#easy answer nobody likes to play with ugly characters

[madame-helen]

[bewitching-elizabeth-olsen]

Press: “It’s a New Day”: THR Drama Actress Roundtable

THE HOLLYWOOD REPORTER: Gillian Anderson had been dreading this. A tripod had arrived at her home in the U.K., along with a mess of lights and, really, just the thought of having to sit through an hour-plus on Zoom had her practically reeling. But then the woman who stuns as Margaret Thatcher in the most recent season of Netflix’s The Crown got talking — about pigeonholing and pay equity, about grieving and giving oneself over — and soon she didn’t want to stop talking. And neither did anyone else — The Queen’s Gambit‘s Anya Taylor-Joy, Pose‘s Mj Rodriguez, Genius: Aretha‘s Cynthia Erivo, WandaVision’s Elizabeth Olsen and Ratched‘s Sarah Paulson — at THR’s annual (virtual) Drama Actress Roundtable.

Let’s start easy. Complete this sentence: On set, I’m the one who is most likely to be …

GILLIAN ANDERSON Hiding in a corner. (Laughter.)

ANYA TAYLOR-JOY Pacing whilst moving my hands like this (waving above) trying to figure out what it is that I’m doing.

SARAH PAULSON Bossing everyone around.

ELIZABETH OLSEN Probably trying to make the crew laugh.

At the same time, you’re also inhabiting characters for long stretches and often they require you to go to dark or heavy places. What happens when a director yells, “Cut”? Do they come home with you?

MJ RODRIGUEZ I try to separate myself from Blanca as much as possible, especially [because we’re] dealing with immense trauma. So, when I go home, it’s Michaela Jaé going home, and I bring Blanca to the set. It’s easier that way because it can weigh on you otherwise and wash off on your family.

TAYLOR-JOY I wish I had as much control over it. For me, there are some characters that you can very easily snap in and out of and then there are other ones like Beth in The Queen’s Gambit. I’d worked back-to-back on two projects with one day off in between, so by the time I got to filming the show, I was exhausted and there was no energy to create a barrier. And that was potentially the toughest thing about the show, because it was a wonderful experience as an actor to be able to not have to reach for any emotion, but then you also have to go through the psychological warfare of figuring out, “Why do I feel so awful in the morning?” Like, “What is happening?” And then you go, “Oh, it’s not my feelings,” but I have to sit in them all day and I have to be aware enough to go, “You are not depressed, the character is depressed, and at some point that will leave you.” But I do think a bath every single night — being able to have the visual representation of washing yourself clean of something — helps.

OLSEN Regardless of what exactly the day requires of you, emotionally, you’re just tired. And so you try to be patient and professional and kind, and then when you go home, that’s when your fuse is just … smaller. (Laughter.)

TAYLOR-JOY You should date us, we’re fabulous.

CYNTHIA ERIVO I did, it was a real ugly cry. After playing [Harriet Tubman in the 2019 film], I went straight to see my mother in London and I don’t know what happened, but I just broke. You know the visual representation of shattering glass? That was what was happening to me. All the stuff I had to dig through to play her, all that heartbreaking stuff didn’t leave me when I finished, and it took time to just dissipate. And it was the same with Aretha — unfortunately, the pandemic hit when we were in the middle of shooting, so I couldn’t completely get rid of her during the six-month hiatus, and then I had to go right back into playing her. And it’s little things, like mannerisms, that stick with you. The lilt in her voice when she’s speaking to people. Like, that’s not me but I was stuck with that for a bit. And I was recording an album at the same time, so there was no space between one and the other. It took me a while before I could listen to an Aretha song again.

ANDERSON I certainly had that experience doing X-Files for nine seasons. I had a good couple of mini breakdowns during that, and at the end, could not talk about it, could not see it, could not see pictures, could not. I needed to immerse immediately in theater in another country. And then after a while, I was able to embrace it again, but when I started to embrace it, it was almost like I separated myself so much that I was looking at the image as if it was another person. When you immerse yourself so entirely as we can and we do for such long periods of time, there’s not going to be no consequence to that. Of course, there’s going to be consequence to that.

TAYLOR-JOY May I pose a question to the group?

Please do.

TAYLOR-JOY It’s so wonderful hearing you two talk about this, because I’ve always felt really crazy for the depressions that you go into after you leave a character and not being able to necessarily connect with yourself. And I’m really curious to hear what your relationship is with something being seen. Because when I first started working, I convinced myself that filmmaking was a very private practice with a private group of people and that no one was ever going to see it. And I thought I’d grow out of that, and I haven’t. Every project I have to sit myself down about two months after it’s finished and go, “People are going to see this and have access to it whenever they want.” How do you guys work [handle that]? Because for Queen’s Gambit, I had to go through a grieving period. It was grief, genuinely, to think, “Oh goodness, this thing that I loved so much is not mine anymore.”

ANDERSON I had that experience after doing Blanche in Streetcar [Named Desire] here in the U.K. and then in New York.

OLSEN I saw your last performance in New York. You were fabulous.

PAULSON Fucking phenomenal.

ANDERSON I felt like I’d lost my best friend. I was grieving. Some friends of mine in New York had a brunch for me the weekend after [I finished my run], and I arrived like a complete wreck. It was so profound. I also knew it was unlikely I was going to do it again because I knew that I’d probably lose my mind. I got really close. Like, I’d survived by the skin of my teeth and if I did it again out of ego or attachment or not wanting to let her go, there would be consequences. So I knew it was the end, and it was so sad.

ERIVO Do you know what’s so crazy? I listen to you and I’m like, “Oh my God, that’s what was happening to me during The Color Purple.” It was the last show and I started grieving in the show, knowing that it was coming to an end. There’s one last song and I couldn’t get through it. And then the show ends and I buckled under the sadness of it. But there was no way I could have continued playing Celie on that stage. It [had been] 14 months and I had to let her go. The line between me and her had disappeared. But to answer your question, Anya, I’ve never had an issue with people seeing things. I usually have an issue seeing it after it’s done.

PAULSON This happened when I did Marcia Clark [for The People v. O.J. Simpson: American Crime Story]. I felt a profound connection to her and I felt protective of her, and the experience had been so tectonic plate-shifting for me, both as a performer and as a human, and I thought, “If I watch it, I’m going to pick apart everything.” She was left-handed, so every time I use my right hand, I’m going to think, “God damn it, why did they use that?” So, the only way to protect myself from that is to detach from what the world will experience with it. And I’ve maintained that for a long time now — I really don’t watch [things I’m in] because I don’t have the strength, first of all, to bear the sight of my face and, also, I find it really confronting. The preciousness of the thing you were creating with these other people is what I want to be the indelible thing for me and not how it was edited.

TAYLOR-JOY Mm-hmm.

PAULSON All that does is make me furious because I don’t have the power to go in and go, “Hi, um, could you choose take six? It’s infinitely better.” (Laughter.) And when you don’t have that ability and you’re at the mercy of someone else’s opinion of what is the finest work that you’ve done, which doesn’t always line up with what you feel, it’s really jarring and you feel so powerless to do anything about it. So, I have to just sage it all out and let my experience be the only thing that governs the way I feel about it.

RODRIGUEZ When the first two seasons of Pose came out, I didn’t watch them at first because I was just so nervous about how the world would receive it. It was a story that a lot of people haven’t gotten to see, and it was a whole bunch of trans women of color finally getting their shot. It’s a lot of responsibility. And on top of that, it’s a story that’s filled with trauma and things that a lot of us trans women have gone through, so it was hard for me to watch all of those things back.

Gillian, in your career you’ve also been a champion for pay equity. But even as you were promoting a book you co-authored on female empowerment a few years ago, you acknowledged that you were nervous speaking up about being paid less than your male co-star. What do you think you were scared of, and how have the conversations for you changed since?

ANDERSON I just need to point out that I first fought for pay equity way back when it was audacious by anybody’s standards, because I was a nobody when we started to do that series. But when I really spoke up about it was when it happened again, four or five years ago, after the career I’d already had post-X-Files. We were going back to do another season and Fox came to me to offer, I don’t know, a 10th of what my co-star [David Duchovny] was being offered. That was the point where I was like, “Fuck this. I’m actually going to talk about this [publicly].” And since then, it hasn’t really come up. I mean, I haven’t worked with a lot of men, so that hasn’t been an issue. (Laughs.) I’m certainly tuned to it, and were it something now, I’d address it. But I have so much admiration for anyone who stands up for their right either to be paid or to be hired, period. And look, they weren’t going to fire me on The X-Files. The stakes weren’t that high. I put my foot down, not because the stakes weren’t high, but if they were going to fire me, some people were going to have some things to say about that. It’s very different for a young woman going into a job situation with a boss who’s overbearing and asking for a pay raise.

Sure, you had leverage.

ANDERSON Yeah.

For the rest of you, when have you spoken up in your careers?

ERIVO I mean, the obvious is I’m a Black woman, and that has a lot to do with how you’re paid, how you’re hired, if you’re hired, the way you’re hired — it affects everything. I’m lucky enough to have a team behind me that is brave enough to ask the questions I’d like asked: What I’m being paid compared to the leading man in the show, or if I’m being paid a lot less, whether or not they are willing to come up so it becomes equal. And about little things in my contract that just make it easier to exist on a set. For me, it’s about having the guts to stick with it and to keep asking and keep fighting. And there are definitely times where you’re like, “I am so exhausted from asking the same thing.” Like, if we could please have this makeup artist with me because usually there are no Black makeup artists on a set and you’re the only one who needs one, and I’ve had to have that fight every single time I’ve gone onto a set: “I need to hire these two people because they are the only people that understand how to do my face or my hair.” It isn’t about vanity, it’s about making sure that whoever I’m playing is represented in the right way because they understand how to work with my skin tone and my hair. But you keep sticking with it because it’s not just me having my way, it’s me being able to employ two other people. And then maybe I’m asking, “Can we have a DP who understands lighting that works on my skin tone?” So it’s constantly being OK with asking the questions. And there is a bit of fear, like, “Am I going to be seen as difficult?” And yes, there are times where I’ve had someone say they’ve heard I was difficult, but usually, it’s because I’ve asked a question that will make for a better surrounding or a better show. And if I keep asking the questions and if other ladies like myself keep asking the questions, and we keep trying to better our spaces, it just becomes the norm — because at some point it has to just become the norm.

Elizabeth, I believe you had a saying in your house growing up, “No is a full sentence.” When do you find you use it?

OLSEN I use it a lot. (Laughs.) I use it when I’m on set. I mean, I want to be a part of every department when I’m on set. I want to understand the schedule. I want to understand everything. I produced a TV show [Sorry for Your Loss] that didn’t get too much light of day because it was on Facebook, which, whatever … but as a producer on it, it was really important for me to be a voice of everything you’re saying, Cynthia, and have heads of departments feel like and look like the freakin’ world. And just from having a taste of that for two seasons, I can’t [go back]. So when I go to do Dr. Strange 2 in England, I guess I use it when I just can’t shake it even though [the production is] so much bigger than me. I don’t know, my opinions are vast and everyone hears them, from the first AD to the EP. I think I’m like a representative of anyone having a hard time on set. … (Laughs.)

PAULSON You’re the Equity rep, I love it.

OLSEN Oh my God. (Laughter.)

When you think about your careers, is there someone else’s that you look at and go, “Ooh, yeah, I’d love that”?

OLSEN Gillian’s, Sarah’s …

ERIVO Yeah, Sarah, you’re that for me. You’re fucking incredible.

PAULSON You saying that to me makes me want to cry because sometimes you feel like you’re doing this in a bubble and you don’t even know if anything you’re doing ever has any meaning or impact to anyone.

ERIVO It does. From my heart, it does. And I hope I get to work with you one day.

PAULSON I’d give my eyeteeth. (Laughs.) For me, it’s Gillian — somebody being on a TV program for a long time that’s wildly successful and then retreats to another country to be onstage, to reconnect yourself to the very things that inspired you and made you want to be a part of this. It all gets very confusing in terms of how to navigate [this business]because you do want to make a living, but you also want to follow your heart. And there does come a time where you can become quite depleted from the constant output without any input. And if you’re a woman of a certain age, which I certainly am, I feel like I’ve got one foot on one window frame and I’ve got the other one over here and I’m just trying to insist that they stay open for as long as possible. And some of that is beyond my control, but when I look at Gillian’s career I just go, “Well, I want that.”

ANDERSON Thank you for saying that. On the one hand, I feel like there is some degree of design, but I’ve also never really gone after things. And when I finished with X-Files, I didn’t know if I wanted to be on a set again ever. So aside from having grown up in the U.K. and wanting to go back, I knew it would take time before I could, if I was going to. And in London, you could move between theater and TV, and that was always my dream. But every actor has the thing that they’d want more than the thing that they have, and I’m a cinephile, and so I [wonder], “Why do I keep doing TV? All I want to do is do film.” And I’m still doing TV. (Laughs.) But I’ve had such amazing opportunities that, coming from Scully, I even questioned people, like, “Why are you offering this to me? What makes you think that I can do this?” I’ll also say that as soon as you have kids, kids are the priority. So, I say to people, “I’m gonna be such a pain in the ass for you to hire. But if you think I’m this person, I’m gonna need to work during this period of time and then have time with my kids. And it’s going to be expensive for you. If you are willing to do that, then I’m your girl, and if you’re not, you need to find somebody else.”

Anya, Queen’s Gambit became a global juggernaut. How have your opportunities and choices changed? Is there pressure to strike while the iron is hot?

TAYLOR-JOY I think I’ve always followed character and only recently did I start following directors as well, but it’s always been about, “Do I feel like I’m the right person to tell this story? Do I think I can tell this story correctly?” And if you look at something like Queen’s Gambit, it was not supposed to be the white-hot show; it’s a show about a girl that plays chess for seven hours, but I felt so compelled to tell that story. So, it sounds cheesy, but I really just keep following my heart. OK, wait, I take that back. Something I’m also learning is that you give yourself to this person for three to six months, and I never used to think about this before, but now I start thinking, “Am I ready to give up my life for this person? Do I need to tell this story so badly that I’m going to do that?” I try not to think about what other people will think, because it’s your life at the end of the day. And as we all know, you’re that [character] every hour of the day, and when you go home it’s difficult to let go of them, so you have to really love them.

Mj, you’ve talked about how significant this show was for you and for the visibility of the trans community. How have the opportunities being presented to you post-Pose changed?

RODRIGUEZ In the middle of the third season, I started figuring out my worth, and it’s scary. I was nervous. I didn’t expect to actually book my next job after Pose.

ERIVO I did.

PAULSON We all did.

RODRIGUEZ And see, that’s my insecurity and that’s something I have to fix. I didn’t think it was possible. To get an opportunity like Pose and have myself centered in the story and to end it with hope, and then to get another opportunity with an iconic actress [an Apple TV+ comedy co-starring Maya Rudolph] was surreal. But if I’m still feeling the need for protection as far as my Blackness, my Latina-ness and my trans-ness go, that means there is more work to be done.

Are there doors still not open to the rest of you? Parts you’d love to play if only Hollywood would see you that way?

PAULSON No one has asked me to do a comedy, and I’m a little frustrated about that.

ERIVO And you’re funny as fuck.

PAULSON I spend a lot of time in these worlds where I’m either running or crying or screaming or playing a real person and trying to get their physicality, and I’d really like to do a nice road picture with me and a couple of chicks.

ANDERSON Ooh, I’ll go with you!

PAULSON How about all of us just in a road movie — like, get a Winnebago and let’s go?

ERIVO I’m down.

RODRIGUEZ Yeah, count me in.

ANDERSON I’m 53, Sarah, and I’ve really only been offered comedy in the last three years of my life, and I don’t think that’s because I’m any funnier than I used to be. I think a lot of it is that people just couldn’t fathom it, whether it was that Scully was still in their minds or it was someone else, because I’ve played a lot of dark characters, too. And so they just weren’t coming. And then came [Netflix comedy] Sex Education — and I passed when it first came to me because I didn’t think it was right. It was my partner who proverbially dug it out of the trash.

ERIVO I’ve yet to see a Call Me by Your Name for a Black woman, I have yet to see a piece that allows a woman of color to be sensual and soft and loving and be loved. I’ve just not seen it, and I desperately want to experience that, just because I want to be able to be in that space of vulnerability and lilt. I really want to do that. And that hasn’t come my way. A comedy hasn’t come my way either.

RODRIGUEZ Same. It’s been so hard when it comes to trans women being loved in a sensual way, and I’d love to do something like that.

Elizabeth and Anya, to Sarah’s point, Hollywood likes to keep actors in a lane. How have you avoided that kind of pigeonholing in your careers to date?

TAYLOR-JOY I’ve been saved from a lot of things in my life from pure innocence and naivete, genuinely. My first movie was called The Witch, I got a script immediately afterward that was about, you guessed it, a witch, and I figured, “Wow, why do they want to see me do this again?” So, I was immediately like, “Can I not do anymore witch movies, please?” And my agent was like, “OK. Sure, whatever you say.” I wonder how many people agree with me here because I certainly want to please, but in order to please, I don’t have to give up myself, and actually it’s more important to please myself than it is to please anybody else. I’m giving my heart, my body, my soul, everything to this character, I’m not going to do something because somebody wants me to do it. That doesn’t make any sense and, also, it makes me miserable and then I can’t do my best work. And so if I feel the opportunities that are being given to me aren’t the right ones, then I have to stick my neck out and go, “Hey, I think I could maybe do this, if you’ll give me the opportunity to try.”

How about you, Elizabeth?

OLSEN [In the beginning,] I was just trying so hard to not be put in a box that that’s what was guiding my choices. I knew that I didn’t want to be an actor who was thought of as “youthful and beautiful” and whatever that attachment people like to put onto young women, and so I did everything in my power not [to be seen as] that. But I didn’t have my own pillars of why I wanted to do things beyond just the character. That started to solidify only in the last five years. So I made a lot of odd decisions [after theater school at NYU] because I didn’t know enough about film and the machine of it. Right, Sarah? You were there for that time. We were in Martha Marcy May Marlene, and I remember someone asked me, “You had Sarah Paulson with you, didn’t you know it could be a film people saw?” And I was like …

PAULSON You were like, “Who the fuck is Sarah Paulson?” (Laughter.)

OLSEN No, but independent cinema to me was just, like, going to Quad Cinema in New York and seeing a movie. The theater world is all I understood. So I feel like a moron for going back to theater only once in 10 years. And this conversation with Gillian right now is inspiring.

In light of Elizabeth’s concern about the trap of being perceived as “youthful and beautiful,” how would you all complete this sentence: I wish our male counterparts also had to …

OLSEN Deal with lighting and hair and makeup before doing press. I don’t know what I’m doing.

ERIVO Deal with people believing that you’ve lost your sexuality after the age of 30.

TAYLOR-JOY Had an understanding of what it was like to walk into a room and sometimes have to enforce yourself for people to take you seriously. That ability to just walk into a room and go, “I am valid, I own my space and everybody respects me” — it would be good if they knew what it was like to not have that.

ERIVO And on the flip side, to not have to deal with walking into the room and trying to make sure people aren’t scared of you when you get there.

What do you all know now that you wish you could have told yourself at the beginning of your career?

PAULSON I would like to have told myself that I didn’t need to excise myself from the experience. I was very focused on looking at other actors who had careers that I admired when I was first starting out and wondering what it was about them that made it possible for them to be chosen or employed and I’d often try, in an audition or a social setting, to mimic what I imagined was the desired effect, taking me out of the scenario. And there’s this beautiful Martha Graham-to-Agnes de Mille letter that I used to keep in a dressing room any time I was doing a play, about how there is only one you in all of time and space and that what you see and how you experience things is unique to you. And if you block it, the world will not have it. And as a young person, I thought, “Mute me, mute my opinions, my thoughts, my assessments and try to fill it with other things,” and now I think it’s the exact opposite, so I wish I had known that earlier. But I’ll take knowing it now [over] never knowing it at all.

RODRIGUEZ I would have told my younger self that my existence is worth it. When I was younger, I tried to fit into this mold of what a woman should do — you know, keep your legs crossed, always bow down to a man. But we don’t have to live in that world anymore. It’s a new day.

It is, and that’s a good place to end. Thank you all for sharing your time and your stories.

ERIVO I know we’re supposed to finish, but do you know what’s occurred to me as I’ve listened to every one of you? I remember where I was when I watched every single one of you — and I remember what I was dealing with or going through. I was watching you, Sarah, when I was shooting Aretha. I was watching you, Elizabeth, when I was in London on my own, and you, Anya, when I was in Atlanta. Mj, I remember watching a season of Pose while I was shooting The Outsider. And Gillian, I watched you when I was in a hotel with my partner outside of London. And I remember what happened. And so your performances aren’t just brilliant, your performances get to be Post-its in all of our lives, and so I thank you for that.

PAULSON That’s a very beautiful way to put it …

ANDERSON It also brings us back full circle to what Anya said at the beginning, which is, “Oh my God, I have to keep reminding myself that people are going to watch this.” But actually, thank God that people are watching it, because we’ve touched each other’s lives and numerous other people’s lives just by focusing on the thing that we love most.

TAYLOR-JOY And the importance of these conversations is the honesty, because it’s very easy for us to get locked into our own heads of this as an individual experience — “There’s something wrong with me,” or “Everybody else is doing really great and nobody else grieves their characters,” or whatever your version of that is in whatever industry you’re in. But having honest conversations with people who are willing to be vulnerable just makes me feel so much less alone.

PAULSON The next time you feel that way, text me. I’ll remind you. I’d also like to say that there’s this [perception] of women being pitted against one another and not being there for one another, and this conversation is diametrically opposed, in that what we are actually saying is that each of us has been buoyed by and inspired by the work of everyone here. So, I may not watch anything I do, but I sure as hell am watching all of you.

Press: “It’s a New Day”: THR Drama Actress Roundtable was originally published on Elizabeth Olsen Source • Your source for everything Elizabeth Olsen

[secretshinigami]

Phototaxis

Author: @kiranatrix For: @baranedizille Pairings/Characters: Light Yagami, L Lawliet, Ryuk, Sayu Yagami, Sachiko Yagami, Socihiro Yagami // Lawlight if you squint, or not Rating/Warnings: Gen // no warnings Prompt: To-Oh timeline. L visits the Yagamis to work on a project with Light, L has a dinner with Light’s family and it’s awkward. And ofc, Ryuk is also there commenting the situation. Author’s notes: I hope you enjoy the story! This occurs on the evening of April 11 while Light and L are both at To-Oh. Soichiro has been resting at home following his heart attack on April 7 (the day of Light and L’s tennis match). The Japanese legend mentioned in the fic (The Fire Quest) is a real one. Sayu gets it mostly correct, but the traditional version in English is here: https://www.worldoftales.com/Asian_folktales/Japanese_folktale_49.html.

—–

Hideki Ryuga– L –was coming over tonight and Light hardly knew how to handle it. L, with his too-long fingers and his too-intense stare, his perfectly enunciated Japanese and teeth unrealistically white for an all-sugar diet, was coming to Light’s house for dinner and, purportedly, to study. 

It was a lie, but that was their preferred currency when shifting closer. Stepping together to a stage, a classroom, a tennis court, a cafe– each time the way was paved with lies, petals they threw at the other’s feet and pretended not to notice. It made getting to the destination sweeter when the end was had only ever been death for one or the other. And still, they couldn’t stop. Light was so glad L hadn’t stopped.

  L would be arriving any moment but Light couldn’t help but take out his Death Note from its hiding place, just to touch the pebbly leather of his ace in this game. The Death Note was no proper diary but the handwriting in it betrayed plenty about the emotional state and thoughts of its owner these past months. There was the first casually-scrawled name, jotted off like the joke Light believed it to be. Kurou Otoharada. A long, jagged pen mark bled across the rest of the page, a horizon of surprise when that first death dawned. The next name had been carefully written several times with the spelling slightly shifted, the last instances hurried and impatient. There was an exclamation point by the third experiment, exactly 40 seconds from when he’d inked the right combination. Takuo Shibuimaru. It had probably been added in shock, but Light chose to remember a different reason. I got it right, I won. 

  The names filling the following pages were unremarkable except that they looked exactly like the handwriting on Light’s homework. Studious, easy, and correct without the requirement of much thought. This was a different kind of work, performed as professionally as an accountant. A roster of the worst murderers of the world, the lowest hanging fruit, and Light plucked them nightly when he wasn’t sure how many more nights he’d have. Surely there had to be some price for what he was doing? Aren’t you going to take my soul? Ryuk laughed at him, was impressed by him, and that was a good sign for a shinigami; he would take something but not for a while. 

  It wasn’t until about ten pages in that things got telling again. A name written diagonally, frantically, and taking up nearly an entire page– Lind L. Tailor. Light’s adrenaline and fury and glee stained the paper as much as the ink had, from a pen that he didn’t use often and had grabbed as quickly as possible during L’s broadcast. Everything about this name was different, just as L was different from all those who had come before. This name was the hook that pulled Kira out of the shadows and thrust L into the light, a breadcrumb for both of them to devour and hunger for more. 

  This elaborate name was immediately replaced in Light’s mind by a single stark gothic letter, so much so that even when he looked back on that day, he didn’t recall a suited nobody slumped over a desk and dragged away on-camera. He only recalled ‘come find me, come find me, kill me if you can.’ Light was so accustomed to everything and everyone being boring and easy, to nothing getting to him. L’s challenge had wormed into his mind and he felt alive for the first time in his life. 

  Perhaps the smart thing to do would have been to go silent a while, wait it out until the heat died down and he could find out more about L and his methods. Light had tipped his hand a little but not enough to give the game away, only to set it in motion. Yes, he probably should have played it safe. But he couldn’t stop and he couldn’t help but taunt L further, just to keep chasing that new and intensifying feeling of being alive. The danger was part of their dance, and Light wanted to play with L for as long as possible before Kira killed him. 

  Lind L. Tailor. The ‘L’ had been darkly underlined, reminding Light of the dark half-moons shadowing the eyes of the real man when Light finally met him. The slant of Light’s scrawl, like the hunch of L’s back. The letter ugly and infuriating and fascinating and shouting at him from the page, drawing his finger to trace over it…

  Light pulled his finger back like he’d been burned when he heard his mother calling up to him, heartbeat thudding as he bit his lip and grinned. He quickly snapped his Death Note shut and carefully placed it back in his rigged desk drawer. He’s here. 

“Light! Sayu!” Sachiko leaned to call up the stairs from where she was washing her hands in the kitchen, putting the finishing touches on their meal. “Would one of you get the door, please?” 

  She gave Soichiro a stern look as he shifted on the couch. “Not you, Soichi. If you insist on going back to work tomorrow I want you resting tonight.” Her husband had only come home from the hospital a few days ago after his stress-related heart attack and she was anxious about letting him go right back.

  “Coming!” Light bustled out of his bedroom as the doorbell chimed again, nearly barreling into Sayu. “Whoa!” He gripped her shoulders to steady himself, smiling and flustered. “Don’t worry about it, Sayu. I’ll get it.”

  “Oooo, who’s coming over tonight?” Sayu grinned up at her brother, noticing a rare faint blush on his cheeks. “You look so nervous! Is it a girlfriend?”

  Ryuk floated through Light’s bedroom wall, chuckling at the insinuation. “Pfft, not exactly.” It hadn’t escaped Ryuk’s notice that Light had taken even more care than usual with his appearance tonight and that he’d been mulling over the Death Note in a rather odd way. “Ya do look a little flushed, though. Hyuk hyuk…”

  “No.” Light rolled his eyes as he made his way downstairs, ignoring both his sister and the shinigami. Do I really look nervous? He smoothed his features and said, “It’s just Hideki Ryuga from Ecology class. We have a project to work on tonight.” His father was the only other person who knew who Ryuga really was. L, the infuriating detective spying on him at To-Oh. Ryuk knew even more than that; namely, that Light was the very person L was looking for, but a shinigami was the best secret-keeper.

  “HIDEKI RYUGA?! Light! THE Hideki Ryuga?!” Sayu bounded down the stairs excitedly after Light, squealing with delight and clutching her hands over her heart. “I want to meet him, too! I’m his biggest fan! I know a lot about ecology and maybe I can help you–”

  “Shhh! Sayu, please.” Light shot Sayu a good-natured warning look as he opened the door then forced himself to smile cordially at L. “Hi, Ryuga.” He heard a soft noise of disappointment from Sayu as well as peals of shinigami laughter. It would have been Light’s reaction if the movie star had actually been there instead of his rival.

  “Hello, Light-kun. Good to see you again.” L was wearing his usual attire, a white long-sleeved shirt and baggy jeans, and he had a backpack slung over one hunched shoulder. He’d made a half-hearted attempt to brush his hair tonight, but the effort had been rewarded with a fluffy black halo that was even more wild-looking than his usual spikey bed-head. 

  “I see you managed to find the house.” There was a faint note of sarcasm in Light’s voice. As if L hadn’t gathered all the information he could about Light, illegally, invasively, or otherwise.

  A small, wry smile tugged at L’s lips and he answered, deadpan, “Yes, seeing that I am here, I apparently managed just fine. Are you impressed?” 

  “Incredibly. Please come in.” Smartass. Light held the door open for L to enter and gestured to Sayu just behind him. “This is my sister, Sayu.”

  Sayu had been peeking around Light, eyes wide with curiosity about the odd-looking person who was most definitely not the idol she’d been hoping for. She’d met lots of Light’s friends over the years but no one quite like this. “Wow…I’ve never seen anyone’s hair do that before. Where are you from? Are you older than Light? How does-” 

  “Sayu!” Sachiko rubbed her hands on her apron and sighed in fond exasperation. “Hideki-san, please forgive my child’s rudeness. She’s just excited to meet Light’s best friend at school.”

  Best friend? L’s eyes cut to Light, who immediately looked away. It amused L to hear their lies mirrored by other people. 

  Sachiko bowed politely and gave him a warm smile. “You are very welcome in our home. I’ll be serving dinner in a few moments.” She arched a brow at Sayu, “Please go set the table, Sayu.”

  L gladly toed out of his worn sneakers, padding along barefoot behind Light through the foyer and into the living room. “Your home is very cozy, Light-kun.”

  Ryuk snorted, “Like he hasn’t already seen every inch of it on camera.”

  Exactly. Light clenched his hand in his pocket but didn’t let his expression falter. “Dad, Hideki Ryuga is here for dinner. We have a project to work on tonight.”

  Soichiro looked up from the newspaper he’d been reading on the couch and gave L a polite nod. “Forgive me for not getting up, Hideki-san, I’ve been confined to the couch until dinner on my wife’s orders.” It was slightly uncomfortable to have L here in his home given that he knew his son was under some suspicion. Soichiro dismissed those suspicions out of hand, but he dreaded that L might turn his searchlights on Light during family dinner.

  “Please call me Ryuga.” L gave Light a crooked grin. “That’s what my friends call me.”

  Sayu skipped into the living room with a fist full of chopsticks. “Mom says you can go ahead and sit down. It’s yakisoba tonight!” She grabbed the guest’s arm and dragged him over to the table. “You can sit beside Light, Ryuga.”

  L blushed faintly but let himself be pulled along. “Ah…alright.” It was strange to realize that he’d never had a ‘real’ family dinner inside someone’s home before. Of course, he’d never had a family or friends, so perhaps not so surprising. He dropped his backpack to the floor and climbed into the seat beside Light, crouching as he usually did. 

  Light and Soichiro didn’t bat an eye at that but Sayu couldn’t help but gape at him. “Isn’t that an uncomfortable way to sit? My legs would fall asleep!”

  “Sayu.” Soichiro sat down at the place opposite Light. “Ryuga is our guest, and he’s welcome to sit how he pleases.” He knew from experience that whether L, Ryuzaki, or Ryuga, the peculiar man would do things his own way.

  Sachiko came in a moment later with the dishes for dinner, including yakisoba, miso soup, rice, and pickles. “Please help yourselves. We’re not very formal around here, Ryuga.”

  Ryuk floated behind Light, one clawed hand curled around the back of the human’s chair. “Dunno why you humans go to so much trouble when ya could just have apples.”

  “Hmm.” L peered at the various options, one finger perched on his lip. “I’ve never had yakisoba before. I admit I don’t eat many noodle dishes.” He’d brought some candy bars and a slice of cake in his backpack in case he didn’t like the food. Wammy had told him to at least wait until he was up in Light’s room studying to eat it, though. Apparently it was rude not to at least try the meal (although he still wasn’t sure if he cared).

  “I bet you’d like it.” Light served L some noodles and then put some on his own plate. He whispered to L, “Don’t be difficult. It’s sweet.” He wasn’t about to tell L that he’d suggested yakisoba to his mother tonight for that very reason, or that there were vegetables hiding in it. Why in the hell do I care about pleasing him?  

  “Hmm.” L tentatively picked up his chopsticks and poked at the noodles, looking between them and Light. “Is it spicy?” It was also becoming clear that he’d never used chopsticks before and they kept slipping from his hand. Why hadn’t he asked Wammy to show him how to use them?

  “No, it’s not–here, you’re not holding them right.” Light set his own chopsticks down and took L’s hand, gently molding the fingers into the right position to hold the utensils. He’d done the same thing for Sayu when she was small and learning, so the offer felt automatic. It wasn’t until he looked up and saw L staring at him that he felt self-conscious and pulled away. The gesture had felt too genuine and that made it suspicious. “Well, that’s how to do it. I know you’re a quick learner and will pick it up.”

  L looked down and murmured, “Was that a pun, Light-kun?” He concentrated and managed to pinch a bite of yakisoba, quickly shoveling it into his mouth before it fell off. “…mmm!” He didn’t bother to completely swallow the mouthful before saying, “It is sweet. And quite good.” He picked up another bite with slightly more dexterity. “I like it.” Perhaps the cake in his bag could just be for dessert. 

  Light smiled across the table. “It really is good, Mom, thank you.”

  “Oh, you’re always welcome.” Sachiko beamed happily as L quickly devoured his noodles and took another helping. 

  Soichiro relaxed a little, seeing as things were going more smoothly than he’d expected. “So, boys, what is your project about?”

  “It’s for Ecology. We have to collect an insect and bring it to class tomorrow since the lecture is on local entomology.” Light took a sip of tea to hide his amused smile; L was handling the chopsticks perfectly now. Of course he’d be good at that, too.

  “Eww.” Ryuk scrunched up his nose, he didn’t much like bugs and creepy-crawly things. “Hope it won’t be flappin’ in a box all night cause that would creep me out.”

  “Not just on local entomology, Light-kun.” L chewed a few times, loudly, and swallowed his mouthful. “It’s also on insect phototaxis.”

  Sayu, tilted her head and asked, “What’s that?”

  L suddenly wished he hadn’t spoken up at all. “Well….” He looked down at his meal, stabbing at the noodles. “…an attraction to light. Some insects, like moths, use the moon to navigate and become confused by artificial light. That’s why they flap around outdoor lightbulbs at night.”

  “Oh! Like the Fire Quest!” Sayu nodded sagely. “I know all about that.” When Ryuga just looked at her blankly, she added, “You haven’t heard that story? It’s a famous Japanese legend!”

  Soichiro sighed, “I’m sure Ryuga doesn’t–”

  “I have not heard it.” L set his chopsticks down and leaned forward in his crouch, hands on his knees as he stared at Sayu. “Please tell me the legend.”

  “Sure! See, Light, I told you I could help with your project.” 

  Light grinned and laughed softly. “Just tell the story, Sayu.” Japanese folktales weren’t going to help them but he was happy to indulge his little sister.

  “I’m getting to it!” Sayu sat up straight in her chair, trying to look and sound more official. “There was a queen of the fireflies who lived in a lotus blossom in the middle of a peaceful pond. She was so beautiful that all the moths, dragonflies, and other bugs who lived around the pond were constantly bothering her, begging to marry her. But she didn’t want any of them so it was very annoying.”

  L nodded seriously. “Yes, I can see why that would present a problem. Did she tell them all to go away?”

  “Oh, she tried! But they wouldn’t listen and there got to be so many bugs on her lotus blossom she was afraid it was going to sink. Completely messing up the whole peaceful pond aesthetic.”

  Light snickered and dropped his chin into his hand, smiling at Sayu. “I don’t remember that little detail from the story.”

  “Shhh!” Sayu stuck out her tongue at Light and continued. “Anyway, she thought up a way to get rid of them all. She told them that since she was a firefly, she could only marry the bug that brought fire back to her. Whatever bug did that was worthy to be with her forever.”

  L gave her a lop-sided smile. “I can’t imagine that turned out well for the insect suitors.”

  “Nope! But they couldn’t help themselves. They fluttered and flew around candles, torches, bonfires, all trying to catch the fire that the queen had told them to find but every one of them burned up instead. Nobody completed the Fire Quest and the firefly queen and her pond were left in peace.” Sayu smiled proudly. “The end.” 

  Ryuk had been hanging on Sayu’s every word, half-sitting on the table. “Hahaha! What a great queen!” He hadn’t been aware that fireflies were so sneaky but there was still a lot about the human world he didn’t know. “Now I wanna see a firefly!”

  Light hummed thoughtfully, recalling the legend from his own childhood. Sayu had embellished a bit but it was mostly accurate. “Serves the suitors right, I suppose. They should have listened when the queen told them to go away.”

  “The queen sent them on a quest she knew would result in their deaths.” L turned to look at Light, a small smirk on his lips. “Their annoyance hardly necessitates murder, Light-kun.”

  “Murder?” Light laughed in a charming way but there was shrewd interest in his eyes. “She didn’t tell them to burn themselves up. They should have known better.” They couldn’t help themselves. Just like we can’t. “Anyway, it’s just a silly legend.”

  Soichiro quickly changed the subject.

—-

After dinner, Light showed L up to his bedroom where they could catch an insect from his balcony. His mother had given them a large glass jar and he set it down on his desk, thrilling at having L so close to his secrets. “There’s a bright light on the balcony but it might take a few moments to attract anything.” He switched on the light, dimming the desk lamp so they could see outside better. He leaned against the glass door, watching L mentally cataloging the contents of his room. “I was surprised when you asked me to help you with this project, Ryuga. It’s not very difficult to catch your own bug.” I know you just wanted to see my room for yourself.

  “I have never done it before.” L crouched in Light’s desk chair, opening up his backpack and taking out the slice of cake he’d stowed inside. Tonight had been full of firsts for him– chopsticks, yakisoba, legends, bugs. “I didn’t want to kill it since we’re supposed to bring it in alive.” He forked a piece of the strawberry cake, staring at Light while he ate it. Mouth full, he grinned and said, “Think we’ll catch a firefly?”

  Light laughed softly and shook his head. “Not really the right time of year for them. They come out in the summer.” He gazed out the glass door, noticing a few flies and mosquitos starting to circle around the caged bulb. “Sometimes we see them in our backyard. Sayu and I would catch them when we were kids.” 

  “Pity. After hearing your sister’s story, I wanted to see one.” L ate the last bite of cake, placing the empty plastic box in Light’s trashcan (after glancing to see what else was in there). 

  Light asked over his shoulder quietly, “Don’t they have fireflies in England?” 

  L smiled slyly, getting up to stand beside Light at the glass door. He recognized the bait and only gave the line a tug. “They do, but doesn’t mean I was there to see them.” In truth, he’d been too wrapped up in his cases to venture outside much as a child. Such single-minded focus had benefitted him in some ways and set him apart from a normal childhood in others. “Perhaps Light-kun will invite me back in the summertime.”

  “Of course, Ryuga.” Light smiled at him, catching his reflection in the glass. How long would their game go on? Into the summer, the fall? What season would see it end?

  “Look.” L tapped the glass just over Light’s reflection, but what he was pointing to was on the other side. A large green-winged luna moth had landed on the cage surrounding the light bulb and was lazily flapping its wings and warming itself. “The first suitor has arrived.”

  “Still haven’t learned the ‘murderous’ queen’s lesson.” Light laughed and grabbed the jar off his desk. “Lucky for them we have electric lights and not fire.” He unscrewed the top and handed the jar to L. “Cmon, you do it.”

  L looked down at the jar as if it were Kira’s power instead just an old pickle jar. “The jar is too small.” He shifted to the other foot. “I’ll crush it.”

  “No, I think it’s plenty big. We can put it in a shoebox after we catch it, anyway.” Light smirked at him. “You’re just making excuses. Or maybe you really can’t do it?” He knew L wouldn’t turn down a direct challenge.

  “Alright.” L sighed and took the jar, frowning as he plotted his approach. Sliding the door open carefully so not to startle it, he crept forward very slowly until he was right beside it. Turning back to Light, he whispered, “Now what?”

  “Just scoop it up in the jar. Try not to touch its wings, though.” Light watched as L brought the jar up to the luna moth, delicately prodding to encourage it to go into the jar by itself. Amazingly, it worked, and the moth calmly settled into the bottom of the jar.

  “Light-kun!” L hurried back inside Light’s room, smiling broadly down at his captive. It looked like a miniature angel with its gracefully tapered wings and fluffy golden antennae. “It was easy after all.”

  “Everything’s easy for you, isn’t it?” I know the feeling. Light screwed the top onto the jar, poking generous air holes in the lid with a pair of scissors. He held it up for both of them to see, L leaning in closely, chewing his thumb at the undamaged and placid moth. “It’s a nice catch, too. I bet no one else will bring in anything this big.”

  L didn’t answer him for a long moment, just stared at the moth and the slow up-down, up-down of its wings. “What do you think would have happened if one of the suitors brought fire back?”

  Light blinked. “Huh?”

  “In Sayu’s legend. What might have happened if one of the suitors completed the Fire Quest and brought back fire to the queen?” 

  “I…I don’t know. I guess she would have burned up too if one managed to make it back to her. Would have been suicide.” Light gave L a puzzled look. “That’s impossible though. It never would have made it.” 

  “It might have.” L took the jar, setting it on Light’s desk and turning his full attention to his human specimen again. His hand fluttered from his mouth in a parody of a moth or a name written diagonally, frantically, and taking up nearly an entire page. “If he was a firefly, too.” 

  Light’s gaze followed L’s hand, those too-thin fingers that had gently ushered the moth to its prison. “So he would trick the queen and allow all the other suitors to get burned up instead of warning them?” He laughed a rare, genuine laugh. “Wouldn’t that make him as bad of a terrible, unfeeling ‘murderer’ as the queen?”

  “It’s just a silly legend, Light-kun.” L stuck his hands in his pockets, giving Light a cryptic smile. “But he’d win, wouldn’t he?”

[snipsnsnailsnwerewolftales]

Stay (Part 1)

A/N: This is something that came to mind with a playlist I have of random Ed Sheeran songs, I hope you guys like it.

Thank you to @jazziwritesthings, @xteenwolfwritingsx, @mymonandsymon, @weeabooper and @msmischief101 for looking it over for me.

I do not own Teen Wolf or it’s characters. Sadly.

(Nor do I own any of the songs in the playlist that inspired this story by Ed Sheeran. All credit where credit is due.)

Word Count: 2,200

Warnings: None that I know of. Mild swearing? It’s really just fluffy.

When Derek comes across a familiar scent at a diner late one night, it leads to the most unexpected revelation in his years in Beacon Hills: His mate. (Aka: Wherein I am a sucker for a good mates story and my brain decided to write one.)

Series Masterlist

Xxx

Sitting at the local diner, Derek focused on his hand as it clutched and unclutched his keys against the table top, occupying his time. To his right sat Scott, and his left, Stiles, and in the center, a large awkward silence between the three.

Smirking, Derek couldn’t help the grin when Stiles scrambled away from the table as their order number was called. He had only seen Stiles move that fast a few times, and it never failed to be amusing.

Clearing his throat, Derek shifted in his seat, sitting up taller, tugging his leather jacket collar for good measure. Scott mumbled something about drinks, and after a second of hesitation disappeared off to some unknown corner supposedly getting them all a glass of something.

Someone walked over to the ancient juke box on the opposite side of the restaurant, and Derek wanted to groan. He had been listening for footsteps going that way all night so that he could come up with some diversion to keep whoever it was from changing it off of his selection. He was sure Stiles and Scott probably thought he had some secret vendetta for all things music, and that was fine. So long as nobody messed with his choice of song.

Surprisingly, it wasn’t an awful choice, and when Derek turned to see who else in this God forsaken town seems to have a decent taste in music aside from himself, Stiles obstructed his view by sliding into his seat with three steaming hot plates, mumbling a “Hot, hot, hot! Very hot!” And Scott obscured him from getting a decent scent so he could at least maybe seek them out later when he plopped three milkshakes down on the table, the combo of food and drink masking any hope at a scent.

Pushing his chair back slightly, and leaning back away from the tsunami of smells, he felt everything go on high alert when one clear smell hit him like a tidal wave. “Vanilla….”

“Well, I was gonna take the vanilla, but fine, by all means, take it, just don’t go all sourwolf on me.”

Derek quickly shot Stiles a glare before turning back to the jukebox to see no one, but the overwhelming scent of fresh vanilla, like fresh cookies, took over all his senses. It made his burger taste like dirt.

Finally pushing away from the table, he followed the scent that definitely got stronger near the jukebox, and followed it in a loop, past an empty table, and finally back to his own table, noticing a new person standing and talking to Scott and Stiles.

A low growl rumbled out of his chest before he could catch it, but it didn’t seem to startle her a bit. Walking a little bit closer he asked a bit harshly, “Who are you?” Really, he just wanted to get close enough to see if she really was the source of the smell, but the scent was forgotten when he heard her speak.

“I’m Y/N, Scott and Stiles’ TA in English this year.”

No wonder the smell had seemed so familiar. He knew her. They grew up together.

She held out a hand for him to shake, and it took a minute for him to zone back in after her voice had caused him to go into some sort of trance.

Shaking his head gently to free the cobwebs, he offered his hand in return, and they both took a sharp inhale on the contact, sparks flying up and down their skin.

Realization dawned on him the same time she made wide eyes and seemed to put it together herself.

Eyes glowing red, Derek pulled her gently closer to him, faintly registering Stiles and Scott laughing nervously and flailing to stand up and block out people’s view of his very obviously not human eyes as they settled on her very obviously completely human eyes.

Until their yellow glow gave away her secret. Derek smirked. Years of time together played on warp speed in his mind.

Blinking the red away, he couldn’t help but smile as she stood there still doe eyed.

“Oh my God, I’m the mate of a freaking Alpha werewolf,” she let out quietly, almost under her breath.

“Holy shit,” Stiles mumbled, hand coming over his mouth as he plopped unceremoniously back into his chair, the momentum making it scrap against the tiles a few inches with an ugly sound.

“Just one. Can you please not date just one of our teachers, Derek? Is that too much to ask?” Scott was unabashedly announcing for the whole restaurant to hear. Granted it was mostly empty by now, and the song was coming to an end, leaving them in silence.

“That’s up to Y/N,” Derek said, still holding her hand. “If she agrees to go on a date, that’s not my fault. And if she agrees to be my mate, well then I am off the market after that.”

“For the love of God, please just say yes,” Stiles implored her. “Maybe he will finally be more tolerable when it’s all said and done.”

Derek reached out and whacked the back of Stiles’ head gently, before raising an eyebrow in question as she gave his hand a squeeze.

“Hey! You took my line!” She cried in protest with a small smile.

“What?” Stiles looked between the two of them before she lightly whacked the side of his arm. “Hey! Oh. I get it now. Ha ha. Actually, now, I hate this idea. I take it back. Release one another! It’s easy. See?” Stiles tried to pull their hands apart and it was quite comical to watch. After realizing nothing would change, he sat down with a huff, cradling his face in his hands and saying in a mock broken tone, “Why me?”

Xxx

Staring into the flashing jukebox in the corner of the dive restaurant that had haunted Beacon Hills longer than any monster, you smiled lightly at the selection to choose from.

It was probably your subconscious, remembering things long forgotten, hidden under song titles that concealed the memories, but you could have sworn you kept getting wafts of nutmeg and leather, something that was so intrinsically….. him.

You smiled a bit wider at memories that began to play for only you, seeming to change with the flashing of the lights on the machine, pulsing to your song selection.

Cut grass in the summer, and the smell it brought.

Soaking wet in the rain, darting into any alcove nearby and standing close together under his jacket he held high like an umbrella.

Tripping on the slick, freshly cut grass, and laughing till your sides hurt and grass stains painted your clothes and skin, like tattoos of proof from a summer day.

Him laughing at you as he stared down where you fell, and his wide eyes beside you when you took his hand outstretched to help and instead yanked him down to join you.

The bubble of laughter that soon left him despite himself, as your own giggle betrayed you, and soon you both were snickering on the grass, letting the rain paint your skin with tracks as it continued to fall lightly.

You’re brought out of your thoughts by a familiar voice, looking up from your seat back at your table to see Stiles at the counter balancing three trays loaded with food. You snickered at the little balancing act he pulled trying to keep the contents on the trays and not falling to the floor. Sitting up straight as the smell came your way again, it was so strong, it was as if he were just a few tables over.

Looking to the side, you didn’t see him, however you saw Stiles setting down the trays of food at a table across the restaurant, Scott coming from the opposite direction, arms laden with drinks, and whoever sat in the third seat at their table obscured from your view by Stiles’ body as he distributed the food, lightly bopping to the beat of the song, and making you smile.

Deciding to go over and say hi, you got up, walking around your table, walking past the counter and grabbing the bag of fries the waiter was trying to wave Stiles down for. You shook your head. How Stilinski forgot fries, you didn’t know. As you walked up to their table, it was just the two of them, their mysterious third party missing, but the smell you had noticed earlier strongest in the vacant seat. It couldn’t be who you thought, they hadn’t lived here in years, but you couldn’t ignore the scent as you stood talking to Scott and Stiles.

As Stiles thanked you for the fries, you felt a wave of the smell wash over you, causing you to turn and face the supposed source, and your breath caught in your throat at the sight of an older face, but those same eyes you had been thinking about not minutes before.

He didn’t seem to recognize you, and for some reason that amused you. He had a suspicious glint in his eyes, but that was the extent of it.

A low growl rumbled out of his chest before he could catch it, but it didn’t startle you a bit. In fact it surprised you at the deep stirring it caused in your gut.

Walking a little bit closer he asked a bit harshly, “Who are you?”

Despite his puffed up chest and seemingly harsh words, you noticed him take a deep breath through his nose, taking in your scent he used to always say smelled like cookies, vanilla and cinnamon, but the breath stopped abruptly when you answered him.

“I’m Y/N, Scott and Stiles’ TA in English this year.”

Realization seemed to hit him, the glint in his eyes sparking to life with memory, and he took an easy and free deep breath, finally recognizing the scent. If you blinked, you’d miss it, but the faintest of smiles was on his face.

You held out a hand for him to shake, and it took a minute for him to zone back in after seeming to go into some sort of trance.

Shaking his head gently to free the cobwebs, he offered his hand in return, and you both took a sharp inhale on the contact, sparks flying up and down your skin.

Realization dawned on him the same time you made wide eyes and seemed to put it together yourself.

Eyes glowing red, Derek pulled you gently closer to him, and you faintly registered Stiles and Scott laughing nervously and flailing to stand up and block out people’s view of his very obviously not human eyes as they settled on your supposedly very obviously completely human eyes.

Until their yellow glow gave away your secret. Derek smirked. Cut grass, rain, grass stains and mud, hiding out in secret places and sharing secrets over years and years, laughing until your sides hurt. All of it hit you at once, and it made something take flight in your stomach, beating its wings to get out.

Blinking the red away, he couldn’t help but smile as you stood there still doe eyed.

“Oh my God, I’m the mate of a freaking Alpha werewolf,” you let out quietly, almost under your breath.

“Holy shit,” Stiles mumbled, hand coming over his mouth as he plopped unceremoniously back into his chair, the momentum making it scrape against the tiles a few inches with an ugly sound.

“Just one. Can you please not date just one of our teachers, Derek? Is that too much to ask?” Scott was unabashedly announcing for the whole restaurant to hear. Granted it was mostly empty by now, and the song was coming to an end, leaving them in silence.

“That’s up to Y/N,” Derek said, still holding your hand. “If she agrees to go on a date, that’s not my fault. And if she agrees to be my mate, well then I am off the market after that.” Something in what he said made you so indescribably happy, but also insanely mad at the thought of him ever being on the market. You swallowed the growl you felt building back down.

“For the love of God, please just say yes,” Stiles implored you. “Maybe he will finally be more tolerable when it’s all said and done.” Glancing at Stiles as he spoke, you looked back to Derek with a smirk.

Derek reached out and whacked the back of Stiles’ head gently, before raising an eyebrow in question as you gave his hand a squeeze.

“Hey! You took my line!” You cried in protest with a small smile.

“What?” Stiles looked between the two of you before you lightly whacked the side of his arm. “Hey! Oh. I get it now. Ha ha. Actually, now, I hate this idea. I take it back. Release one another! It’s easy. See?” Stiles tried to pull your hands apart and it was quite comical to watch. After realizing nothing would change, he sat down with a huff, cradling his face in his hands and saying in a mock broken tone, “Why me?”

Xxx

Tags: @mayahart02 @palaiasaurus64 @shydinosaurcandy @lucyqueenofthestars @c-breanne1999 @l4life @ethereallysimple What’s this?

[elizabeth-mitchells]

the only touchstone of truth

Chapters: 2/? Fandom: I Care A Lot (2020) Rating: Explicit Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: Fran/Marla Grayson Characters: Marla Grayson, Fran (I Care A Lot) Additional Tags: Canon Compliant, Canon Lesbian Relationship, Origin Story, Canon Backstory, First Meetings, First Kiss, First Dates, Getting Together, Morally Ambiguous Character, Illegal Activities, Eventual Smut, Flirting, Partners in Crime, crime wives

Chapter 2:

There was something different about Marla that day. She wasn’t bored, she wasn’t idly waiting. She was waiting, true, but only because that was part of her plan. Standing behind her counter, her shop more or less back in shape, she wore a different blouse, higher heels, and a smile that sharpened, even more, when somebody came in. Marla sent a quick nod to Curtis, who had instructions on what to do. He pulled out his phone and walked away toward the storage room of the place.

“Marla,” the man greeted her with a perfectly polite and respectful tone that already started to crumble on his second sentence, “I wonder, what on Earth are you trying to do?”

“Mr. Nelson, I have no idea what you’re talking about,” Marla replied, “It’s a pleasure to have you visit us.” What an honor to have you millionaire, corporate, chain store, ugly ass step on my broken dreams physically this time.

“You cleaned up the store,” he sighed, looking around as if to take a hold of his emotions.

This promptly reminded the blonde of the couple of hours she spent with Curtis destroying her own shop and then putting it back together again. In the upcoming years, Marla would learn just how far she was capable of playing dirty, and many would accuse her of being unscrupulous, among worse adjectives, but nobody would ever dare call her lazy, that was for sure. With or without morals, Marla was an extremely hardworking woman, and she wasn’t afraid of getting her hands dirty, for better or for worse. A practical habit that she cultivated during her days of playing fair, and kept, for some reason. Most likely because idleness simply went against her nature, and she had promised herself not to rest until she achieved her goals. 

“We did, yes. Lots of hard work,” the blonde nodded, “such a shame what happened.”

“Such a shame,” the man echoed the sentiment, speaking on autopilot, but when he focused his eyes on Marla again he was all ice. “You’re accusing us of doing it,” he said.

Purposefully, Marla gave him a deep shrug and another shark-like smile. “I believe it’s the police who marked your company as suspects,” she replied in a mockingly innocent tone.

“We didn’t do it. And the accusation is bad publicity for our business. Drop the lawsuit,” he ordered, his voice starting to shake just slightly. When Marla only shook her head slowly, he scoffed. “You’re nothing, Marla Gray,” he seethed, “Your little business is over. Why would we try to boycott you out of all people? You’re not even competition. Drop the lawsuit.”

“Grayson.”

“What?” he was still laughing with a combination of awkwardness and annoyance.

“My name is Marla Grayson,” she stated using the full power of the commanding nature that she knew she had, “and I will fight for this shop until the end.”

He scoffed again, clearly losing his patience. The man walked to the door of the store and back to the counter once, twice, until he calmed down and not quite looking Marla in the eyes, he offered, “Twenty thousand dollars, and you’ll drop the lawsuit.”

“No,” Marla denied it immediately and before she could fully think about how offensive the offer was, he continued.

“Fifty thousand, Marla,” he said, his face red and his voice trembling. It was a pretty number that put Marla at a crossroads between the attempt to feel offended and the impulse to just ask for more. Either way, that number would not do. She only tilted her head and her expression said it all. “A hundred thousand dollars, dammit! Final offer!”

At this point, Marla made it a point to pick up her vape pen and look as bored as possible. “Please get out of my store, Mr. Nelson. I’ll see you in court,” she concluded.

He shook his head, he was breathing heavily and wildly waved a finger in her direction. “No! This is not over,” he protested, “How dare you say no to me?! I’ll make you regret it, you know?” He made a pause and after seeing that his threat did nothing to disturb her, and in fact, she only exhaled the smoke in a terribly irritating way, he slammed his hands on the counter right in front of her, “Dammit just take the money!”

“I will not,” Marla fumed back at him, barely letting show a hint of her patience running out.

“And you better stop screaming.”

Both Marla and her unwanted guest hastily looked toward the door of the shop. There was Fran, casually leaning against the doorway, not so casually showing off her plaque. At first, the man didn’t even move from his place. But Fran let out a quick whistle and said, “This aggressive visit will not look on your case, Mr. Nelson.”

Finally, the big store owner groaned loudly and without even sparing either woman a word, he stormed away from the place for good.

This quick turn of events left Marla and Fran alone in the shop. Marla stayed behind the counter that she managed to handle like an equivalent to a throne, and Fran took a couple of effortless steps forward until she stood in the middle of the place, directing a small and easy smile at the other woman.

“I must say,” Fran started to say, “I didn’t expect to receive this ‘Marla needs help, come over right now’ text from a number, I assume, that isn’t yours.” She waved her phone once for emphasis.

“Personally, I don’t usually give my number to strangers,” Marla replied, earning herself a chuckle from Fran, who looked away for a second, but when their eyes met again, Marla was sincere as she said, “Thank you for coming, by the way.”

Fran nodded, accepting her gratitude without making a big deal of it. This gave Marla an opportunity to study her again. Fran looked similar to what she did that night showing up to the shop after the staged attack. A ponytail holding on for dear life to wild hair that just begged to be freed, a more or less regular detective’s outfit that most likely wasn’t designed with the purpose of fitting Fran’s curves so scandalously well on every single right place. And then there was the way she simply stood in the middle of the store with immeasurable confidence. Nothing to hide behind, nothing to lean into, just her in an open space without any issue with Marla’s eyes glued to her. She wasn’t standing there like she owned the place, not exactly. It looked like she couldn’t care less about ownership, but her world consisted of only her, and she didn’t care enough about any authority to give them the power of deciding if she belonged or if she was out of place. Fran carried herself as if the rest of the world’s ideas of right or wrong were mere suggestions. Nothing sounded more appealing to Marla.

“You weren’t exactly in trouble though,” Fran contemplated, reluctantly breaking the silence, “you looked like you had it handled.”

“But you did scare him off,” Marla grinned.

“And you didn’t take the money.”

“Do I look like someone that would have taken the money?”

Fran laughed, because they both knew the answer to that question very well. She walked forward until she could lean her arms on the infamous counter, not quite in front of Marla, just a little to the side. “Maybe you should have,” she finally mused, “this might be bigger than you, gorgeous.”

This development in their interactions came with considerable consequences for Marla, who had underestimated the effect it would have on her to have Fran again standing so close to her. She wouldn’t back down though, she wouldn’t lose her higher ground, but she couldn’t deny the fact that Fran shook her to her core in a magnitude previously unknown to Marla. She couldn’t come up with a reasonable answer until it was obviously too late, so she stayed silent, picked up her pen, and after taking a drag she left it on the counter. This seemed to spark Fran’s attention, who had previously been content to just study Marla’s face from up close and during the daylight.

“So, are you going to offer me one of these,” the brunette wondered, lightly tapping with her fingertip the tip of the pen standing between them, “or a coffee… a drink… should you at least walk me to my car?”

“I will… walk you to your car,” Marla decided, after a quick and not exactly pleasant assessment of the situation. There was nothing she’d love more than to take Fran’s hand and either lead her out of that damned store or guide her to the other side of the locked door of her office. But there were already smoke signals in the air between them that she couldn’t ignore. This could be dangerous, this was possibly great, this was certainly bigger than either of them was accustomed to. Marla was stunned by the undeniable fact that she wasn’t sure how to handle Fran, and equally as unsettled but no less excited about the fact that she had no idea how Fran would handle her. She had no doubt they could handle each other, but until she felt completely confident in a perfect plan of action, she would have to see for how long and how much she could feed this ferocious and inexplicable fire that was burning between them.

As they approached Fran’s vehicle, Marla made two statements. “I will not take the money,” she said, followed by, “and that’s not a car.”

Fran winked, “My mistake.” She leaned back on the motorcycle and focused her attention on the blonde in front of her.

“I’m taking that asshole to court,” Marla managed to say, despite that unexpected and entirely alluring image of Fran standing just like that. She should have known that even the safest option among all that the brunette had offered would still come with a trick to test Marla’s hesitant boundaries.

“For something you did?”

“I’ll have to close either way,” Marla rolled her eyes, “He took me out of business. I have to take something from him. Something big.”

Fran tilted her head. “Do you have experience in court?” she wondered.

“I’m confident I can manage,” Marla smiled.

“Of course,” the other woman chuckled. “Though,” she added, “if only you had… an acquaintance, who happened to be knowledgeable in the shady alleyways of court and would be willing to give you a hand.”

Fran was barely done with her word when suddenly Marla was almost on top of her. Marla had moved quickly and swiftly, standing impossibly close to Fran, somehow not touching, but if any of them were to so much as breathe a little harder than usual their bodies would meet in all the right places. Which was maybe the reason Fran was suddenly holding her breath. Marla had placed both hands on the bike, on either side of Fran’s hips, trapping her in place, while holding her face just inches away from the other woman.

“What do you want,” Marla slowly asked, “Fran?”

“Why do you assume I want something?”

Being softly hit with Fran’s breath on her cheek was an unexpected consequence of Marla’s plan, but she held her ground. Very deliberately, one of her hands moved slowly and confidently to one of the back pockets of Fran’s pants. The brunette, to her credit, her only reaction was a noticeable clench of her jaw, but she stood still while Marla pulled out her phone and mercifully stepped away to let both of them breathe a little easier.

“Unlock it, I’ll save my number,” Marla held out Fran’s own phone for her and proceeded to follow through with her words. 

Fran got her heart rate almost back to normal as she watched Marla quickly tap the screen, and deciding the only right thing to possibly say at that moment was to answer Marla’s question, she said, “Give me a percentage of the money you’ll make with the lawsuit. So I can finally quit the police.”

Beyond pleased with that answer, Marla bit her lip for a moment then returned the phone. “And here I thought you were just trying to have dinner with me,” she said to Fran right before walking away from her, but not before looking back just in time to catch the other woman staring, and adding a final smile she threw over her shoulder, “See you soon, Fran.”

[laceymorganwrites]

He´s a good guy

Word Count: 2,895

Pairing: Tendou x fem!reader

Warnings: swearing, hurtful words, SPOILERS FOR THE MANGA, Semi is an asshole (Semi stand don´t come at me)

A/N: this is a mess, idk how this happened, i seriously have no Explanation 

Summary: You, a former Manager for Karasuno´s VBC graduate with your classmates and run into Tendou at college

Graduating was weird, you had to admit. It felt like a part of your life was over just like that and yet you weren´t sad about it at all.

Instead you were looking forward to college, finally being able to chase your dreams and do the things you´ve always wanted to.

You were sad to leave all your friends and especially the volleyball club you and Shimizu managed, you were lucky to have found Yachi before you graduated, she did a great job too.

But still, it was hard for you. You got very attached to them, being very empathetic.

Especially the first years were your most treasured students, not that you´d ever tell them that. They just brought so much energy and that seemed to really help the team, everyone was suddenly so much more motivated, everything was coming together.

And then it was over just like that.

You tried to stay in contact as much as possible, but that wasn´t always easy since studying and exams were harder and more time consuming than in high school.

Besides, the club was busy as well.

Before starting college, Daichi, Suga and you decided to be roommates since you would attend the same college. Asahi wanted to study abroad.

Luckily that worked out, all three of you took part time jobs to make sure to be able to pay the rent. You worked throughout the whole summer, saving up enough for a nice place near campus.

The last week of the break before starting college was spent in moving in, you underestimated how much time it took to get all of your stuff and to figure out everything else that was important.

You were all so proud when you managed it and everything was done.

While Daichi was studying to be a police officer and Suga to be a teacher, you were majoring in music. In the past you were pretty insecure about your abilities to sing and play instruments, but your friends and even your teachers motivated you to chase your dream, they convinced you to just go for it.

And you were glad they did since it was what brought you the most joy in life.

Still, you had to take more classes than just music to pass and get the major, which wasn´t the nicest thing in the world. Especially not the exams.

Daichi, Suga and you were all together in the same psychology class and in one of the first lessons you were assigned partners for a project.

That´s when you met Tendou. Sure, you noticed him before, how could you not? He caught your curiosity since he was so quiet and read JUMP. But you never had the guts to talk to him, being too shy to just intrude him like that, asking what his favorite characters were, now, that´d just be awkward.

So you didn´t. You were glad to be partnered up with him since you hoped you could get to know him that way.

Daichi and Suga noticed him too ever since the first lesson, but they couldn´t put a finger on it. They of course knew who he was, but it was strange to see how different he was from the boy they played against back in high school. They wondered what the cause of that change was.

“Hey, um...Tendou-san, was it?” you approached him after the lesson to discuss the project, Daichi and Suga closing in on you.

He nodded, feeling anxious, he knew he shouldn´t have attended college. It was just like when he was a kid, people were staring at him again, but why did it bother him again? Maybe it was because he didn´t have any friends anymore, he hated new places like this. He was better off on his own, couldn´t bear the looks people gave him, for fuck´s sake, it was as if he could hear their thoughts about how weird and creepy and ugly and hideous and utterly disgusting he was and goddamn, he knew. He fucking knew already. All of the confidence he worked up so hard in high school was suddenly gone again and it dragged him down more than he´d like to admit.

“Hey guys, you wanna go to the library together? We could maybe do a study group together” Suga smiled.

“Oh yeah! That´d be great, let´s go” you answered, smiling back and slightly touching Tendou´s shoulder to which he reacted jumpy.

You quickly apologized, the four of you walking to the library together.

“Man, the world sure is small! I never thought we´d see you again and now we´re in the same class” Daichi laughed, addressing Tendou. “Wait...you know each other?” you were pretty confused.

“Oh yeah, he used to go to Shiratorizawa, we played against their team when you were sick” Suga explained and you nodded knowingly.

“Aw man! I wanted to see that game so badly, I can´t believe how unlucky we were sometimes” you whined, getting sympathetic looks from your friends.

“You guys really gave us hell, we barely won” Daichi chuckled, reminiscing about how hard it was to beat them, with players like Ushijima and Tendou on their team.

“Yeah, it was so unfair too, with Ushijima as your ace and all your tall players and you… argh… you really made it difficult for us” Suga added.

“What position did you play?” you asked Tendou who hadn´t said anything to this point.

“Middle blocker” he said quietly.

“Like Hinata and Tsukki” you giggled.

“They are nothing in comparison to him!” Suga groaned to which Tendou blushed a bit in embarrassment, he wasn´t used to getting compliments.

“I wouldn´t say that… Wakatoshi was the true star of the team, he´s the one who deserves the praise, not me” Tendou mumbled.

“Don´t sell yourself short, we had a lot of trouble because of you. You were amazing at blocking, it was like you always knew where we were gonna be before we knew it ourselves and you were so fast...it was incredible” Daichi smiled at him widely.

“Aw, damn, I wish I could´ve seen that! Do you still play?” you asked to which he shook his head.

After that you started working on the project, setting up a group chat for your new study group.

You met up every time when there was homework or a new project, well, when everyone of you had time.

The last part proved to be quite difficult for you personally because you were busy with your band project in your music class.

Still, you somehow managed to do both.

You were in a band with Semi, at first you didn´t like him, his silent nature irked you, it seemed like he was always judging you, but over time you learned to appreciate him. He was very hard working and you two worked well together.

Actually you talked about doing the band after college too, you liked the idea.

In the course of the next months you got closer with Tendou too, getting him to talk more and exchanging opinions on the recent JUMP volumes and other things that interested you two.

It was fun hanging around him and it was true, like Suga and Daichi said, he really was quite quirky and open when he felt comfortable around people, it was nice seeing him be himself around you, it made you feel special.

You had worries at first that you texted him too much, replied too much, annoyed him or were boring to him. Luckily he was always quick to respond to you as well, texting you just as much which made you happy and when you told him that you felt you weren´t worth his time, he couldn´t disagree more.

Tendou told you how amazing you were, how you were the first person in a long time he didn´t scare off, how he could talk about everything with you, no matter how stupid it was, how you would laugh at his jokes and it made him so happy because nobody laughs at his jokes, Semi always tells him to shut up, Semi´s his roommate by the way. Oh you know him? That´s amazing, maybe you should hang out sometime!

And that´s how you ended up in this situation. It was very awkward to say the least.

You knew what Semi thought of Tendou, only that you didn´t know it was Tendou at the time. You thought it was obnoxious how Semi always talked about his annoying roommate, he got quite rude talking about him, stating what a child he was and that it was no wonder that all girls ran away screaming from him, that nobody ever would want to be with him and that he only lived with him because he had no other choice, because he was scared what would happen if he told him how much he disliked him.

You shrugged it off at first, but knowing now that he was talking about Tendou the whole time made you fume with rage. How dare he talk about him like that? Tendou was such a sweetheart, he was so kind and funny and fun to be around. You loved his antics and quirks, the little tunes he sung throughout the day about random things stuck in your head all the time.

Hell, you even had a chant together about your favorite ice cream.

How could anyone not like him?

“SemiSemi, that´s (Y/N)! I told you about her, remember?” Tendou was so excited that you were coming over, he even cleaned his room for you.

Semi sighed, hoping he´d just shut up for one fucking second. He should´ve never agreed to this. Honestly, he felt so bad for you to be in the same class as this creep, he should´ve said he had band practice or something and dragged you along.

“Yeah, you never fucking shut up about her, of course I remember. And she´s my bandmate, so I know her already. But I told you that too” he groaned, you didn´t like his tone at all and shot him a glare.

The tension between them made you really uncomfortable and you wished you and Tendou could go somewhere else.

Somehow the fact that he seemed to talk about you made you blush, you had to admit, you had a giant soft spot for him, or a crush as Suga put it.

“Why are you always so mean to me?” he whined, you could see the sadness in his eyes, this wasn´t fair.

“Because you´re annoying as fuck. Like, seriously, you never stop talking and it´s driving me crazy. I don´t care about your stupid magazines and whatever other weird shit you´re into. Honestly, I wish we never met!” Semi yelled at him, he was enraged, so furious and you never heard him raise his voice like that.

His words hurt Tendou, you stood up and wanted to confront Semi, but he just kept on going.

“I don´t even get why they let you into high school! Just look at you, you´re disgusting! I always hated you, like everyone else. How can we not? You´re still the same fucking weirdo from your childhood, you haven´t changed, no matter what people tell you. You wanna know why people tolerate you? Why they smile at you? Why they even bother to be nice? Because you fucking scare them. I bet even your own mother can´t look at you, hell, she probably still is ashamed of ever giving birth to such a hideous monster” he spat, Tendou was crying at this point, his words struck something deep inside of him, returned his childhood trauma to the surface and left him shaking.

You rushed to his side, grabbed him by the arm and left to go to your own place.

You didn´t utter a word to Semi after that ever again.

Tendou was still crying when you arrived at home, Daichi and Suga left a note saying they were at the gym and would bring take out later.

You gently sat Tendou down the couch and wrapped your arms around him, pulling him close to you in a soothing manner.

His heart calmed down at that, but his sobs continued as he allowed himself to hug you back, desperately clinging onto you and crying into your shoulder.

You cradled his back until he stopped, you sat there for a while and he was still shaking when there were no tears left.

Tendou couldn´t speak, he was too shaken up by Semi´s words, he was asking himself what he did wrong, what he did to deserve this. A little voice in his head told him that Semi was right about everything he said.

“Satori?” you softly called out his name, making him look at you. The broken expression in his eyes broke your heart.

“I´m so sorry, you didn´t deserve this. Please don´t listen to what he said, don´t believe one single word of it. You´re wonderful and that´s all that counts. You´re such a great person, he would never understand that, so please believe me and not him. He had no right to bring up those things, he did it all to hurt you and yet he called you the monster. I can´t believe I was in a band with that asshole...I´m definitely reporting him tomorrow!” you got worked up but you couldn´t help it, nobody came for Tendou like that. Not on your watch.

He looked away when he started crying again, his shoulders slouching. You noticed how small he looked, how frail and hugged him again.

“There will always be people like him, but there will also be people like me, people who like you a lot. And people who think you´re amazing, people who know that chocolate ice cream isn´t always the same and people who know that manga aren´t just magazines and anime aren´t cartoons and cup noodles somehow taste real good even though they shouldn´t. There will always be people who look forward to text you, who smile like an idiot whenever you reply to their texts, who look forward to seeing you every day in psychology class, who want to binge watch Naruto with you, who want to try out that weird complicated looking cake recipe you found, who want to make you happy no matter what...” you talked so much you didn´t even realize what you were saying, somewhere along the lines you thought he wasn´t listening and got bolder with your statements but he was listening closely.

You weren´t quite finished but you noticed his weight pulling away from you and stopped talking to see him smile at you dreamily.

It made your heart flutter.

“My mom was right” he giggled, continuing after seeing your puzzled expression.

“I told her about you and she said you were someone really special and when I talked more about you, she agreed that you were super cute and when I told her that I like you, she said that you liked me back because you and I are made for each other” he didn´t care about how cheesy it sounded, his mother was always right. She was right about him getting friends, about him being able to be happy.

You smiled at him, this certainly wasn´t what you thought your confession would look like, but this wasn´t some chick flick.

“Your mother´s a smart woman, then” you smiled at him, making his eyes light up. He nodded at that, smiling widely at you.

He was staring at you lovingly, unsure of what to do, he´s never done this before, he never liked someone the way he liked you…

“Satori? I really wanna kiss you right now, is that okay with you?” you softly caressed his cheek, he was melting into your touch and nodded, hooded eyes looking up at you in anticipation.

You slowly leaned in, grabbing a hold of his head, massaging his scalp as you pressed a soft kiss on his lips, making him moan surprised.

This felt good, he could do this all day, even though he had no idea what he was supposed to do.

With shaking hands he pulled you into a hug, he liked hugging you.

You deepened the kiss, swiping your tongue along his lips, earning a gasp and slipping your tongue in to play with his. He smiled into the kiss, relishing in the new feeling he liked very much.

“(Y/N), we´re back, we got food” Daichi announced and Suga snickered when he saw you and Tendou.

“Well, hello you two lovebirds, about time!” he smiled. Ever since he saw how you two looked at each other he wanted to see where this would go.

“Sorry, we didn´t mean to interrupt” Daichi chimed in, he too was glad to see that you ended up together. Tendou was a good guy despite what the others thought.

“It´s alright, what kind of food did you get?” you pulled away from him, still having an arm around him.

He blushed, being embarrassed by being caught like this.

You went ahead and explained what happened earlier and asked if it was okay that Tendou could stay with you, of course Daichi and Suga agreed.

You watched a movie and had dinner together, cuddling with Tendou the whole time and the next day you reported Semi and he was banished from college.

[aroworlds]

Fiction: The Pride Conspiracy, Part One

December isn't the best time of year for a trans aromantic like Rowan Ross, although—unlike his relatives—his co-workers probably won't give him gift cards to women's clothing shops. How does he explain to cis people that while golf balls don't trigger his dysphoria, he wants to be seen as more than a masculine stereotype? Nonetheless, he thinks he has this teeth-gritted endurance thing figured out: cissexism means he needn't fear his relatives asking him about dating, and he has the perfect idea for Melanie in the office gift exchange. He can survive gifts and kin, right? Isn't playing along with expectation better than enduring unexpected consequences?

Rowan, however, isn't the only aromantic in the office planning to surprise a co-worker.

To survive the onslaught of ribbon and cellophane, Rowan's going to have to get comfortable with embracing the unknown.

Contains: A trans allo-frayro trying to grit his teeth through the holidays, scheming aro co-workers, a whole lot of cross-stitch, another moment of aromantic discovery, and many, many mugs.

Content Advisory: A story that focuses on some of the ways Western gift-giving culture enables cissexism and a rigid gender binary, taking place in the context of commercialised, secular-but-with-very-Christian-underpinnings Christmas. Please expect many references to said holiday in an office where Damien hasn't figured out how to run a gift exchange without subjecting everyone to Santa, along with characters who have work to do in recognising that not everybody celebrates Christmas.

There are no depictions or mentions of sexual attraction beyond the words "allosexual" and "bisexual" and a passing reference to allo-aro antagonism, but there are non-detailed references to Rowan's previous experiences with and attitudes towards romance and romantic attraction as a frayromantic. Please also expect casual references to amatonormativity and other shapes of cissexism.

Length: 4, 914 words (part one of two).

Note: You'll need to have read The Vampire Conundrum for many references to make sense.

Rowan should be assumed an Australian character in an Australian city. Our Christmas, therefore, involves hot weather, short sleeves, barbecues and confusion at certain holiday traditions common in the Northern Hemisphere. 

They’re aromantic. How isn’t he obligated to help decorate her desk in as many pride-related ways as possible? 

“It’s Secret Santa slash December Holiday Gift Exchange!” Damien emerges from the meeting room, shaking a paper-scrap-filled jar with the gleeful attitude of a toddler attacking a pile of presents. In order to give the occasion suitable gravitas, he draped a rope of red tinsel over his shoulders, the fronds glittering in the flicker-prone lighting. “Come gather!”

Rowan looks up from his computer, biting back a groan. This isn’t a surprise, given that Shelby answered his interview questions about “workplace culture” with descriptions of their celebrating capitalist-infused Christian holidays, and the office more than lives up to that promise. A tree sits on the front counter, its branches crammed with baubles. Tinsel hangs on everything from which tinsel can be hung and rests in snake-like coils over the computer towers, screens, desk partitions and the large corkboard. Ribbon-wrapped pencils topped with felt trees, stars and stockings flowered, overnight, from everyone’s pen mugs; Melanie gave Rowan three of them for his frayro mug. Every desk features a red bowl of tree-shaped marshmallows, candy canes or that weird Christmas lolly mix common in dollar shops.

Only the lack of music renders bearable this explosion of festivity. Damien said he drew that line last year after Melanie and Shelby alternated between Michael Bublé and Josh Groban’s Christmas CDs.

Rowan doesn’t want to think about that sublime horror.

Christmas to him means slipping a few TSO tracks into his melodic metal playlists and gritting his teeth until the new year.

“O come all ye faithful,” Melanie sings, spinning her chair around. Every day this week she’s donned a different Christmas-themed T-shirt; today’s features a screen-printed Rudolph head with an apple-sized nose made from red minky fleece. Rowan doesn’t understand the American “ugly Christmas jumper” thing—why?—but Melanie appears to be replicating the trend via short sleeves and jersey knits.

Damien jerks his elbow at the largest whiteboard, half filled with the Banned Holiday Decorations List—items including “music, carols, hymns and singing”, “all types of fake snow” and “Cadbury Crème Eggs”. “Didn’t we talk about carols?”

Rowan doesn’t want to be accused of being a dreadful, fun-loathing millennial about which too many articles have been written on dislike of office gift exchanges … but he doesn’t know how not to be one, either. Why do people like this? Buying presents for people who aren’t strangers but aren’t friends, hoping that his attempt isn’t too generic only to open something tailored to feminine cliché ... followed by the apologetic explanation or justification that Rowan isn’t easy to shop for.

Can’t he save himself fifteen bucks and skip the disaster?

He’s never understood how he presents a difficulty that isn’t cissexism and a lack of imagination: buy him good thread, expensive coffee, dress socks, a nice mug, food storage containers or fancy kitchenware. He’ll even take a cheap box of chocolates, since his housemates will eat anything should they believe it food. Just get him something that isn’t a floral-patterned bath set followed by the hand-wringing apology that the giver just doesn’t know what to get someone as confusing as Rowan!

Why don’t they ask him what he wants?

He’s over spending money and time on gift exchanges only to receive cissexism, dysphoria or stereotype wrapped in paper and tied with a bow.

Rowan draws a breath and slips his fingers under his thighs. He should have sent Damien an email when Melanie started decorating, but Rowan was thinking about pushing their print date back two weeks and not thinking about Mum’s out-of-nowhere request that Rowan attend the family Christmas. “Uh … Damien? Can I … quick word?”

Why did he get himself a new psychologist? One who says terrible words like assertiveness?

“Give us a minute.” Tinsel rustling, Damien crouches beside Rowan’s chair. “Will here do?”

If everyone overhears, Rowan can pretend he’s talking to one person while knowing they all benefit from his explanation. Besides, going into the meeting room makes this a thing. “Yeah. Um. I … I don’t usually get the right presents from people in gift exchanges. By which I mean ... presents that aren’t a reminder that they think me female, and if they give me enough nail polish and heart-shaped jewellery and glittery handbags, I’ll admit it. I don’t want that? Really don’t want that?”

Why do his parents want to play at being a happy family? Does Mum want to show off to Uncle Keith and his new wife? Have they forgotten how badly last Christmas went? Or is this just more cissexist assumption that Rowan will discard his masculinity when needed? If they behave as though Rowan should fit their expectations, will he—eventually—surrender to them?

I’m not being difficult because I want my masculinity and transness respected. I’m not...

Melanie leans over to poke Shelby’s shoulder, her bright red lips forming a ring.

Damien blinks, hesitating as if he doesn’t know how best to respond. “That ... sounds like my niece’s favourite birthday. Although she took the bag, put one of my sister’s dumbbells inside and swung it at the boy over the road who wouldn't stop calling her pretty. And then made an army of neighbourhood girls wielding heavy unicorn bags.” He shakes his head. “I mean that … you obviously aren’t a certain kind of eight-year-old or into glitter, so...”

If only Rowan had the nerve to do that to Aunt Laura! “I bet he never did that again.”

“No. I’ll make sure … that the person who has you gets you something appropriate.”

Inappropriately-feminine gifts aren’t his only difficulty. Rowan doesn’t how to voice something so complex (to cis, gender-conforming people) about gender and gift-giving without sounding like he’s complaining for the sake of complaining—the demanding, difficult trans man of his parents’ accusations. Most often he endures a cis female celebrity’s latest perfume, but well-intended “accepting” people give him an Old Spice gift set—acknowledging his masculinity at the cost of his personality. How do cis people not chafe at gift-giving traditions that assume people can be reduced down to one of two categories with narrow behaviours and interests ascribed to each?

It’s easier to draw the line at gifts that only avoid being the embodiment of the giver’s cissexism and donate everything else, as much as Rowan yearns for one year with a good present he doesn’t buy himself.

Will cis people ever understand that being trans means holding back on responding to cis nonsense?

“Thanks. Yeah, thanks.”

“Secret Santa slash December Holiday Gift Exchange rules!” Damien straightens, shaking the jar; paper rattles against glass. “Twenty-dollar limit, keep it fun, don’t give anything inappropriate for a professional environment. I want to be eating mince pies, not taking people into the meeting room for discussions on adulthood. We exchange on the last day, December 20.” He reaches into the jar, the neck a tight fit for his hands, and tweezers out a folded piece of paper before handing it to Rowan.

Damien shakes the jar again before offering another slip to Melanie and then Shelby.

Don’t people draw names themselves from the bowl or jar? Nobody else seems concerned by this lapse—Melanie starts laughing when she sees her name—so Rowan shrugs and opens his, deciding it must be normal enough.

The Aro Gods must be inclined to a little seasonal kindness, for he sees “Melanie” written in Damien’s handwriting.

No need to struggle through generic alternatives like food or wine; pride pins will make her happy enough. A pen? A mini aro flag? Choosing may be Rowan’s worst problem, but he can get her a few things and give her whatever’s over the limit after the exchange.

They’re aromantic. How isn’t he obligated to help decorate her desk in as many pride-related ways as possible?

“Rowan!” Melanie bustles over; he quickly slides his paper up his sleeve. She makes metallic jangling noises—words like “ringing” or “pealing” don’t apply—as she moves, thanks to a gold chain bracelet decorated with small bells at each link. Matching earrings dangle from her ears, clinking out of tune with the ones at her wrist. “Can I ask you something?”

He nods, hoping she’ll let pass unremarked his description of holiday cissexism.

“Where did you buy your flag patches? I want one. Well, maybe more than one, because there’s the aro flag, and the ace flag, and maybe one of the aro-ace flags, but I haven’t decided which one I like best since there’s several that are nice, and...”

Once-in-a-lifetime inspiration hits Rowan with finger-twitching force. “I don’t know,” he lies once Melanie runs out of steam. “Uh … a friend gave them to me and ... I don’t know where they bought them. Online, probably?” He swallows and tries for distraction, gambling his poor ability for falsehood against Melanie’s likely ignorance. “Maybe look on Etsy? I’d look on Etsy.”

“Etsy? What’s that?”

“Handcraft eBay,” he says in relief, thinking through his thread stash. “Where people sell handmade things. I don’t know when I’m seeing my friend next, but I can ask...?”

He’ll need purples, greens, greys, black, white—oh, and blues! A little orange, a little yellow. Has he enough fabric? What about time? Should he do the main ones first and then others as he can squeeze them in?

On the way home tonight, he’ll start by stopping at his local sewing store.

***

Rowan hits “send” on an email to Damien, ignoring Mum’s latest text, as Shelby bounds up to his desk. Like Melanie, she’s added Christmas T-shirts to her daily ensemble; unlike Melanie, Shelby’s T-shirts appear to come from a department store’s children’s section. Today’s shirt shows a cute-but-scientifically-inaccurate dinosaur in a Santa hat holding a red box. Also unlike Melanie, Shelby hasn’t added earrings, pins, necklaces, bangles or socks in honour of the season. “Yeah?”

Damien added “battery and USB-powered light-up objects” to the List after an office vote provoked by a flashing necklace that resembled miniature string lights.

Shelby whispers, meaning that she speaks in a raspier tone with volume enough that her standing on the other side of a crowded football oval needn’t impede one’s hearing. In fairness, Rowan has heard her speak over a hundred gossiping Year 7 students until they surrendered to the stubbornness of an older woman who doesn’t go to bed caring what they think of her. “Can you go through all the … the identities? Can you show them to me and tell me what colours go with them? Do they all have their own colours?”

Rowan can only sit and gape.

“Please? I need someone to go through them all.”

He lunges for his half-filled mug, hoping his perpetual need for coffee conceals his surprise. “You mean pride flags? Queer pride flags?”

“Please.” Shelby nods, grips his arm and gives a meant-as-comforting nutcracker-like squeeze before lowering her hand to fidget with her phone—a device likely dug up with the fossils from the dinosaur on her shirt. It doesn’t have a cover; he guesses she covered the back with multiple layers of washi tape coated in (yellowing) clear nail polish. He doesn’t ask why. “Maybe you can start with the ones you use, and that one Melanie has, and then tell me the other ones? There aren’t that many, are there?”

Rowan, lukewarm coffee in his mouth and heading down his gullet, chokes.

Several moments of spluttering and coughing, aided by Shelby’s enthusiastic back-pounding, pass before he can answer. “Uh … there’s lots, actually. Lots.” He considers explaining about Tumblr before deciding on the appropriate answer: a thousand kinds of nope. “Do you want gender ones, or sexuality ones, or aromantic ones, or...?”

Shelby’s blank, brow-creased expression shows that, if she read Rowan’s leaflet, his emails and the hand-outs provided by Damien’s trainers, the knowledge hasn’t stuck with her.

(They weren’t better than Rowan’s own and only mentioned aromanticism as a way of being asexual.)

“The ones you and Melanie use...?” She lowers her voice to a point where someone may, in theory, be unable to hear her from the other side of the room. “I want to get Melanie a little extra … something, this year. With a flag, maybe?” She jerks her elbow in the direction of Melanie’s mug, currently filled with something smelling of camomile and dish-water. “But I should know more about the other ones, too. Like yours. Can you show them all to me?”

There’s no way in this tinselled hell that Melanie can’t hear Shelby, yet Melanie appears engrossed in deleting emails.

Last week, Rowan said “aromantic” once to their newest volunteer in a conversation about the pride flags on their website. Seconds later, Melanie materialised from the hallway, passed over one of Rowan’s leaflets and introduced herself as aro-ace before giving a five-point rundown on ways to avoid casual amatonormativity—not that she’s yet comfortable saying the word—in the workplace. There’s no way she’s contemplating the mysteries of her trash folder while Rowan talks to Shelby about aromantic pride flags! Breathing “aro” aloud is now akin to summoning a demon—one revelling in the discovery of the identity that makes belated sense of her life.

“You want me to show you aromantic flags?” Rowan asks to clarify, baffled.

Shelby beams at him. “Yes, please.”

Melanie, frowning, deletes an email.

Did Damien have a word with her? Did the volunteer complain?

Rowan can’t say that he wants to play tour guide through the world of queer vexillology, but Shelby has gone five weeks without saying the phrase “you trans people” and two months without reassuring Rowan on the subject of pronoun-correction. He also knows Melanie and Shelby are friends outside of work, bonding over stage shows and music. If Shelby wants to support Melanie in her aromanticism, how can Rowan refuse?

While Rowan sat there planning the politest way to navigate the glaring error in the trainers’ leaflets, Melanie stood up, exclaimed that aromanticism isn’t the same thing as asexuality and demanded that they do some reading before engaging in “obvious aro denial”. He owes her. She scares him a little, but he owes her.

(Should Rowan master the ability to handle conversations and presentations, he may consider becoming a sensitivity trainer. That two-day workshop, while decent enough on gender and sexuality, left him again concluding that most queer alloros have no idea how to reference and include aromanticism in their conversations about queerness.)

Another Mum-authored text flashes up on his phone, displaying the words “Christmas”, “clothing” and “appropriately”.

No, no and hell no.

“Yeah, okay.” He bends down to grab his satchel, tucked against the left-hand side of his desk. A decent collection of patches and badges now covers the front flap, including his cursed-but-memorable “aro” patch. “That’s the trans pride flag, with the blue, pink and white, and beside it is the bisexual flag. The flag with the greens and black is the aromantic flag, and the allo-aro flag has the greens and gold. It’s pretty much the same as the aro flag, except with yellow and gold instead of grey and black.” He points at each patch as he moves through his explanation. “Allo—allosexual—aromantics are aros who experience sexual attraction.”

He’ll stick to simple definitions with Shelby, even if they lack ideal expansiveness.

Shelby nods, smiling.

“For me, it means I’m aromantic and bisexual. Aro-aces, like Melanie, are aromantic and asexual, meaning she doesn’t experience sexual attraction.” He almost asks her if she remembers what “aromanticism” means before realising that he’ll sound like a condescending primary-school teacher. “This flag with the blues, white and grey is the frayromantic flag, which designates the specific way I’m aro. The flag on Melanie’s mug—”

Shelby leans against his desk, her grey braid trailing over one arm. “So you have an aromantic flag and an allosexual aromantic flag? A special aromantic flag?”

Are they heading towards the sort of conversation that involves anger over “making up” identities outside the speaker’s reckoning of acceptable? Or does she mean “distinct”? “Ah … kind of? The green and black flag represents all aros—Melanie and me. The green and gold one’s just for me, and I don’t use her blue and orange one.”

For the first time in living memory, Melanie pays Rowan and Shelby no attention.

“I see! You want to reflect different types of aro.” Shelby almost says the word without unusual stress; Rowan considers applauding her but decides he won’t risk undermining his point on avoiding excessive overreaction to queer terminology. “Do you ever put the flags together? Like if you want to be both things at once?”

When isn’t he the state of multiple identities at once? Rowan decides she means “represent” instead of “be” and nods. “Yeah? Some people put a heart with the stripes of the aro flag in the middle of the trans or bi flags, but I don’t like that because using a heart to represent us all is a bit … eh. You know, heart, love, love hearts? Lots of people don’t care, though. I’ve also seen folks split them in an image, or have the stripes fade into each other. Like trans stripes fading into aro stripes.”

“And you like that better?” Shelby blinks, her blunt nails tracing the edge of the case. “Would Melanie like that? The aromantic flag fading into another one?”

There’s no way Melanie didn’t hear that—and no reason for her to say silent! Last month she told Rowan and Shelby to get mint chocolate cake for her birthday after walking in on them debating sponge versus cheesecake in the meeting room!

(Sponge, in Rowan’s opinion, is the classic cake format.)

“Yeah. It shows my identities together without using symbolism I find awkward.” Rowan lowers his voice, leaning closer to Shelby. “Melanie will probably go for the aromantic flag fading into or combined with the asexual flag, if you’re doing something with two flags. I don’t think she’d be into hearts, but a split image or fading? That’d work.”

Shelby straightens, beaming, and gives Rowan another firm arm-squeeze. “That’s great! Thank you so much for helping, Rowan!”

“Don’t you want to know more about aro-ace flags...?”

“No, that’s great!” Shelby, heading towards her own desk, no longer attempts to speak at anything not normal volume. “Aromantic into asexual! I’ll remember that!”

As Shelby turns, he catches a glimpse of the cracked screen on her phone—or, more specifically, the movement of her hand as she presses stop on her recording app.

Is that legal? It surely isn’t normal? Or is she an auditory learner, meaning she’ll learn best by playing the recording over … but in that case, why not say so? He could have directed her to YouTube videos and podcasts! Perhaps, though, she only shows her ignorance in digital etiquette, in the same way Rowan took Melanie aside to explain that the use of caps lock for the body of a promotional email violates good manners as much as—more than!—she thinks signing a form in red ballpoint? Should he complain about something suggestive of her willingness to understand him?

Rowan stares, shrugs and shakes his head as a third text pops up.

Sometimes it’s easier to just not ask.

Too bad that can’t apply as easily to family.

***

Rowan stands, yawns and stretches. His lunch half-hour beckons: sunshine spent with food, cross-stitch and a flock of pigeons tame enough to perch on the far end of his bench. Since today involved apologetic emails followed by a contrite phone call to his goddess amongst printers, time free of people feels like looming perfection. Just him, the pigeons, a sewing needle and the homemade pasty he hid from Matt inside a bag of frozen peas.

Any day in which he gets to enjoy his own cooking can’t be too terrible.

Perhaps he should do as his psychologist says: put a chest freezer in his bedroom and a lock on his door.

“Rowan!” Damien, his hair tousled enough to make Rowan think of a woolly mammoth in a sharp suit, carries a plate of something smelling like honey and chicken into the office. “While Melanie’s out, can you show me your mug shop? You said there’s a lot of aro-ace flags, right? Or would she want one like yours, the green one? I don’t get her something like your blue and green shield one, though?” He shrugs and sets the plate down on Rowan’s desk. “My wife’s friends with her sister and we got invited out, but there’s another swap. I don’t want to get her the wrong thing. Do you mind?”

At least Damien does the sensible thing of asking while Melanie’s out on lunch. Maybe this won’t take too long: Damien’s a terrible photographer with unreasonable expectations of Photoshop, but he does know how to buy things online.

“Yeah. Hold on.” Rowan opens up his browser just as his phone beeps. Nope, ignoring that. “I’ll show you what mugs I think she’d want.”

He hadn’t realised how many people here are friends with Melanie outside of work. It must be nice to have a regular social life that isn’t “being at work” and “sighing at housemates”, but there’s advantages in possessing the short holiday shopping list of family, a work gift exchange and a couple of friends. Besides, does anyone want one’s co-workers to know what happens at an outside party?

“Don’t ignore your phone because of me.”

“It’s Dad.” Since Rowan can’t find a pithy or amusing way to explain that Dad’s text message will be a guilt-trip ordering Rowan to come to Christmas for the sake of the family’s happiness followed by a second guilt-trip explaining how much his refusal to confirm has upset Mum, he just shakes his head.

You talked about this with the psychologist. Guilt. Trip.

He made an appointment for the second week of January; he should have made one in December as well.

“That bad?”

He can’t remember the specifics of his rant that day atop the desk, but he must have suggested at an interesting relationship with his parents. “Yeah.”

Did they forget telling Rowan that if he doesn’t like how they treat him, he can leave? They told Rowan that he isn’t welcome while he remains intolerant of them—while I expect them to treat me as I deserve. He left. Now they want him back to smile for the family photos?

What’s worse? Enduring a day of misgendering, deadnaming and cissexism, which shouldn’t result in unknown voyages of horror if he bites his tongue? Or avoiding short-term discomfort while gaining the long-term torment of the family’s schooling Rowan in appropriate Ross respect for blood and holidays? What chance is there of avoiding harassment if he doesn’t go?

Maybe he can leave off shaving for a week before Christmas and turn up with his new, albeit patchy, facial hair while wearing an op-shop debutante gown, so he “dresses appropriately” and “doesn’t confuse the relatives” as requested.

How many truckloads of Valium will he need for that?

“Rowan? Are you okay?” Damien, now sitting on an office chair, peers at him as though waiting for Rowan to do anything more than stare at the computer screen.

“Ugh. Sorry. Just thinking.” Rowan sighs and types in the shop’s name, bringing up their website, and then opens a second tab to another archiving different pride flags.

“Do you want to talk about it?” Damien asks in that gruffly-gentle voice, one that makes Rowan want to smash his fist through a window.

“Yeah, no.” Rowan draws a breath and points at the screen with a hand a too trembly for his liking. “So you’re going to want to know what flags represent what, because there’s a drop-down menu where you can choose from different flags...”

It’s easier to talk, easier to run through all the different flags in a depth of explanation Damien doesn’t request, easier to think about something that isn’t family—a subject with complexity enough to distract but without provocation enough to distress.

He doesn’t know if Damien asks questions from curiosity or kindness, but Rowan’s pasty becomes pastry crumbs scattered over his desk and keyboard; Damien’s chicken, half-eaten, sits cooling on its plate.

“So cupioromantic is the one where you want the relationship but you don’t feel romance?” Damien frowns and runs both oversized hands through his hair, now resembling a befuddled bear emerging after a long hibernation. “Why have a word for that? I mean, everyone feels like it isn’t one of those movies and dates anyway, so why specify that?”

“Where you don’t feel romantic attraction but desire a romantic relationship,” Rowan says, telling himself that Damien unknowingly regurgitates the tired “demiromanticism is normal” argument. Isn’t this better than looking at the fifth text message? “Some people need it to be a word. Movies aren’t that divorced from reality. They’re … too easy, too glossy, too perfect, too unrealistic, but...”

He sighs. Not dating brings many benefits, but Rowan has to admit that he misses the fun of falling in love, even if trouble always follows. Misses the fun of dreaming, hoping and fantasising; misses the bright, happy glow of being caught up in someone else. At risk of being considered a bad aro, he likes that glorious limerence pushing him to navigate people despite his gibbering anxiety! In some ways, knowing he’s capable of falling in love over and over feels heady and powerful; amatonormativity more than the nature of Rowan’s frayromanticism bestows difficulty on its aftermath.

I want to fall in love with you ... and after getting to know you, do it again with someone else, all the best bits of romance’s beginning on eternal repeat.

Instead, he avoids dating and the inevitable development of his partner’s hurt, surrendering to a world where his shape of attraction isn’t acceptable or reasonable. Albeit with a trace of bitterness that frayromanticism will be easier to navigate should Rowan not be an anxiety-plagued, bisexual trans man!

Of course, discarding romance makes pursuing his shape of sexual attraction unacceptable and unreasonable...

“How are they real? Nobody just sees someone and falls in love like that—”

“Dude, dude, I’ve fallen in love like that.” Rowan shakes his head and launches into the speech that’s the spiritual duty of any card-carrying aromantic: “Do you fall in love after you get to know someone? After they love you back? Do you know what ‘fall in love’ means to you? Because it’s easy to name all sorts of feelings ‘love’ and think they’re romantic when the world says you have to be alloromantic. It’s even easier to not be romantically attracted and not know! Have you thought about it?”

Damien, his eyes so wide that he reminds Rowan of a zebrafish with a brown wig, shakes his head.

“I swear, alloros like romance movies because while they’re a … a simplified, idealistic version of romance, they’re close enough to what people feel—or think they’re supposed to feel—that they … ring, resonate. They wouldn’t do that if it were complete invention. Just like science fiction isn’t real but talks enough about human experiences to have meaning to human audiences. Unreal, in so many ways, but just real enough. So—”

Damien holds up both hands, palms facing Rowan. “Stop. Stop.”

Now the anxious part of Rowan’s brain realises he’s lecturing at his supervisor in a way no need to avoid thinking of his family justifies; he gulps, fingers trembling. While the office code of conduct doesn’t specify things like unwanted speeches questioning another person’s belief in their romantic attraction, he doubts this acceptable behaviour. “I … shit. I’m sorry! I’m so sorry! I just...”

Will he ever stop causing a mess at work?

“You’re talking so fast,” Damien says, slow and careful in the way of a man talking to a panicked horse, “that I can’t keep up.” He sighs and runs one hand through his hair. “This isn’t something I thought we’d be talking about! I just wanted to check that everything was right...” He shakes his head, but he doesn’t sound annoyed or outraged. Just bewildered. “Okay. Right. What about all those sorts of things that we think are love? What do you mean by that?”

At some point during the resulting afternoon, Rowan sends an email thanking his printer for her willingness to amend the job queue, ignores his brother’s entry in the competition to provoke the most seasonally-appropriate guilt, and scribbles a note to ask the higher-ups if they’ll spring for a basket of expensive coffee and chocolates sent to said printer.

Damien nods several times, takes dot points on a flyer print-out and the back of the report draft for last week’s holiday event, asks more questions and promises that he’ll remind the higher-ups of their involvement in submitting January’s flyers two weeks late. After eating the rest of his re-heated honey chicken at Rowan’s desk and narrating the story of how his future wife followed him from pub to pub during a crawl for his brother’s buck’s night, Damien concludes that he only experiences attraction for someone after they express attraction for him.

Melanie, having rested her arms on the back of Damien’s chair to overhear the last half of the conversation, gives him a smothering hug and welcomes him to “the quiver” before cackling at Damien’s blank look.

Find a recipro mug, Rowan later scribbles on the bottom of his to-do-list.

At least that job doesn’t involve relatives.

[beliefbeautyizwithin]

Are you okay with the fact of people excusing Beths shooting of Rio ? What is going on here ? What am I missing? I was watching this show with my friend and we WERE ALL rooting for her until we saw that crap. Then my mind changed to I hope she gets caught , I hope she gets locked up. Then all these blogs with Beth Avitars OFCOURSE, claiming the idea that she HAD to do it ? While saying how can people blame Beth with out blaming Rio? She pulled the damn trigger. Ugh I hate that !

So firstly, I'm not the person who answers anon questions. I feel their are more "qualified " bloggers on here for that. Plus sis got thannngs to do, okurrrr ....With that said I so appreciate u trusting me with this question anon.

To simply put this : people live in their own heads when it comes to this show. You will find those who infactically see themselves in Beth, or in some of the other women on this show. They feel like they can relate to them on some levels. Then there are those who love Rio for his sexual presence , the way he plays Rio as MORE than just a "gang friend and ofcourse his chemistry with Beth( myself included)... I 👏🏽get it !

But what I dont like is the politics used on this platform. The categorization clause : The idea that you must be either for Beth, Rio, or Beth and the girls when it comes down to what happened in the S2 finale. It's like I must check what party line I'm on or who am I FOR or against. When for me its as simple as who's right and who's wrong in the situation. There can be grey lines but in this particular situation, Beth was DEAD AZZ WRONG.

Let me explain: I watched this show like EVERYONE else , got my friends in on the show too. LOVED the dynamic of the women, their interaction with each other and I genuinely liked Beth's character. You could tell she was the leader of the group. To me shes that type of friend that always has a solution to your problems........ I was rooting for Her ( check the history of my posts). I Was happy seeing the girls work with Rio getting their own. PLUS Beth's relationship with Rio.

Now to Rio and Beth's relationship :

I never looked at their relationship as toxic per se given the context of the show and what these women were involved in. The women are wannabe criminals who willingly get involved with a gang member. Beth most of all( bc as I said shes the leader of her pack). RIO although he is assumed to be this dangerous criminal hes really soft on Beth. Speak to any GUY about this show and I promise you the first thing their gonna say is Rio should have killed Beth and the girls ( given their involvement in his business). They were liabilities..But some where through these episodes Rio fell in love : Yup I said it !!!!🥴

I believe when a man truly loves a woman he shows them through action. The things Rio did for Beth ( bc he mainly delt with Beth) you dont do that for someone you dont love. Im talking about despite these women helping him wash his cash. Theres a point in Season 1 where he TELLS Beth shes nothing but a charity case to him. Meaning he never needed them, he never needed HER.

Things Rio did out of his gang character :

1. BETH refusing to take care of her rotten egg; total liability to Rios business.

2. Beth snitching on Rio to the FEDS. Instead of Rio just shooting Dean , he had EVERY right to shoot / kill Beth too. But he never wants to hurt Beth so he settles with shooting her husband:" Now were good".

3. Finding out Boomer who was talking to the feds about Rio and his gang had something to do with Beth and the girls. He should of kill Beth and the girls. But instead he gave THEM the opportunity to take care of it.

4. Beth and the girls failing to take care of Boomer , which snowballed into an even bigger problem.

5. Rios money becoming compromise bc of Beth and the girls failing to listen or do anything right.

6. Beth going into the drug house for a DAMN dubby and Rio seeing how much it meant to her then going back to collect it.

7. GAVE Beth the keys to the kingdom. Now let me explain this..... people think he took it back. But after the bathroom break I believe in Rios head the sex solidified Beth( A woman he could see does not believe in one night stands and has only been with her husband sexually) was finally his ; "were partners now". Hence why he went ballistic in Boland Motors after he saw Beth going to Dean....Not to mention Beth realized the money and EVERYTHING was always in her possession. That was his woman yall. But ofcourse as women we always get hung up with the man actually SAYING it. Defining the relationship was unnecessary, given his actions.

8. The pill business. He gave Beth 50% (something he does with NOBODY else ; remember him saying he usually pays 30%) . Rio could have said no and killed her ( sorry guys but in EVERY scenario it was in Rios BEST interest to kill Beth).

8. Beth has passionate love making with Rio then kicks him out. TO go back to DEAN ,,okurr . So what does Rio do : send her pieces of the body hes been HOLDING for HER the entire time. Bc ofcourse it cant be that easy to first of all get out of a life of crime period. BUT he wasn't going to let go of Beth that easily. Beth gets the body back to do something as silly as burying the body in HER BACKYARD..How dumb!!

Rio has done nothing deliberately to compromise Beth's freedom . BUT he has forced Beth to be accountable of her actions.

So with all this information : Beth tries to send Rio away forever ! Knowing his fear of getting locked up that he disclosed to her during the shut down episode. Knowing he has a kid to take care of; as you can see now RHEA doesnt make enough cash to support Marcus, at least not like Rio can. Then tries to KILL the man ! In closing I dont CARE what floppy azz explanation people want to give about Beth shooting Rio. Her azz was W.R.O.N.G. she was messed up for that. That move changed my mind completely towards her . At this point she DESERVES Dean ugly lying azz. I hope they DO get caught and go to jail so she sees how it feels. l respected Beth but I lost respect after he snazzy azz smile when she said "Rio is gone"

Therefore anyone rally for Beth just because shes a woman and you stan Christina Hendricks. Let's get back to the context of the show and ask yourself: WHAT the hell HAS ShE ever done FOR RIO ? That wasn't to save her own behind. I'm gonna keep it 100% anon I didnt know who the hell Manny was or Christina was until this show. So this is not from a STAN prespective. This is from a real azz honest perspective. Hopefully this makes u understand how I feel.

[rainming7561-blog]

8 Toxic Habits You Should Get Rid of to Improve Your Quality of Life

Avoiding them might change your whole life.

When I first tapped into personal development, I tried to build as many positive habits as possible.

I set up a morning routine, started to meditate, went to the gym frequently, and read at least one book per week.

Yet, a year later, I didn’t feel happier, more fulfilled, or improved.

And I didn’t understand why my life didn’t change even though I built all these new, powerful routines.

Change your habits and you’ll change your life is one of the bold promises of the self-help world and I didn’t know why it didn’t work for me.

But it’s true: Your routines can change your life.

Yet what I overlooked is that those good routines aren’t worth much if you don’t let go of your negative habits first.

Quite often, it’s our little, harmful routines that break our success, not the lack of good ones.

The following habits are certainly not easy to give up, but once you let go of them, you won’t only feel relieved but also much more energized in your daily life.

You make a mountain out of a molehill.

Did you ever make a great decision because you spent lots of time thinking about it?

Me neither.

The truth is that we never make good choices by overthinking.

According to Malcolm Gladwell, we make all our choices in the blink of an eye. Yet, we are not aware of it and want to have a logical reason. That’s why we overcomplicate most of our decisions.

In his book Blink, Gladwell explains how all our decisions are based on our intuition.

We don’t make the right decisions by thinking logically, we just try to find arguments for decisions we already made based on our gut feeling.

But life is so much easier and fun if you go with the flow, allow yourself to make mistakes, and correct your course on the way.

Spending time to think about problems or decisions might sound smart, but it isn’t.

Most people are overthinking everyday situations and end up spending hours and hours without producing results.

How to change it:

Small steps can lead to enormous changes: Why not try to choose your next meal in a restaurant quicker than you’d usually do?

Why not be the one who suggests where to go and what to do when hanging out with your friends instead of saying, “I don’t know.” or “I don’t care.”?

Try to take control of the small things in your life. Give your best to make the unimportant decisions as quickly as possible.

You are obsessed with other peoples’ opinions.

How often do you get discouraged because of other people’s opinions?

The odds are high that your answer is too often.

The bad news is that you’ll never be able to satisfy everybody. The good news, however, is that it doesn’t matter.

You have one life and you don’t need to waste it by living up to the standards of others.

How to change it:

You can’t be everybody’s darling, but you can indeed be your own hero and save yourself.

Stop muting your inner voice to satisfy others and start sharing your light with the world.

You are living for the weekend.

So many people waste their lives looking forward to the weekend.

This is a particularly dangerous trap for people who aren’t happy in their jobs and spend the whole week surviving instead of living.

But the truth is that weekends are just a small part of your life. You can’t be unhappy from Monday to Friday and expect the weekend to compensate for these negative feelings.

A week is a great period to set small, realistic goals and track your progress. And if you like what you do, each Monday is a new opportunity to create an amazing week.

How to change it:

Nobody hates Mondays. You either hate your job, your coworkers, your boss, or something else related to Monday, but certainly not the day itself.

If you live a life you love, you’ll appreciate each day as an opportunity to share your gift with the world.

Stop blaming Monday and identify the part of your life you really hate. That’s the only way to eliminate it and create a week and life you truly enjoy.

You are fearing change.

You don’t have to be cheerful about everything that happens in life. Yet, your fear shouldn’t hold you back.

We all know that things could be way worse at any point in our lives.

Even the fact that you are reading this article right now indicates that you are among the wealthier, more privileged people of the world.

Life is changing faster than ever before and we might be facing new challenges every single day. That’s why the most adaptable people will always win in the long run.

How to change it:

Stop being afraid is easier said than done, but it’s probably one of the most underrated pieces of advice.

Even if changes might be uncertain, there is almost always a positive aspect to them.

Most of us grow up being taught to play it safe, get a well-paid job, build security, and avoid changes. Yet, change can also mean improvement.

Every challenge in your life will help you to improve and become a better version of yourself. Be courageous, keep your eyes on the positive aspects, and try new things. And if it still gets too scary, ask yourself the following question:

What’s the worst thing that can happen?

Quite often, you’ll realize that the worst thing isn’t that bad.

You are trying to please everyone.

How often do you find yourself doing something just to make someone else happy?

Sure, sometimes, it’s great and necessary to do something just for the sake of making someone happy, but most of the time, the problem is our inability to say no.

If you can’t say no to the wrong things, you won’t be able to say hell yeah to the projects, people, and opportunities that truly excite you.

How to stop it:

Be aware of your self-worth. Remind yourself of what you want and what you need to do for it. Saying yes to others often means saying no to yourself.

If you always try to please others, you’ll be ignoring your own desires.

The first step, however, is to know what you are actually aiming for. You need to be aware of your life purpose, your goals, and your priorities.

Once you know your priorities and the things you want to achieve, you will waste less time on the wishes of others.

You are living paycheck to paycheck.

Every single day, we’re being bombarded with thousands of sales pitches. Making purchases is simpler than ever before and great marketers know how to catch our attention, even if we don’t need anything.

Yet the harsh truth is that overspending will not only ruin you financially, but it’ll also harm other areas of your life.

You can’t increase the quality of your life if you always live paycheck to paycheck and are surrounded by stuff you don’t need.

How to change it:

Get used to saving your money before spending it and avoid the trap of wasting your entire paycheck on consumer goods.

Sooner or later, you might face unexpected emergencies. When these situations occur, you’ll be glad to have a safety net instead of waiting for your next payment.

You are living in the past.

The surest way to live a miserable life is by spending too much time worrying about the past.

If you want to be happy and fulfilled, you need to learn how to be present and enjoy the small joys of everyday situations.

Instead of thinking about your past mistakes or fearing the future, try to be fully present right now. Because now is to only time you can influence and change.

You can’t change anything about the past, and you can’t determine your future. But you can give your very best to enjoy every moment and live intentionally.

“Do not dwell in the past, do not dream of the future, concentrate the mind on the present moment. “

— Buddha

How to change it:

Start focusing on the now. What can you do today to live your best life?

Set daily intentions, focus on your goals, and think of all the things you are grateful for.

Journaling, for example, is an excellent method to be more present and focus on the given moment. By writing down what you’re grateful for and what you feel at any given moment, you’ll learn to be more present and listen to your inner self.

You are talking yourself down.

Imagine having a friend who followed you 24/7, telling you things like:

“You’re too fat.”

“You’re ugly.”

“You can’t do that.”

“You aren’t worth it.”

Would you enjoy the company of that friend?

You probably wouldn’t.

Yet, too often, we are this friend ourselves. Most people are professionals in talking themselves down. But your relationship with yourself is the most important one.

You are the only person who’ll be with you forever.

So make sure to get on well with yourself and be your own cheerleader instead of your own critic.

“Watch your thoughts, they become your words; watch your words, they become your actions; watch your actions, they become your habits; watch your habits, they become your character; watch your character, it becomes your destiny.”

― Lao Tzu

How to stop it:

Focus on your strengths and achievements.

It’s easy to be confident and proud when you accomplish great things, but you need to be your own fan, even if you fail miserably.

Throughout your life, you will meet so many people who’ll try to discourage you or don’t respect your achievements.

But no matter what others say, you need to stay true to yourself.

Want to grow? Grab my free Personal Growth Toolkit with 42 effective & actionable tactics, resources & tools to elevate your life.

[kiss-my-freckle]

3x8 Rewatch: The Great Red Dragon

Introduce Francis Dolarhyde. Exercising, then hitting a tattoo parlor. He had his grandmother's dentures replicated for himself, gets a tattoo of The Dragon that covers his entire back. He kneels before a photo he has displayed of William Blake’s The Great Red Dragon. "If I'm ever apprehended, my memory palace will serve as more than a mnemonic system. I will live there." Hannibal wasn't kidding. He's relying on his memory palace with everyone that visits him. Will seems to be the only one he imagines in the Norman Chapel. He listens to a child singing while they cover his arrest and confinement. Jack selling Freddie the story of Hannibal being captured. An excerpt from Chilton's book, Hannibal the Cannibal, something Jack made mention to. He copyrighted the title after he got shot in the face. Purposeful story direction. "There is no name for what this man is. He man not even be a man." Relevant later, when he and Will do The Dragon's profile for Freddie. Chilton basically saying Hannibal is an animal. 

A three year time jump. Wine and truffles. Alana informs Hannibal that's how she found him in Florence. I would consider this gloating. They talk about his insanity allowing him to escape the death penalty, but he only escaped the death penalty because she and Chilton lied about him being insane. They wanted him to feed their professional curiosity. She talks to Hannibal as if he should be thanking her for getting him off death row. He flat-out tells her he's not insane. He's drawing her exactly how she makes me feel in this scene. The almighty queen, sitting on her Verger throne. Hannibal's confinement and her newfound wealth turned her character to shit. "Ugliness is found in the faces of the crowd." One could easily compare Hannibal's confinement to Will's in season two. I laugh when he talks about faking an escape. It's a triple play. Gideon's, Will’s, Hannibal’s. A touch of foreshadowing with Hannibal's promise to kill Alana. I'll gif that later.

Francis is standing before his broken mirror, trying to deepen his voice. He hears The Dragon calling for him. Cut to him naked, covered in blood in the moonlight. Blood and chocolate. Sanguinaccio dolce for Chilton's visit with Hannibal. "But I promised myself I would never use colons in my titles. Colons lose their novelty when overused." I laugh at this line. It makes me think of the hyphen. Especially during his scene with The Dragon. "We all know it, but nobody ever says that G-dash-D won't do a G-dash-D-damned thing to answer anybody's prayers." Hannibal tells him he'll have to write another book. He’s constantly referring to Francis as a shy boy. Like Will's character at the start of the series. Hannibal already knows enough about The Dragon to know about The Dragon. He thinks he doesn't like being called the Tooth Fairy.

Chilton and Alana in what appears to be her office now. "It is our cabal, yours and mine." The two who spoke of Will as a billiard ball, working together to get Hannibal in their hospital. "Ugliness is found in the faces of the crowd." Alana admits that they both lied, then tells Chilton he wrote a book of lies. "Everything he writes is always about a problem he does not have." This is a nice line that ties into the pilot. "You and I are just alike, problem-free." Chilton is just as cocky as Alana. The stag behind his head is fantastic. "Detected a trace of competitive vanity in our man. I would be cautious. The Young Turk may inspire the Old Lithuanian to keep himself interesting." Chilton is the one comparing the two, I'd say he's the one who wants to keep Hannibal interesting. Hannibal doesn't care.

They scene hop between The Dragon and Hannibal. "Soon enough, I fear Jack Crawford will come knocking." He writes a letter to Will, warning him that Jack will be coming to take him for the case. "It's dark on the other side and madness is waiting." But his family is waiting. Hannibal’s letter reveals who he's really in competition with - Jack. He was right about the Tooth Fairy, he doesn't like being called the Tooth Fairy.  

More than halfway through the episode when we actually see Will. Necessary. Setting the stage, to show what he's stepping into before he steps into it. Like I said in my previous rewatch post, Will had plans to disconnect from everything and everyone who would remind him of Hannibal. That includes Jack and Alana. He didn't even know she had a child. More dogs, and I don't see Winston. Jack pulls up. His entire scene with Will shows just how much of an asshole he is. "You don't want to talk inside? Oh, you don't want to let me inside." This ties into his first conversation with Alana. That's why he ends up sitting at their dinner table. "He who sups with the Devil needs a long spoon." Will doesn't want any part in it. "Why should the cold stop what common sense couldn't?" Again, him and Alana are dumb as hell for allowing Will to even take part. Three years won't change anything. As they say, absence makes the heart grow fonder. He tells Jack not to take out family pictures. Jack does it anyway. "Hold that."  

"With a little bit of luck, we might have a little more than three weeks before he does it again." Luck scattered through this half because of the tree markings. Molly and Walter are seen walking in, so he has Jack put the photo back in his pocket. The look on his face is enough. Jack's gonna get Will to take part in this case whether he wants to or not. "Yeah, I'm lucky here. I know that." Another hit on the luck theme. Jack takes advantage of the moment, pulling out the photo for Molly once Will and Walter take the dogs out. The way he puts his arms on the table, about to manipulate the situation to his liking. He's always been about his agenda. "So, whatever he says he wants to do, you'll take him anyway, won't you?" This line ties into episode 1x5. Will never had a choice. When Jack wants him, he takes him. That's why I never understood MIriam referring to him as The Guru. He can't compare to Will because he only cares about catching them, he doesn't care about understanding them. Going against Will's wishes, shows the family photos to Molly. "I promise I'll try to make it as easy on him as I can." He made the same promise to Alana when he said he wouldn't let Will get too close. "I know what I'm asking and I wished to God I didn't have to." He has to because he sucks at profiling.

"If you stay and there's more killing, maybe it would sour this place for you." Jack said the same thing of his classroom in episode 1x5. While Molly is sleeping, he steps out of bed and reaches for Hannibal's letter. Kept it in his drawer, but didn't read it. HIs way of holding onto Hannibal, but not letting his words pull him in. He looks back at Molly to make sure she's still sleeping. I don't think she truly knows just how intimately he and Hannibal know each other. I believe this is the only letter Hannibal wrote to him, so I think Will knew that he wrote about the Tooth Fairy case. Hannibal would've allowed him this distance because the last time they spoke, Will told him he didn't want to think about him anymore. He hasn't been crossing those boundaries Will set out of respect, something Jack doesn’t have. He's crossing them now because he knows how relentless Jack is. 

WIll visits the crime scene for his typical replay. He's been out of it for a while, so when he sees the room, it overwhelms him. His body language is powerful. The end of this replay is a nice foreshadow. The way he stands in front of the strings like his own pair of wings. How they light up as he's reaching out to touch the wife in his replay. The way he says, "This is my design." It all feels different. He’s connecting with The Dragon as it ties into episode 1x4. I love the way he storms up the steps. He’s connecting, but doesn't understand it yet. They print the wife's eye and do a mold of the cheese based on Will's replay. "Jimmy, you're the light of my life." Darkness and light scattered in this storyline. "He polished it after he placed it so he could see his face in there." SIght and sound, like windows to the soul. The Dragon in Francis, The Lion in Will. Capable of righteous violence. His empathy, capable of cruelty. "He may have a history of biting in lesser assaults. May be a fighting pattern as much as sexual behavior." Jack asks Will what he's fighting. Will is already connecting. 

Will tries to call Molly, then lays down in bed. Crime scene photos swirl around him. He connects to the family dog, wants to adopt it. "I have to see Hannibal." He needs Hannibal's help to recover his mindset because he snuffed out that dark part of himself. “You have to cut that part out.” Cutting out Hannibal, Jack and Alana, teaching and his work with the FBI. What happens when he cuts out his heart, fills the empty it leaves with a new family, then goes back to visit his heart and everything that reminds him. Will is cut between. His  transformation starts now. He will shed the rest of his humanity and become the Lion. 

“Hello, Dr. Lecter."

[nightunite]

I'm the soft sibling but... A-all of them??

I’ve been waiting, my sibster...

1. Who was the last person you held hands with?

Probably @safetyfirstbiatch

 2. Are you outgoing or shy? 

Shy in the beginning, outgoing afterwards!

3. Who are you looking forward to seeing? 

@safetyfirstbiatch @tricksandmagix

4. Are you easy to get along with? 

Sometimes

5. If you were drunk would the person you like take care of you? 

Probably not

6. What kind of people are you attracted to? 

Loyal, funny, can tease me like I tease them, won’t mock my anxiety, etc.

7. Do you think you’ll be in a relationship two months from now? 

Nope

8. Who from the opposite gender is on your mind? 

Gonna say Bucky Barnes

9. Does talking about sex make you uncomfortable? 

Nah

10. Who was the last person you had a deep conversation with? 

@binkysteebnpewter @breadgenie892 @fuzzy-cloud-head-queen @andyl394

11. What does the most recent text that you sent say? 

“I might post this on tumblr”

12. What are your 5 favorite songs right now? 

Blink-182: Black rain

Halsey&Marina Mashup: Gasoline and Savages

Saweetie: My type

Dermot Kennedy: Power Over You

chillpill: Fuck the Club

13. Do you like it when people play with your hair? 

Nope

14. Do you believe in luck and miracles? 

Yep

15. What good thing happened this summer? 

SHAVED ICE AND THE FAM

16. Would you kiss the last person you kissed again? 

Nah

17. Do you think there is life on other planets? 

Yes

18. Do you still talk to your first crush? 

Nah

19. Do you like bubble baths? 

Yes

20. Do you like your neighbors? 

Nah

21. What are you bad habits? 

Impulsive, loud, awkward, dont like vacuuming

22. Where would you like to travel? 

Yes

23. Do you have trust issues? 

Yes

24. Favorite part of your daily routine? 

Nap time

25. What part of your body are you most uncomfortable with? 

Thighs

26. What do you do when you wake up? 

Play Animal Crossing

27. Do you wish your skin was lighter or darker? 

No but I wish it was healthy

28. Who are you most comfortable around? 

@safetyfirstbiatch

29. Have any of your ex’s told you they regret breaking up? 

Yup

30. Do you ever want to get married? 

Sure

31. If your hair long enough for a pony tail? 

It’s always up so yeah

32. Which celebrities would you have a threesome with?

None?

 33. Spell your name with your chin. 

(Cant attempt this tbh I have a big ol hormone zit about ready to pop)

34. Do you play sports? What sports? 

Nope

35. Would you rather live without TV or music? 

Without TV

36. Have you ever liked someone and never told them? 

Of course!

37. What do you say during awkward silences?

Some stupid joke or story

 38. Describe your dream girl/guy? 

I’ve answered this in previous asks but see #6

39. What are your favorite stores to shop in? 

Lush, Barnes&Noble, Candy Stores

40. What do you want to do after high school? 

I’m already a college graduate, but lab work

41. Do you believe everyone deserves a second chance? 

No

42. If your being extremely quiet what does it mean? 

I’m either busy, sleeping, or anxious

43. Do you smile at strangers? 

Sometimes

44. Trip to outer space or bottom of the ocean?

Outer space

 45. What makes you get out of bed in the morning? 

Animal Crossing and food

46. What are you paranoid about?

Everything tbh anxiety sucks 

47. Have you ever been high? 

No

48. Have you ever been drunk? 

No

49. Have you done anything recently that you hope nobody finds out about? 

No but I’ve been hella simping

50. What was the colour of the last hoodie you wore? 

Grey and yellow, my hufflepuff hoodie

51. Ever wished you were someone else?

Nah

 52. One thing you wish you could change about yourself? 

Have healthier skin aka no genetic issues

53. Favourite makeup brand?

Dont wear any

 54. Favourite store? 

Barnes&Noble

55. Favourite blog? 

@bunjywunjy

56. Favourite colour? 

Periwinkle

57. Favourite food? 

I’m a slut for pretzel bites right now

58. Last thing you ate? 

Cheese ravioli

59. First thing you ate this morning?

Sour cream&onion chips

 60. Ever won a competition? For what? 

Won a ribbon for a literary contest

61. Been suspended/expelled? For what? 

Nah

62. Been arrested? For what? 

Nah

63. Ever been in love? 

Don’t know tbh

64. Tell us the story of your first kiss? 

Already answered this on previous asks, but it was after a movie in his car

65. Are you hungry right now? 

Nah

66. Do you like your tumblr friends more than your real friends? 

Nah, they’re equal

67. Facebook or Twitter? 

Twitter

68. Twitter or Tumblr? 

Tumblr

69. Are you watching tv right now? 

Nah

70. Names of your bestfriends? 

@safetyfirstbiatch @tricksandmagix

71. Craving something? What? 

Shaved ice, blue raspberry and lime flavor

72. What colour are your towels? 

Salmon pink and mold green, got em real ugly

72. How many pillows do you sleep with? 

2, one under my head and one against my side

73. Do you sleep with stuffed animals? 

Yup a Totodile

74. How many stuffed animals do you think you have? 

Like 80+

75. Favourite animal? 

Frogs

76. What colour is your underwear? 

Black

77. Chocolate or Vanilla? 

Chocolate

78. Favourite ice cream flavour? 

Chocolate

79. What colour shirt are you wearing? 

Black

80. What colour pants? 

Black

81. Favourite tv show? 

Masterchef

82. Favourite movie? 

James and the Giant Peach

83. Mean Girls or Mean Girls 2? 

Mean Girls

84. Mean Girls or 21 Jump Street? 

Mean Girls

85. Favourite character from Mean Girls? 

Janis

86. Favourite character from Finding Nemo? 

Dory

87. First person you talked to today? 

The fam

88. Last person you talked to today? 

The fam

89. Name a person you hate? 

Trump

90. Name a person you love? 

@safetyfirstbiatch

91. Is there anyone you want to punch in the face right now? 

Anti-vaxxers

92. In a fight with someone? 

Nah

93. How many sweatpants do you have? 

2 pairs

94. How many sweaters/hoodies do you have? 

like 6

95. Last movie you watched? 

Sky High (I regret nothing)

96. Favourite actress? 

Zendaya

97. Favourite actor? 

Sebastian Stan

98. Do you tan a lot? 

Nope

99. Have any pets? 

A cat and a corgi

100. How are you feeling? 

Pretty alright

101. Do you type fast? 

Yup!

102. Do you regret anything from your past? 

A couple things, time I wish I had listened better

103. Can you spell well? 

Decently

104. Do you miss anyone from your past? 

Not really

105. Ever been to a bonfire party? 

Nope!

106. Ever broken someone’s heart? 

Probably but I was never told

107. Have you ever been on a horse? 

Nope

108. What should you be doing? 

Sleeping

109. Is something irritating you right now? 

My back

110. Have you ever liked someone so much it hurt? 

Yup!

111. Do you have trust issues?

Of course

 112. Who was the last person you cried in front of? 

@safetyfirstbiatch while laughing I’m pretty sure

113. What was your childhood nickname? 

‘Hey you’

114. Have you ever been out of your province/state? 

Yes, been to several other states and the Bahamas

115. Do you play the Wii? 

I used, played so much Harvest Moon Animal Parade

116. Are you listening to music right now? 

Yup, mothra’s theme

117. Do you like chicken noodle soup? 

Nope

118. Do you like Chinese food? 

Nope

119. Favourite book? 

The Serpent King is one of my favorites

120. Are you afraid of the dark?

Nah

 121. Are you mean? 

Sometimes

122. Is cheating ever okay? 

In extreme extenuating circumstances like ‘You refuse to let me out of this marriage despite knowing we don’t even like each other’

123. Can you keep white shoes clean? 

Somewhat yeah

124. Do you believe in love at first sight? 

Yeah

125. Do you believe in true love?

Yeah

 126. Are you currently bored? 

Nah

127. What makes you happy? 

Little things; rain, smell of a new book, soft sheets.

128. Would you change your name? 

Nah

129. What your zodiac sign? 

Leo

130. Do you like subway? 

Nah

131. Your bestfriend of the opposite sex likes you, what do you do? 

Either let em down easy or see if it works

132. Who’s the last person you had a deep conversation with? 

The fam

133. Favourite lyrics right now? 

Dont have any honestly

134. Can you count to one million? 

Sure but it takes a while

135. Dumbest lie you ever told?

‘Can’t go, Mom needs me to watch the dog’ -Dog is in fact being taken to daycare in plain view of person

 136. Do you sleep with your doors open or closed? 

Open a crack

137. How tall are you?

5′6

 138. Curly or Straight hair? 

Wavy

139. Brunette or Blonde? 

Brunette

140. Summer or Winter? 

Fuck both, Fall

141. Night or Day? 

Night

142. Favourite month? 

July

143. Are you a vegetarian?

Nope

 144. Dark, milk or white chocolate?

Milk

 145. Tea or Coffee? 

Neither, soda

146. Was today a good day?

Yeah it was pretty great

147. Mars or Snickers?

Snickers even though I have a peanut sensitivity

 148. What’s your favourite quote?

Don’t have one, sorry

 149. Do you believe in ghosts? 

Yup! 

150. Get the closest book next to you, open it to page 42, what’s the first line on that page? 

“This is madness” - Sorcery of Thorns

[even-in-winter]

10 for 10 for 10

Rules: Answer ten questions, come up with ten questions of your own, and tag ten people.

Thanks for the tag @kissedbydragonfire , but wow, this was not easy

Question time

1.   If your OTP couldn’t be together, what other canon characters would you want them to be with?

Ow, help. This is hard. Uhm.... okay i will try

My OTP now is Garcia Flynn and Lucy Preston. So, if they can't be together I would let Flynn have Lorena back in a second. He deserves a happy life with his family and baby girl.

Lucy however, i doubt a lot. Im tempted to say Wyatt, but I didn't like every version of him in the show. Sometimes he did things that made me doubt. So i dont know. I guess I would bring them together, but more the fanfic version of them if that makes sense.

My alternative would be Jess, both strong women, but @letmetellyouaboutmyfeels made me ship Jess with Amy, so that doesnt feel right either. (Read the roommate fic, they are amazing together! "Even when we're hopeless, at least we're not alone" is the name if i remember correctly)

I'm not even trying to ship her with Denise or Connor. Not for me. Nope.

So that kinda leaves Rufus and Jiya as alternative. I would never break up these cuties, so I'm going to put Lucy with them. Why? Because I can. Lucy would be in good hands with them.

2.   If you could change one thing about your favorite fictional character, who is it and what would you change?

Lucy. I would make her a bit more confident in herself. Make her see just how much worth she has. She can be such a strong woman, she just needs to see it for herself sometimes.

3.   Is there anything that you consider to be a lucky charm for you and/or brings you luck?

I have. My grandparents gave me a little silver necklace with a clover shaped pendant. They gave it to me when I was in high school to bring me luck on my exams. I do not believe in this bringing me luck, yet i wear it every time i have an exam or when something important comes up ( job interview etc.). My grandfather passed away last year and this makes me feel connected still. So, I do not believe it brings me luck, but I do feel like it calms me down and makes me more "mentally ready" for situations I could use a bit of luck in.

4.   If you could live in any historical era (excluding the modern one), what would it be?

I would say modern times. All my favorite people are here, plus i would probably die after 2 days in any other time in history. I know how to handle swords, but thats a about it. I'm good in starting fires, but not when you need them. So i would burn down any camp i make within a day. I'm also very clumsy and daring a a but of 'je m'en fous', which is a horrible combination which leads to injuries more often than not. So no, better let me stay

5.   Do you prefer blondes, brunettes or redheads?

Hmmmm... I think I'm going to go with brunettes, but followed very close by the blondes.

6.   If you could save one beloved character from an in canon death by “moving” them to another show, what character would it be and what show would you “move” them to?

GARCIA FLYNN. I would move him to any show that can gives him the life he deserves. Ideally i would let Lucy or Lorena and Iris join him in this show, but I doubt thats what the question was about. I can not pinpoint a show right now, so I will gently place him in a show of his likings 😉

7.   If you could go back and change one historical event, what would it be?

Honestly, i would probably be like timeless and change a lot. So its hard to just pick one...

8.   If you were casting actors for a movie and you could select anyone, who is in your dream cast?

Abigail Spencer, Goran Visnjic, Henry Cavill, Maura Tierney, Rebecca Ferguson, Tom Hiddleston, and soooo much more.

9.   Do you believe in ghosts? 👻

I do not. I never experienced anything that convinced me they could be real. I'm very sceptical about them. I like the idea that people I lost are still arround, but I dont really believe in it.

Also, i would totally make fun of people for eternity as a ghost. So maybe better if they don't exist haha🤷‍♀️

10. What’s the one thing you can’t live without while you’re stuck in quarantine?

WiFi. I have online classes, papers to write and for entertainment. I miss my friends and family so keeping contact and organizing groupwatches for movienight and chatting keep me sane.

Normally I would have said books, but it's been 2 weeks of complete lockdown now and I read 7 books already. I will run out of reading material soon and we have still several weeks to go😅

My Questions for you:

Yes they are weird. Yes I'm aware. Still, I'm bored and now very curious to see what your answers will be🤣🤣.

So, here we go 😎

1) There have been lots of crazy weapons made, such as the "Lantern shield" or " Spring loaded triple dagger" or "Gun shield" What is your favorite 'crazy' or weird weapon? (Doesn't need to be useful, the weirder the better)

2) You are an inventor. Yup. This is your life now. You invent things. Big things, small things, weird things, ... . What are your top 3 inventions?

3) What is the weirdest compliment you ever got?

4) IT'S YOUR LUCKY DAY! Your favorite genie Winter fulfills your wish! You can now yell/swear/be angry for 20 minutes at the person of your choice, without consequences because they will forget it all after you are done or when the 20 minutes are over. Who do you choose and why? If you feel comfortable to share it with your favorite genie, what would you say?

5) If you could "kidnap" one historical person to stay 1 week in 2020 before sending him/her back to their time. Who would you choose and why? (To motivate, make them see what they did for our modern times or to hang out with. The choice is yours. Everything is possible)

6) SURPRISE! Loki, the Norse god of Misschief, has taken a liking to you. You can now pull one prank on a person/organization/country/whatever you like of your choice and nobody will ever know it was you, or if you want they will know it was you but you will NEVER be punished for it. What would you do? 😎

7) Post a picture of the most "ugly"or "useless" animal below. Like the MOST UGLY HIDEOUS OR USELESS animal you can find. Give the animal a name of your liking (Fred, Jeff whatever you want. Be creative) and explain, while using that name, why this is the WORST animal. (Post the real name of the animal in the tags so people can google this lovely thing afterwards if they want)

8) My condolances, your great-great-twice removed aunt has just died. She left you something, something very special. It's a box. You slowly lift the lid to see "...". (fill in blank, explain if you like)

9) ITS YOUR FAVORITE GENIE WINTER AGAIN! This time, i have a little dillema for you. In order to get a wish of your choice, you need to push on this bell. This cool little bell 🛎. If you do, 20 people die. You don't know for sure if they are strangers or not. Could be anyone. You even dont know if their deaths are peaceful or horrible. You don't know. All you know is that your heartwish will be granted and 20 people die. Would you do it?

10) WOOPS! YOU DIED! or better, people believe you are dead, but you aren't. What will you do now? Will you enjoy your newfound freedom or will you return to your normal life?

I tag: @ununpredictableme @kissedbydragonfire @mathgirl24 @celtrose-ish @garciaflynnanimal @letmetellyouaboutmyfeels @magnificentcowboypeanutpaper @princessamerigocreations @....

Anyone who wants to play, consider yourself tagged. No pressure, and if you don't want to answer all you don't have too. I'm just very curious to see some answers haha.

[themyskira]

So....have you read the latest Avengers #20, about the current version of She Hulk? How do you feel about that?

I’ve made a point of avoiding Jason Aaron’s Avengers because I truly can’t stand what he’s done to Jen. He took a character who, for all her more recent traumas, for all she can struggle to balance her legal career with her the pitfalls of being a publicly known superhero, loves who she is and embraces being green wholeheartedly -- he took Shulkie and turned her into Lady Bruce Banner, retiring lawyer whose inner ragemonster is just waiting to break loose. It’s some deep-seated bullshit and I’ve been trying my best to simply wait for it all to pass over.

But it was hard to ignore Avengers #20, because this was the issue where Jason Aaron went right off the fucking rails. I mean, he really went full Aaron Sorkin on his readers, and that isn’t a compliment.

Classic She-Hulk: Charming. Witty. Sensational. The Jolly Jade Giantess. The sassiest super-lawyer in all of Brooklyn. More laughs than a barrel of Deadpools. Fun. For years, that’s how the world described my client.  Until the accused came here and flushed all that global adoration down the gamma-irradiated toilet.Jason Aaron She-Hulk: Rrrgh. Objection. Some still like--Judge Jen: Overruled!Classic She-Hulk: The accused would like you to believe she’s not at fault for what happened to my client. That these changes in her personality are the unfortunate side-effect of her new powers, which were awakened inside her by some meddling space giants... and that since that happened she's been doing her best to regain control of herself. To do right by my client and give the world back the gorgeous, green, fun-loving bombshell they know and love. But that’s a complete lie, isn’t it? ... Ladies of the jury, I ask you... is this the face we want to present to the world? After everything we’ve worked to accomplish over the years, is this the sort of muscle-bound downer of a Hulk we want to be?

This sequence takes place in the context of a mental simulation being used by Jen in an effort to build her control over her powers, but in truth it’s just three long and excruciating pages of Aaron taking petty swipes at fans who are unhappy with his portrayal of She-Hulk. Through this exchange, he deliberately frames criticisms of his She-Hulk as shallow, over-the-top and sexist, suggesting that those of us who dislike his barely-recognisable ‘roidmonster Jen simply don’t understand good writing and that we just want a fun sexy green bombshell to wank over.

(Also implicit in this, and indeed throughout the comic, is the view that classic She-Hulk is less meaningful as a character because her comics are frequently humour-oriented. ‘Funny’ is situated in contrast to ‘deep’, ignoring the fact that Jen’s best writers have found room for both, and that Aaron’s She-Hulk fails to be either.)

And that sets the tone for the whole issue. From that point on, the entire comic is just Aaron transparently editorialising that no, you guys just don’t get it, my She-Hulk is better and deeper and more feminist than your She-Hulk.

“I was an omega-level threat in the charm department. I was the Hulk you’d want to have a glass of pinot with. And the craziest part was, my powers, for the most part... made me happy. An incredibly rare occurrence in my line of work. I actually enjoyed being a hero. I loved being the fun Hulk. I loved it a whole helluva lot. So how come I don’t miss it?

“There’s a war on. And the trolls have taken Australia. I’m part of the team that’s taking it back. These trolls come from a faraway realm, but I know their kind. They would’ve laughed at the old me. Made crass jokes even as I was taking them down. This time, nobody’s laughing. And I love it with my all big, green, glowing heart.”

The frustrating thing is, he’s right on the cusp of something genuinely interesting here.

Men who speak angrily and aggressively are apt to be seen as tough, forceful and strong-willed; women who do the same are more often viewed as shrill, nagging, hysterical, bitchy. Many women consciously or unconsciously learn to mask their anger, make ourselves smaller and less threatening. Asserting yourself can be the difference between being seen as the ‘fun girl’ and the humourless bitch.

And the sexual harassment he references -- the sexist jokes, the propositioning, the devaluing of women’s capabilities -- not only are these things that many women, from the most disadvantaged to the most powerful, face to different degrees, they’re relevant on a meta level to the portrayal of women in comics.

All of these themes would be ripe for exploration in the context of classic She-Hulk. Jen is a fun-loving character whose life isn’t governed by rage and the need to control it the way other Hulks are, but that doesn’t mean she can always afford to lose her temper -- as both a woman working in a profession rife with sexism and ‘old boys club’ attitudes, and as a female superhero in the public eye, “you wouldn’t like me when I’m angry” takes on a whole different meaning.

Conversely, we might also think about Jen’s privilege in this regard -- that by virtue of her public profile and influence and general ability to grind men into a pulp without breaking a sweat, she doesn’t face the same level of discrimination as other women. That other women (particularly women of colour and LGBTQI women) don’t have the same freedom to express their anger as she does, not without consequences. And that -- as both the superhero She-Hulk and as the high-profile lawyer Jennifer Walters -- she is in a position to help other women to be heard and ensure that their anger is answered with change.

As for historical sexism in comics, there’s no better antidote to the male gaze than hiring more women and nonbinary people.

None of that seems to interest Jason Aaron. Rather, in defence of his roided-out Girl Bruce, he seems to be saying... what? ‘I have fixed sexism by making Jen so buff that men are too scared to undervalue or sexually harass her’?

(Which, by the way, they still do anyway.)

Next, we get this exchange:

Deadpool: Why’d you stop being funny? I mean, you were really good at it. You were like... me before me.She-Hulk: Rrgh. Rather be free.Deadpool: How’s that?She-Hulk: Free to be ugly.Deadpool: Um, wait, can’t you be both?

So, the implication is that before now, Jen wasn’t “free” to be her whole self -- that she had to be the fun, funny girl to avoid being seen as too angry and threatening.

And aside from the fact that, as I said, I think there are many more nuanced ways to explore this without negating Jen’s characterisation -- this is just lazy goddamn writing. It’s not an idea Aaron has explored up till now, nor is it reflective of the ways in which Jen has been portrayed in the past. It’s just a messy retcon jammed into the story to justify the ‘superiority’ of Aaron’s version of the character. Once again, the writer is speaking through the characters.

We also see Aaron once again implying that being “ugly” -- by which he means physically imposing, buff, not resembling a typical comic book pinup girl -- ‘frees’ Jen from the constraints of sexism, which is full-blown outrageous.

You think that men only sexually harass women they deem attractive? Really? You think that sexism stops at catcalls and underestimation? You think that Jen, a female superhero in the public eye, isn’t going to be subjected to ugly sexist slurs no matter what she looks like? That is as insulting as it is naive.

Later, Aarons-via-Jen engages in some meta-criticism of the fact that She-Hulk has traditionally been portrayed not as a huge, buff ragemonster but as a sexy bodybuilder (and retconning in a shit-ton of sexual harassment while he’s at it, because remember, sexism only affects women society deems conventionally attractive).

“Cousin Bruce said something once, a few years back... about how envious he was of me. How easy he figured I had it. When he hulked out, he became a giant, deformed monster who couldn’t even wear normal clothes. While there I was looking like a bodybuilder who’d just been spray-painted green. I could wear suits, walk down the street without people running and screaming. Teenage boys hung posters of me on their walls. Must be nice, Bruce said to me, to be that kind Hulk.

“I’d never wanted to punch my cousin so bad. And that’s saying something. I told him about the parts of being me that he was oblivious to. About all the times I’d been hit on during team-ups. The bad guys who’d cop a feel when we were fighting.  The sleaze ball who published photos of me topless when I was in the Fantastic freaking Four. (I’d really rather you didn’t Google that.) No paparazzi ever followed Bruce around taking photos of his butt while he was fighting the Leader. I told him... looking like a big scary monster didn’t seem so bad to be sometimes.”

And here we really get to the thesis underlying Aaron’s argument, the reason he feels She-Hulk needed a complete overhaul.

Like most superheroines, She-Hulk was shaped by the male gaze. It’s fair to say that played a lot into her original character design as a green Amazonian bombshell, whose appearance and comparative level-headedness stood in stark contrast to the huge, monstrous, rage-driven Hulk whose powers she inherited. Heroines in cape comics are supposed to be ‘fun’ and ‘sexy’ (as judged by the men they were typically being written by and for). Jen’s body has frequently been the subject of titillation and her promiscuity has frequently been the subject of crude humour.

Aaron seems to view this as the flaw at the heart of the character, and it’s something he’s set out to correct -- by making her the gigantic, buff, scary, angry Hulk she was never allowed to be at the outset. Sexism thwarted! Strong Female Character accomplished! Give yourself a pat on the back, Jason.

Except, here’s the thing.

It’s true that Jen has often been depicted through the lens of a male sex fantasy. 

It’s also true that many readers have embraced her as a female power fantasy.

As the super-buff, super-strong, seven-foot-tall She-Hulk, Jen doesn’t feel the need to bite her tongue or moderate her opinions or diminish herself out of concern for how others might respond. She doesn’t have to hide her confidence or her sexuality. Through her transformation, Jen gains the freedom to embrace all that she’s been repressing -- the brilliant, witty, brash, assertive, body-confident parts of herself she’s always kept hidden from the world.

In looking at Jen selectively through the lens of sexualised artwork, instances of bad writing and a frankly snobbish undervaluing of humour comics, Aaron zooms right past everything that makes her such an appealing and empowering character to so many readers.

Which brings me right back to Deadpool’s comment earlier in the issue: Can’t you be both?

If your complaint is that Jen is portrayed in a male-gazey, overly sexualised manner that de-emphasises her strength and physical power, hire an artist who will draw her as the buff, badass giantess that she is.

She-Hulk doesn’t need a gamma power-up or a brutish alter ego to be formidable, she’s She-Hulk ffs. And stripping Jen of all her femininity in the process of turning her into a ‘roided-out tank raises some dodgy gendered assumptions in itself.

(For me, Peak Jen is a giant buff green woman in a bright pink designer suit. Not only can she be both, she already was.)

And hey, just gonna throw this one out there again, if your complaint is that since her creation Jen has been predominantly written and drawn from male perspectives for a male audience, resulting in some sexist and oversexualised portrayals, how about you hire some goddamn women and nonbinary people to write and draw her?

This is not the Great Feminist Reimagining of She-Hulk that you think it is, Jason Aaron. This is a slightly more pretentious rehash of that time David Goyer dismissed the character as a “giant green porn star”. You’re trying to ‘fix’ Jen by negating everything that she was previously, which is quite simply bad writing.

And when you find yourself dedicating a full issue of a comic book to calling your readers stupid for not liking your treatment of a character, that feels like a pretty sure sign that you’ve fucked up.

[severusdefender]

Excerpt from my fic!

Hi! Love your Tumblr, and love the Snapedom. I've a newcomer, and really going through a phase, so I wrote a fic. This is an excerpt from it. I am always working on it and making improvements because I want it to be as perfect as its main character. The complete story is here: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18874543/chapters/44800099

This is dedicated with love to Marauder stans.

*****

In Severus’s fifth year, Sirius Black told Severus how to enter the Shrieking Shack, and Severus did something - another thing he was to regret forever - and swallowed the bait.

Did he expect a werewolf? He suspected it, but Lily said he was mad. Did he expect a full-grown werewolf, unchained and hungry? Lupin, the tamest, most timid of the four? Were lycanthropes not supposed to be feral even in their human form? Even as an adult, Severus did not know how to answer that. It did not matter what he expected at 16, because a raging werewolf was what he got. To be more accurate, a raging werewolf almost got him.

The predator’s head turned at an impossible speed in the direction of the entrance to the shack. Its yellow eyes focused on Severus, its nose sniffed the victim that walked into its cage alone… a string of saliva stretched between its fangs, and it let out a low, horrible growl. The bites it uncontrollably inflicted on itself left parts of its body bloodied and furless, and it was sure to inflict just such a bite on Severus, the frozen prey that stood there stupidly, thinking God knows what, but definitely not “I was right”. Just before the dark creature attacked, James Potter shouted: “Move, Idiot!”, and shot spell after spell, and dragged Severus, who was still blinking stupidly, away.

“I’m going to Dumbledore,” Severus announced, panting. That was his second mistake, as he would tell himself for months after the fact - he should have pretended to be grateful and gone straight to Lily. But he did not. It might have been the stupidest decision of his life thus far - stupider even than going into the Shrieking Shack in the first place.

James tried to stop him, but without his gang, without his many admirers, he could not. “Then I am coming too!” James cried. Together, they waited for Dumbledore to let them into his office, neither one letting the other out of his sight.

“Tell me what happened,'' the Headmaster asked calmly. James started talking first. When he talked to teachers, “Snivellus” became “Severus”, and there was no mention of his nose or of shampoo to be found for miles. “Professor,” he said with just the right blend of alarm and confidence, “I learned that he was going to try to enter the Shrieking Shack, and I got worried, and ran after him.” James Potter’s disregard for the truth was equal to his disregard for rules.

“And who do you think told me how to get there?! And, and, what did I find there, do you imagine?” Severus, the outraged teenager who foolishly assumed murder was still illegal, shrieked, bug-eyed and scandalized.

Dumbledore sighed. “I know what you encountered there, Master Snape. Master Potter, how did you know he was going down there?”

Potter did not answer this one so quickly. He weighed his options. Most of them were not good. “It was Black!” Severus shouted, before James could come up with another half-truth. 

Dumbledore replied, looking at both of them: “You must appreciate that this is very severe. Only Mr. Lupin was meant to know how to calm down the Whomping Willow. I suppose it is natural that he trusted his friends”. Then, he said nothing for a while. “Return to your beds,” he instructed them, finally. “I will consult with Professor McGonagall and Professor Slughorn and we will reach a decision tomorrow morning, when we have had a chance to calm down. I must demand that you both be discrete, until then.”

Outside Dumbledore’s office, James said: “You disgusting tattle-tale, no wonder no one likes you. This is how you repay me for saving your life? I already regret it. Tell anyone, and I will feed you to him myself.”

A speechless Severus ran to his dorm, whispered the password, and covered himself up to his eyes. A sleepless Severus stared at the ceiling and thought to himself - I have to tell Lily. They made it a prefect, a prefect!

He washed his terrified face hours later, and marched to the Headmaster’s office. Potter and Black were already there - on time, for the first time in their lives, as were Professor McGonagall and Professor Slughorn.

Was that the moment he was condemned? They got away with it. McGonagall promised to handle the punishment. Slughorn, his own head of house, was occupied first and foremost with the welfare of students he wanted to welcome to his precious Slug Club.

They were above the rules, and Severus was beneath them. So far beneath them, in fact, that he was punished, despite “almost being murdered” not being expressly prohibited anywhere that he knew of. Dumbledore forbade him to talk about it, and whether or not he actually put a silencing charm on him made no difference - he was in his O.W.L. year, and he was not going to get himself expelled for anything before he was fully qualified. He knew full well what life was like for the wandless. Ultimately, Severus blamed himself - how could he have been stupid enough to trust Black not to try to murder him?

Soon enough, Severus found out that Potter was not held up to the same standard of discretion - he was free to blab to his heart’s content. He did not implicate Black or Lupin, but he made himself out to be the hero, Snape's noble savior. Naturally, he neglected to mention that he could not beat Severus one on one.

It was proof. He was born to be hated. He was less, less wealthy, less popular, less attractive, less than a werewolf. He was nobody. Nothing. Whether he lived or died mattered so little he could not even talk about it, not even with Lily,  and Sirius did not even get suspended, never apologized (Not even when Dumbledore forced us to shake hands last year, 36 year old Severus thought bitterly). He wondered who would have cared if he had actually died. He wondered if Dumbledore would have reacted differently if the roles were reversed – if the victim had been Gryffindor and the assailant, a Slytherin. Dumbledore drove the second wedge between Severus and Lily. Lucius, his mentor and role model, was gone. Severus felt more alone than he ever did before.

But Lily was still his friend, even though he was growing increasingly paranoid and jumpy, even though he was suddenly secretive around her and inexplicably rancorous. Through all that, she was still his friend. When she took the hexes that were meant for him, she wore her boils and her bizarrely long toenails and her other various temporary disfigurements with pride – a privilege that he felt was exclusive to those who were naturally beautiful, to those no one actually intended to curse. She was beautiful and brave, and he was an ugly coward who let his friend get hurt for him. As he could not share the full extent of what he was going through with her, he worried that she too was growing to think him a coward, and his resentment continued to swell. That she indeed thought that was confirmed when he tried, desperately, to warn her, and she said she heard that James saved him from “whatever is down there.” But she is still your friend, he used to remind himself in those days. And she still hates James.

In their Defense Against the Dark Arts O.W.L., they were required to list five signs that identify werewolves. Severus could think of fifty, at the top of his head, including: They are friends with murderers who defy discipline. They will not remember it if they almost kill you. They are more important than the lives of impoverished Slytherin half-bloods.

Severus was not sure if this was the universe itself playing a joke on him or an easy O. He knew the answer less than an hour later.

James attacked him, unprovoked. He disarmed him, immobilized him, choked him with soap… Lily’s voice cut through the air. “Leave him ALONE!” she shouted at James. Severus tried to take advantage of the respite, and crawled toward his wand while Potter, ever the paragon of virtue and fine manners, pestered her to go out with him. Severus needed much less than that to be inspired to try out his Sectumsempra. He was rewarded with being attacked with another of his own spells. He was hanging in the air by his ankle. Did Lily smile at his humiliation before she demanded James to let him down? Maybe this was why James agreed, and Severus collapsed in a heap on the floor… and Black did not even give him a chance to untangle his robes before petrifying him. Lily’s wand was out, now, and evidently, a chance to look good in front of her was worth releasing “Snivellus” from the full body bind to James. “There you go. You’re lucky Evans was here, Snivellus -”

Severus could not take it anymore –  his emotions got the better of him, and, preferring to be petrified by James Potter forever than to owe his Gryffindor Muggle-born friend one more debt she was too beautiful, blissful, and beloved to bother to collect, he said the terrible word that drove the third and final wedge between them. He could have ran away. Did he stick around for a chance to apologize to present itself? Was it because he felt like he had just Sectumsemptra-ed his own heart? Whatever the reason, It made no difference. He found himself suspended in the air and exposed moments later. Stupid.

fanfic rec

[batmanarkhamidiot]

Party For None

@onefunnyshadow

Word Count: 2,273

Fandom: Scream

Description: You end up going out to a Halloween party when your boyfriends don’t come back from the store, which leads to a chance encounter with Woodboro’s favourite killer. (I apologize, I know the story probably didn’t turn out very well)

You found out that your boyfriends were the Woodsboro killers on a dark, misty October evening. Halloween night, to be exact. They had gone out ‘shopping’, which you highly doubted since shopping usually didn’t take this long, but you chose to ignore it since you figured they’d tell you what they were doing eventually. Besides, you trusted them to not be cheating on you. You were definitely confused though, since it was Halloween and usually that entailed watching slasher movies on Stu’s couch all curled up together feeding each other the creepy candy eyeballs and sucking on cherry-filled ‘bloody’ vampire fangs, but they had promised they’d be back soon to do exactly that. That was an hour ago. The grocery store was a ten minute walk, and last time you checked, your grocery list only had like five things on it. Whatever. They probably got distracted and didn’t realize how much time had passed.

You bury yourself in some of the blankets you dragged out from Stu’s room and just lay there, barely even paying any attention to whatever it was that Jamie Lee Curtis’s character was doing on screen. You were just barely clinging onto reality, tendrils of sleep gently pulling you down into what would likely have been a blissful dream, when the phone rang. You grumble as you’re startled awake, and trudge to the kitchen reluctantly. Once you get there, you stare at the ringing phone, unsure of whether or not to answer it because whoever’s calling was probably trying to ring Stu and therefore the call is none of your business. But then again, the boys had you give your friends their numbers in case there was an emergency and they weren’t aware of it or anything like that, and your friends knew you’d be here tonight, so you didn’t want to ignore the call in case it turned out to be one of them. You sigh and pick up the phone.

“Hello?” You cringe at how sleep-laced your voice is, but hey, it’s not like there’s anything you can do about it.

“Heyyyyyyy! I figured you’d pick up the phone. Sorry for calling so late, but I just wanted to let you know that everyone’s gonna go over to Chad’s house tonight since apparently he’s throwing a wicked party and if you and your boy-toys wanna come we could totally hang out there. Ya know? Down a few beers, play a few games, get totally trashed and pass out on the hardwood floor like last time…”

You let yourself relax when you realize it’s just your friend Stephanie. She sounds ‘totally trashed’ already, and you consider telling her to lay off the alcohol, but you know she’ll just whine, promise to stop, and then continue drinking the minute you leave, so you think better of it. You’ll still keep an eye on her though if you do decide to join her at the party. You keep her on the line for a few more minutes, just chatting about anything and everything that comes to mind, before eventually she says she’s gotta go and that she hopes she sees you tonight.

You walk back over to your nest on the couch and give it a longing look, tempted to just burrow back in and rest until Billy and Stu come home and wake you up. It’d be nice to just sleep for a bit. But Stephanie did go out of her way to invite you to Chad’s party, so you might as well show up, even if it’s just for a little bit. You’re not exactly planning on getting drunk or anything tonight, because you want to actually be awake when your boyfriends get home, but there’s still fun to be had. You throw on the Halloween costume hidden in an overlooked corner of Stu’s closet (you wanted it to be a surprise), leave a note saying where you’re going on the fridge, and hope that the boys won’t be too upset with you for going out without them.

You don’t own a car, and you know the chances of one of your friends being able to give you a ride are slim to none, so you end up having to grab your board from the garage. While you’re still there, you take a moment to just sit on the cold floor and think about the situation you’re in. You have no idea when the boys will be coming back, if they come back, so why should you miss out on all the fun? You wish they would’ve at least called you to let you know they’d be late, but it’s been nothing but radio silence from the both of them. You find yourself growing angry, but not with them. Maybe you’re the problem. Maybe you pushed them away. A part of you knows that can’t possibly be true, all three of you have pretty much always been happy with each other, but you’re so worked up over them ditching the most important event of the year to understand the logical explanations. Screw it, you’re going out. You head back into the house with your board and take one last look at yourself in the mirror. Damn, you look great. The boys have no idea what they’re missing. You smile and head out the front door.

It takes quite a while to get to Chad’s house. You’re still tired, and that’s led to a few tumbles off your board, but you managed not to sustain any serious injuries. You also kept getting lost, because you couldn’t remember exactly what street he lived down. Eventually, though, you spot Stephanie’s car parked at the corner of Maple and Birch, and immediately head down Birch Street. It’s easy to find the house from there; nobody’s really being subtle about the party, which you find to be very idiotic because you’re literally all underage and you’d prefer not to get arrested due to other people’s stupidity. You hide your board behind a bush in Chad’s front yard and hope nobody pees in that bush or anything like that, and then enter the house through the garage.

The first thing that comes to mind when you enter the house is how loud it is. The awful music and the many conversations happening between partygoers have combined to make a cacophony of noise that leaves you questioning why you came here in the first place, especially considering that you’re not really a fan of social events. You’re tempted to turn back around and bolt out the door, but you feel like you’d be betraying Stephanie if you left before even saying hi to her. You push on through the main room, where everybody’s drinking and dancing and just being… too much for you to handle, and make your way down to the basement, where you figure Stephanie and the others will be hanging out. That’s usually where you all end up when you’re at Chad’s place, since a lot of the other people at his parties don’t know where the entrance to the basement is, so it’s usually pretty empty and you don’t have to deal with the noise and the crowd and all that fun stuff. You quietly descend the steps down to the basement and feel a wave of relief wash over you when you hear Stephanie’s voice from where you’re standing, but when you realize what she’s saying you pause for a moment, listening very carefully to exactly what she’s saying.

“Where are they anyways? I invited them to come over like half an hour ago, did they not come with you guys?” She asks, and you remain silent on the basement stairs, waiting for whoever she’s chatting with to answer. You can’t see who’s in the room because you’re only halfway down the steps, but you have a suspicion as to who they are, since there’s only two people in the town you would’ve possibly come with. The idea of either of your boyfriends being here right now doesn’t seem likely, but who else could it possibly be? Your suspicions are confirmed a moment later, when you hear Billy answer that question with some bullshit story about how you’re not feeling well and decided to stay home.

You’re angry, sad, and confused, all at the same time. You can’t bring yourself to go down there now, so instead you slink silently back up the stairs, holding back tears. Once you get back into Chad’s storage room, you bolt from the house, heading to a more secluded area of the backyard. The only person you can see over there is Steph’s girlfriend, Annie. She’s sitting down cross-legged by the trash cans, smoking, and you hope you’re not bothering her by walking over there. She looks up at you in confusion, and you realize that she probably doesn’t recognize you since you’re wearing a mask, so you tear it off and throw it violently against one of the trash cans. It cracks in a few places, but you can’t find it within you to care anymore.

Annie looks you over, and when she realizes you’ve been crying, she puts out her cigarette and holds out her arms, offering you comfort. You drop to the ground next to her and bury your face in her denim jacket, letting out an ugly sob you’ve been holding back. She doesn’t seem to mind you getting tears all over her nice jacket, and instead wraps her arms around you and rubs your back, letting you cry until you finally feel calm enough to explain to her what happened. The next few minutes are a flurry of shaking hands as you try to sign to her the whole story. Despite how badly your hands are shaking, and how little of sign language you know, you manage to eventually get the point across. She seems sympathetic, and lets you sit with her as you try and figure out how to confront Billy and Stu about this. She helps fix up your outfit, and even retrieves your mask from the nearby pile of dirt so that you can put it back on. Wouldn’t want your boyfriends to realize you’re here, would you?

You and Annie sit like that for a long time until you finally drag yourself off of the ground to get yourself a drink. It takes you a second to find a cooler because the lighting in the backyard isn’t very good and the cooler was apparently hidden in the shadows over by Chad’s mother’s garden. You hum to yourself as you pick out a drink, and then grab one for Annie too because you’re not sure if she’s thirsty or not. If not, you can always return the drink to where you got it. However, when you turn back to walk over to you and Annie’s corner, you notice another person over there with her. You figure it’s one of her friends, and quickly grab another drink from the cooler for them, just in case. It doesn’t take you very long to realize something’s wrong, however. As you get closer to your hangout spot, you notice the silhouette of a knife in the other person’s hand, and then how Annie’s suddenly on the ground when she wasn’t a few minutes ago. The other figure hasn’t noticed you yet, they’re facing Annie and you’re very quiet when you want to be. Of course, your luck immediately turns sour, as one of the drinks you’re holding slips from your grasp and shatters.

The dark figure turns towards you, and you realize with an increasing sense of panic that this is the killer that’s been tormenting Woodsboro. You turn and take off running. You don’t want to die before you have a chance to work things out with your boyfriends; you can’t let your last memory of them be a horrible one. You’re not running very fast however, since you let Annie convince you to drink away the pain and goddammit this is the worst situation you could possibly be drunk in. It doesn’t take long for the killer to catch you since you keep stumbling over your own two feet in your drunken state. They grab you by the shoulder, turning you around roughly so that they can witness the look on your face when they stab you, when they realize you’re wearing a mask. They rip the mask from your face, ready to go in for the kill, but the minute they get a good look at you they stop dead in their tracks and drop the knife.

You’re suddenly extremely confused, because what the actual fuck? Last time you checked, you were nobody important, and most killers don’t normally just drop their knives on the ground where their victim can easily grab it. You wish you had just stayed home, then none of this would have ever happened. The killer suddenly reached to take off their own mask, and once they did, everything made sense. Because looking back at you is Billy, and you’re sure that by that logic Stu is probably lurking in the shadows nearby. You don’t get the chance to find out, though, because that’s when you finally faint from the shock of everything. Your body never hits the ground, Billy reaching out to catch you just before you hit the ground.

Eventually you’ll all work things out, and you’ll come to realize the benefits of having boyfriends who just so happen to be killers, but for now they’ll just carry you home and hope that eventually you’ll forgive them for almost killing you.

[momo-de-avis]

Wordtober Day 18: Misfit

Presented without comment. 

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It’s not like I’ve always wanted to be an actress, it was just something I discovered at one point, and I was already good at public speaking so—not that far a distance to travel, right?

Well, almost. Because you see, as soon as I left school and decided on following that path, I realized I was actually not that good at it. Until then, I thought a few school plays and some praise from the drama teachers was enough, but then I was thrust into the real world and found myself facing the most dreadful monster anyone in the arts will face: criticism.

And criticism said that I sucked at it.

I never really went to college, I just took it to be a stupid idea—spending thousands for three years of studying acting. It’s not like it was a medical degree, or law school—I mean, it’s not on the same level of demand, right? I just thought, a few workshops, some professional one-year courses, a few masterclasses with well-known names, and it would suffice. I read a bit on my spare time too, mostly plays, and though I tried picking up books on acting, I generally just quit after a while, bored out of my mind.

I always loved the idea of pretending to be someone else on a stage or in front of a camera, this thing about letting go of who you are entirely as you prepare for a role, and embody someone else so deeply you almost forget about yourself. I always was fascinated by method actors losing their marbles over those wacky roles they poured themselves into, body and mind. A bit morbid, yeah, but interesting. I thought I was learning more from them than I possibly could in a three-year-long university course.

So I did what I could, here and there, and after four years my resume amounted to a few masterclasses and courses that cast me aside before a fellow competitor who showed up with big university names listed alongside pompous grades. This might have been about when I realize I’d made some serious misjudgement, and a petty one at that.

Six years down the line, and I was making a living out of being an extra on random shit on the telly. A few soap operas, some historical TV shows, even talk-shows. They paid little, but at least production provided a snack, and the good thing was that I got to stand in the back, watching the crew go mad about a slight fault in equipment or what-have-you, which gave me the chance to strike up a nice chat with some pop star from the telly out there. It was fun, even educational, considering TV stars love giving you unsolicited advice when you share your wish of becoming an actor with them. But it was actually quite crushing too.

I mean, I had to listen to these people going on about never quitting, never giving up on my dreams, that it’s a cutthroat world out there, competition this and that, and everyone wants a piece of what they have—go on, fly, you little bird! Sure. But not really. I might have misjudged things and should have gone to university, definitely, but it’s not like I didn’t try. I did try. I went to casting calls nearly every week, attended lectures, all that. I just hated wasting my time with networking, the one thing everyone insisted on was absolutely a necessity, like whatever talent you might have, it won’t matter until you talk like a pompous ass.

Ten years, and the best gig I had landed was a poorly made theatre production about a little kid on the moon that was, if I am being honest, a straight-up rip-off from The Little Prince, and intended at a younger audience too, though I suspect the theatre director’s decision on casting grown adults to play little children in an almost demeaning way was the major ingredient to attracting a series of college students who had a laugh with it. The critics weren’t nice about it either, but I did my job.

There were other jobs, but they were equally bad, if not worse. This one just paid best.

Twelve years on, and I escalated to a commercial on toothpaste, where I played the fake doctor saying nine out of ten dentists went absolutely nuts over this one brand, while holding a tube of—I kid you not—bland white paste that smelled of plaster. Later on, I’d even do a fast food commercial where I had to bite into a burger riddled with needles to keep the lettuce, cheese, tomato and beef straight, and though my stardom amounted to a close-up of my nostrils and biting teeth, it took me five tries because I was terrified of being impaled in the gums.

I was frustrated, I won’t deny it. I was even ashamed of showing my resume to whoever, and for every casting call I attended, I could see the disdain on those faces sitting behind that desk—that dismissive look of a casting director as she pushed her glasses down the bridge of her nose, read my miserable career’s story and asked me questions I dreaded answering. I even auditioned for bold parts I knew I’d never get, things like proper characters on TV, the lead detective on some cop show, or the love interest in a soap opera, even standing girl showing off the prices in some quiz crap.

Nothing.

You speculate when you fail, you know. Think often that it’s you: maybe you’re ugly, you’re cursed, you don’t dress properly, you don’t talk right, you lack whatever bedazzle these people, sitting at the top, have—you just lack something. Though I had the talent, I think—I might have sucked when I first started, but I got better, and there are enough mediocre actors out there making six figures to prove talent doesn’t mean shit in this world—right? So I really could not tell why I was failing, when I tried—I tried, time and again—and I just failed and failed and failed. Fail again, fail better—Beckett was a lying twat, that’s what.

Then, one afternoon, I went into a casting call for something grand, a secondary role for a recurrent character on a major TV production, some sci-fi stuff. It seemed easy enough when I read the script and the guidelines of what they were looking for, and I didn’t really do much practising—I’m good at improvisation, I reckon, even tried it for a while, though it mostly deals with comedy and I am not funny. But outside of that, I swear I am good at improvising—so I went with it, given what I had.

And I blew it. I mean monumentally blew it. I stuttered every single line that came out of my mouth, I asked to stop and try again five times, I paced back and forth with heavy breaths, trying to put my mind in order, but everything was just scrambled inside my head like when you drop a bunch of papers on the ground and try to put them back together, and I was sweating profusely—I mean, I looked like a morning jogger on his way back home. I don’t know what happened to me, I just froze in an instant of panic like I never had before—it’s my greatest quality, I can just stand before an audience and act, audiences just do not bother me at all, I’m good like that. But that day I just… felt wrecked. I couldn’t even admit to myself I should have prepared, but I had set this goal, that if I’d manage to just improvise the right way with no proper warm-up, then that meant I was good.

But I wasn’t. I blew it bad. And I walked out of there absolutely certain I had missed on yet another major opportunity.

As I opened the door to leave, someone else was coming inside, though at first I missed it and nearly let the door smash against their face. I turned back abruptly, held the door for them, apologized and… froze.

She looked exactly like me. I mean exactly the same. Same sandy-brown skin, same heart-shaped, chubby face, same light brown hairs, slightly discoloured at the tips, same tawny lips and brown eyes, even the same freckles on the nose—just everything exactly like me.

Our eyes locked on one another and she smiled, but I was certain I was just so shaken I was beginning to imagine things, so I just went home and never thought about it again.

Eight months later, the show debuted. I didn’t have any intention of watching it, considering it reminded me of my worst failure yet, but I was just skimming through the channels that night and happened to stop there for a second to reach in and grab my water bottle, and I saw it. I saw her.

She had gotten the part, and she was on TV, playing the side-character that was to be recurrent as well, but with my face. Exactly like me in every aspect—even as she spoke, it was my voice, same precise tone and accent, same quirks to the Rs and fluctuations of the Ls—just everything. A carbon copy of myself.

I searched her online—the name, at least, was different—and was slapped with a never-ending list of websites showering her with praise. The secondary character who was stealing the show, a new star was born; the flesh, the depth, the vigour she gave this mundane woman on the screen, the unmatched talent—truly, a rising star.

I can’t express just how angry it made me feel. She looked just like me—it was impossible that nobody could see it—and it turns out, I hadn’t dreamed it, that day. The more I searched her online, the more her face showed up—everywhere, just everywhere, endless pictures of this woman who had stolen my face and my talent and now every pair of eyes in the country—the world!—was on her.

I called my mum, asked her to have a look, insisted on the similarity without ever really saying just how starkly equal we were—and she dismissed it. Laughed. What do you mean!, she screamed, amused. Tou two look nothing alike! I called a friend, asked the same—even before I could spell out my troubles, she was already showering her with praise—oh, have you seen the show?, it’s marvellous, I love her role, she just puts so much heart into it, you have to watch it! But when I pressed her, she pushed it aside—looks didn’t matter, she told me—though that wasn’t even the subject at hand—and surely, you two look nothing alike.

Yet everywhere, it was me that I saw. That woman had my face, my body, my voice—and had stolen my talent.

I tried to forget about it, kept going to casting calls—and somehow, from that moment on, it seemed my luck turned for the worst. I got struck by an unexpected sense of panic, sweating profusely and shuddering at every step, hyperventilating as if I was about to pass out, and forgot my lines. I trusted my instinct on improvisation still, but that one tool that had helped me so much in the past was suddenly useless. I became afraid of hearing the sound of rejection—no, nada, zilch, bye, you suck, choose another career—it haunted me at night and I’d wake up with tears as I thought about this woman with my face stealing my confidence.

Nobody could see it. Everyone I asked, everyone I knew, I insisted she looked exactly like me, but they couldn’t see it. They laughed it off, said I was imagining things; when I pressed, they began to walk away and frown at me with suspicion as if I was nuts; when my reason began to cloud my judgement, they showed worry, suggested I should seek help. At last one day, I screamed at mum for not daring to see it and she started crying, saying I was just jealous of her fame as I had been all my life, with my dismissive attitude towards all and any who got the things I had wanted for so long without even trying hard.

She was lying, of course. I wasn’t jealous, though I couldn’t stand their pep-talks during filming breaks, between a coffee and a cigarette, and their follow-your-dreams bullshit. But this was different. I wasn’t jealous, it was just outright unfair! She looked exactly like me, how could nobody see it? And ever since she appeared in this world, she had stolen my everything—my attention, my chances, my glow, my focus. I was a shit actress again because a random stranger with my liking simply pulled the rug from beneath my feet and reaped the profits of what I had sowed!

It got worse, of course. I started drinking to get her face off my mind, but she was all I thought about, which is incredibly bizarre because the face that popped up in my head at night, as I rolled in bed with a headache, was mine, but now I was seeing myself from the outside, as—I suppose—the world saw me, but through this heavy filter of absolute scorching hatred. Yes, I hated her; I hated her so much it was all there was on my mind; I hated her with all my might, with all my vigour, and I wanted her to go away forever so I could retrieve what she had stolen.

I mean—it was unfair! Because my mum was wrong, I tried so hard, and this broad stole my appearance, my face, my voice, my outside, and suddenly she’s being given the chance to rise to the top! I even checked her resume: she attended university, worked with a drama company for three years, did comedy improv—are you joking me? Everything I tried and failed at, everything I shoved aside because I didn’t want to waste any time—she got it? That’s what separated us, what made me a failure, and she a star—a college degree?

And I mean—what else? Did she have anything I didn’t—despite, well, clearly my appearance? Maybe she fell for that crap everyone kept telling me, in the most condescending manner possible: you have to talk to people, networking is the way to go! Just talk, like that—just hold up a glass of wine and pretend, pretend you’re just like these uptight assholes standing at the top, share a laugh at a joke you don’t understand and be all fancy to their eyes—was that it? Because there had to be something else, something else besides my appearance and my talent. Just something.

I searched for very long, so long I lost focus and was out of work, eventually. I watched her videos, her interviews, analysed her behaviour—she even had my tics! The way she bit her lip, picking at the skin, while she listened to someone talk, or how she clicked her fingernails together when she thought about a question, turning her eyes down to her lap—those were mine! I even remember seeing pink magazines going on about how cute it was that she bit the skin of her fingers before a live interview because she was nervous—seriously? I did that!

Just… everything. Everything there was to know about me now existed in this person like an unauthorized biography. She told people my life’s story, my experiences, my past—the dogs and guinea pig I had as a child, the tiny scar on my knee from when I fell on the schoolyard at eight years old, that quip about the piece of paper I burned during class at fifteen.

Even when she talked about the things that were clearly hers, there was something of me. There was this one interview where she admitted she almost didn’t go to college, and when the interviewer asked why, she said, with a coy smile and pushing a lock of her hair back—like me: oh, because I was so afraid of trying something new and being put to the test, just being put into this position where I would be forced to be critical of my own talents, and I was scared of failing. And then, she looked straight into the camera.

I swear, watching that face, sat on my couch, I swear she was looking at me; I swear that bitch knew. She knew she was talking about me, because those were my thoughts. That nervousness, that hesitation, that was me on the day I held the form in my hands to apply for drama school, but didn’t. That fear was mine. And senseless as it was, I was in the right to claim my own fears, dammit! I had stood in the rain, shaking with anticipation, and I had thrown the papers in the bin because I didn’t want to be subjected to the endless torture of being told by college professors that I sucked!

My drinking got worse, my eating habits were shit, I moved back in with my mum, and my life just generally spiralled out of control. I attended casting calls with a hangover and ruined my chances; I started bawling my eyes out in the middle of shooting a commercial for a coffee brand; I fell asleep while filming a documentary where I played an extra, and was kicked out when I started a fight with the casting director on another shooting because she complained about my lack of makeup. Everywhere I went, I was just a shadow of this woman that twinkled before the cameras like a star in the skies; I was just the shameful part of a starlet, a skeleton in a closet I didn’t even know. The evil twin, if you will.

I thought my life was over. A year passed, and my mum thought I was developing an unhealthy obsession with this woman, saying I should just walk up to a mental hospital and check myself in—no more suggestions, just blatantly saying: you’re insane. My friends stopped talking to me because, according to them, I was acting strange, unable to let go of the inane idea that some random actress who had risen to fame so quickly looked, acted and existed exactly like my carbon copy. They refused to see that she was me. They refused to acknowledge that her stories were mine. They denied any similarity—over and over again, they just told me I was batshit crazy.

So I quit. I quit my dream, my life and my passions, and I just let this person possess my everything, while dreaming of hating her so much I’d kill her if I had the chance.

And that was it. It was either me or her, but this world was not made to have the two of us in it.

I tried messaging her. Found her online, every profile I could, and pasted the exact same message on every one of them, sent privately: you stole my life. Seconds later, every single messaging system beeped: you stole my life. The exact same words I had sent her, now sent back to me. I tried again, this time typing something different: you’re pretending to be me, you scheming little bitch—and they beeped back: same message, ipsis verbis. Eventually, I slammed the keyboard, producing a string of incomprehensible jargon of just random letters, numbers and symbols—and hit enter. And the exact same string of nonsense was returned to me.

I stared at the blinking cursor for a long time, shuddering in the half-darkness of my room in dread, certain nothing about this was normal, and yet the prevailing emotion to my heart was just pure, boisterous rage. Whatever it was, whatever she was, it was clear she was keen on driving me insane, forcing me into the piths of my own madness, until all there was to my existence was my obsession with this double that had stolen my life and made a spectacle out of it—while no one believed me.

So I looked for her. It wasn’t hard to figure out where she lived, not with all the gossiping magazines stalking her to the gym, to the store, to the movies, complaining about her outfits—outfits I owned, too. It simply took a little patience, some careful watching, some geographical studying of her movements, and within two weeks, I managed to figure out where she lived by simply following her route home.

It was night when I finally decided on confronting her. She turned the street and walked ahead calmly, hands deep in her pockets, and I stalked her into an empty alleyway with barely a light on. She stopped in front of a closed door, placed her hand on it and turned around—looking straight into my eyes with a twisted, perverted smile. Then, she pushed the door open and went inside—and left it ajar for me.

The building was bare empty. I mean bare empty. Every light was off, the lift not working, no sound coming from behind any door in any hallway. No plants, no garbage bins, not even a piece of advertising flapping off some mailbox—nothing. As if nobody lived there, except her. It was so vacant, so hollow, it made me shudder, like I was walking into a trap, and were it not for my obsession on hating this woman, on setting this matter straight once and for all, I would have gotten out of there. I was shaking in terror, absolutely mortified of the idea of what I would find there—I mean, the walls were dirty, with chipped off paint, some of them riddled with old graffiti—it seriously looked stripped bare of life, and like it had been so for a very long time.

But I still went inside. Terrified of what was to come, quivering at the sight of every dancing shadow, breathing heavily, I went into that dark, hollow building, reeking of old pipes and copper, and found the only door open with light inside.

I went in, but the flat appeared abandoned as well. There was but a ratty old sofa in the middle, a broken coffee table in front of it, no TV and no electrical apparatus of any sort, just old furniture scattered about. No curtains either, just the electric lights outside shining in with ease, and it cast a faint glimmer of yellow and orange on the absolute misery that was the flat. Even as I crossed the door, a million things cracked under my soles and I saw, to my surprise, there was just rubble everywhere, pieces of old stone crumbled down, broken glass here and there and garbage. A dusty bottle in a corner, a syringe glistening beneath an old chair, cigarette butts and empty crisp packets everywhere.

She stood under a doorway, her face absolutely frozen, the traits of her that composed me barely visible under the lack of light—and I trembled at the sight. I hated her, but there was something inhuman to that woman, something out of this world. She wasn’t normal. She was not supposed to exist. She was not something someone just made happen, something that just existed, that was just… there. She was like a glitch, a malfunction that nobody set straight, and I wondered—how long had she been there? Had she been there all my life and I hadn’t noticed? Had she been watching me from afar, waiting for the right time to reveal herself in full and take over my insecurities and failures to aggrandize them and twist them to her own liking, making me the sorrowful, miserable looser on the fringe of despair?

I didn’t know what to do for a long time. All my body felt compelled to do was cry, just curl into a ball and cry, and sobbing into my clothes, bawling like a toddler, I just said: why? I wanted to tell her I hated her, I wanted to pick up a shard from the floor and stick it into her skull, I wanted to cut her and make her bleed, to watch her wither in pain and maybe even cry too—but I just teared up and shrivelled in tears.

I don’t know how long it passed, but it seemed quite long. Throughout, she didn’t move—she just stood and watched. When I finally wiped my tears and looked into her eyes, she was smiling—that same perverse smile of someone sketched into reality solely to cause you fear and horror and make you tremble in your whole existence, just someone tailored to be your very own tormentor. I hated her still, but what I felt more vividly inside my pumping heart was utter, paralyzing fear. Fear she would take over me so completely I would eventually vanish, evaporate like sand in the wind, gone into thin air, forever; until all that was left was but a faint memory of someone who might have been there once, but wasn’t anymore—until that too would be gone. And I’d be nothing but a mistake forged somewhere in the past, by two people who had sorrowfully made sex one night to produce a child, and that child would fall into oblivion, stolen from the memory of the world forever by an alien meant to mimic my very own self.

I was so terrified she would take everything away from me that was all I’d be left with: nothingness, obscurity. Worse: me. Just me. Just my failures and my life. Just a life led through a string of mistakes I had swept under a rug to pretend they had never been there and moved on with a false sense of security, terrified of starting over. I was terrified this woman, who had stolen everything that was me, was there to laugh one last laugh and take all that I had left: my broken self.

And there she was: the projection of a failed dream. Successful in all I had never been, able to overcome every step I had climbed down, clambering her way up while I kept on falling. The ideal. The past and future without so much as a hint of the present—in the flesh, through me, in my image. Laughing in scorn.

She gave a step forward, picked up a shard from the floor, twisted it in her fingers; her smile grew, white teeth glinting silver, and something daunting fell on my shoulders as I watched in silence, quivering in dread. She looked again at me with a glare, and the corners of her lips fell abruptly as she frowned and pressed the shard between her fingers.

“Is this what you want?” She asked; with one swift gesture, she pulled up her sleeve and gripped the shard. The glinting piece of glass entered her flesh, a slick, thin line of red slithered up her arm, and it thickened as the pressed deeper and deeper—eyes locked on mine—until the blood pooled on the ground beneath her.

I flinched, gasped and held onto my arm; I felt that jabbing pain too, but it was somehow sweet, and instead of warding it away, I embraced it—though the crying returned, and this time more copious than before. And when she was done, she did it again—slicing herself until the blood squirted out and her fingers were covered in red, and not a slight sense of pain to her. All I could say was one thing: stop hurting me.

She stopped, dropped the shard on the floor and walked away. For a very long time, I couldn’t move, cast over a sense of paralyzing terror so great I was afraid of opening my eyes and find things I didn’t want to see—but glad, so glad she was gone. And I knew then—somehow, I knew—she was gone for good. Gone from my life. Gone from the world.

I looked down at my arm, pulled up my sleeve, and there was a scar there, long and thin, but marked with a lump of creasy skin.

It was morning when I went home. From that day on, she ceased to exist. No more articles about her, her name wasn’t listed in any movie, and every poster ever made with her now featured someone else. When I told people her name, they didn’t recognize it.

She was just gone, as if nobody had even noticed she’d been there at all. 

And now, being the only one who remembers her, who remembers all that horrible, gnawing pain that ate up my arm that night, or that paralyzing dread of seeing my double steal from my failures, feels like being stuck inside a cage forever.

___

Past Challenges:

Wordtober Day 1: Ring

Wordtober Day 2: Mindless

Wordtober Day 3: Bait

Wordtober Day 4: Freeze

Wordtober Day 5: Build I

Wordtober Day 6: Build II

Wordtober Day 7: Enchanted (Encantada)

Wordtober Day 8: Frail

Wordtober Day 9: Swing

Wordtober Day 10: Pattern

Wordtober Day 11: Snow

(Skipped Day 12)

Wodrtober Day 13: Ash

Wordtober Day 14: Overgrown

Wordtober Day 15: Legend

Wordtober Day 16: Wild

(Skipped day 17)