#furthest away is january

[applejongho]

hi everyone this is my 8 ft two inches (2.48m) by 5 ft three inches (1.63m) blanket. Fuck

[arose-thatgrewx]

November 2nd, I was assaulted by someone that I never suspected was capable of violence, someone that I was intimate with. On November 4th, I went to file an emergency protective order. Due to this traumatizing situation, I had to take a 2 week FMLA, I missed out on making the money I needed to pay my bills. I also am trying to retain a lawyer, who is asking for $1000 for me and this person to both agree to a stay away order. If this person does not agree to the stay away order, and we have to do a hearing for a 2 year emergency protective order, the lawyer wants $3000. This person has lied to the police and tried to paint me as the aggressor, which is the furthest thing from the truth. But the police ate it up, and now they're not pursuing any charges because of him lying and also because there were no cameras or witnesses.

Unfortunately, I am not able to pay the $1000 out of pocket. I've reached out to family, and my family has done nothing but made me feel even more depressed about the situation. I had to do the FMLA, my family and friends have blamed me for this situation, some friends have abandoned me, I've had to go to 2 therapists (and possibly 3rd (trauma therapist), I've suffered PTSD, and so much more.

I hate that I have to ask for help, but I desperately need help. I need to have $1000 by January 7th at the latest. Every bit helps and is greatly appreciated.

If any of you are able and willing to help me, please send to my cash app, $SSW103.

[ilovetoxicfictionalmen]

RUNAWAY FROM ME - CHAPTER 2

Pairing - Tommy Shelby x oc

Summary - Deirdre ran from her life of misery for her own safety. However, she managed to run back into the arms of an angel she once knew, now known as The Peaky Blinder Devil. In which he has no intentions of letting her run away from him again.

Warnings - Dark content, non con, dub con, explicit themes, lovers to enemies to lovers, slow burn kinda, Tommy needs a hug.

Word count - 4.7k

The Garrison, Small Heath - Evening, January 20th 1915

Drunk, filthy, vain. That was Deirdre’s code for her carefully picked victims of her acts of deviance. Never the good, poor and innocent. Not that there were many of those around here in a town like this. 

Of all places to end up, she found her tired feet in the dust, muck and filth grounds of Small Heath. In between the brick walls of the city of fire, brimstone and smoke. A town in which all men had a life long sentence of being trapped in the working class. No thoughts and dreams in their futures, only merely hoping to make it to the next day. 

Deirdre was far from home. The furthest she had ever made it. It was a shock, wandering this far after many failed attempts. But her future entity being locked to a filthy man over twice her age pushed her to run. The window was quickly closing, Deirdre had to flee before she was trapped to another savage. 

Her home was a palace in comparison to here. The life that many would dream of replacing her absence in. But regardless of it all, she preferred Small Heath over being trapped between rough hands in Dublin. 

None of her father’s men would ever suspect her to end up in a place like this, she was free. Living day to day, nights slept in a ramshackled home felt far more secure than sleeping in a comfortable bed, underneath the roof of the man that abused her daily. 

It was another typical day of work. Here she was, sitting by the bar, accompanied by a drunken bastard whose hands got too touchy too quickly. Just a few more minutes, she’d let him finish his drink and then slide her small hands into the pockets. Always hoping for more than she’d actually grab. 

Deirdre did this a lot, she didn’t have any options for work. She had no papers, no identity, no proof of her existence. All she had was the two dresses she took with her and the pretty face that many desired. She’d pop into a random pub, she had to keep her appearances cautious. It was questioning how she’d been surviving off this for weeks now. But many men would give her a shilling just to smile at them. These were times of mayhem and anguish.

Most women would sell their bodies, a man’s shilling was far more valuable than their reputation in a town like this. There was no blame in it, but Deirdre refused to drop her innocence for anyone. Because in the back of her head, she heard her father’s gruesome threats if she ever committed such an act. It was traumatic, replaying those menacing memories. 

Tonight was a bad choice. Deirdre felt her heart thud against her chest as the older man’s hands roughly gripped onto her slim waist. It was as if he knew her ploy. Deirdre tried not to pull attention, her hands pushed against his, but it made no difference. 

“Sweetheart, going shy on me now aye?” the man grinned, a front tooth missing, the rest yellow. Before she could say a word, a man approached them.  

“Oi” a strong, intimidating voice boomed as his hand clamped over the man’s shoulder, it bent under his hold. The man turned his back to look at the younger man. He snarled and shoved his hold off of him. 

Deirdre had seen him, only one or twice here, in Small Heath. He had a shorter height than most, a small frame underneath his thick coat, but his eyes were captivating. His soft pale skin outlined his jawline. A slight undercut of his brunette hair. For a working man, he was beautiful. Deirdre had forced herself away from watching him in the swift glance. 

“Leave the poor girl alone, would ya?” The stranger threatened in an intimidatingly kind manner. His Birmingham accent was thick yet as smooth as velvet. 

“Who the fuck are you to-” the man paused, his blurred vision clearing as he stared into his blue orbs. The drunk’s sight flicked over to the table in the corner, the men in peaked caps watched him. With a snort, the man finished his drink and stormed out of the pub. 

Deirdre gulped to herself as she kept her sight low. She heard whispers of the men in the peaked caps. They swarmed at the opportunity of the war to build society as their own. Without a word, she slipped off of the barstool and went to turn her heel towards the door. 

“No” the blue eyed man opposed, his arm shooting out to gently grab ahold of her forearm. “Stay for a drink, my offer” he grinned softly as he turned his attention back to the barman. Deirdre was lost for words, simply nodded in agreement as he ordered two glasses of whisky. 

“I’ve seen you around here a couple of times. Always by yourself, your hands tend to slip into men’s dirty pockets and you’re gone” he chuckled as he slid a glass towards her. 

Deirdre laughed, she had been caught out. Finally, she’d be paying the price for her crimes. But he merely laughed lightly at her acts and took a sip of his drink. 

“What’s your name?” He asked as he sat on the bar stool and gestured for her to do the same. 

“Deirdre” she answered without thinking, she’d never told anyone her name out of caution. The paranoia was setting like paint on her skin. 

“Deirdre… The name of the broken-hearted, sorrowful and the wanderers” he nodded to himself, those piercing blue eyes of his lingered over her features as she slowly climbed onto the seat. 

She couldn’t help but to gently laugh at the accuracy. But he didn’t know that, he didn't know anything about her. No one around here did. 

“How old are ya?” He continued his questions and consumption of his drink. 

“Eighteen years old, sir” she nodded, her fingers traced the rim of the glass. 

“Thomas, but everyone calls me Tommy” he corrected with a gentle smile. A soft smile grew on her lips as she finally took a sip. “Where are you from?”

“Galway” she lied, a short nod. Her eyes struggled to remain still. 

“Is it green over there?” He hummed. 

“Very” she replied shortly. 

Tommy bobbed his head to her. “Come, sit with me mates. It’ll be more comfortable there” he suggested, or ordered. Deirdre couldn’t exactly tell.

But she knew that her stay was over welcomed, and all she wanted to do was disappear again. She knows the lifestyle of gangsters, traumatized by the brutal actions that can snap out of nowhere. Deirdre would be damned if she allowed herself into that again, even for a night. 

“It’s alright, I was thinking of leaving anyway. Thank you for the drink” she opposed, pushing the half full glass away from her. 

“No, no. We will have another after this one” he said in a determined and decided tone as he pushed the glass back towards her.

“I must reject your kind offer” she sighed softly. 

“I ain’t going to do anything to ya if that’s what you believe. I swear on my family’s name” Tommy swore, holding his hand over his heart. 

They did, have another after another. She sat squished between Tommy and another, his older brother Arthur. The table was surrounded by peaked caps, the room echoing the cheers and disputes between the men. Tommy watched her as she sipped on her liquor. None of the others dared to say more than a couple of words to her. 

His arm wrapped around her waist, her guard was down and she relaxed into his hold surprisingly. Deirdre had never drunk, her father would allow a modest woman to act in such a way in his house. The effects came onto her quickly for she had hardly eaten in days. Her head swayed lightly, cheeks reddened and an innocent smile on her lips. With one last swig, Tommy finished his drink and it clinked on the wooden top.  

“So, are you going to tell me? What brought you deep in the grime streets of Small Heath?” He questioned through a whisper, his mouth pressed against her ear. 

Deirdre chuckled lightly, this question was bound to come up. “Change of scenery” she answered calmly. 

“A runaway huh?” Tommy laughed, his fingers brushing over hers. “I know one when I see one” he stated.

It felt nice, a bit too nice for her. It was unfamiliar and it made her anxious, waiting for the punch line or the trap to be triggered. She never knew physical touch could feel so lovely, so calming, so affectionate. 

“Yeah you caught me” she breathed out, almost ready to wave the flag of surrender, prepared for her father to walk in at any moment.

He could see the trouble in her eyes, the despair, how badly she wanted to forget her past. There was no denying the connection he felt to that, how badly he felt the urge to help her overlook those thoughts. 

“Well, no one will find you here. Nobody suspects Small Heath as a new beginning. It’s a cursed city where men are punished with working their lives away. But I intend to change that for my family, I will end our line of despair. Put our family name in the good” Tommy promised, his eyes glancing over at his brothers in the room. 

Deirdre smiled at him, she admired his ambition. Many working men were cold and broken. But him, it seemed that his eyes were wide open to his calling, to charge at what was rightfully his. Or, maybe he was just so desperate to chase after a kingdom to free his mind of anguish. 

“Well, I’ll walk you home” Tommy said as they slowly walked out of The Garrison. 

A wave of embarrassment of him seeing the dump she confined herself in crashed over her. It didn’t matter how drunk she was, what would he think of her? Even worse, what could he do? 

“No Tommy, it’s alright” she protested, her hands raised in fear. 

His expression was stern as he slowly shook his head to her. Many men were still wandering the dark, minacious streets of Small Heath. Best believe Tommy would not allow her to walk those dangerous grounds. 

“Nonsense, a woman needs to be cautious. Especially in these streets” he objected, his tone dripping of order. 

“Please, I must-” she sighed, lowering her head in defeat and embarrassment. 

“Do you have a place to call home?” He cocked an eyebrow to her. 

“Not really” she mumbled. 

“How long do you intend to stay in Small Heath for? Better yet, how long have you been here for?” Tommy crossed his arms over his chest, leaning towards her. 

Deirdre scratched the back of her head uneasily. 

“I, I don’t know” she answered. Tommy slid off his coat and laid it over her shoulders. 

“Alright, come with me” he encouraged, gently holding onto her hand. 

They walked silently, her body leaning towards him whenever she saw people walking nearby. But they all remained away from him, the infamous man in the peaked cap.

They stopped in front of a door, the porchlight off. Tommy opened the door slowly and looked down to her. 

“Tommy?” Deirdre asked timidly. 

“Come in” he said quietly. 

With her silent protest failing, he led her into the dark building, and they went straight upstairs. The door creaked open and Deirdre stared at the unmade single bed illuminated in the moonlight. 

“This is my room” he made known. 

There was no shame in the size or state of his room in his tone. Tommy Shelby was still a working man after all, he had to make do with what he had. 

All was heard as a small exhale from her lips. Slowly, she looked up to him with doe eyes. 

“Uh, Tommy I don’t know” she spoke, her nerves stabbing at her skin. 

“Shh, it’s okay. I’m merely offering you somewhere more comfortable to sleep. I’ll sleep on the floor, or I can sleep in the kitchen if that makes you more comfortable” he offered as he slid the coat off of her shoulders. 

“No have your bed, I can’t accept your generosity” she shook her head. 

Tommy chuckled at her demeanor and leant closer to her. Gently, he took her hands into his as he tilted his head towards her. 

“How about we share the bed?” Tommy suggested. Through the dark, Tommy could still see her eyes widen and heard her lightly gasp. “You’re so shy” he chuckled as he moved slightly closer to her and brushed her hair to the side. “I don’t expect to have sex with you tonight, if that makes you feel better” he assured her kindly. 

Of course that was the first thought that crossed Deidre’s mind. It passed through the moment he told her to stay for a drink. In the back of her mind, she felt her father hold a knife to her back for even thinking of such a thing. But he wasn’t here, Deirdre needed to keep on reminding herself of that. 

Deirdre stiffly nodded and Tommy slowly led her to the bed. They both laid stiffly on the bed. Complete silence, except for Deirdre’s heavy breathing and rapidly heartbeat. Tommy looked down at her and sighed. 

“Let’s get more comfortable, eh?” Tommy told her as he shifted his body to the side

They turned around on the small mattress, his arms wrapped around her timid body and held her close underneath the thin sheets. Quickly, her stiff frame softened against his hold, a feeling she had never felt before, or at least remembered. Their bodies molded as one as she finally drifted off into a comfortable sleep. 

Eden Club, Soho - Night, 23rd July 1924

“You’ve been in my dreams, my love. Have I been in yours?” Tommy tilted his head, gun still pointed to hers as she slowly stood up and leaned against the desk in defeat. 

The tension was as clear as day, they both listened to each other's breathing as she slowly batted her eyes to the familiar stranger. All Deirdre could do was laugh at her predicament. There were no cards she could lay down. All options exhausted for the time being. Unless, she could get her hands on that pistol. 

“How are you Tommy?” Deirdre inquired, raising an eyebrow to him, her body leaning back over the desk as her eyes looked him up and down slowly. He set the pistol back into his holster and took one last inhale before flicking the stick away. 

Time had certainly changed him, despite his beauty remaining the same. It was beginning to age like the finest bottle of whisky. The softness of his skin had roughened. Those perfect blue eyes have darkened whilst his jawline grew sharper. He was a lot more built now, an old part of Deirdre tortured her mind to wonder what he looked like underneath. 

“I’m spectacular now, such a lovely surprise for you to visit me at my club of all places” Tommy smiled wickedly as he shuffled closer towards her.

His hands planted on the desk around her hips as he looked down to her, his mouth ajar open. It wasn’t known by either of them if he was trying to intimidate her or seduce her at that moment. Deirdre batted her lashes once more and went doe eyed to him. 

“Did you miss me Tommy?” Deirdre asked softly, as her body drew closer to his. 

“A part of me hoped you were dead” he admitted without hesitation, his hands resting on her smooth hips now. 

“That’s sweet” Deirdre bobbed her head, her teeth biting on her inner lips. 

Tommy’s hand rubbing gently against her cheek. A wave of remembrance of her beauty crashed over him. After all of these years, all he had was his memory of her. Her maturity aged like fine wine, and Tommy was currently resisting the urge to taste her. He miscalculated his belief that his urges would be restrained by his anger. 

The only card that has deemed relevance was to seduce him, tempt him, fuck him. The old Deirdre would never demean her body like this. But the world against her had turned her desperate. Her legs spreaded as she slowly lifted her body onto the desk. His body molded to hers as he pressed his crotch against hers. There was a few inch distance between their lips, she could smell the whisky on his breath and he could smell the gin on hers. 

“So, are you going to fuck me with your eyes or your cock?” Deirdre cocked an eyebrow to him. 

“Trying to fucking seduce me” Tommy huffed as his hand slipped around her throat. Gently he tested how firmly he could squeeze her skin before she reacted.  

“Would you rather I scream for mercy?” Deirdre shot back, a cheeky grin plastered on her. 

A firm warning squeeze was fired by his hand, Tommy’s head tilted as he gently shrugged his shoulders to her. 

“It doesn’t matter, it’s all the same” he spoke slowly. 

“Which is?” She asked.  

“You won’t run away again, you’re staying with me” he spoke firmly, nodding his head at the plan which was building in his mind. Deirdre couldn’t help but to pout towards him and softly shake her head at that idea. 

Of course he was holding onto the past. Thomas Shelby was always holding onto it, even though he pretended he didn’t care about anything. He couldn’t help himself, these things kept him awake at night, consumed his dreams and tried to bring down his ambition. 

“That’s so boring Thomas, for the both of us” she sighed. 

“That’s marriage” he countered. Deirdre responded back swiftly, a bit too without thought. 

“Where’s your honor to your dead wife?” she spat, irritated with his arrogance. 

Deirdre choked out as his hand tightened roughly around her neck. His free hand held her back in place as she tried to thrash in his hold. Even though her fingers were trying to claw underneath his, they wouldn’t budge. 

“Have some fucking respect” he spat by her ear before abruptly letting go. “Should have been you anyways” he snarled as he stepped back and spun around.

Tommy cursed to himself as he felt his erection in his pants. Shaking his head firmly, he blinked away the idea of her and brushed his hand through his hair. When he turned back around to her, Deidre was staring at the ground. Tommy opened his mouth to speak when there was a heavy knock on the door.

The door swung open with Arthur on the other side. “Tommy! She’s not fucking-” Arthur paused as he stared blankly at Deirdre. “Ah! Deirdre!” Arthur exclaimed as he rushed over to her and hugged her tightly. 

A heavy exhale left Deidre’s lips as she embraced Arthur, her arms instinctively wrapped around him for security. Tommy frowned at the sight before him, especially with how Deidre’s eyes shut with ease. Quickly his blood began to boil again. 

“Arthur get out” Tommy ordered, his jaw clenched, his hands on his hips.  

“Oh Deirdre!” John boomed as he entered the room, her belongings in hand as he strided over to them. “Your purse Deirdre” John offered the bag to Deirdre but Tommy snatched it so Deirdre could even reach out for it. 

Quickly, Tommy’s hand scrambled through the small bag and he tutted to Deirdre at the small vial he discovered. “Still up to your old games…” Tommy commented as he slipped the vial back in. 

With a heavy breath, she hugged John tightly, he hummed against her as he patted her back to reassure her. She had forgotten how badly she missed them. It was shocking to see how they were still the same men from before the war. For once, she felt a brief sensation of relief to see the brothers that she adored dearly. 

A dramatic sigh left Tommy’s lips as he slammed her purse onto the desk. “Ah, no papers yet again. No identity for Miss Deirdre” Tommy mocked, his teeth gritted as he stepped closer to her. 

Deirdre looked up to him as he returned in between her thighs. Those cold paws of his rested on her waist as his eyes analyzed every inch of her body. 

“Get out, I’m still talking to my wife” Tommy demanded, his blue eyes shooting from brother to brother. Arthur muttered whilst John remained silent, a stern expression locked on as he lit a fresh cigarette. 

“Tommy, it’s roaring out there. How about we all just enjoy the night how we intended to. Then tomorrow, we can-”

“Get the car ready” Tommy cut Arthur off. 

John frowned and leant forward, his arms crossed over his chest. 

“The car?” John butted in, his light hanging from his lip. 

“Yes John, the car” Tommy spoke dumbfoundedly. “We are returning to Arrow House immediately” he disclosed as he tugged Deirdre to her feet. 

John moaned out dramatically as he shook his head at Tommy’s desires. 

“Oh Tommy, you can’t be serious!” John argued. “This is our last fookin night!” He hissed, shaking his head in disbelief. 

“I won’t repeat myself” Tommy spoke firmly as John huffed in annoyance. 

John stood closely to Tommy, his lips near his ears. 

“Fuck off… I won’t be involved with anymore family affairs tonight” John whispered before abruptly leaving the room. 

Arthur gulped as his eyes darted from Tommy to the open door. Whilst Tommy stood expressionless as his eyes slowly moved to Deirdre’s. Arthur began to stammer as he awkwardly stood before the pair. 

“Go make sure he doesn’t do anything reckless. I’ll see you both back tomorrow” Tommy finalized as he harshly tightened his hold onto Deirdre’s arm and pulled her towards the exit.

Deirdre latched out for her coat and purse quickly as Tommy strided into the hall. A worker stood there with Tommy’s coat and cap. A firm finger pointed to Deirdre in warning as he slid on his coat and peaked cap, his eyes not even shifted an inch off of her. She kept her head low as they exited through the back door into an isolated dark alley, his hand still tight on her bicep.

Her eyes shot to the light to her left and she gulped at the sight of countless bystanders continuing on with their night. Unknowingly, she slowed in her steps, causing Tommy to frown and look back to her. A snort came from Tommy as he shook his head and leant close to her ear.  

“Don’t be foolish, my love” he warned as he tugged her into the darkness. 

Tommy opened the passenger door to his Bently and pushed Deirdre in. As he slammed the door, he again raised his finger in warning before he hurried over to the other side. Another cigarette was lit as Tommy turned on the engine. 

“Will you let me grab my belongings?” Deirdre spoke quietly, her head pointed out the window. 

Tommy’s head snapped towards her. 

“What fucking valuables could you possibly have” he commented, his tone dripping with irritation. 

“Please Tommy” she pleaded, her eyes glistening in the moonlight. 

Tommy muttered, wagging his head to her. When his eyes snapped to hers, he exhaled at her doe eyes accompanied by her anxious hands fiddling together. 

“It better be on the way” he grunted to her. 

As he parked the car outside of the hotel, Tommy was quick to jump out before her. His hand held onto the handle firmly as he yanked the door open for her. Deirdre muttered her gratitude as she slipped out of the car. 

Likewise to a prisoner, Tommy escorted her up to her room. With a shaking hold, Deirdre slid the key into the lock and opened her room. When she tried to slip into the room alone, his foot wedged between the door and frame. 

“Can I not have a moment of privacy” she pressed, muttering curses to herself shortly after. 

Deirdre let go of the door and walked away from Tommy. The door creaked shut as Tommy continued to watch her like a hawk

“You will not run from me again Deirdre…” Tommy reminded her through a cold glare whilst slipping out a cigarette. 

“We’re on the third floor” Deirdre countered with scrunched eyebrows. 

“You have your ways” Tommy murmured as he brushed the end in between his lips before lighting it. 

Tommy’s eyes lingered over the cheap room, his hands firmly on his hips as Deirdre quickly tried to pack up her belongings. Right as she was going to zip up the bag, Tommy nudged her out of the way and pulled it wide open. 

“Oh Thomas… You’re so immature” Deirdre bickered, her arms crossed over her chest as she huffed to him. 

The only response she got was a huff as his hands rambled through her clothing. Until he stopped when he felt something firm. Tommy frowned as he pulled it out, hidden in one of her dresses. Slowly, he lifted up a small piece of silver to her. To his surprise, her back was turned towards him. 

“Do you have a child Deirdre?” Tommy cocked an eyebrow to her as he dangled the shining rattle at her. The sound from the toy teased her, he knew it. 

“No” she swallowed, her throat instantly feeling like it was closing in on her. 

“Fucking liar” Tommy snarled as he dropped it back into the bag. 

“I don’t” Deirdre snapped back as her body spun back to him. 

“Sure” Tommy smirked. 

He watched the fire light inside of her as she walked up to him. It was amusing to him, seeing how she walked on a tightrope of emotions. 

“I don’t Thomas” she spoke firmly, her tone sending a warning to him. 

“Alright…” Tommy spoke quietly as he watched her body unknowingly begin to shake. The rattle fell into the bag as Tommy zipped it up. 

Without another word, Tommy led her back to the car. As if they were on a tight schedule, Tommy sped off down the quiet roads. When they were far from the city, the only sources of light being the headlights and moon, Deirdre looked over to him. 

“Where are you taking me Thomas?” She asked. 

It was ignored by him as his hands tightened on the wheel. 

Deirdre rolled her eyes and rested her head against the window. Slowly she fell into an uneasy sleep. 

She dreamt of her husband. Using his belt on her yet again. At this point, Deirdre laid hopelessly on the tiled flooring as he spat out every cruel word from the book to her. She was crying out, begging for mercy, her hands clenched to her stomach.

When she looked down, she screamed at the sight of blood pooled at her legs. Her body trembled, her temperature low as her eyes darted around for her husband. But he was gone. As she looked up, she saw Tommy, watching her with an emotionless face. 

Deirdre called out his name, begged him to help her. But her words were falling silent, her throat tight as she reached out for him. When she tried to crawl to him, her body ached and she fell back onto the tiling. Keeping her hand out in one last attempt of mercy, Tommy took a step back, gradually being consumed by darkness. 

“Deirdre” Tommy whispered. 

Faintly, the back of his hand brushed over her cold cheek. Deirdre mumbled out, but remained asleep against the side of the door. 

“Deirdre, my love… Wake up” Tommy urged, speaking more forcefully now. His hand tapped her cheeks until her tired eyes fluttered open. 

The remembrance of her situation pressed back onto her mind. Deirdre yawned out as she looked out to the mansion, lit majestically in the night sky. Tommy slid closer to her, his lips pressed to her ear as they both looked out. 

“Welcome home, my love” Tommy spoke faintly as she took in her new prison.

[mattnben-bennmatt]

Matt Damon's interview w/ The Advocate (18 January 2000)

[During promotion for The Talented Mr. Ripley, Matt Damon gives an interview to LGBT magazine The Advocate. He discusses his approach to playing Tom Ripley, same-sex relationships, and the scrutiny around his friendship with Ben Affleck. I first came across excerpts from this fascinating interview when browsing the Damon Affleck Slash Archive using the Internet Archive's WayBack Machine, but my gratitude goes to @kampedupkinks-blog for pointing me toward the full issue. Full transcription under the cut.]

Going to the Matt

Gay people, characters, and subjects are nothing new to Oscar winner Matt Damon. Here's his whole unexpected attitude on it all.

By Brendan Lemon

As the title character in the luxurious, homoerotic new movie The Talented Mr. Ripley, Matt Damon is obsessed with trying on a rich friend's clothing, looking for the right well-tailored suit to reflect his evolving view of himself. Ever since the Boston buddy picture Good Will Hunting won him a screen-writing Oscar and established him as a movie star two years ago, the actor has been redefining his own identity too.

Measuring this metamorphosis is a challenge, partly because the 29-year-old actor is still pondering just how to use the public voice that his fame has provided and partly because his celebrity's outward clues can be a little misleading. For example, he may have just bought a gargantuan—7,000 square feet—apartment in downtown Manhattan, but you sense he wants to make it a home rather than a showplace. And he may go out with another movie star (Winona Ryder), but, refreshingly, the two so rarely make the scene that they seem the furthest thing from a young Hollywood power couple.

The performer talked about both his life and gay-related issues raised by his new movie during a conversation one recent afternoon not far from his New York City home, a discussion in which he displayed his Harvard-caliber intelligence (he dropped out of that university to act, not because his grades weren't good), an attractive blend of sensitivity and seriousness, and the kind of genuine politeness that makes you want to meet, and thank, his mother.

While Damon upbringing has made him highly skeptical of celebrity, he is not about to turn the spotlight away from himself. "Matt is not the sort of actor who refuses to talk about his movies because he doesn't want to talk about his life," said Anthony Minghella, the director and screenwriter of The Talented Mr. Ripley. "In fact, one of the things that distinguishes him as both an actor and a person is that he doesn't duck the moment." Case in point: In the new movie's hottest scene, Damon's Tom Ripley looks lustfully at his friend Dickie Greenleaf (Jude Law) as he emerges from the bath. "Matt didn't ever try to wink at the audience while we were filming that, to distinguish himself from the character," Minghella said. To which Damon replies: "That would have been ridiculous. Ripley at that point was so bubbling over with desire."

Damon sees the homoeroticism of his latest character as an acting assignment, but his matter-of-fact approach to it has roots in his own life. "I grew up in a community house in Cambridge, Mass.," Damon said, "and a number of people who lived there were gay." Respect for difference wasn't the house's only core value; so was hard work a quality for which Damon is still known. "Matt won't always admit the rigor with which he approaches his roles," Minghella said, mentioning that for Ripley the actor learned to play the piano. "I sort of learned," Damon clarified, "just like I sort of learned to sing." The modesty is misplaced: In the movie the actor's wonderful rendition of "My Funny Valentine," aimed at an oblivious, sax-playing Greenleaf, stands as a clear, lonely lament recognizable to anyone—straight or gay—who's known the pain of unrequited love.

Don't expect Damon, however, to star any time soon in a revival of Babes in Arms, and certainly not with lifelong buddy Ben Affleck. The two remain call-each-other-at-all-hours close and make periodic noises about finishing that next screenplay, but any discussion about their friendship strikes Affleck, according to Damon, as "weak." Their bond, of course, still causes some people to regard them as more than pals. In this interview Damon addresses the subject head-on, while admitting that "the speculation isn't quite as much fun as it used to be."

But Damon, whose habit of answering virtually any question directly is reminiscent of Tom Hanks, with whom he had a memorable battle-jitters scene in Saving Private Ryan, mostly wanted to talk about sexuality because of his participation in The Talented Mr. Ripley. The movie which Minghella adapted from a 1955 novel by Patricia Highsmith (the first in a series), tells the story of the aforementioned Ripley and Greenleaf, two young Americans at play in late-1950s Italy. The secretive, hollowed-out Ripley is a consummate social strive. Unlike the wealthy, golden-haired Greenleaf, Ripley is to the manner—but not to the manor—born. In his quest for class he aspires to absorb everything about his friend: not just his clothing and his possessions but his pampered way of life.

But Greenleaf, involved with another young American, Marge Sherwood, treats Ripley disposably. Amused by Ripley's conversational talents and touched by his love of music, Greenleaf takes him along on high-spirited jaunts up and down the Italian peninsula, a series of sunlit, mostly seaside locations that the film caught sumptuously on location. But when Greenleaf tires of his visitor and attempts to toss him off, Ripley reacts tragically. "Maybe no one who sees the movie will agree with me," Damon said, "but as the one who played the character, I thought, This is so unfair. This person deserved better. He was so close to knowing happiness with another man."

In the hands of Highsmith, a lesbian expatriate who like many American writers—Vidal, Baldwin, Williams—came to Europe partly to escape the stifling sexual orthodoxy of postwar America, Ripley is a figure of great fascination but little empathy. Following him as he assumes Greenleaf's personality and attempts to elude his pursuers after the murder is a riveting yet slightly chilly exercise. "We wanted to make Ripley more human than Highsmith did," Damon said. To that end, Minghella pointed out, the character does not, as in the novel, plan to kill Greenleaf but, rather, lashes out at him when he confesses his love and is rejected. In another adjustment, Minghella transformed Peter Smith-Kingsley, one of the book's minor figures, into a gay man offering Ripley love and acceptance.

By fleshing out the book's homoerotic subtext, Minghella has made the story more resonant for a contemporary audience. He has also opened himself to the charge that he has made a movie about a "gay serial killer." "I think that that is a very reductive characterization," Damon said, "but I would urge people to see the movie and make up their own minds about its sex and psychology." To which one might add: Whether you like the film or not and whether or not you find it upsetting, Ripley stands as a sophisticated essay about an identity in formation—economically, psychologically, sexually.

For the movie's Forsterian world of prim Anglo-Saxons smitten with Italian sensuality, Damon's Ripley and Law's Greenleaf were joined by Gwyneth Paltrow as Sherwood and Cate Blanchett as a new character named Meredith Logue. All of them except Damon play roles in keeping with their images. After all, Damon has built his career playing mostly recognizably good guys. "Is my list of credits that heroic?" the actor asks a little disingenuously. To which one answers: Look at your resumé, Matt. Damon's gallery of Hollywood classic male archetypes includes the soldier (Courage Under Fire, Saving Private Ryan), the cowboy (Geronimo, the upcoming All the Pretty Horses), the athlete (School Ties, the upcoming golf fable The Legend of Bagger Vance), and the lawyer on the side of Southern right (The Rainmaker).

As part of his search for new suits, however, Damon has been willing to try some unexpected material. He is the frisky fallen angel Loki in the controversial movie Dogma, and he and Affleck are producing a TV version of The People's History of the United States, an iconoclast work by the scholar Howard Zinn. But it is as Ripley that Damon has most fully revealed in the unexpected.

Some people think it was brave of you, after just having won an Oscar for Good Will Hunting and becoming Hollywood's newly minted leading man, to play a role as upsetting and vulnerable as Tom Ripley.

I don't think playing Ripley was brave of me. I'm an actor who read a great script and who was extremely lucky to have been asked to do the part.

Ripley, however, is a very sad soul, and you appear to be anything but. What personal experiences did you draw on to convey that part of him?

Like everybody, I'm lonely to some extent. Like everybody, I live in fear of not being loved and not having love returned. And I think everybody has a Dickie Greenleaf in his life: someone who is extraordinarily charismatic but who can go away.

Ripley covets everything about Dickie's identity—his way of life, the issue of class, in both the sense of one's social stratum and of one's taste, is, along with sexuality, perhaps the driving issue of the movie. Did you relate to Ripley's cravings for class?

Only to a certain extent. When I was growing up in Cambridge, Mass., people took a certain amount of pride in not being Harvard people. We always thought we were cooler than they were. In terms of relating to Ripley's outsider quality, I have the standard stories that you probably have—of not being invited to the dance and picked for the team. The challenge of Ripley was making the longing to be chosen consistent in my character, despite the horrible things he's doing. Because if you don't stay in sympathy with Ripley—if you go into the theater thinking he's a "gay serial killer" and not a tormented, sensitive human being—then you may as well stay home. You're only going to have your preconceptions confirmed.

What were the key scenes for you to convey Ripley's sexuality?

The chess scene, where Dickie is naked and in the bathtub and Ripley is clothed and out of it. Also the scene where Ripley says he'd take a bullet for Dickie and the scene in the jazz club where, under the cover of music, I shout to him, "It's one big love affair." That's sort of my coming-out in the movie.

The bathtub scene is homoerotic yet slightly enigmatic. Ripley wants to get in the bath, but when he asks and Dickie says no, Ripley has to damp down his desires. Even though, moments later, when Dickie is toweling off, Ripley looks at his ass with a longing that suggests he's just seen the face of God.

When Ripley first got to Italy, if Dickie had taken off his clothes and said, "OK, strip down," Ripley would have just recoiled. Our idea was that he was a virgin. I say that because he's probably never been naked in front of somebody. Remember the first time you were naked in front of somebody? It's terrifying, but you get over it because, hopefully, you have somebody who says, "You're beautiful." But Ripley's never had that. He hasn't crossed the hurdle of deep self-loathing.

But when, at the movie's end, Peter Smith-Kingsley, a sweet, sensitive musician whom Ripley meets...

The ultimate man!

...asks Ripley to take his clothes off and become intimate, he's still struggling with his physical self-image. He is still deeply ashamed of himself, both because of his demonstrated capacity for violence and because of his inability to be intimate—with anyone, male or female. It is this abiding moral sense that makes him human rather than, to be reductive about it, a serial killer. He takes no pleasure in his transgressions.

Right, which is why the ending is so devastating. Ripley still believes that if he showed his authentic nature, he'd be cast aside.

Which is a version of what everyone fears and what some gay people, sadly, fear their whole lives: that as soon as people see our true, hidden natures they will reject us.

So rather than expose himself further to the man who truly loves him, Ripley "rejects" Peter in the most extreme way possible.

Ripley's relationship with Peter is potentially an adult, homosexual one, whereas the one with Dickie is more adolescent and amicable. The movie reminds us that there is a vulnerability involved in same-sex friendships that is just as acute as those in full-fledged gay love affairs.

Same-sex relationships with anyone when you are young entail extreme vulnerability. The first experience most of us have of devastating personal rejection is not with someone we want to date but with someone we want to befriend.

When you were that tender age, was your desire to be an actor looked down upon by your buddies?

No.

You were extremely lucky in that, you know.

I know. A number of people have come up to me and said that because of their interest in theater they were referred to as "drama fags." That wasn't the case in our school. I was supported by my parents and friends in the desire to be creative.

Who were some of the early gay influences on you?

I grew up in a community house, inhabited by my mother and brother and many other adults and children, and a number of people who lived there were gay. My theater teacher was not gay, but I probably had more gay than straight teachers in high school. So being gay, luckily, was not something that I was "introduced" to at some age. It was more that I was introduced to the prejudice against it. I had the reverse of a typical growing-up in that regard.

Your lifelong friendship with Ben Affleck had been endlessly scrutinized since your success with Good Will Hunting. Given how you grew up, was it odd to be tagged as lovers and have that speculation be viewed by some people as a negative thing?

The gay assumption seemed silly to me, a real waste of attention. But I understand that the idea of something hidden fascinates people.

At first, your friendship with Ben was a good marketing ploy. But now that your careers are established, has that strategy gotten tired?

Absolutely. You reach a point where it's your friendship and no one else's.

But you're smart enough to know that the media isn't likely to leave your relationships alone—whether it's you and Ben or you and Winona Ryder, your current girlfriend. You're also smart enough to know that the public has been burned enough times by the media dissembling about homosexuality to be more skeptical than they used to be about the subject. And thus a few people are going to read this interview and still want—still need—to believe that the couple is not you and Winona but you and Ben.

But that's because sex sells magazines and because people are now conditioned to believe that anyone they see on the cover is having sex with everyone in their lives. Given the shallow nature of the packaging and the salesmanship in our culture, it's no surprise that people are lulled into these assumptions.

The unvaryingly sexy packaging is a distraction from ever having to think about the real issues.

Of course.

To go back to you and Ben, would it be so terrible if you were a couple?

The question of whether Ben and I are gay is so awkward in a lot of ways. There is no real right way to answer it without offending somebody. It's offensive to just deny it fiercely, as if there would be anything wrong with it if we were a couple. That would be offensive to the people I grew up with. I don't want to be that person. At the same time, I can't say it's true because it's not. Ben once made light of this type of tabloid speculation by telling an interviewer something like, "I'm sure there are gay people who are in the closet in Hollywood, but also I'm sure that they didn't sleep with Henry's friend." [Laughs]

Yeah, it's interesting how the source for so many tabloid outings always seem to be some Henry guy's pal or some friend of somebody's hairdresser.

That's so true.

One of the strangest things about the media's attempt to disparage your relationship with Ben is that male friendship used to be considered a noble thing. It was not powerful men but powerful women who were divided through the use of the gay rumor. Now same-sex closeness of both genders is targeted.

I guess it's not enough for me to say that I love Ben so much that I'd take a bullet for him.

You also have to say—pardon my bluntness—that you'd take his dick up your ass.

Yeah. It's completely bizarre.

If you were, in fact, in a relationship with another man, would you be in the same position career-wise?

I would like to say that if I were gay, I'd be out. But I think that's not fair because I'm not gay, and I don't know personally what pressure is brought to bear on you if you are. My short answer, without a lot of reflection, is that if you were out, your career would suffer. Would Rock Hudson have had the career he had if he'd been out? No way.

But, of course, we'll never know until someone with your level of leading-man visibility comes out and until Hollywood allows the box office rather than its own internalized prejudices to decide if the public is ready for such a move. With a few test cases, maybe we could move away from this type of discussion. Saying that may be naive, though, given our culture's obsession with celebrities.

And with celebrity bedrooms.

It feels weird to think of the Ripley movie in light of this prurient culture of ours. Because it takes place at a time, the late 50's, when it was taboo for an American guy to confess any kind of affection. That type of unstated longing, of course, is what gives the film so much of its power.

If this were a contemporary movie, the relationships would probably be handled differently. All the people I talked to who are of Ripley's generation—who were young in the '50s—said that you didn't talk that much about your sexuality in any regard. Today, on the other hand, you meet someone, and 15 minutes later he's saying, "You know, my boyfriend and I have this problem with trust." If this were a movie set in 1999, for a tasteful young man like Ripley to admit to a wordly Princeton graduate like Dickie that he has a homosexual side would seem really tame. Especially in our age, when you go home and there, on Jerry Springer, is some guy with two penises.

But in some ways the culture remains alarmingly the same. Highsmith's novel, for example, is infused with homosexual panic. This is part of Ripley's fear of being found out in all aspects of his life—that he's a fake somebody instead of a real nobody. And the fear of thought gay remains a huge fear for some guys still today.

Sure. This makes me think of American Beauty with its theme of the fear of the person next door. Middle America knows that its next-door neighbors could, in fact, be gay. They can't pretend any longer that it's not possible. And that, unfortunately, is very upsetting to some of them. People should recognize that homosexuality just is. Personally, I think it's genetic. That's always been my theory because I have friends who are gay and who really don't want to be and who say they don't have lives that are conducive to it.

What do you mean, "not conducive to it"?

Because being gay makes their lives more difficult professionally.

I'm not going to take the time here to comment on that kind of self-concealment, even though I know from experience how necessary it can seem at a certain time in your life. Are some of these friends actors?

Not just actors. Though it's true that show business is a lot more closed-minded than it may appear. Which is ironic, considering that there are more gay people in the movie industry and in arts in general than in other walks of life.

I think that's a fair and accurate statement. Or at least one that won't frighten the horses.

[Laughs] Right.

Since, in a sense, we've been talking about maintaining appearances, let me raise the matter of appearances regarding the Ripley movie. Specifically clothing. Tom enjoys wearing Dickie's clothes, even though Dickie doesn't always enjoy the fact that Tom is borrowing them. This reflects, of course, how Tom is struggling to assume Dickie's identity in all forms, not just the sexual or psychological ones. The clothing interchange reminded me of one of the real pleasures of being a gay couple: wearing your partner's wardrobe.

But that's not necessarily a gay thing. My group of closest friends and I lived, until recently, in these loose communal situations—in New York, L.A., Boston. And there was a constant raid on somebody's closet. You'd see one of your roommates in a restaurant, and he'd say, "Hey, that's my shirt. You asshole! I just washed that shirt!"

What did the question of clothes mean to you in the making of Ripley?

It relates to body image. Ann Roth, the movie's costume designer, said to Jude Law, "These clothes hang better if you don't wear underwear." So Jude said, "Right, I won't wear underwear." And she looks at me, and I said, "Of course, Tom wears underwear. It would be too exposing of himself not to."

How were clothes key to the formation of your own personal identity?

I remember for my graduation from high school my older brother gave me his leather jacket, which was my favorite thing in the world. He gave it to me in June. I went into my room, put it on, and basically waited for fall. My brother was so cool, and because I was wearing his jacket, I was cool too.

That was a moment not so much of vanity as of validation.

Absolutely.

It's interesting how validation becomes vanity as you grow older. Speaking of which, at what point growing up did you start receiving validation for your looks?

When I got to Harvard. When I got there I thought I was James Dean, wearing my leather jacket. A friend of mine from England, who lived on my dorm floor, and I thought we were very cool. And we weren't afraid to say it to each other.

Some actors consider it a little unmanly to have to obsess so much about their appearance. Do you?

I worry about appearance less than I used to. I look at Brad Pitt. I will never, and could never, look like that. He is just incredible to look at. Period. If I were gay, he would be one of the posters on my wall. Ben and I both have more realistic ideas about what we look like. Not that we're insecure about it. But I know what drop-dead gorgeous looks like, and I know that I'm not it. I also know that I don't want to think, ever, about how I look when I'm in front of the camera. Because then I'm thinking about the wrong thing.

You know, however, that a certain amount of your stock as a movie actor has to do with your appearance.

But if they want handsome, they're not coming after me; they're going to Brad Pitt, Tom Cruise—one of those guys.

I wonder. I can think of a few producers who might think that you would fill the handsome slot just fine.

Well, thank you. Now I feel validated. [Laughs]

You've said that Ripley is a once-in-a-lifetime situation for you. Is that because you wouldn't play a character with Ripley's attributes—repressed rage, class envy, murderousness, homoeroticism, extraordinary sensitivity, aching beauty—ever again?

Anything as original as Ripley I'd love to do again. Unfortunately, people aren't willing to put up the money to make movies like this very often. They were with Anthony Manghella, in part, because he'd just won an Oscar for The English Patient.

Even though you signed on for the movie before Good Will Hunting made you a star, I don't think you should forget the role you and Gwyneth Paltrow played in getting the movie made.

I'm not sure about that. I just hope the movie gets received the way it should. Because, realistically, its box-office chances aren't clear-cut. It needs a strong critical reception to be successful. It's still amazing to me that the studio was so supportive of Anthony's vision. In the wake of The English Patient, he could have directed a lot of movies, but he chose to make this one. He's the one who's brave, not me.

[am-i-the-asshole-official]

AITA for not liking my 3 y/o brother?

We’re both autistic, but very differently; I get overloaded easily and have violent meltdowns, and he gets understimulated very easily and loves to make constant noise. He always has his iPad on, usually way too loud, and always on the most grating songs (my parents got him headphones last Christmas so we could both be happy, but that’s been entirely forgotten now and I haven’t even seen them since maybe January). Sometimes I’ll go downstairs for food and he’ll have both the iPad and TV on with different things, both loud, and also be shrieking loudly enough to cause me physical pain, sometimes while throwing toys at the floor to make the loudest crash he can as well

It’s worse because the way the house is built, all of the sound from the living room gets funnelled directly to my room

Most days, I have to isolate myself in my room with the door closed and noise cancelling headphones on at all times to block out the noise, and sometimes even that isn’t enough. It’s completely fine if the living room door is also closed, and that room is not only huge but is also connected to the garden, but I’ve been getting shouted at for asking my parents to try and keep the door closed, because he wants full reign of the entire floor while I’m trapped in one room to try to avoid getting overloaded daily

I really want to love my brother, he’s so sweet and happy, but it drives me insane. I understand we have very different needs and I’ve been trying to just deal with it as best I can, but I’m the furthest away I can physically get from where he is most of the time and I still can’t escape the noise

Am I an arsehole for not being able to like him anymore?

What are these acronyms?

[thebibutterflyao3]

Day 13 - Prompt: Strong @wolfstarmicrofic

January Daily Series - 527 words

<<<Previous Part OR Start Here

Sirius took his time retracing his steps back toward the cave where he’d left his brother and James. Padfoot dragged his end of the leash on the ground as he plodded along at his side. After a romp in the water with James and a long walk with Lily, the dog was dead on his feet.

“We’ll head back in a minute, alright? Just need to make sure James didn’t wander too deep into the caves again.”

For a bloke who was an actual Boy Scout, James had the worst sense of direction in the caves. He could navigate anywhere else, even deep in the woods, but stick him underground and he was far too easily distracted by the sights and sounds surrounding him. Perhaps it was the lack of light that threw off his internal compass.

When he reached the grassy head of the craggy ridge on the far side of the beach, Sirius was relieved to see his brother perched on a ledge outside the cave of the “serpent stone.” Regulus was tapping at his mobile screen idly, then leaned in and lined up his camera to take a picture of the cave mouth.

“Where’s James?” he called, waving as he approached.

“Inside still. He’s looking for symbols on the walls.”

Sirius frowned. “There aren’t any symbols in this cave. He must be thinking of another one.”

Regulus looked up and tilted his head. “Are you sure? He sounded quite confident it was in this one.”

“James is confident of everything he says.” Sirius eyed the steep slope down to the water’s edge and sighed. “Call him out, would you? I’d rather not walk back with wet boots.”

Regulus tucked his phone away and skidded down to the golden sand that blanketed the floor of the cave. “James? Sirius is back.”

His voice bounced back to him in a higher, distorted echo. Regulus cringed at it, then shook his head. “He didn’t answer.”

“Shite. Don’t tell me he’s lost again.”

“Lost? Again?” Regulus squawked, tripping on the sand as he rushed forward. “James Potter, get your arse back here now!”

A low thud echoed through the cave before James’s voice finally filtered through. “Uh…about that. I might be stuck.”

“What? Why didn’t you tell me?” Regulus shrieked, his voice a full octave higher than normal.

“I didn’t want you to worry?”

“Sirius!”

He’d already started climbing down the rock face, carefully leading Padfoot behind him. “Yeah, I’m here. Hold on.”

Sirius couldn’t hide the shit-eating grin on his face at his brother’s immediate demand for his assistance. This wasn’t the first time James had underestimated his size while crawling in the caves. The twat was plenty strong enough to haul himself through the narrow passages, but too broad.

A fleeting image of Remus flicked through his mind as he helped the dog awkwardly skid down the last few feet of loose rock.

Did Remus underestimate his size?

The thought startled him. Sirius had no idea why his brain would offer that particular query right now. He was headed into an Odysseus-themed twat rescue, Remus’s body should be the furthest thing from his mind. He shook his head clear and stepped inside the cave.

Next Part>>>

[hesbuckcompton-baby]

Better Off - Bernard DeMarco x OFC - Chapter 4

Masterlist | Chapter 1 | Chapter 2 | Chapter 3 |-| Chapter 5 | Chapter 6 | Chapter 7 | Chapter 8 | Chapter 9 | Chapter 10 | Chapter 11 | Chapter 12 | Chapter 13

AO3

Summary: Years before Susie's arrival at Thorpe Abbotts, one fateful loss changes the course of her life forever

Warnings: Grief, death, language, ANGST, dysfunctional family idk

Word Count: 2.9k

Tags: @xxluckystrike @latibvles @footprintsinthesxnd @mads-weasley @joyfulbookreviewmarvelspy

January, 1941

The church was quiet, rows of pews worn and bare. Sunlight flooded in through the tall, narrow windows, casting blocks of light against whitewashed walls, and the low, gentle chatter of guests in the doorway did nothing to rouse Susie from her daze, huddled at the furthest end of the front row of pews, tucked into the corner as if it would make her invisible. An old bible rested on the bench beside her, tattered and yellowed, and she ran her thumb across the blunted corners of the paper, never venturing far enough to open it, the words repulsive to her.

Her mother's voice always plucked itself from a crowd, that warm, Irish lilt in stark contrast against the rough, Mancunian drawl possessed by her children, as if they belonged to the city before they did her. She didn't bother listening in to the others' conversations - didn't try to distinguish the voices of strangers from those of her blood. None of them could have had anything even remotely interesting to say to her.

The pew creaked beside her, and Susie glanced up as Beatrice took her seat, leaving a few metres of separation between the pair of them. Three years her elder, her sister dressed head-to-toe in black, gloved hands clutching at her purse, hair curling neatly below her ears, immaculately done makeup obscured by the veil that hung in front of her face. Susie looked down at her own clothes - a white button down, an old brown skirt - it wasn't right, wasn't traditional or proper, but it was what she had.

"No husband?" She asked, a hint of an edge lacing her voice. Beatrice sucked in a long breath, chest heaving with the weight of it.

"No. He's busy."

"I bet he is."

Finally turning to look at her, venom in her gaze, Beatrice opened her mouth to speak, Susie already itching to interrupt her. But both fell silent, jaws snapping shut as another figure sat down in between them, a human barrier to prevent the inevitable spat before it could form.

"Always classy, girls," Sally huffed, newborn cradled in one arm, the other elbow propped up against the back of the pew as she kept an eye on her other son.

Beatrice sighed, posture relaxing as she let go of the offensive. No one questioned Sally - the eldest sister who had lifted them in her arms the way she now did her own children, who had wiped their tears and cleaned their scraped knees when their parents had been preoccupied. So much older and wiser than the rest of them, there was a removal there, as if she could no longer quite be considered their sister, their equal.

Susie shifted in her seat, wincing slightly as a dull ache shot through her thigh. She could feel Sally's gaze fixed on her. "Susie," She spoke gently, the infant in her arms gurgling away to itself. "How long have you been sitting here?"

"Four hours."

"Jesus Christ," Beatrice muttered, staring up at the altar, unable to tear her eye from the framed photo of Ellie that beamed back at them. They'd chosen a photo of her as a child - why had they done that? That wasn't the Ellie she'd pulled from the rubble the morning after the bombs had fallen. That wasn't the Ellie shut away inside the casket. She didn't remember her that way. Anyone who did wasn't welcome here in Susie's eyes.

A clatter of books against the stone floor sounded behind them as Sally's other son knocked over a pile of Bibles, guilt flushing his cheeks a bright red as the crowd gathered by the door turned to stare. With a quick summons from his mother, he scrambled to his seat, little feet dangling over the edge of the pew, hands fidgeting restlessly. She heaved a long, heavy sigh, unable to look at the altar for more than a few seconds at a time. "At least she's with dad now."

Susie hummed. She didn’t have the heart to tell her she didn’t believe in God anymore.

They were separated irreparably now. Even today, not everyone was here. Ronnie and Patrick were still away fighting overseas, and Nancy had been noisily sobbing in the back corner since she arrived, her son sitting awkwardly in the opposite pew waiting for it all to be over. The sound of footsteps along the aisle drew Susie's gaze, and something lifted within her.

"Owen," She breathed, jumping to her feet and bounding over to meet her big brother. His eyes were bloodshot, gaze jittery and unable to meet hers - but then again, he never had liked to look her in the eye. She didn't mind it. Her hand found his arm, pressing reassuringly against the sleeve of his uniform, adorned with the emblem of the RAF Medical Services. "Come sit down, yeah?"

"Is-... Is she in the box?" He asked quietly, nervously glancing at the pallbearers.

Susie frowned, brow drawn. "No," She lied. "No, Ellie's not in there. It's just tradition - what Ma wanted."

"Ok. Yeah, ok, I'll sit," Owen nodded, and she noticed the fresh tears soaking the cuff of his sleeve from where he'd wiped them away on his way in. She offered him the seat that had once been hers, letting him press his body into the wood at the end of the bench, shying away from the crowds, shoulder hunched to avoid brushing against hers. Owen had never quite been considered normal - Ronnie used to get into trouble for beating other boys up at school in defence of his little brother - but it had only meant he never minded that Susie wasn't quite normal either. There was a solidarity in that, a shared acceptance that they weren't how the world tried to shape them.

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

Everyone cried during the ceremony. Everyone except Susie.

A nauseating guilt swelled within her as her brother and sisters quietly wept at her sides, and she squeezed her eyes shut as tightly as she possibly could, willing a tear to fall, manifesting some sign of the grief within. What must they have thought of her? Her cold stare overseeing it all, flinching at every prayer. It was the perfect protestant funeral, the kind only their mother could have mustered.

She couldn't have left fast enough once it was all over, Owen's gentle grip on her cardigan using her as a guide through the crowds as they wormed their way through towards the door. Their house was a mere five doors down from the church, a looming presence throughout their childhood, a lingering reminder that someone was watching. But even in her home, she wasn't spared the misery.

Susie scarcely recognised half the people at Ellie's wake - crowding the kitchen, sitting in their chairs and lingering in the stairwell. What did any of them know - truly know - about her sister? Had they even had time to know her? Nineteen was too young to die. Too young for death to have any meaning. If the bombs had to kill someone, they should've killed Susie. At least then there'd have been some semblance of military strategy to it. No one won wars by slaughtering teenagers.

There was an empty cup in her hand as she sat at the kitchen table. She couldn't remember what had been in it. Upon the stove, the kettle was boiling, splitting the din of chatter with its unrelenting squeal. She squeezed the glass so tight she worried it might shatter, knuckles turning white with the pressure. Her mother passed behind her, absent-mindedly stroking her hair, warm palm skimming against her scalp. She wanted it to stay, wanted to lean back into it, but it was gone as soon as it came. Susie pushed her chair out, the legs screeching across the floor, bumping into a man she'd never met as she stood up, shouldering her way to the door.

It was almost silent in the attic, layers of brick and wood muffling the sound of voices. Laying back on her bed, she stared up at the roofing beams, the lingering smell of Ellie's perfume permeating the bedsheets. From the day she'd been old enough to leave the crib they'd shared this bed, shunting Patrick onto the narrow one in the corner - this was the girls' space, the floral quilts a private temple where only they existed. Lying on her side of it now, it felt uneven, like the whole thing would lose balance and tip over sideways, Ellie's presence necessary to its survival. Or maybe she was just necessary for Susie's.

Dust floated on the air, catching the light that flowed in through a leak in the ceiling. Her hand rested on the other side of the bed, the vague imprint of Ellie's body still engraved into the old mattress. It needed replacing years ago, but suddenly it was invaluable. On Christmas Eve night, the night after she'd died, Susie had stayed up all through the dark, lying in the impression of her sister, terrified it would lose her outline if she just left it there. But it never did.

The house had never been so full and so empty. Her brothers were aiding the war effort, billeted all over the place. Her sisters had all gotten married - found their own homes to raise their own children. She and Ellie had stayed up here in their attic, tucked beneath the covers like little girls again.

A creak on the stairs ripped her from her trance, her mother's head peering up through the trap door.

"I didn't know you were up here."

"That's ok."

Each floorboard let out an agonised creak as she crossed them, hands folded nervously at her front. Freshly forty years old, she looked at least a decade older, heavy bags of exhaustion tugging down on her eyelids. She wore the only black dress she owned, spotted with white polka dots, a stubborn coffee stain browning the hem where she could never quite scrub it away. The bed rocked towards Ellie's side as she climbed beneath the sheets, laying down in the space she had once owned.

All at once she seemed a child, tugging the blankets up to her chin, eyes squeezed shut as if willing sleep to claim her. She turned into Susie's side, pulling in a long breath. She wondered if she could smell Ellie here too.

"Can I sleep here tonight?" She asked meekly, like a girl begging her parents after a nightmare.

Susie's head lolled to the side, brow furrowed as she looked over at her. "Yeah, sure Ma. I'll go downstairs."

"Please don't."

It was silent for a while. Then the rustling of sheets sounded as Susie turned onto her side facing away from her mother, unable to bear staring at her for too long. She scarcely knew the woman lying next to her. She could count on one hand the number of times she'd climbed the steps to read them to sleep up here. Long gone were the days when Susie wished she would, but her absence could still be read in the room - in the drawings on the walls that no one had ever been scolded for, that no one had ever tried covering up because no one ever came to see them. This was their own little world, and she wasn't sure she wanted her mother up here at all.

"I'm sorry if I was a bad Ma," She spoke, voice muffled slightly by the pillow.

Susie took a deep breath, shoulders rising and falling with it. "You tried."

If nothing else, she knew that was true. Her mother had tried. She'd made half a dozen breakfasts with a baby on one hip. She'd read every report card and double-checked their homework when she managed to understand it. She'd stifled the pain of becoming a widow to tend to the pain of a bumped head or bruised elbow.

But she'd also let them go to bed hungry. She'd lied to their schools about their birthdays so they could drop out before their time. She'd been too poor and had too many children, and Susie wasn't sure she'd ever forgive her for it.

She needed to leave this house. The prospect of sleeping alone in this bed was worse than any other fate she could imagine. Already she could feel herself sticking - if she didn't tear herself away now she never would. Could she truly face driving past the wreckage of the factories every day on her way to Ridgeway? It would take months to rebuild. Months of remembering the moment she'd see her face, blood streaking through the brick dust, eyes half open and unseeing.

"Get some sleep. I'll bring you up some tea when everyone's left," Susie muttered, peeling the sheets away from her body and climbing out of bed, rubbing her eyes with the balls of her palms.

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

Beatrice stood on the doorstep, a cloud of cigarette smoke wafting in front of her face as she watched a child play in the gutter outside the wash house across the yard. The four walls that encircled their court of back-to-backs had once been their entire world. She remembered it looking bigger than this. There were rumours they'd be knocking houses like these down soon - no one wanted to move into them, these dilapidated remnants of a time long passed.

The sound of feet scuffing against tile alerted her to Susie's presence, sliding into the doorway beside her, wordlessly extending her hand for a cigarette. Beatrice passed one to her, holding out a lighter, the pair exhaling puffs of smoke simultaneously.

Who were they to each other? Susie stared back at her sister and realised she didn't have any idea.

"Ellie always used to ask me what I wanted to be when I grew up," She mused, watching on as the child across the yard was hurried inside by its mother, casting them a sympathetic glance as she went.

"She asked everyone that."

"Yeah. But she asked me the most, 'cause I never had an answer."

"Do you have one now?"

"... Don't think so."

The war made dreams insignificant. Nothing was about how they wanted to live anymore, everything was about what others needed them to be.

Beatrice had long discarded her hat, its presence remembered in the halo of frizz it left behind around her scalp. "What did she want to be again?"

"It was a ballerina for a while, then a painter I think. Or a writer. Might've been both."

"Don't forget when she wanted to be a scientist."

"Of course. And a pilot."

They'd begun to smile. When it had happened, she couldn't recall. But Ellie's mind had always been so far away, so filled to burst with a million dreams and ideas and fantasies that no one had any clue what she would go on to do. In the end, she did nothing. She had wished to change the world, and she had died on the floor of a textile mill.

A man in uniform came down the alleyway into the yard, hands folded politely behind his back as he approached the house. His gaze was fixed on Beatrice, as if Susie wasn't there at all.

"Car for you, ma'am."

"Thanks," She nodded, stomping her cigarette butt out on the front step. Taking a few steps away from the house, she turned, letting out a sigh as she fumbled with her purse. "Let Mum know I've gone, yeah? And Nancy."

"You're not staying for dinner?"

For a moment a look of shock flashed across her sister's face, as if appalled she'd even ask. "No. I need to be back in London by the time William gets home."

"Why? Not like you cook or anything."

Beatrice stared at her for a moment, grip on her bag tightening. "Mind your business, Susie."

Susie flicked her cigarette into the puddle at her sister's feet, the door closing on her with a slam. As she came inside, Nancy reached the bottom of the stairs, glancing out of the window behind her.

"Beatrice left?"

"Fucking bitch," She muttered, dragging one of the chairs away from the table to sit down.

"Don't say that."

"Fine. I love it when she comes up here in her fancy car to grace us with her condescending presence and remind us all that she doesn't have to be poor anymore."

Nancy gnawed at the inside of her cheek, wordlessly refilling the kettle and placing it on the stovetop. Her eyes were still red, and Susie suspected she'd gone upstairs to cry again. She'd always been the sensitive one of the bunch.

"I'm moving out," She said, the words seeming to echo back to her in the tiny kitchen.

"... Alright." Nancy nodded, something tight in her tone, as if she'd spoken through clenched teeth. "... Where will you go?"

"I was looking at Norfolk. There's some positions open down there, I could actually get promoted."

"That's a long way."

"... Yeah, Nance."

That's the fucking point.

[growwithmeastrology]

Pluto enters Aquarius, Saturday, January 20, 2024

The hype of this transit is getting a little out of control so I will take this opportunity to keep it real! Nothing is going to happen over night. It will affect society as a whole more than anything else as well. As the slowest moving planet in our solar system, the transitions invoked under this energy will be a progression. How it impacts you personally requires a study of where it transits your birth chart but this belief that it’s a finite moment and everything will suddenly change is a false belief.

In the same breath I will also say that it is kind of a big deal. But in order to comprehend why, we must understand Pluto’s energies. Coined as the planet of transformation, Pluto is much much more than that. That’s just scratching the surface of what this energy is.

In placement perspective, Pluto is the last planet and furthest away in our solar system. He’s like the mysterious emo kid dressed in black hanging out in the back of the class stirring things up that nobody else can see because they’re facing forward. Pluto is all about bringing things to the surface, reincarnation, solidarity. He also giveth and he taketh away. Pluto is the eliminator but also the redeemer. The definition of death and rebirth. More specifically, the stages after death and before rebirth.

It takes Pluto 242 years to transit through every sign of the zodiac. So you can easily see its influence through historical events if you look. Empires, civilizations and societal structures all fall and rise with each zodiacal transition.

People generally see this as menacing energy because it deals with uncomfortable things. Most of all, change. His job is to uncover what is hidden in the dark and that’s rarely comfortable for most of us. But like the lotus flower that is born in the depths of the mud, the focus of these energies should be the beauty that is created as it comes into the light.

Now that Pluto is entering a new sign, we are at the dawn of all things changing from structured and disciplined Capricorn transformation to the new age Aquarius flavor. So what is being torn down and being rebuilt? What will be Pluto’s focus in Aquarius? In the next 20 years it will flip the script on topics like technology, the internet, societal groups, community connection, networking and not to be left out, Capricornian political structures. Basically, how we are all connected is about to get a complete overhaul. Pluto can be black and white and quite dramatic too so the tea is about to be spilled on topics considered taboo. We’ve been seeing these things come to the surface over the last year since Pluto dipped its toes in Aquarius early last year before its retrograde. He won’t be done with Capricorn this year either as it will retrograde back to Capricorn one more time in September doing a final sweep this year on Capricorn topics. Most of all, finances and governments. Why? Because Capricorn rules governments and societal structures and Pluto is ultimate power over the masses. What happens this year will be completely irreversible. It creates change on a collective level. Aquarius is all about societal groups as a whole as well. So significant and evolutionary changes will impact us all over the next 20 years.

Though black and white in its behavior, it is not cut and dry. There’s an unconscious drive in all of us that will influence these changes. Almost like self sabotage but for the betterment of our future. It is the back seat driver of our destiny.

So what direction are we heading in and what is your influence on that? That’s the free will part of this existence. Are you hanging on to the old structures or are you embracing the inevitable changes towards our future? As a group of people on this plane under the singular net we call earth, understand that we either make it harder on ourselves by hanging on to old ways or we float freely and easily with the currents progressively moving forward. Either way, change is coming and it won’t be easy but we actually get to decide how we go about this. This energy isn’t telling us what we don’t already know. It’s just asking us to acknowledge what requires change. What has been suppressed? Where have we been turning a blind eye? Surprise!! We can’t ignore it any more.

Personally, I plan to completely let go of the fears bestowed upon me by the people we have put in control and begin to governing myself along side the ones I love in the manner that resonates most harmoniously between us and how we see fit. I will embrace the dawning of this new era.

If you enjoy my posts please like, comment, share and consider a gratitude tip in support. 🅿️ PayPal, Venmo or CashApp - @NaliniFlor

Learn more about your personal energies and how this transit personally affects you! Comment below⬇️ or DM me for a consultation.

[anxiously-going]

Mirror Image

This is part of draft for the AOS Mirror!verse I started back in January 2019 when I first started writing fanfiction.

Leonard McCoy readjusted the bag hanging from his shoulder for the tenth time before punching in the code to his home for the next four years. The door slid open to reveal a simple living room with a kitchenette to one side with a short hallway that led to one of the two bedrooms and a door opposite that for the other room.

He had never particularly cared for the mild fame his family had back home, but it certainly came with its privileges. Namely, getting more of an apartment than an ordinary dorm room. Even having to share the space wouldn't be so bad since there were separate bedrooms.

Len walked down the hallway to stake his claim on the furthest room. He hadn't been particularly eager to be at the Academy, but his mother had insisted and gone through all the effort to get him in on good standings, so turning up early to make sure he got the room he wanted was a small prize.

His bags hit the ground with a dull thud when the door closed behind him. He fell back against it with a small sigh.

So this was it. A bed sat in the middle of the room. To one side a closet, to the other a bathroom, and just at his elbow a dresser. His new home.

Vaguely he wondered how Jocelyn was enjoying having the house to herself. An ache started in the middle his chest and spread from there at the thought of her. He had tried convincing his mother that a simple life, in the family clinic, with a family of his own could be an honorable thing. Besides, he needed to be there for her. He couldn't leave her alone after his father's death.

But she would hear none of it. Her father and brothers had serviced in the Imperial Fleet, and so would her son.

It was a shame that Jocelyn wasn't interested in long distance relationships. She'd handed him the divorce papers along with his acceptance letter into the Academy.

Len nearly fell backward when the door swished open behind him, but a pair of hands pushed him upright and held him steady.

"Guess I'm not the first one in the dorm."

Len turned to find his apparent roommate giving a lopsided smile and offering a hand "James Kirk, Command."

"Leonard McCoy, Medical." He shook the young man's hand firmly.

"I guess you just got here too?" James asked gesturing to the bags on the ground.

"I did," Leonard confirmed. "But I'm not moving. And you're not in command yet so don't expect me to follow any kinda orders."

James chuckled. "That almost sounded believable. I'm gonna hold you to that 'yet' part though." He hoisted his bag onto his shoulder and turned and walked away.

"Hey, Doc," James called down the hall. "Dinning hall's open, you comin'?"

Leonard wore a look of bafflement as he met his roommate in the common area. "You're James Kirk."

James arched a brow at the man. "Last time I checked, yeah. And you're Leonard McCoy. Only surviving doctor of an outbreak in Georgia last year." Len bristled at the mention of home. "You're not the only one who can run a name search, pal," James finished brusquely. "People are gonna ask about it. You'd better get used to talking about it."

"It's not their business," Len answered sharply.

"They're not gonna care. You're mildly famous for it. People are gonna talk. Especially the other med students. I've got an idea," James waggled a finger at the doctor. "Follow me."

"I know where the dining hall is, Kirk," Len rolled his eyes.

"We're not going to the dining hall. You like cheeseburgers?"

Leonard followed James across the campus and into the library. "What are we doin' here?"

"Emergency exit," James answered.

"Don't those normally set off alarms?"

"Not this one." He popped the door open and ushered Len to the outside. "Welcome to San Francisco."

Leonard arched a brow. "How do you know how to sneak off campus after only one day here?"

"Family secret," James smirked. "C'mon, let's go get dinner."

Len followed uncertainly.

"When the Empire landed on Tarsus there were nine of us that survived the execution order," James started conversationally as they headed down the sidewalk. "When I heard who was on the list, and that it included me, I pulled as many of the kids as I could. It wasn't many. But the order was to be carried out immediately so I didn't really have a lot of time. The youngest was four. I held him so he wouldn't cry when we hide with the bodies when they came through to take a count. Tom and I kept the others hidden. Tom stayed with the kids and I'd go out and scrounge for whatever food I could. It was two weeks before help came. The Empire basically recruited Tom and I right out of the hole they dug us out of. They took our kids away and shipped them out without ever telling us where they went. I still don't know where most of them went. Tom... I don't know what happened to him either. I was told he washed out. Pike tried to help him like he helped me, but he just couldn't reach him. I nearly washed out for that matter, but Pike, well, he wouldn't let me go. He took me under his wing, defended me against everyone trying to get rid of me, I wouldn't be here if it wasn't for him."

"Why're you tellin' me this?" Len asked wearily.

"People are going to ask what happened in Georgia. It's just gonna happen. And you're going to be expected to talk about it like it was nothing, like it was an accomplishment. Because it was. You saved a lot of lives, McCoy. But you can't sound like it affected you."

Leonard scoffed. "Sure. I only watched half the town hospital die. Who's gonna be affected by something like that?"

"The attitude is a great defense mechanism, but someone's gonna see through it and then you're gonna be in trouble."

Len halted. "What do you care anyway?" he demanded, throwing out his arms.

"Because I get it," James answered calmly.

"Oh you 'get it'?" Len scoffed incredulously.

"Yeah, I do."

"Enlighten me."

"You're angry. Here's this young kid, who doesn't know the first thing about what you went through, telling you to pretend like it was nothing. Not only that, but he has the audacity to congratulate you for surviving something you had no business surviving. And if you were honest with yourself, you probably didn't even want to survive. But here he is pretending to get it, pretending to understand. Pike did the same thing to me. Except, y'know, it was some old guy who didn't really care. And at first I hated him for it. I gave him a bloody nose for it, actually. Look, you can hate me all you want, you can even punch me for it. But I'm warning you now, the way that he warned me. You will not last here, if you let it show how it affected you. I'm not saying, 'don't be affected' that's impossible. I'm saying, 'don't let them see it'. You cannot let it show. Because if you do, they'll either kick you out, or worse. They'll let you stay and let someone else tear you apart and make an example of you." James waited a minute, hoping Leonard was taking in his words, before speaking again. "Look. We don't know each other. That makes it hard to listen to a thing I say, but I'm telling you now because Pike waited with me, and I nearly got sent away. And, yeah, maybe I'd be on a better course, but I would've lost Chris. And I don't know what I'd be without him. You're drifting. The Empire is…far from perfect, but it is an anchor. And you need that right now. Or you're gonna find yourself in worse trouble."

Leonard slumped against the wall of the shop they had stopped in front of with a sigh. "I don't even want to be here."

James arched a brow. "I would never have guessed. How'd you end up here then?"

"My mother wanted me here a long time ago. Was my plan to take over the clinic one day though, so I stayed home. I wanted to stay even more after… She needed someone to take care of her. But she started talking to my uncles who'd served and their friends... I never even filled out an application. Just got an acceptance letter in the mail and was out the door a week later."

Jim nodded slowly and began walking again. "Sounds like a rough year."

"Year to the day," Leonard agreed and fell into step next to him. "One year ago today Michael Thompson walked into the E.R. with what we thought was just an sinus infection. Six months later…" He shook his head. "Nearly every patient I'd worked with that ended up sick was dead. And two of the other doctors there were sick. Three months after that all our patients were dead and me and couple nurses were the only ones not sick. At the end of the fourth month it was all over. Me and two others survived. Everyone else who stepped into that hospital during those ten months was dead."

"Sounds like survivor's guilt."

"I minored in psychology, kid, but thanks for the eval."

"You did do a lot of good though. You know that, right?"

"I know the media only tells half the story," Len answered quietly.

[malurenxtt]

____________________________________________________________

||✷ - Introducing MARIA LUISA RENETT. Word on the street is they are a SERVER AT FAUX FOLIE, having been around for THREE MONTHS. 

______________________________________________________________

— BASICS

Nickname: Malú Age / D.O.B.: Thirty-four // January 7th Gender, Pronouns & Sexuality: cis-female // she/her // bisexual Hometown: Long Island, New York City, USA Affiliation: Civilian Job position: Server at Faux Folie Education: Sociocultural Anthropology at Columbus University Relationship status: Single // divorced Children: none Positive traits: hard-working, receptive,  alluring, fiery, reliable Negative traits: condescending, reticent, unforgiving, unrealistic, self-loathing

TW: divorce mention, Fraude

— BIOGRAPHY

Maria Luisa was born from a union between a famous New York businessman and his Brazilian wife who, after spending several years traveling the world, chose to settle down and raise a family in Suffolk County, Long Island. Coming from a family of three, Malu always was the perfect daughter and poster middle child. The apple of her father’s eye and the never far out of her brothers’ sight. The lives of the three kids were uncomplicated and free of worry. During the day they would spend most of their time with their nannies, while on evenings and weekends there was often room for family time. Private schools provided them with the best of education and when grades failed, their private tutors would not. Friends came and went but were always an abundance. Privileged as they were, there never seemed to be a cloud in the sky for the Renett siblings. 

When Malú was 16, she began to notice a shift in her father’s behavior. He had always been constantly on the phone, hardly ever taking a break except during one of their vacations. But he seemed to grow more frantic by the day, with sudden outbursts of rage directed at whoever would be closest. Her mother, who had slowly began to distance herself from her husband even before his temper began to spark, made no attempts to defuse the situation. Simply avoided the man she had been married to in the furthest corner of their house. It was Maria luisa who took it upon herself to attempt to regulate her father’s outbursts. Trying everything within her power to distract him, please him. Jumping into the fray in order to keep the peace. It took over two years of constantly walking on eggshells and dancing to his every whim before the storm seemed to lay down. And whatever had clouded her father’s better judgment had disappeared like snow before the sun. 

Life went on and Malú never strayed too far from home. Like her brothers, she went to Columbus university. But instead of choosing to presuit finance of business, she chose to finish a degree in Anthropology. Intrigued by society, especially the way it functioned within the boundaries of the great city of New york. Even though her name certainly helped to get her into the prestigious university, her teachers did see her potential in the field. Her father, however, envisioned a different route for his daughter entirely. 

At the age of twenty-seven, two years after she finished her studies,  she found herself in charge of the philanthropic branch of her father’s company, with a diamond ring on her finger and a large house only a few blocks away from the place she used to call home. All her friends continued to tell her she was living the dream of any woman her age. Like any good daughter, she took the seat within the family business which had been created just for her. She became the bright smiling face of successful fundraisers and social events, a socialite within the high society of the city. Living the poster life any woman could only dream of… until it all came crashing down. 

It was a cold December day, with the annual extravagant christmas party only days away, when her father was arrested for tax fraud. Her youngest brother and mother had been on vacation then, one from which she would find they would never return. A safe haven they tucked themselves, along with some of the money, away in until the storm would die down. Her oldest brother stayed, choosing to support their father in court. The cherry on top of the nightmare were the divorce papers delivered on her doorstep the very afternoon after her father was arrested, tearing her world apart at the very seams. It was then that she realized that everybody around her had known, had seen the signs, and she had been too blinded to see. 

For the first few months, Malú fled the city, after being chased by reporters one too many times. The neighbors shunned her and the walls of her villa suddenly began to feel like they were coming straight for her. But no place would soothe her, no road she took could take her mind off the city she belonged. At a roadside motel, Malú came to the realization that she now had to reinvent herself at the ripe age of 34, one divorce deep and lied to by her entire family. 

Out of her debt, and far from the life of luxury she had always known, she began to know peace in blending in instead of stepping into the spotlight. By calling in a favor from a college friend, she managed to find a roommate with whom she could share a flat. A woman her age who quickly became her friend, as well as managed to land her a job at Faux Folie. It quickly became apparent that she and her roommate were two of the older servers working in the club. Adapting to the role of ‘mother’ quite quickly, the two friends have taken it upon themselves to look after the younger servers. Ensuring they learn the ropes, but that they are safe as well. Keeping an eye out for their staff , along with the bouncers. Though Malú may not carry a gun, this cat certainly has her claws. 

Clueless on where to go from this very point in her life, Maria Luisa buries herself in work. Eagerly taking on extra shifts to keep herself busy so she does not have to focus on the mess that is her life, let alone think about family affairs. 

[teatraps]

You know, when you think about it Kevin’s birthday is actually the furthest from Patricia. It feels close cause December comes right before January when the year starts over, but put it on a calendar and Kevin is the farthest away. I think about it a lot given the way birthdays are used as a tool to show the factions. It feels a little intentional, but maybe I’m reading too deep into it

[seasonal-writes]

2023 Writing Round-Up

Rules: Share what you wrote this year! It can be works you posted to Ao3, Wattpad, Tumblr, or anywhere else! You can share everything you wrote or just the ones you’re most excited about. my beloved mutual @canarydarity tagged me in this. thank you for the tag, worm! this was really fun :D p.s. almost every fic in here is team rancher. and almost all of it is shipping. so i am not going to make my bias so obvious by labeling them, i will simply make not of the ONE that is not team rancher. i'm mentally unwell about them and the bias has not gone away. so just a fair warning. &lt;3

January

"bruised / cuts" // 1,347 words "small / cuts" // 1,897 words

'jimmy and tango are in love and clumsy, usually resulting in minor injuries. these are their stories.

dUN DUN-' "19% touch starved and 91% in denial" // 2,551 words

'a short fic in which jimmy is touch-starved, and his new soulmate, tango, is the furthest thing from it.' "old heartbeats die hard" // scarian // 1,413 words

'Did you know that listening to someone’s heartbeat can have a calming effect on your own heart and breathing pattern? Grian knows this. And he knows it’s working right now, even if it’s not enough to lull him to sleep quite yet. Though, there is still relief in knowing that one is still thumping away in Scar’s chest. Its pace is still fresh and lively and steady, just how he likes it— even if he’d never say something like that out loud.' "When Fate Finds Golden Rings" (ongoing, originally published in late january) // 65,044 words as of the last current update in mid-july.

'Being a prince comes with many things. Reputation, politics..even war, if one isn't careful.

When the Kingdom of the Overworld's alliance with the Nether grows tense, there is only one way to repair it, and it lies within the hands of two princes—arranged to be married to end a fight that simmers hot between the two planes.

But when Heir-to-the-throne Tango would rather stay at odds than follow through, and the the youngest Prince Jimmy finds no way for a wedding to solve anything, how can they bite back their gripe and fulfill their responsibilities?

How do you fight a destiny that's forged in gold? (or, a Ranchers Royalty AU. Take two.)'

February

"i ain't ever liked sweets (till you sugar-coated my teeth)" // 2,556 words

'a short, fluffy, plotless valentine's day rancher duo one-shot! :D'

March - June

these few months, i worked on personal projects and was in the thick of Golden Rings updates. so, nothing too exciting!

July

"how do you talk to a star?" // 1,285 words 'jimmy is in love with tango. he does not plan on telling him.' also, the last update i did on golden rings. maybe someday i'll get back to it, akfdjs

August - December

more personal projects! i had a few new AUs i never quite debuted that i created and cultivated with friends, wrote a little for them--but they weren't really enough to post, so. and that's all for the year! i appreciate everyone who's stuck around this long, even with my inactivity the past few months. i am hoping that with the new year, there will come new motivation to get back into it. posting all my little stories and ideas have both helped me realize i really am beyond in love with writing, AND i made lots of new friends along the way. :D been a pretty cool time! no pressure tag: @hitheeprithee! let me see your words, boy. thanks for reading, as always. :) <3 till next time.

[nematanthus]

Album Review: amo- Bring Me The Horizon

In collaboration with @arfarfblegh

Release Date:

January 25, 2019

Tracklist:

1. i apologise if you feel something

2. MANTRA

3. nihilist blues (feat. Grimes)

4. in the dark

5. wonderful life (feat. Dani Filth)

6. ouch

7. medicine

8. sugar honey ice & tea

9. why you gotta kick me when i'm down?

10. fresh bruises

11. mother tongue

12. heavy metal (feat. Rahzel)

13. i don't know what to say

Favorite Track:

wonderful life (feat. Dani Filth)

Least favorite track:

in the dark

Album art opinions:

The album cover features an old and worn looking plain CD in a clear bag adorned with red hearts with a torn sticker bearing the albums title. This could be a reference to the band considering this album to be a new beginning of sorts. The blank CD could be anything, contain anything, limitless possibilities, just the same as the bands musical potential. The worn appearance of the whole cover referencing everything the band has done up until now, acknowledging both their history and their infinite possibilities for the future.

Color: 5/10

Recognizability: 4/10

Vibes: 8/10

Total: 6/10

Music opinions/notes:

The band did what the fans feared the most, and made a "pop" album. While this is the furthest the group has strayed away from their deathcore days, they proved that they can sound good no matter what they do. Bringing in lo-fi, trap, beat boxing, and other modern pop and rock sounds. It's also very apparent that Oli is getting more comfortable with his clean singing at this point, since there's very little screaming throughout the album. The artist features also are a nice edition, serving their songs well and making a fantastic experience overall.

Mix: 8/10

Lyrics: 8/10

Instruments: 6/10

Vibes: 8/10

Total: 7/10

Total Score: 7/10

[syncrgistic]

(freida pinto. cis woman. she / her.) ⸺ 🦬 greetings, buffalos ! walking around campus, sporting her hair in a braid with flowers weaved in it, we’ve spotted ANUSHKA “ANU” RAI, a thirty - seven years old who contributes to our thriving community as a PHARMACIST / CHEMIST. according to our intel, she’s been around the sanctuary for a year and what we know about her, aside from the fact that she doesn’t agree with the decision to close the gates, is that she carries the weight of being the protective older sister of her 5 siblings and constantly feels like she’s not done enough to protect them, she’s a city girl at heart and misses her old life dearly ⎯ even that shitty apartment that grew mould and had leaky taps but this was her life now and there was no use dwelling in the past, and despite everything, she still remains optimistic for the future, though she’s not sure if it’s truly how she feels or if she’s just so used to pretending like everything will be alright that she doesn’t know how to not pretend anymore. doesn’t that make her fantastic ? we think it does, and that’s why we appreciate her so much, grateful for what she gives to our community.

stats

full name: anushka rai ⎯ अनुष्का, a ray of light; राय, king

nicknames: anu

date of birth: october 10th 1986

age: thirty seven

gender & pronouns: cis woman & she/her

education: high school diploma, undergraduate degree in biochemistry at stanford university, phd in molecular pharmacology and therapeutics at columbia university (never completed)

occupation: pharmacist/chemist

hometown: san jose, california

language(s): english, hindi, basic spanish

faceclaim: freida pinto

personality

positive traits: compassionate, intelligent, forgiving, optimistic, protective

negative traits: perfectionist, controlling, hypocritical, subservient, gullible

mbti: esfj ⎯ the consul

enneagram:��2w1 ⎯ the companion

moral alignment: lawful good

temperament: phlegmatic

zodiac sign: libra sun, cancer moon, libra rising

character parallels: katara (atla), monica geller (friends), aerith gainsborough (final fantasy vii), peeta mellark (the hunger games), annie january (the boys), ravi chakrabarti (izombie)

bio

// TW: allusions to child neglect, mentions of death and grief //

you're the eldest daughter first, your own person second. it's been your identity since you were three years old, before you had really known anything else. the years that you were an only child are years that you cannot remember, but it doesn't matter because they're irrelevant. you can't remember the first time your mom told you were going to be a big sister but the photos show that you wear that title on your chest with honour. but with age, you slowly begin to resent the title, the responsibility that your parents have put on you. you love your siblings and would do anything for them, but you're just a kid too, not a surrogate parent.

being eldest meant you were overlooked, always the good child that no one had to worry about but that was because you had no choice. the supervisor couldn't be irresponsible now. but god, you wished someone would worry about you, that you could hang that title just for a little while and be a normal teenager for once instead of picking your siblings up from school and fixing their after school snack. the worst of it all was having to see your parents be the parents you wished you had to your younger siblings. you were the test subject, the one that they could afford to mess up on, but in their eyes, you were perfect so they must have done something right.

so in an attempt to rebel, you apply to the colleges furthest away from home just so you can get away. you love your family, but it's time to find out who you are outside of these four walls, outside of your family home. you don't want to be eldest sibling first, you want to be anu first, eldest sister second. but you can't bring yourself to do it when your youngest sibling is looking at you with their sad eyes and you stay. but you have to rip that band aid off sooner or later and apply for graduate school in nyc. it's only there that you realise that maybe you like being the eldest sister when it's something you can choose to be. maybe you were born with a maternal instinct and warm, comforting hands. you find your siblings in reuven's kids, making up for all the times you dismissed your siblings, making up for lost time, and in some way, healing your own childhood. you miss them, but at the same time, you think for the best.

that's until the outbreak and her first instinct to go back home, protect your family but by the time you get there it's probably too late. she had three children here that she had to protect now. in the end, you failed them. and failing them, served as a reminder how you had failed your siblings. how they ⎯ your siblings and reuven's kids ⎯ had looked at you as their caregiver, their protector but you couldn't even do the one job you were given. if you weren't the eldest sister, then what were you anymore?

grief destroyed you, destroyed you both to the point of no return and you left on a mission to find your family. your purpose had been destroyed and you needed hope to hold onto otherwise you'd collapse; that hope was believing at least one of your family members was still alive. it's a shot in the dark, especially since they could be anywhere but it's something you're willing to die trying. it takes years but you find one of your siblings. you realise you've missed so much, that you're sorry that they had to deal with losing your family by themselves. but you have a purpose again, an identity, and you spend it trying to shield them from the horrors that they've already experienced, tell them that you believe there's a cure out there. you never let them see that you're scared or worried for the future. only smiles and promises to safety. you're gotten so good at lying about the cure and stability of the future that you're not sure what you think anymore. it's second nature to you and before you know it the words come out.

your second wind of hope comes in the form of colorado university where you hear talks of a sanctuary. you no longer have to force yourself to lie to your sibling about safety when you believe you're safe. you still can't figure out whether you believe there's a cure out there or not, despite spending your time at the sanctuary researching the virus. in the end, you always come to the same conclusion, you have to believe in it because then what is all this for?

tdlr: a traumatised eldest sibling, carrying the weight and guilt of not being able to protect her siblings from the virus, who has made it her purpose to try to find/create a cure for the virus, even though some days she doesn't believe it exists, because she needs some hope to live for

© template by anasbobashop

[voidberryart]

Art of 2023

[ID: A flat blue image with four rows of three columns of lighter purple boxes all lined up evenly. Under each box written in light green are the months of the year, starting with January at the top left going all the way down to December in the bottom right. January's box contains nothing else but the words, in large font "[DATA EXPUNGED]". February contains a painting of a snowy mountain scenery at night with the moon shining brightly and full. March contains a painting of a fluffy black cat with big greenish yellow eyes, an underbelly that looks like purple/pink space nebulae, and all outlined in that same yellow/green color, sitting amidst a background of a similar space nebula scene. April is also empty save for the words "[DATA EXPUNGED]". May shows a more photorealistic painting of a planetary convergence between Jupiter, Mars, and a distant planet or sun seen only as a bright blue light (Jupiter seen the closest to the viewer on the far left side, Mars in the middle further away, and that point of light furthest away and off to the right). June shows a series of nine stickers of a fluffy cat's face, all painted in with various scenery such as space, or cityscapes, or woodlands, or underwater, etc., all done in different color palettes corresponding to various pride flags. June shows an image of fanart for a fic (A Concentrated Dose), portraying the characters Rachel Dawes and Jonathan Crane from the Batman franchise, Crane resting his head against Dawes' stomach as she looks down at him with one hand on his head and the other holding a bottle of dry shampoo. August shows a simplistic lineless painting of a snowy wood, the trees and sky done in more unrealistic shades of purples. September shows a topdown view of a DnD map, what appears to be the interior of a tavern including the corner of a bar in the bottom left, a stage up towards the top, and a dining area towards the right, all done in colors of reds, black, and white. October shows a topdown view of a clear grid overtop endless space, the left side of the grid showing a glowing red light coming forth from the edges, while the right side has a light encroaching in the same way but in colors of blue and pink and green and lined like stained glass. November shows a bust of a tiefling/shadar-kai character with greyish skin, black eyes, and branching horns sprouting up from the center of their head as well as the left side, a blue hooded cloak worn with the hood down revealing shoulder length curly dark grey hair and a face with numerous burn scarring and a slash going across from the top of the right side of their face down to the bottom of the left. December shows a painting of a large black hole and a stylized twinkling spiral galaxy coming out away from it, done in colors of purples and greens. End ID.]

I admittedly am surprised that I only had two months of this year with no art. Feels like a new record for me, especially considering this year kind of sucked major ass.

[thecunnydiaries]

12th Tuesday

Hazy with Sleet and Snow. A boat from each [ship] effected a Landing and took possession in the name of our gracious Majesty hoisting the English Colors &c and drinking the Queens health. The Shore was literaly covered with Penguins Some of which was brought onboard. There are several Island Rocks detached but the extent of the Land is not ascertained as you could see mountains rishing above the clouds as far the Eye could carry you. 2 PM Stood away to the Northwards and Eastward: Erebus in close Company.

This is furthest Land discovered to the Southward it being in 72 South.

Mount Sabine and Possession Island, Discovered 11th January, 1841, From Ross, Voyage, I. f.p. 183.

Campbell's Notes: Ross, Voyage, I. p. 189 .‘The ceremony of taking possession of these newly-discovered lands, in the name of our Most Gracious Sovereign, Queen Victoria, was immediately proceeded with; and on planting the flag of our country amidst the hearty cheers of our party, we drank the health, long life and happiness of Her Majesty and His Royal Highness Prince Albert. The island was named Possession Island. It is situated in lat. 71°56'S, and long. 171°7'E.’Robertson, A few General Remarks, pp. 42–5. ‘A signal from the Erebus announced Captain Ross's intention to land. Captain Crozier and a few of the officers were soon on their way to the shore … a rapid current was found sweeping through the channel which divided the islands; it carried with it heavy streams of ice, agitating the sea in the most tumultuous manner, and presenting a surface similar to that of the Portland race in a fresh gale. This rendered the situation of the boats far from agreeable:… At this stage of our progress the chiefs of the expedition consulted on what was best to be done, and determined to run to leeward of the western island. Ere we had gone far we were fortunate enough to find an opening through the outer stream of ice, which the boats immediately took … the boats reached the shore at noon… When some distance offshore, our olfactory nerves had been most offensively assaulted by certain effluvia from the land, the cause of which we could not then define; but, on mounting the icy cliffs, it became apparent that it proceeded from numerous carcases of young penguins, which lay in a state of putrefaction all around, together with an immense accumulation of the birds' dung, probably some feet, or even yards, in depth… No description of mine can give an adequate idea of the spectacle which awaited us here; the whole surface of the island being one mass of living creatures (Aptenodytes). Old and young were squatted on the ground in numerous groups, and so thickly packed, that it was almost impossible to move a foot without treading on them… We were not long on shore before we were called from our various occupations to assist in a very interesting ceremony, namely, that of drinking Her most gracious Majesty's health, and taking possession of this Antarctic land, in Her Majesty's name.’