown like the chocolate smeared on Richie’s thumb. Later, Eddie will suck the taste off where it’s stuffed in his mouth to keep quiet as they fuck below deck in Ben’s stolen yacht, Mike and Bill fighting overhead about who gets to wear the blue and white captain’s hat. Eddie’s pants are barely even pulled down. Richie does his Quint From Jaws Voice and goes duh-dun, duh-dun as Eddie pushes inside so Eddie will bite his thumb and fuck him harder. It’s all very undignified, and illicit, and stupid. Eddie loves it. “I have great ears, Pattycake, and Stanley makes this sort of, uh, echolocation type noise when he’s having issues with hotel staff. I should know, I went on vacation once with his family, to the Catskills? Stan spilled soup on a waiter and every bat in the fuckin’ place came right outta the forest and flew into the buffet. Don’t ask him about it though, one man’s vigilante origin story is another man’s traumatic childhood. Okay bye.” Richie definitely doesn’t run, but running away is more about aura than gait.

Audra frowns. “Did he just imply Batman didn’t have a traumatic childhood?”

“Haha,” Eddie deflects, stuffing his hand in his pocket, and missing. “He must’ve had the shrimp. Fucked up that he’s the one with the actual shellfish allergy, right? Isn’t that irony, or something?”

“That would be ironic, if you didn’t know everything we’re all allergic to by heart and would never let Richie eat shrimp,” Bill says, still staring.

“I would,” Eddie says immediately. He can’t find his fucking pocket. “I would totally let Richie eat shrimp.”

“You slapped his slice of pizza out of his hand last week because there was oyster sauce in the marinara,” Mike says, but Eddie is already actually running away. Wow, he’s fast.

Even with the Losers, Richie’s only out by implication, but it’d still be weird if he, for some reason, brought a woman as his date. He thinks about bringing Sven the Sound Guy because he’s as opposite to Eddie as it’s possible to find on short notice since Guy Fieri was unavailable, but he can’t decide whether this is genius cover or so on the nose as to be damning. He goes stag in the end, which is perhaps most damning of all. Eddie is in Schrodinger’s closet, because he doesn’t have to answer either way if nobody fucking asks him, and nobody does, because Eddie always starts doing whatever he’s currently doing to an incredibly intense level whenever the conversation turns to dating. One time at dinner when they were all in the same city for one of Richie’s tentative, low-key comeback shows, someone mentioned post-divorce dating apps, and then someone simply said the word Grindr not even in Eddie’s direction and Eddie cut his steak so hard he scratched the plate. This was an achievement in and of itself seeing as the clown took Eddie’s fork-arm, but Richie was spearing his steak for him while he cut it. He’s an enabler. An enabler to steak, and freakouts.

Anyway, even with all of this, it’s still weird that Eddie brings a woman. She’s Paula. From work. Stan sees her checking her phone so often that he figures out she’s one of the women in the matching white wedding dresses on her lock screen. Stan nudges Patty, who becomes very insistent that they should tell Eddie before he gets his heart broken, but Eddie is probably too busy periodically kicking out the backs of Richie’s knees to make him wobble and buckle against the bar to notice, or care.

Bev has great fucking aim, is the thing. There’s a lost catapult and a space-alien dead as a dodo can attest to it, but she’s still facing the opposite direction and could never predict that her bouquet toss would bounce off two different bridesmaids’ heads, straight into Richie’s hands. They’re so beautiful. White and orange and a rich, nautical blue that matches Eddie’s suit, tidily pinned up at the right shoulder and pressed hard into Richie’s side. Bev is laughing delightedly and Ben is taking a photo, and Eddie has been getting steadily drunker ever since he got back half an hour ago from gratefully sending Paula home to her wife in an Uber with some cake. He’s all pink across the bridge of his nose and he looks so fucking adorable with Ben’s blue and white yacht captain hat tilted on his head at a rakish angle, and the others are all catcalling so hard that Richie figures they might as well give up the pretense. He kicks out the back of Eddie’s knees so he’ll buckle into Richie’s flowery arms and fucking DIPS him like that old wartime photo even though Eddie’s the one with the sailor hat getting knocked off his head because they’re kissing so enthusiastically, clinging to the back of Richie’s neck and snortlaughing into his mouth, but suddenly everyone’s shouting, and they all sound - not pissed, exactly, but certainly indignant

“Are you guys serious,” Bill says, “you’re stealing their thunder right now? One major childhood romance realized isn’t enough, you’re gonna crash theirs?”

“Wait,” Richie says

Bev throws up her hands. Richie can’t see, because of her dress, but he’s pretty sure her foot is actually tapping. “Why didn’t you tell us!”

Eddie is still dangling off him like a monkey, all stunned-drunk limp with the bouquet shoved in his face. Richie hears what uh oh sounds like muffled by flowers, and Ben silently takes another photo, like he’s cataloguing a crime scene.

“You guys... didn’t know? We actually kept it a secret?”

“Until now, you jackasses!”

“What secret,” Audra asks, appearing with like eight plates of cake. “What’s happening? Oh wait, I’m caught up.”

“But—but—the fondue,” Eddie says, and seriously, it’s not like the clown ripped his legs off, he could try standing and facing this with Richie like a true bro, but Richie’s kind of enjoying the weight of him. Plus he’s pretty sure Bev won’t dare to go through Eddie to kill him, so. Human shield it is.

“What about the fondue?” Mike looks like he did after the end of The Usual Suspects. Like he’s re-evaluating every time Richie and Eddie left a room together, and wishes he wasn’t. “You guys are like that all the time.”

“Then why were you all staring!”

“Nobody was staring! It was a natural lull in conversation, we were weirded out that you were being weird about it! Have you always been this self-centered?”

“I guess so,” Richie shrugs. He looks down at Eddie, covered in pollen and thoroughly confused. He’s so drunk he’s looking kinda cross-eyed. “You hear that, dude? We were killing it, until we fucked it all up!”

Eddie grins up at him. “Good enough!” he slurs, and then lets go of Richie’s neck for a high five. Everyone’s gone back to ignoring them in favour of dancing to Journey, so at least nobody notices Richie’s so eager to return it that he drops Eddie on the floor instead

#this is so dumb but i made myself laugh #and im trying to get writing again by working it out through dumbass ficlets #reddie #ficlet

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brave-clarice · 4 years ago

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“Clarice” Liveblog: Episode 3

Maybe Wednesday is just destined to be my watch night? At any rate, here are some more comically late hot takes for you all.

I really do not like that Clarice’s Bureau-mandated therapist is recurring character, nor do I like the way these scenes are framed.

And the name of this episode is “Are You Alright?” which...oop.

“He was a marshal.” Good to know that the sheriff BS she gave Mr. Cult Leader was made up after all.

This is a little thing, but enough with the boring monochromatic button-ups on Clarice! Where’s my girl who hides copies of Vogue under her mattress??

I don’t love this constant-flashback thing one bit.

To be 100% clear, if I haven’t been already, it’s not that I want Clarice’s mental health to be ignored. I just don’t think this is the best or most in-character way to address it.

Also: Clarice Starling is not defined by her trauma.

“Buffalo Bill...a wound I believe will never heal unless you open up about it.” Honestly?

Thanks, I hate it!

I hate to even bring up the NBC show.....but this scene is reminding me, intensely and unpleasantly, of that.

That show made Will Graham way too unstable and mentally ill as it is...and Clarice’s character is a hell of a lot stronger than book!Will, never mind NBC!Will. So having Clarice hallucinate and lash out in similar ways feels really OOC.

“Maybe your perceptions aren’t as solid as you think.” Yay, gaslighting. As if Clarice doesn’t face enough obstacles in the books.

I’ve always interpreted Ardelia as a bit of a neat freak, so that was a nice scene with the boxes!

Were most politicians wearing American flag pins in the early 90s? That feels way too modern. (iirc it became the “norm” only after 9/11.)

“Imagine someone field-dressing one of [your daughters] like a deer.” I’m getting strong and very unwelcome NBC vibes again. Stop it, show!

More gaslighting, but this time from the suspect.

“Well, I’m Army, so I’m actually a good shot.” For some reason this feels like shade at ex-Marine John Brigham even though he doesn’t exist in this show, and I’m offended on his behalf.

Speaking of, when is Clarice’s sharpshooting talent going to come up??

Krendler’s supporting Clarice? Saying she has a good idea???? WHO IS THIS GUY?!

The implication here is that...the president will fire AG Martin over bad press...? Or what?

What I’m getting from this: this Krendler is just some guy who hapens to have the same name, not the infamous King Scumbag we know and love to hate. (And those clothes...1993, where are you?!?)

Ardelia called her “Starling”! Though it was tongue-in-cheek.

“I’m aware I have the palate of an eight-year-old.” Somewhere, Hannibal is dying inside. (Hmm...wasn’t she about eight when her father was killed?)

This line/delivery was super cute!

But being unable to cook doesn’t necessarily mean you have unsophisticated tastes...

Is Catherine going to have any kind of personality? Beyond “is traumatized”?

And where is Catherine’s cat???

“It’s from the 50s.” “I’m from the 50s! ...I still work.” Cuuute.

Her sheepish little smile when the Baltimore cop tells her they’re “big fans” of hers...I would die for this girl, folks.

Hey, remember phone books?! And a nice nod to Ardelia being the bookish one of the pair.

Another homage to Silence’s cinematography (but this time she’s the reflection).

Krendler’s back in Asshole Boss mode again. Make up your minds.

Thanks, I still hate it!

Okay, yes Clarice has a temper! And she does act “impulsively” re: Krendler in Hannibal...at the END of her by-then failed career. But a fledgling female agent who’s already viewed as a kind of “loose cannon” could NOT afford to chuck a mug full of coffee at her boss (with whom she’s already butting heads/struggling to coexist) when she’s upset! Very unprofessional and unlike Clarice.

“You think I’m the one who wants to play politics?” In Hannibal, Krendler wants to run for Congress, so...yeah, I do.

Krendler wouldn’t be wrong to send Clarice home after that, tbh.

“He thinks I’m the weak link.” “You might be.” *angry noises*

Busting through doors while armed: Just Clarice Things

Krendler telling Clarice she was right...his characterization’s giving me whiplash.

Catherine’s not an actual character so far, and it’s sad.

Glad they’re acknowledging that AG Martin’s “field-dressing” comments were incredibly bad.

“I think I have some memories I need to look at...but not with you.” Oh! Oh! I know who she’s going to look at them with! ;)

“You’re trying to gaslight me, sir.” Not sure they would’ve used that term as commonly in the early 90s, though Clarice has a therapy license, so maybe?

But also: yes! CALL! HIM! OUT!

“I wish you luck finding someone who’s better at it than I am.” *shrieks* That is a Hannibal reference, and I’ll fight anyone who says it isn’t.

I’ve liked all these episodes more than my nit-picking might suggest, I swear. I enjoyed the middle half hour or so of this one a lot! It’s got a few charming little funny moments that I particularly appreciated.

That said... This was, as a whole, probably Rebecca Breeds’ weakest showing to date (through no fault of her own). And I’m getting a little antsy about (lack of) character development. I’m on board with exploring Ardelia and Catherine Martin in greater depth...but Ruth Martin, too--even Krendler? And seemingly at the expense of Clarice’s own character?

What do the non-book readers in the audience really know about Clarice so far beyond what’s shown in Silence? (Some early interviews emphasized that the film didn’t have time to delve into Clarice’s character intimately. What has the show done to remedy that so far...?) She likes junk food, she has a brother...I can’t think of much else off the top of my head. Not to be a broken record, but there’s more to Clarice than childhood trauma. More than her career. If this show is genuinely about her--well, by episode 3 and 4, it’s high time for them to start exploring who she is beyond those things.

Clarice is a sharpshooter who competes and wins. She’s a runner. She loves horses and muscle cars. She has a therapy license. She graduated at the top of her large undergraduate class. She’s interested in fashion (though she probably doesn’t let on about that to many people). I haven’t seen any of that so far, and it’s beginning to make me sad.

They also need to end the “Clarice is mentally/emotionally unstable and sometimes even hallucinates” subplot right now!

I’m dropping all my expectations for this Paul Krendler. They won’t commit to making him as intolerable and awful as he was in the books. Instead, we have an OC with a canonical name. Fine. But that choice is going to be awkward if the show goes forward and they, by some miracle, get rights to Hannibal’s character...

If Catherine Martin’s sticking around, I hope to God they give her a personality. Of course she’s suffering, and no, I don’t want them to belittle that--but right now, she’s coming across as a one-dimensional caricature of a victim rather than as a sympathetic real person.

And finally...where is my 90s aesthetic?! It’s one of the elements that I was most excited about, yet it’s barely present. Some of the tech and the cars look right. A lot of the clothes and hairstyles, though, leave much to be desired. (Clarice’s wardrobe is especially boring/disappointing so far. I was looking forward to an improvement on Jodie’s movie costumes! Clarice doesn’t have to dress just like Dana Scully--but at least Scully always looked straight out of 199x.) And there are little anachronistic things that take me right out of the early 90s.

I didn’t hate it. I didn’t love it. It wasn’t as exciting or as full of novel/film allusions as the first two (I guess they can’t all be). It also felt unfocused when it came to the characters, ultimately developing almost none of them, including the heroine. This is the episode I think I’m least likely to rewatch of the first three.

I’m hoping for better from #4!

#Clarice Starling #clarice #cbs clarice #rebecca breeds #media [cbs show]#actor [rebecca breeds]

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