#gina you beautiful soul

[pochiperpe90]

[ENG] PARDO - Interview with Luca Marinelli

“Luca Marinelli is a true phenomenon!” This is how Paolo Virzì, who directed him in Tutti i santi giorni in 2012, defined the actor a few years ago. He was absolutely right. Throwing himself body and soul into each of his roles, Luca Marinelli does not limit himself to playing a part, but manages to transform himself completely, creating intense, charismatic, unique characters. From the young introverted mathematician in La solitudine dei numeri primi (2010) by Saverio Costanzo, to Roberta in L’ultimo terrestre (2011) by Gipi; from the criminal in Non essere cattivo (2015) by Claudio Caligari to the cult character of the Zingaro in Lo chiamavano Jeeg Robot (2015) by Gabriele Mainetti; from the proletarian intellectual in Martin Eden (2019) by Pietro Marcello, to the King of Terror in Diabolik (2021) by Manetti Bros; from Nicky, the immortal warrior, in The Old Guard (2020) by Gina Prince-Bythewood, to Pietro, a fervent mountain enthusiast in Le otto montagne (2022) by Felix Van Groeningen and Charlotte Vandermeersch; Luca Marinelli has been able to give life, thanks to his prodigious versatility, to an extraordinary range of characters who all bear the unmistakable sign of his talent.

Maria Giovanna Vagenas: In your current career as an actor there are two important works coming out soon: the television series M. Son of the Century by Joe Wright and The Old Guard 2, by Victoria Mahoney. While waiting to be able to see them, I would like to start by addressing a perhaps less well-known but equally essential side of your work: your debut as a theater director in 2023 with Kafka's Una relazione per un’accademia, for the Festival dei Due Mondi of Spoleto. How did this project, on which you collaborated with the German actor Fabian Jung, come about?

Luca Marinelli: The first idea for this project dates back to ten years ago when I saw Fabian at his graduation performance at the Ernst Busch Academy of Dramatic Art in Berlin. I found it extraordinary, and on that occasion I had already told him: "In my opinion you should recite this text!" Then there was a ten year gap. Towards the end of the pandemic, I proposed to him that we work together on Una relazione per un’accademia. At the beginning we had to be both on stage a bit, later I understood that it would have been more sensible to mount this piece with just one actor and I asked him if he would like to be directed by me.

MGV: What was your approach as a director? 

LM: At the beginning of this project I was more of a kind of acting coach - Fabian acts in Italian, even though he doesn't speak it - then I began to understand what it meant to be a director, to take responsibility for everything the public will come to see, to make many decisions and to take care of an entire team. In this context, the exchange of ideas with Fabiana Piccioli, who deals with the light design of the show, was essential: the theatrical piece is in fact a kind of dialogue between the actor and the light, the space and the audience. Being a theater director is also a question of trust. In the cinema the director is very present until the end of the production process, but in the theater you get up to a certain point and then that's it, because the real work, evening after evening, falls to the actors and technicians, that is, to those who are in the scene and around it. The director is no longer part of the performance, he’s almost the first spectator of his own work. It was a very beautiful experience for me, because being "outside", that is, not being on the scene but in front of it, is truly something completely different! In February-March 2025, we will take this show on tour around Italy.

MGV: Do you plan to continue along this path in the future? Is it an experience that has opened up new perspectives for you?

LM: It's a road I'd like to explore, that of theater. I would like to return to the stage as an actor-director, a bit like a master, let's say. I feel that theater is much more accessible to me, while I know very little about the technical side of cinema and for which I have great respect, so for now I don't feel like it.

MGV: You come from a family close to the world of entertainment. It seems that as a kid you watched a lot of movies with your grandmother. I would be curious to know how your desire to become an actor was born in this context. 

LM: My father is first and foremost an actor who is also dedicated to dubbing and my grandmother, as you said - a great cinephile. I owe a lot to every member of my family, whether they work in the arts or not. However, I cannot tell you where this desire comes from, each of us has a drive within us, and is attracted by something. Indeed, I grew up watching many films and, thanks to my father, I happened to know this work in various forms. But when you are very young it is difficult to say: I want to do this! I felt very attracted by the world of theater and cinema, by the idea of ​​expressing myself in a way that went beyond words, which approached images, sounds, the body. I wasn't fully aware of it from the beginning, but now I feel that it's exactly this: I love observing an interpreter's body, listening to their voice. I love seeing a group working together and I love teamwork. The profession of actor contained within itself a bit of everything that nourished my curiosity. This desire has been growing more and more. My family has always been very supportive and has never hindered me in anything. Rather, I was the one who hindered myself, until, at a certain moment, I gave myself permission to approach this profession and entered the Silvio D'Amico National Academy of Dramatic Art. They were three wonderful years during which I gave free rein to all my curiosity and desire for expression. The relationship with my class was fundamental and magical. From there, little by little, I moved forward. Almost immediately, cinema arrived with Saverio Costanzo who hired me for La solitudine dei numeri primi together with Alba Rohrwacher. I auditioned while I was still at the Academy and was acting in the final recital Dream of a Summer Night directed by Carlo Cecchi. I finished the Academy and immediately went on set for the first time.

MGV: You found Carlo Cecchi again as an actor on the set of Martin Eden (2019) by Pietro Marcello many years later. 

LM: Of course, and it was wonderful to meet again! I consider Carlo my teacher, he is the first who truly made me understand the importance and urgency of this profession. 2012 was the last time I was on the boards of a stage and was with him. Carlo Cecchi had become very fond of us all and with this graduation essay he managed to take us on tour. Basically we did two theater seasons from 2010 until February 2012.

MGV: Are there other directors, among all those you have collaborated with, that you consider to be your teachers?

LM: I met some great directors during my journey, each had their own vision of art, so it's as if I had many different teachers along a single professional journey. I would practically name them all, but I would also name the actors I simply observed in films.

MGV: Between the actors who inspired and influenced you, who would you quote?

LM: For the sake of equality, I only mention the actors of the past. There are many who have struck me but I always evoke Anna Magnani, Silvana Mangano, Marlon Brando and Massimo Troisi. These are the first huge names that come to mind. When I 'met' them on the screen I immediately realized I was faced with something unique and great. I like to mention these four names also because they belong to a moment in my life in which I still didn't know what I would do, but I was drawn towards them.

MGV: Non essere cattivo (2015) was Claudio Caligari's last, poignant and wonderful film, released posthumously. What are your memories of him?

LM: Claudio Caligari was a gigantic meeting for me, from him I learned how important expression and communication, sharing and respect are. I understood how much this profession is life and how much life can be put into it. I witnessed enormous courage and a great knowledge of filmmaking. I also learned the dedication and immense respect that one must have for the public, for what is proposed, for how one interacts with those who come to see a film, without ever putting oneself on a pedestal but being all together. Caligari taught me to never judge myself, nor others, nor the stories one tells nor the characters one plays but that one must stay with them, inhabit them. These are the few things, fundamental for me, that come to mind. Beyond this, every single memory is a source of inspiration and guidance for me. And then the certainty that love and passion are the only things that really keep us here and now, alive.

MGV: In 2019 you played the complex character of Martin Eden in the film of the same name directed by Pietro Marcello, and you won the Volpi Cup at the Venice Film Festival. What did this role mean to you? And what was it like working with Pietro Marcello? 

LM: The collaboration with Pietro arose from a secular prayer which has been fulfilled over the years. I was a great observer of his work and his art and finally being able to work together was a great gift, a true exchange based on trust. We all found ourselves in a moment of grace, in a state that allowed us to work with great concentration and dedication together. As for the role, I think Martin Eden is one of the most beautiful male characters of the last century, in one of the most powerful novels ever written. I owe a lot to this character, not only a very prestigious award, but also important artistic and personal growth.

MGV: You have played an extremely wide range of roles, spanning from one film genre to another. Beyond your exuberant talent and the extreme versatility of your performances, what is striking about your acting is the generosity with which you embrace each character, offering your all. How do you prepare your roles? 

LM: It's like a kind of love at first sight; I fall in love with the story, with the character and from that moment on I begin to see everything in that direction. It is an almost routine behavior that I have never schematised. If someone were to ask me, "How do you approach a character?" I would answer that I have no idea, but every time I do it more or less in the same way. There is certainly a certain affinity with the director and an involvement in the script and the character. Little by little I'm starting to eat all the information I can find. I am often offered films to watch, and then I discuss them with the director. I love working with imagination and thinking about every element of the character. I like being with the costume designer, working on the costume and then creating the look of my character with makeup and hair. I'm very happy when I can have my say too. As I said before, I fall in love with the character and I begin to see everything in that light. My wife always tells me: "You've already started!" I don't notice but she does! "You've already started!" it means that everything has started to take on that colour, but I don't do it on purpose, I believe that there is a more intelligent, unconscious part inside me that organizes my work. It's a bit like this!

MGV: A few years ago Paolo Virzì, who directed you in Tutti i santi giorni, said of you: "Luca is a phenomenon, he's intelligent, witty, but at the same time he's crazy, he becomes what he's doing. All the great actors have a kind of lack, a defect, they know who they are and therefore they are enthusiastic about becoming the one who proposes to them!" What do you think? 

LM: I agree with him, all this is said with deep love and therefore I accept everything he says about me. I love Paolo so much and I think he understood me more than I understood myself. In fact I think none of us really have a clear focus on who we are and what we can be. Of course this is an interview from a few years ago, perhaps now I know slightly more - but only slightly [laughs] - who I am because I am closing, so to speak, the first act of my life, given that this year I will be turning 40!

MGV: Being an actor is a collective profession. Over the course of your career, a very significant bond has been created between you and Alessandro Borghi, with whom you collaborated for the first time in Non essere cattivo and who you met again on the set of Le otto montagne of Felix Van Groeningen and Charlotte Vandermeersch, Jury Prize at Cannes. Could you tell me about your working relationship and your friendship?

LM: I'll start from the beginning of what you said; for me this isn’t a job we do by ourselves. This art doesn’t exist without the other. Even a monologue is not done alone but with the audience. Acting is always a way of expressing oneself and communicating. I adore, as I said before, teamwork, over the years I have happened to work with many wonderful colleagues who have become important friends and then there was this magnificent meeting with Alessandro during Non essere cattivo, a film that carries within itself something sacred due to how it was approached, and due to the strength of the great Claudio Caligari who created it. The two of us found ourselves actors in this extraordinary work which united us so much, creating a deep bond between us which at that moment was needed, let's say, for the film but which the film then gave us for life. Since then this friendship has continued and gone forward, without interruption. After Non essere cattivo for six years we were no longer able to work together, then suddenly another wonderful film arrived, full of love: Le otto montagne and thanks to two fantastic directors, Felix and Charlotte, we managed to make this friendship coincide again on the screen too. Alessandro and I are good together. At work, to put it in a football metaphor, for me it's like I always know where the other guy is so I can make a cross almost with my eyes closed because I know he gets the ball, stops it and shoots it towards goal! We have great chemistry and on set, we don't need to worry too much. I hope we can work together again soon. I happened to see an interview where we said that we promised ourselves not to wait another seven years to do it, but now it's been almost three years already so we have to hurry!

MGV: For a few years now you have also started an important international career by participating in important productions such as The Old Guard by Gina Prince-Bythewood with Charlize Theron which was a huge success on Netflix, the series Trust (2018) by Danny Boyle, written by Simon Beaufoy and starring, among others, Donald Sutherland, and a production for German television: Die Pfeiler der Macht (A Dangerous Fortune, 2016), by Christian Schwochow. How did you experience dealing with all these new production realities?

LM: In every latitude there is a slightly different type of approach but essentially the work is always the same. The thing that always excites me is that, ultimately, we all find ourselves in the common language of acting, of art. I was lucky enough to work with some wonderful international casts, not only every single actor but also the technical departments and directors were wonderful people. Ultimately, the place changes geographically, but the work remains the same.

MGV: As a member of the Jury of the International Competition, what will your evaluation criteria be?

LM: I was just looking at the list of films in competition and judging by the images that accompany them I already like them all, so maybe I'm off to a bad start! [laughs] I don't actually have any specific parameters. I certainly won't judge only the performers, but I will look at the film as a whole. However, for me it is essential to start from the assumption of great respect for the film itself, because every film is a work that requires great efforts from many people and for this reason must be evaluated with consideration. Having said that, I would like to have a good dialogue with the film, an intelligent dialogue on an intellectual and emotional level. In short, I hope that a film leaves me with a thought, a sensation, an emotion.

As usual, sorry for any mistake and my English

[alocon]

My Person - Mick Schumacher

written by alocon

Summary: You're an aggressive driver... except when it comes to him

Before you read: Couple of curse words x

fc: N/A

[The Masterlist]

MS47 X Fem!Reader

Mad Max had seen nothing on you when you got crashed into in a race. The media, especially Drive to Survive, had always portrayed you as some evil, harsh, aggressive woman when you were nothing but a sweet, loving soul behind the camera, behind the racing where people actually know you. Sure, you weren't too big on making friends or pursuing friendships with people you didn't trust. You were friends with all the drivers, though. Even if you weren't best friends with them all, you were still relatively close with them all. That didn't stop the media from treating you as though you were the human equivalent of a pile of garbage. Typical. 

The drivers insisted that you were completely different from racing but no one believed it. Your positive radio messages praising good moves, even those against you, weren't shown and all your good deeds seemed to be overshadowed by DTS. You had fans though who knew all that you liked and what you were actually like. 

It didn't matter to them, though. To the media, to DTS, you were nothing but an evil, harsh, rude, disrespectful driver. You couldn't help being passionate about your job, though. You wanted to make your family proud. You wanted to make the whole of Brazil proud. You needed to make the whole of Brazil proud. So it made you tough, determined, it made you realise that there isn't much you wouldn't do to achieve your dreams. If it meant all your time and effort, it meant all that time and effort. Every. Single. Bit. But that's just something that came with being a Brazilian, determined Formula One driver who's dad was THE Rubens Barrichello.

Your dad and Michael Schumacher were closer than people believed. It was sometimes played off as a rivalry with a hint of friendship but, realistically speaking, they were relatively good friends. You weren't too close with their family, though, until around 2009. You had always been a very determined racer. And that meant being overly competitive in your karting days. Most of your karting group weren't as close with you because of that. Except one person - Mick Schumacher.

The friendship between you both had started off with you being quiet and closed off to everyone. He had been very determined to change that. Over time, you had learnt to tolerate his bubbly, smiley self and had started to care deeply for the man. He was the only person you allowed yourself around. You had never once raised your voice at him. Then again, you had never been angry at him post race. He had always been there if you had been taken out of a race. Whether that be him having DNFed as well or after he finished a race, he would always be there for you. And you were for him. No matter what happened, if he finished the race, if he dnfed, etc. you always made it very very clear that you were proud of him. You never let him feel anything but an incredible driver, an incredible person. Because that is exactly what he was. A good talent in a shitbox Haas. A good person. Your person. 

A fond memory the pair of you held was when Gina had convinced you both to watch Grey's Anatomy so she could discuss it with someone and you had watched it together. When Meredith first called Christina her person, Mick had looked down at you, where you had been cuddled into his gentle embrace. “You know,” he had said softly, pausing for a moment as you looked up at him, watching you as your beautiful eyes had met his, softening the second you had looked at him, nothing but adoration in your eyes. “You're my person.” He had stated it so genuinely, his hand running through your hair as you both just stared at each other. He had watched the way your eyes seemed to light up the second he said it. Just when he was convinced he couldn't pine over someone as much as he did, you once again had proved him wrong.

Mick had never considered himself scared of you. Lots of people would say that he was only friends with you because he was scared of you. But that wasn't true. That had never been true. He loved who you were when you were with him. He knew how misunderstood you were. He knew that, sure, sometimes you got pissed off when you DNFed, but everyone did. Sure, sometimes you would exchange a few words back and forth with another driver who took you out, but you always apologised if you got angry and the occasions you were very angry were incredibly rare. As in, he had only seen you properly shout at someone 3 times in the time he'd known you - once when Pierre Gasly had been driving incredibly recklessly and you had yelled at him a little bit because he easily could've seriously injured someone, once in Karting when you were 11 and someone had cost you the championship through a stupid move (yes, you had apologised for that), and in 2021 when Max Verstappen had crashed you out of the championship fight. You wouldn't have yelled at the man (and slapped him) had he not had that fucking smirk on his face when he found out that he was still in the championship fight, even though you weren't. He didn't care about you no longer being in the championship. In fact, it suited him better because it had been a two way tie instead of 3. He had later apologised for that though so, not wanting to cause any drama, you accepted.

Mick had never felt so scared in his life as he had been during the 2022 Japanese Grand Prix. Someone, he wasn't sure who, had hit the back of his car and he had felt his heart stop when he felt himself latch onto the back of your car, dragging you with him, quite roughly. What had stopped his heart most, at that point, was the tractor that was on track without a red flag. Luckily, to both of your luck, you were both in a position where you were just out of the way so you had both hit the barrier, albeit pretty hard, but without any tractor incidents. And the race had finally been red flagged. You hit your hands on the steering wheel, speaking over the radio. “For f**ks sake. Please tell me I'm not out of the championship.”

“You're not, Y/N. You're still in the championship race.”

“Thank f**king God. Who even crashed into me? That could've been so dangerous for both of us if we had gone into that tractor.”

“Uhm, it appears to be Schumacher. All cars are past, you can get out of your car now.”

You had taken your seat belt off with record speed, getting out of the car and replacing the steering wheel. You turned, seeing Mick. He was sitting on the floor, knees brought up to his chest, helmet off, and his head in his arms. You were confused. Was he hurt? You headed over to him, crouching down.

“Mick. You okay?” He looked up at you, nodding. “You're not hurt, no?” He shook his head. “Alright. Come on, let's go get in the car and get back to the pits, alright?” He followed you.

However, once you got out of the car, he rushed off straight to the Haas garage. No goodbye or anything, just left. Placing your helmet into the hands of your race engineer, you watched Mick wipe his face as he headed into the Haas garage. You turned to your race engineer, zoning in as he questioned you on you being okay and not injured and stuff.

You had joined Formula One in 2021 with Porsche. Porsche weren’t meant to be coming into F1 for a few years, however, they had somehow managed to convince the FIA that there should be an 11th team on the grid and, somehow, they had agreed. Willingly. Thus, Porsche F1 Team was born. The grid increased from 20 drivers to 22, with you being joined by someone you drove in F2 with - Felipe Drugovich, another Brazilian driver. You had been beyond hyped, especially when Porsche had absolutely ripped, bringing you all to P4 in the constructors in its first season. Now, however, there was a chance of it being P1. And you were going to take that chance. Your dream was to be a champion, to make your country and your dad proud, and you would do anything to make that happen.

Feeling a tap on your shoulder, you turned to see a frantic Haas employee. “I'm so sorry for interrupting. Mick is freaking out, we need you.”

“What happened? Is he okay?”

“He's really worried that he took you out of the championship. I think he's scared to lose you. We tried to reassure him but I think it would be better coming from you. He also isn't going to medical despite needing to.”

You turned to your race engineer. “Can we catch up later?”

He shook his head. “Y/N you need to go get checked in the medical centre. That should be your priority right now.”

“No. I don't think you understand. Mick is my priority. Always. I'll go to medical with him.” You walked away quickly, following his race engineer towards Haas.

You walked into the garage, ignoring the weird looks you were getting, and straight over to the German driver who was sitting in the back corner, just like how you found him at the track, but inside this time, surrounded by people. They quickly cleared off when you signalled for them to. You knelt down in front of him. You didn't say anything, placing your hand gently on his knee.

He looked at you. “I am so so sorry,” he whispered, and you could see that he'd been trying.

“For what? You didn't mean to take me out with you.”

He had already looked away from your face.  “Yeah but I ruined your chance of winning the championship again. I'm so sorry. Please don't hate me, I don't want to lose you.”

You placed your finger on his chin, lifting his head so his eyes met yours. Your hand then moved up to his cheek, taking his face into your hand softly. “Mickey, you didn't take me out of the championship. I can still win. And even if you did, you wouldn't lose me, alright?”

“But… Max last year.”

“Mick Schumacher, the only way that you will lose me is the day that I die.” He smiled slightly and you took the opportunity to wipe a bit of the wetness on his face away with your thumb. “Plus, that was so, so different. Max smirked and made a comment when he found out I wasn't in the championship, it was deliberate, and I still forgave him. But he's nothing compared to how far you would genuinely have to go to push me away.”

“I don't get it, why?”

“You're Mick. You're my Mick. You're my person and I love you more than I'll ever be able to express to you.”

You hadn't felt his hand on the back of your neck until it pulled you to connect your lips with his. You didn't react at first, just genuinely in shock at the feeling of his lips on yours. His soft, gentle lips. The thing you had always wanted. And it was what you had wanted for years. And then he pulled away. “Fuck, I'm so sorry Y/N, I wasn't thinking. I shouldn't have-” You cut him off again to reconnect your lips, which he seemed to appreciate, as evident by his grip on your hair tightening slightly. 

You pulled away from the kiss. “Odds on our PR managers having heart attacks right now?”

He chuckled quietly, showing you that beautiful smile of his that you adored. “Oh, almost 100%,” he responded, causing you to laugh as well, head leaning to rest on his shoulder. “We're on camera,” he whispered in your ear. 

“Give them a wave,” you joked in response. “I believe we have to take a trip to medical.” You stood up, hand outstretched to take his. You shot a wink at the camera as you both stood up, before you walked out of the garage.

-Word Count: 2,083-

Hi All, This is short and quickly written and unedited. Apologies for not posting this on Monday. Let me know if you want to be on my general taglist Have a good day x Alocon

General Taglist: @casperlikej

[twopoppies]

Gina, one of my newest favorite authors, Itsmotivatingcara, posted this today about Liam. I am crying again after reading it. However, I'm so grateful to her for writing and posting this, and I'm so glad I saw it and read it. Would you please share it with the Fandom? Beautiful words from and for a beautiful soul. Thank you.

https://archiveofourown.org/works/59907451

Thank you for sharing this. It's very moving. And... unsurprisingly, I am crying again.

Thursday Morning by itsmotivatingcara (GA, 2K)

A letter for those mourning Liam James Payne. May he rest gently in love and light xx

[thetreestumptherapist]

🎵YOU CAN'T TAKE THE SKY FROM ME!

So, I finished Firefly the other day and am just now getting to posting about it. I had started a draft while I was on like episode 8, but never got to publishing it.

My thoughts on and related to Firefly:

NATHAN FILLION

So, this is the show the internet is mad about. WELL, ME TOO!

Theme song ingrained in my brain within 3 episodes. Like, I felt like I knew it from a past life and couldn't remember the words but I knew it with my soul, type of ingrained. I studied the theme hard so I could sing along with it during the short time I watched the show.

(At episode 6) I like this show. Mentally I know this show is short. Emotionally I am just now getting deeply invested and setting myself up for heartbreak.

I need to go back and watch all the other Nathan Fillion things I have watched and look for all the references to Firefly that I missed.

(On the last episode and after the show) Gorram you Fox! Even Swiper has more decency than you!

In examining my own preferences of steampunky themes and apparently cop shows (Can't wait for Rookie season 7), I now need a steampunk cop show.

Having watched Warehouse 13 and The Librarians directly before watching Firefly, and seeing how well Fillion plays the aloof, loyal, caring, can't-keep-his-hands-off-the-really-cool/shiny-and-probably-dangerous-artifact type characters, I now need an Indiana Jones type adventure, but with Nathan Fillion. Infinite bonus if it has Alan Tudyk, Gina Torres, Adam Baldwyn, Jewel Staite, and Morena Baccarin starring in it. I would also love if Sean Maher, and especially Summer Glau could also come back. I really want to see Summer in a not mentally ill role, but she mostly does bit parts in stuff that I am not really interested in.

Individual thoughts *SPOILERS*:

Jayne needs to start thinking with his brain, and not the thing between his legs.

I absolutely LOVE when Mal threatens Jayne after he tried to sell River to the Fed's. "You turn on any of my crew, you turn on me" and "Next time you stab me in the back, have the guts to do it to my face" are beautiful quotes that I will be making a part of my personality despite not having a ship, crew, or having been stabbed in the back

It's interesting to see what aspects of Fillion's personality go with him from character to character. From Mal, to Castle, Cayde-6, and John Nolan. They all care deeply about their crew even if they aren't really good with showing affection, and I can tell that Nathan cares about his people too.

I haven't watched the movie yet. I have it, I just haven't watched it. I've also heard bad things about it. But, I plan to watch it anyway. If it ends poorly I will absolutely be making a headcanon.

I wish so bad that it had lasted longer, but alas, 14 fantabulous episodes, a movie, and our imaginations is all that we have.

Also, does anyone know of any good Firefly fanfics? I would love to read them.

[blacklesbothatlovestowrite]

On My Mama Pt. 3

It was the day after your move and you were still pissed at the meddling duo. You were going over ways to hit back harder in your head, whilst trying to pay attention to your classes. You'd barely made it through your school day, anger heating your gut as you tried to stay focused.

"Nina move your big head!" Gina hissed, as Nina stood in front of you and Gina. She was yammering on about some party that was being thrown and how she'd scored you all an invite.

Gina had been a major help to you, before Nina walked up and disturbed the conversation. You'd asked her about Riri and Shuri's past women, wanting to know who they were. However as she spoke of them all, there was only one that stood out. Bria, a South African beauty that had a smile that reached her eyes.

Bria

You'd gotten the story of how Riri and Shuri competed for women, yet she was the only one they had shared. They had a small situationship that fizzled out because Bria wasn't into the duo's childishness. She wanted something serious, whereas the other two were into playing games. It was known that Riri wasn't as bad off as Shuri however she still didn't want to be in anything serious.

The end of the situationship caused strife as Bria was Shuri's friend before anything and when the trio parted ways Bria cut Shuri off like she was nothing and moved on. It was a known fact that after Bria, Shuri's partying got worse yet no one was brave enough to say that to the girl's face.

As Nina kept on talking, you moved your head to look past her to where Bria stood talking to someone. She was gorgeous, had a very attractive body and was very well known around on social media. She was perfect for what you had in mind.

You walked away ignoring whatever question Nina threw at you, and approached Bria with long strides in your stilettos. Your mind was conjuring up thoughts of just what you planned on doing.

You stopped right in front of her and glared at the person she was talking to until they stopped speaking and cleared their throat uncomfortably. You kept staring at them with your dark shades until they made an excuse to scurry away.

"That was quite rude." Bria says, staring at you with curiosity.

"Maybe so." You agreed. "I'm Y/n."

"Bria." The girl says, eyeing you. She was trying to be discreet, you could tell.

"I won't beat around the bush or feed you any bullshit." You start, licking your lips before smiling devilishly. "I have two very annoying roommates of which you are intimately familiar with. What do you say to us getting as familiar?"

"I... uh...." She looked shocked as she processed what you'd said to her.

"Well while you think that over, why don't we get to know each other?" You quickly grabbed her hand and led her towards your car.

-

After a week of casually hanging out you realized you and Bria had quite a bit in common. She was easy to talk to and you couldn't help how much you opened up to her. She had this vibe around her that made you feel at ease, and talking to her was therapeutic.

After talking to Bria and explaining why you were angry with Shuri on the whole mother front, she was flabbergasted to say the least. Once you got to how they'd forced you into being their roommate she was quick to agree to help you get under their skin.

You cracked open a bottle of expensive wine, prepped some cheese and crackers and were wrapped up in conversation with Bria. She was funny and blunt. She told you about her experience with the meddlesome duo, how she'd really liked them but quickly realized they didn't feel the same. The more you two talked the more you found you liked hanging with her.

You stood from your bed and turned on your record player. You played Jhene Aiko's álbum 'Souled Out' your favorite album of all time.

"Wanna help me make the popcorn?" You asked, as she lounged on your bed. You'd invited her over for a sleepover. After a few public hugs and lunches, it was all over campus that the two of you were friends. You planned on showing Shuri and Riri just how friendly you were with Bria.

"Sure." Bria shrugged, as you headed for the kitchen. The apartment was empty as Shuri and Riri were at their lab according to their schedule on their board.

As you made the popcorn, you drizzled caramel, chocolate and sea salt over it. While Bria grabbed strawberries, washing them and dipping them in the leftover chocolate.

She grabbed the can of whipped cream and started to put it on the top part of the strawberries where she'd cut off the stem part. After she finished she hopped on the counter and sprayed whipped cream in her mouth and smiled as she swallowed.

"Want some?" She asked. You nodded before walking towards her, standing in between her legs.

You giggled as she put the whipped cream to your mouth. As you swallowed, your eyes locked with hers and you kissed her, your tongue caressing hers as her hands encased your body. Your lips moved together like peaceful waves in harmony.

As the two of you kissed, your head raced with thoughts of just what you were doing. But you couldn't will yourself to pull away. The front door opening and footsteps had you jumping slightly. You stared at Bria with an uncertain gaze.

"Bria?" Shuri gasped, stopping mid step, causing Riri to bump into her.

"Hey..." Bria said, looking from Shuri to Riri.

"W...what's goin on?" Shuri stuttered. She'd seen pictures of the two of you all over her Instagram but she and Riri thought you were friends according to the school gossip.

"Y/n, invited me over for a sleepover." Bria smiles at you. You felt weird. This was the exact scenario you'd wanted yet you felt strange about it. You couldn't even say anything as you were still stuck on the kiss.

"We'll get out of your hair." Bria says, handing you the plate with the strawberries as she grasped the bowl of popcorn. You moved your eyes watching her as she hopped down and headed for your bedroom and you followed silently.

The rest of the night went by with you on autopilot, Bria was talking and you simply listened as your music played. After a while you decided to smoke to help let go and relax. Bria agreed, and you rolled up before lighting the blunt.

"You're so beautiful." You say, as you blew smoke from your nose.

"No, you're beautiful." Bria asserts, as she took a long drag before shotgunning the smoke into your mouth. You inhaled the smoke, holding it before letting it go. She learned until her lips brushed your ear. "Are we still on?"

"Yes." Is all you say before she puts the blunt out and to the side. She grasps your neck with her hand and kisses you, and your eyes flutter close.

Her soft lips and hands move over your body, pulling angelic moans from your mouth as she plays your body like the rarest harp. Her fingers strumming your most sensitive spot, over and over.

She has you coming until you're completely exhausted and your limbs are weighed down by the promise of a good rest. The last thing you remember is wanting her to cuddle you and the thought getting lost as you fall into the deep abyss.

-

The next morning you wake up to a text from Bria thanking you for the previous night. You feel oddly hurt at the fact she'd left without saying anything to you and the thought angers you. You've never cared enough about anyone you've slept with in the past so to have her be so nonchalant when you were usually that way was hard to swallow.

You moved through your morning routine and got dressed before leaving your room to see Riri at the kitchen island, eating a bowl of cereal.

"Good morning." She mumbled. It was obvious she was angry and while that should have made you happy, it didn't.

"Morning." You returned before grabbing your oats to make a creamy oats porridge with maple sugar, cinnamon and almond milk.

"Quite a performance you put on last night." Riri raised a brow.

"If you thought that was a performance I pity whoever you've fucked." You rolled your eyes, as you made your breakfast.

"I wasn't speaking on the sex. Though you should know Bria's skills are thanks to Shuri and I. We taught her everything she knows." Riri gloated.

"Congratulations, do you want a cookie?" You scoffed, as you stirred the oats in the pot.

"I see hurricane Bria worked you over." Riri shakes her head. "I should probably warn you she's quite the manipulator. But I figure you'll learn that all on your own. You're stubborn."

"I'm just having fun." You lie. Unsure of why you felt the need to. You weren't sure what you wanted however you knew Bria wasn't interested in anything with you. She was simply into getting Shuri and Riri back, however you didn't mind her friendship. She seemed genuine.

"If you say so." Riri shrugged, as she finished her bowl of cereal. "What do you plan on doing today?"

"Why is that your business?" You give her a look, as you bowl your oats porridge and start eating.

"So nothing. Got it." Riri grinned. "What do you say to a little roommate bonding?"

"No thanks."

"Come on, you can't be this boring. All that attitude isn't all you've got as a personality. Come shoot hoops with me." Riri begged, you fixed her with a displeased frown as you continued to eat.

"I heard you were into sports that you played basketball, softball and ran track for years." Riri's eyes brightened as she brought up your past. "That doesn't just go away."

'Yeah, well it did." You stop eating, and place your bowl in the fridge no longer hungry and head for your room not wanting to think on anything she'd said.

"Hey..." Her hand clasps around your wrist gently. You tense, not wanting to be touched.

"I know what happened and I'm sorry for your loss. I'm not trying to play games with you. I just want to be your friend, you could use one." Riri's voice seems sincere, and for the slightest moment your resolve wavers.

"Fine but we're running I'm not interested in playing ball I haven't played since..." You regret having to even say anything but as quickly as it's said, she immediately agrees.

Despite the nagging feelings of wanting to tell her to fuck herself, you bite the bullet and get ready for the run. You wear a pretty lilac seamless bralette and short set with a white cropped jacket that fits you just right and pair it with your white hoka running shoes.

Riri forces you to eat a granola bar and banana by naming the number of things that can happen if you don't before your run. You both agree on a nearby park that has a long path for walkers, joggers and runners.

The walk there is interesting, with you refusing to speak and Riri filling the conversation for the both of you. She's goofy, and playful a side you've never seen because she'd always be flirting or trying to get you to go out with her.

She goes on and on about things she's into, like basketball, running, technology. You find that she has many shared interests with you, including music, food and fashion. She'd be a stem, if she'd label herself though she prefers no labels as she hates social norms and rules.

As she talks you feel more and more comfortable around her. It's like on the one hand you had all these preconceived notions of what she was like and on the other hand you were now realizing what she really was like. You still hated that she was whatever she was with Shuri but you could separate the two.

The run was electrifying, you felt so good, so empowered and so free. There was nothing on your mind as the two of you ran in silence. You hated to admit you'd missed this, the feeling running gave you. It had been so long since you'd ran, you couldn't think about the last time you ran.

It'd been so long, it was a regular occurrence for you and your father to run together in the mornings before school. He was your biggest cheerleader, he took care of you whilst your mother focused on her career. She was always self centered and narcissistic, at times you wondered idly why he put up with her for so long.

She was incredibly selfish, it wasn't a shock that she cheated on him. It was more shocking that it was with a woman, she was such a hypocrite. She'd berated you about liking women, even went as far as slapping you across the face when you'd came out to her. Then to know she not only cheated with a woman but the woman you'd been obsessing over for years.

She was a shit mother, always had been yet you loved her anyway. Always forgave her because it was what your father wanted, while he made certain she treated you right. Up until the night everything changed, you'd respected her, loved her, did everything a dutiful daughter could do.

The moment you'd found how devastated your father was when he'd found out callously how she'd fucked another woman your age and just what became of him being in that state... You hated her, you hated her so much you couldn't stand the sight of her. She disgusted you.

The moment the adrenaline caught up with you, your chest tightened and your eyes went blurry and you keeled over with a heart wrenching cry. You chest heaving with breaths, as you got lost in the memories of the day you'd lost your father, the last run that you'd shared.

"Y/n..." Riri called, catching up with you. "Hey, hey, hey... Breathe. Come on, you can do it, just breathe..."

You tried several unsuccessful attempts at getting yourself together, your eyes watering as you struggled to stop the panic attack. You barely registered her hands, gripping you as she led you to an empty bench along the path.

"You're fine, You're going to be ok." Riri assured, kneeling in front of you with her hands on your knees. "Just breathe. In and out."

You listened.

Taking deep breaths, trying to control yourself.

It took a few minutes before you could gather yourself. The whole time, Riri spoke words of encouragement and affirmations. She had a calming effect that just seemed to wash over you.

"You good?" She asked, her eyes full of understanding.

"Y-Yeah..." You stuttered.

"I take it you also ran with your dad?" Riri asked, her tone was soft like she was trying to handle me with care.

"Yeah." You whispered, as tears ran down your cheeks. You swiped at your face, hating that she was seeing you be so weak. You hated showing that side of yourself to anyone. As the only person to ever acknowledge and help you when you were feeling down was gone.

"You know, I lost my father too." Riri admitted, and you stared at her with wide eyes. No one had told you that. "It was a long time ago..."

"I'm sorry." It was the first genuine thing you'd ever said to her that wasn't mean or shady. You felt bad at how you'd treated her seeing as how she was being nice to you.

"I know exactly how you feel right now, I've been there. It wasn't easy moving away from feeling so tormented and hurt and angry but I poured my all into being everything he'd of wanted me to be." Riri has a faraway look in her eyes, as she shakes her head. "He died because of me. I'd wanted to have a family picnic, he'd just come in from working all night and had forgotten about it. My best friend Natalie was coming back to Chi town to visit, and I hadn't seen her in months since she'd moved away. So I begged and pleaded until he gave in and brought me to that park. We'd only been there for a few minutes, he was walking Natalie over to my mother and I at our table when they were struck by stray bullets..."

"Ri...." You gasped as her eyes got glassy. She'd witnessed something truly horrific and traumatizing. "It's not your fault. Whoever shot that gun is at fault, not you."

"I've made peace with it. I used to blame myself for the longest, but then I worked through my grief and guilt. The hardest thing I ever did was forgive who'd done it, it wasn't easy. But it freed me from all the hatred and anger burning inside me." Riri swallowed, taking a deep breath. "This may be hard to hear but you need to hear it. Hating people isn't going to change what happened, you need to forgive. Not for them, but for you. You're only hurting yourself by giving these people the power to control your emotions, to fuel them. You are so bright, so smart, so creative. I've learned a lot about you albeit not very legally but I know enough to know that you are a good person with a big heart that tries to pretend like you don't care about anyone when we both know it isn't true. You deserve to be free of whatever anger, hurt, and despair that is harming you."

You stared at her, not wanting to accept what she was saying. Just because she was willing to forgive such a heinous act; didn't mean you had to do the same.

"I know someone exactly where you are. Exactly where I was... and I'm going to tell you the same thing I told them." Riri said, sternly. "You are only hurting yourself, by being so angry. You may feel as though you want to make the whole world pay but that isn't going to change anything. It won't make you feel any better. You have to forgive. Forgive and give yourself the time to grieve without your anger leading you."

"Look, I appreciate you sharing your story with me... but I'm not you. You don't know me. I don't need saving, nor do I need any motivational speeches about overcoming my emotions. If you want to be friends, save that shit for someone who needs it." You said, your tone sharp. You meant every word.

"Understood." Riri nodded to herself, standing. You stood as well wanting to shower, eat something and bury yourself in your sheets for the rest of the day.

When the two of you returned back to the apartment, you were shocked to see Shuri. She was so drunk she was stumbling, singing some tune while giggling to herself. You frowned as you watched the girl with new eyes.

"Riri!" Shuri exclaimed, as she smiled widely at her friend. "You missed a great opportunity today, that lab girl that's always flirting practically begged me to let her eat my--"

"Okay... Let's get you to bed..." Riri sighed, looking at her watch to see it was just after one in the afternoon. She hated when Shuri got like this. Drinking, smoking and fucking randoms. She wanted nothing more than for Shuri to heal, to let go of the hurt and stop leaning on these habits of hers.

"Oh... Y/n...." Shuri giggled, as Riri grabbed her around the waist to help her to her room. "Fuck, I wish you didn't hate me... You're so good, and pretty and I f-fucked up by f-fucking your mom and--"

"Shuri!" Riri scolded, wanting to slap the taller girl. Drunk apologizing was not it, and by the look on your face it hadn't scored Shuri any points. She could see the hatred in your eyes, as you looked Shuri over before heading into your room and slamming the door.

"See... She h-hates me..." Shuri laughed.

"I hate when you're like this..." Riri grumbled, leading Shuri to her bedroom.

-

After a little hiatus, I'm back! Thanks to everyone that supported my blog while I was away. I really appreciate you all. I was working on my stories that I plan on self publishing in RL because I'm a sapphic girl with sapphic reading desires.

Anyway, let me know what you thought of this part. I rushed in Bria's character because BOY do I have plans....

[heavencanbeaprisontoo]

Living with Michael Gray

Michael Gray x Fem!Reader

Warnings: Fluff, heavy angst, references to Gina Gray, dr-g ab-se, depression, spoilers for season 5, infidelity, and period-typical sexism.

Domestic Michael Headcanons

Michael likes to move forward and that reflects strongly in the luxurious apartment he buys for you. He’s one who probably drew up the blueprints for the interior’s design. If he were to buy a home in a suburb (never the country), he would likely draw up the blueprints for that home too. Everything in his home is violently modern, on the cutting-edge of what new money can afford. However, in the midst of architectural perfection and hard angles of the Art Deco movement, there’s something missing. Michael. He has a beautiful home that looks exactly as he wanted it to, but it doesn’t represent him. This home has no soul. It is as hollow as the mask he wears.

Be prepared to go through phases of rarely seeing Michael at all. Michael has a very poor sense of work-life balance. When times are rough, Michael will take his puff of snow and bury himself into his work for most of the day. He’s likely to wake you up at some odd hour of the morning when he drops into bed, still half-dressed and on top of the covers. You can rub his back and try to tell him he’s working himself to death, he will not listen. Michael works like he’s running out of time. Like every second he rests is costing him a vital opportunity. He can be very jumpy, and moody, but it’s mostly the coke. It makes you happy to see him go to work. Then, you just get sad. 

When business is going well, Michael is at your side as a constant. Unless, of course, he’s still married to Gina. In that case, he might be lying to Gina about work being rough so that he can be with you as much as possible. Now that you think of it, was work ‘rough,’ last week, or was he just with Gina that whole time? If Michael is still with Gina in your world, you may never really know. 

When Michael is with you it can be hard to keep a straight head. The days where Michael is home, all his focus is on you. It’s addicting. His eyes follow you as he takes a drag of his cigarette, tracing the zipper of your gown as if to will it down. He likes to come up behind you as you undress for bed and nuzzle your throat, hands gripping your hips to pull you into him. His touch, his soft words, his promises of more wealth to come, it makes you forget all the ugly that comes with this beautiful life. 

Relationship Headcanons

Whether he stays in England or goes elsewhere, you always get the feeling Michael is lonely. Even with your arms around his neck, he gets this far-off look in his eye. You suspect it has to do with his family. He won’t tell you until you’ve caught him with a tear on his cheek and his mother’s photo on his desk. Michael hates to express regret or sadness, so it takes him some time to really let that out around you. If he does, he’s yours forever. You’ll be years into your marriage before he starts to talk to you about his adoptive family or his life in that little village he ran away from. He likes to say that he doesn’t think about it much, “Because it feels like it happened to someone else,” but you don’t believe him. 

In order to marry and have children, this will need to be a world where you meet Michael before Gina Nelson ever sees him. Because once he’s married, it would take a significant event for him to ever leave her. Love on its own cannot sway him. And Gina won’t let him go without a fight, even if she doesn’t like him anymore. 

So, you marry Michael. Not much will change in your life together until you fall pregnant, and it’s a positive change. Michael may be a work-obsessed man with a loose grasp on his own identity, but fatherhood is very stabilizing for him. He has a legacy to protect now. Someone who will depend on him and look up to him. It’s added pressure, but Michael can’t be happy without something to solve. Michael is very hands-on as a father, but only when it’s just you and him. He defers to you or the nanny to care after your children if there’s company around. That pesky masculine pride of his won’t let him look soft in front of other men. 

Until you have fully broken through his defenses, Michael will have frequent cycles of being “hot and cold.” There are days where he can’t take his hands off of you, lips attacking your neck and chest, buttons from your shirt clattering to the floor. He holds you like he’ll fall through the floor if he lets go. Michael will decorate you in fancy gifts like you’re a goddess and he’s your most devout worshipper. Then, weeks later, you may as well be invisible. If he’s home, he’s only there long enough to change his clothes and place a phone call. Might forget to even say goodbye as he rushes out to build a greater fortune. Michael will rush about the house without glancing your way or answering your questions with more than two words. Push him hard enough and he might say something he regrets. 

When Michael is calm, and sober, he’s a soothing person to be around. You can vent to him about your problems for hours and he’ll just listen. Michael is smart, and he’s educated, so you can talk about most subjects and have an invested conversation partner. Michael has no problem with debating politics with you or expressing his opinions. It’s when the topic becomes him, his family, or his feelings that things get difficult. He won’t press you about how you’re feeling. Isn’t the sort of person to dig into your private affairs. As long as you aren’t endangering yourself or the children, he will let you have your own world. Depending on who you are, this might be very refreshing… or you might feel very alone. 

[dougielombax]

“The picture is as beautiful as her soul.”

The picture, in question:

Yeah.

I think this was intentional on the artist’s part.

Fair play to him. (Vincent Namatjira)

Gina Rinehart is a GHASTLY woman.

A putrid, bigoted mining magnate and heiress.

A textbook example of the vulgar, idle rich.

(Ghastly as in stupid, unpleasant, and just AWFUL! Look her up!)

I like to think that this portrait shows her True Self.

The evil lurking underneath.

Even if it looks like she was exposed to the Elephant’s Foot at Chernobyl and started melting.

Still.

The picture is as beautiful as her soul.

Her dead, flint and shite coated, blackened, bloated, corpulent, empty soul!

And she doesn’t want anyone to see this portrait.

You know what that means!

Feel free to reblog.

Reblog the SHIT out of it!

[istherewifiinhell]

okay. heres what were all here for. tell me why the fuck im supposed to suck the dick of these uk comics

[ID: A man holding up an aged looking paper, with a medieval style drawing of a giant metal fire breathing man. He leans forward serious asking his son "... Did it look like this?" END]

marveltf story line, MAN OF IRON, 9-12 in the UK, or.... 33-34 in the us. alright lol do whatever i guess. first published in 1985

new vibe same procedure: Script: Steve Parkouse art: John Ridgeway (9-10) Mike Collins (11-12) Colours: Joise Fermin (9-10) Gina Hart (11-12) Nel Yomtov (US)* Letters: Richard Starkings Editor: Sheila Cranna and these caps are from the UK classics idw book so: Original Series Edits by Shelia Cranna and Ian Rimmer, editorial notes and assistance by James Roberts, Collection Edits by Justin Eisinger and Alonzo Simon, Collection Design by Shawn Lee (<- hey i know his work from turtles!)

*so the uk comics were part in colour and part B&W, to save costs... including the american reissues? printing costs i guess. but when reprinted in collected books, they would get the full colour treatment. whats not clear to me is WHO did those colours, its not listed anywhere i can find. ill simply have to assume its the same artists... and hope im not discrediting anyone....

AND ALSO the last page in this reprint apparently uses the US comic page, and i have a cap of that last page, so. Yomtov's in here too..... tf franchise the way u treat ur sacred texts breaks my turtles fan heart.

and lastly! the keen eyed may notice, we are back to toy accurate art, the character model designs haven't and wont make their way over until much later, I'm told.

well with all that perfectly convoluted business out of the way, lets explore what tfs is like across the pond.

[ID: The same man, Roy, driving as he thinks to himself "What kind of bozo would want to bomb the castle? The Saxon Liberation Front? The mind boggles…" END]

[spluttering laugh] so the humours a little different!

[ID: The boy, Sammy, climbing a tree, hand outstretched reaching for the arrow he lost. Standing, with his in the canopy is Jazz. Sammy yells in fear. END]

OKAY. so the vibes are little different

[ID: Caption Box: And the apparition was fearful, being a Man of Iron of great height and girth, seeming unheedful of quarrel, spear or sword…" The robot from the illustration, clearly transformer, but blockier, more retro scifi, standing in the middle of a medieval battle, men with chain-mail and swords looking at him with trepidation. Caption Box: The Man of Iron forded the stream at Eldric's Cross, making great strides for the abbey… and some brave souls followed, though none dared come too close…" Two of the fighters shown following him, a body shot with an arrow lays at the other side of the river. END]

damn okay. so the vibes are ALOT DIFFERENT

(no 10) sammy dreams

[ID: Sammy stands on a house rooftop, in his PJ's, looking down at the cobble street, where a seeker in alt mode rests. END]

[ID: Dark and moody art, a barely seen figure towers in the shadows over the residential houses. From a higher angle, its shown to be Mirage, he stands taking up the entire street, backlit and casting shadows. END]

WHAT THE FUCK. that is terrifying

(something about beautiful black inked art + toy model makes them so CREATURE)

[ID: Roy speaks to a man in army uniform. Roy: How large? Soldier: Well… ahh…at a rough estimate? About the size of an ocean-going liner. Roy: Whaat? Roy with a hand to his head in dismay: Well, for god's sake what is it? Solider: We don't know. I've called in extra men and we're going to excavate… END]

somethings! buried under the castle... gee well one wonders what it might be

[ID: Close on Jazz's alt mode dashboard, its filled with lights and screen of alien language. Hes saying: But I'm not a stranger, Sammy. Deep down, you know… don't you? You've been wanting an adventure all your life… Besides. I have something to tell you. Sammy looking doubtful. Jazz continues: Something really important. Sammy has a hand on Jazz's open door: Why not just sit for a while in the front seat? Just pretend you're driving… END]

JAZZ THATS KIDNAPPING BUD....

really get a kick outta this note in the printed version

[ID: REMEMBER: NEVER ACCEPT LIFTS FROM STRANGERS! TO BE CONTINUED! END]

(no 11)

[ID: Jazz speaks to Sammy on the road, a blue and white F1 car pulling up. "My name is unpronounceable in your language… so just call me Jazz! And that's Mirage right behind us!" Jazz takes a exit to a low road, a black camper truck driving alongside. "This is where we rendezvous with Trailbreaker. All set Sammy?" All three driving along, Sammy responds "Sure thing Jazz!" END]

[guitar riff] THE BOYS ARE BACK IN TOWN. im so glad all my good friends are here.

[ID: An fiery explosion engulfing Trailbreaker with a "Whaamf!". Wheels coming off, glass shattering, the truck top blowing to bits. Trailbreaker veering off road, a trail of fire and parts behind him calls out "Jazz! I'm hit... I'm hit BAD! END]

TRAILBREAKER NOOOO. who could have seen this coming...

[ID: Jazz narrowing swerving a missile. Exploding behind him, and speedlines trail him, and a wreath in flame around him. The colours are almost delicate, and a reflective glow in his paint. END]

wha. this just looks so cool.... what the hell....

[ID: Bluesteak, smiling speaking to comms "Autobot Bluestreak to patrol leader +++ Just brushed something off your tail, Jazz+++ try to be more careful in future, hmmm? Bluestreak out+" END]

being a cunt in the work slack. king

[ID: Jazz in profile, lit under the starry night sky, soft line-less colours defining the planes of his head in blue greys, and pitch black. To Sammy he says "Not really. It's a shuttlecraft… now stand back…" To comms "Autobot Jazz To Autobot leader+++ Approaching shuttle with Surveillance Subject+++ Request permission to board+++" END]

Wuh. Huh. Jazz u look so fucking cool right now?? And handsome.....

okay whats going on back at the castle (no 12)

[ID: The army soldier half sitting on a desk, holding a phone to his ear, the rotary cradle held resting on his leg. He's saying "IT's not just a question of scale, sir. We simply cannot identify it. END]

whys he kinda... apparently this style of uniform is called temperate barrack dress?? that answers none of my questions im just kinda... whyd u draw him like that tho...

[ID: A seeker, drawn in blues, walking between the ruins of the castle. Off panel someone says "It just seemed to appear from nowhere!" END]

bigfooting it up... AT A CASTLE. oh lads. im done for [blah blah he telePORTS and thats skywarps power but hes blue so WHO is it. dont worry abt it man. dont matter. they apparently change in the various times its been coloured, which is objectively funny imho. keep em guessing]

[ID: Moody and still illustrations of a robot identical to the Man of Iron in stasis, plugged into a bed of sorts. The ship around him is dark but for strips of coloured computer like lights in the walls and floor. Caption boxes narrate: Deep beneath the Autobots feet, in a sealed chamber, a special Autobot lay waiting… He was navigator, warrior and guardian of Autobot destiny… In his long, slow, machine world, a million years were as fleeting seconds. Human history had passed over him. Small inter panels. Mid on the Guardian: Locked in his dormant brain was the location of the planet Cybertron. He waited only to be re-activated, re-integrated with his mission… Restored to life. Close on the Guardian: His attendant was no more, the link between them severed. Laying in profile, just barely defined in the pitch black: Alone in the darkness he patiently beamed his signal. The same pattern of impulses… Waiting. END]

What the actual fuck (its even more somberly dramatic than just that)

[ID: Sammy, from a distance, staring at the castle. Caption Box: Autumn came, leaves fell. Sammy was a year older and a year wiser. He never saw Jazz again… Sammy asleep in bed, moonlight pouring through his paneled window. "But on clear, sharp nights, when stars glittered like needles and the night winds rattled his window… Then he slept a fitful, fearful sleep…" Sammy sleeping, with his dreams projected above him. "And the Man of Iron walked once more through his dreams." The End]

WHAT THE ACTUAL FUCK

um well. okay! thats. fucking crazy. and this is the only tf comic this dude ever did. okay... can u tell he was from the dr who comics...... it ALSO means this doesnt actually speak at all for what the rest of tfuk will be like. which is damn funny. LIKE WOW! THAT WAS CRAZY. anyways.

[misfitwashere]

A note from my sister-in-ex-law

My beautiful friend Dominique just passed and my friend Stuart sent this beautiful poem in her honor

Death asked me to join him for dinner so I slipped into my favorite black dress that I had been saving for a special occasion and let him walk me to our candlelit tryst. He ordered a ribeye, extra rare I ordered two desserts and red wine and then I sipped and wondered why he looked so familiar and smelled like earth and memory. He felt like a place both faraway and deep within my body A place that whispers to me on the crisp autumn breeze along the liminal edges of dusk and dawn somewhere between dancing and stillness. He looked at me with the endless night sky in his eyes and asked ‘Did you live your life, my love?’ As I swirled my wine in its glass I wondered If I understood the thread I wove into the greater fabric If I loved in a way that was deep and freeing If I let pain and grief carve me into something more grateful If I made enough space to be in awe that flowers exist and take the time to watch the honeybees drink their sweet nectar I wondered what the riddles of regret and longing had taught me and if I realized just how beautiful and insignificant and monstrous and small we are for the brief moment that we are here before we all melt back down into ancestors of the land. Death watched me lick buttercream from my fingers As he leaned in close and said ‘My darling, it’s time.’ So I slipped my hand into his as he slowly walked me home. I took a deep breath as he leaned in close for the long kiss goodnight and I felt a soft laugh leave my lips as his mouth met mine because I never could resist a man with the lust for my soul in his eyes and a kiss that makes my heart stop.

~ Gina Puorro: www.ginapuorro.com

Author's note: A playful love poem to Death, because I want to remember to relate to it as a part of life, and in ways that exist outside of violence and brutality.

[skinreflectsthesun]

Death asked me to join him for dinner

so I slipped into my favorite black dress

that I had been saving for a special occasion

and let him walk me to our candlelit tryst.

He ordered a ribeye, extra rare

I ordered two desserts and red wine

and then I sipped

and wondered

why he looked so familiar

and smelled like earth and memory.

He felt like a place both faraway

and deep within my body

A place that whispers to me

on the crisp autumn breeze

along the liminal edges of dusk and dawn

somewhere between dancing

and stillness.

He looked at me

with the endless night sky in his eyes

and asked

‘Did you live your life, my love?’

As I swirled my wine in its glass

I wondered If I understood the thread I wove into the greater fabric

If I loved in a way that was deep and freeing

If I let pain and grief carve me into something more grateful

If I made enough space to be in awe that flowers exist

and take the time to watch the honeybees

drink their sweet nectar

I wondered what the riddles of regret and longing

had taught me

and if I realized just how

beautiful and insignificant and monstrous and small we are

for the brief moment that we are here

before we all melt back down

into ancestors of the land.

Death watched me lick buttercream from my fingers

As he leaned in close and said

‘My darling, it’s time.’

So I slipped my hand into his

as he slowly walked me home.

I took a deep breath as he leaned in close

for the long kiss goodnight

and I felt a soft laugh leave my lips

as his mouth met mine

because I never could resist a man

with the lust for my soul in his eyes

and a kiss that makes my heart stop.

~ Gina Puorro

[caratacus]

Death asked me to join him for dinner

so I slipped into my favorite black dress

that I had been saving for a special occasion

and let him walk me to our candlelit tryst.

He ordered a ribeye, extra rare

I ordered two desserts and red wine

and then I sipped

and wondered

why he looked so familiar

and smelled like earth and memory.

He felt like a place both faraway

and deep within my body

A place that whispers to me

on the crisp autumn breeze

along the liminal edges of dusk and dawn

somewhere between dancing

and stillness.

He looked at me

with the endless night sky in his eyes

and asked

‘Did you live your life, my love?’

As I swirled my wine in its glass

I wondered If I understood the thread I wove into the greater fabric

If I loved in a way that was deep and freeing

If I let pain and grief carve me into something more grateful

If I made enough space to be in awe that flowers exist

and take the time to watch the honeybees

drink their sweet nectar

I wondered what the riddles of regret and longing

had taught me

and if I realized just how

beautiful and insignificant and monstrous and small we are

for the brief moment that we are here

before we all melt back down

into ancestors of the land.

Death watched me lick buttercream from my fingers

As he leaned in close and said

‘My darling, it’s time.’

So I slipped my hand into his

as he slowly walked me home.

I took a deep breath as he leaned in close

for the long kiss goodnight

and I felt a soft laugh leave my lips

as his mouth met mine

because I never could resist a man

with the lust for my soul in his eyes

and a kiss that makes my heart stop.

~ Gina Puorro

www.ginapuorro.com

Author's note: A playful love poem to Death, because I want to remember to relate to it as a part of life, and in ways that exist outside of violence and brutality.

[dancesinlight]

Death asked me to join him for dinner

so I slipped into my favorite black dress

that I had been saving for a special occasion

and let him walk me to our candlelit tryst.

He ordered a ribeye, extra rare

I ordered two desserts and red wine

and then I sipped

and wondered

why he looked so familiar

and smelled like earth and memory.

He felt like a place both faraway

and deep within my body

A place that whispers to me

on the crisp autumn breeze

along the liminal edges of dusk and dawn

somewhere between dancing

and stillness.

He looked at me

with the endless night sky in his eyes

and asked

‘Did you live your life, my love?’

As I swirled my wine in its glass

I wondered If I understood the thread I wove into the greater fabric

If I loved in a way that was deep and freeing

If I let pain and grief carve me into something more grateful

If I made enough space to be in awe that flowers exist

and take the time to watch the honeybees

drink their sweet nectar

I wondered what the riddles of regret and longing

had taught me

and if I realized just how

beautiful and insignificant and monstrous and small we are

for the brief moment that we are here

before we all melt back down

into ancestors of the land.

Death watched me lick buttercream from my fingers

As he leaned in close and said

‘My darling, it’s time.’

So I slipped my hand into his

as he slowly walked me home.

I took a deep breath as he leaned in close

for the long kiss goodnight

and I felt a soft laugh leave my lips

as his mouth met mine

because I never could resist a man

with the lust for my soul in his eyes

and a kiss that makes my heart stop.

~ Gina Puorro

Author's note: A playful love poem to Death, because I want to remember to relate to it as a part of life, and in ways that exist outside of violence and brutality.

[cherryxkoch]

[cis woman she/her] Welcome to Aurora Bay, [CHERISA “CHERRY” KOCH]! I couldn’t help but notice you look an awful lot like [LAURA HARRIER]. You must be the [THIRTY-TWO] year old [ARTIST]. Word is you’re [ADVENTUROUS] but can also be a bit [FLAKY] and your favorite song is [CHERRY BOMB by THE RUNAWAYS]. I also heard you’ll be staying in [SEABROOK QUARTER]. I’m sure you’ll love it! 

INFORMATION:

fullname. cherisa "cherry" koch

nicknames. cherry.

gender. cis woman

pronouns. she / her

d.o.b. october 13th, 1991 | ( 33 years old )

astrology. libra ☀ sagittarius ☾  leo ↑

birth place. santa fe, new mexico.

hometown. santa fe, new mexico.

current residence. aurora bay, california. ( @aurorabayaesthetic​ )

occupation. artist.

religion. spiritual.

tattoos. several ( here, here and here ).

piercings. three holes in ears, helix.

marital status. single.

sexual preference. proud pansexual.

family. antoni koch ( father ), nora koch ( mother ), four brothers, three sisters.

children. none.

CHARACTER INSPO:

angela montenegro ( bones ),  mabel mora ( only murders in the building ), gina linetti ( brooklyn nine-nine ), daphne sullivan ( white lotus ), phoebe buffay ( friends ).

PERSONALITY:

+ adventurous, carefree, fun. - flaky, gossipy, insecure.

BIOGRAPHY:

( tw: age difference, abortion mention )

being the youngest in a family with seven siblings meant that the spotlight was rarely on cherisa from an early age and she liked it that way. by the point that she was accidentally conceived, her parents were well and truly over the whole "parenting" thing and she was free to do whatever she pleased. the daughter of a polish history professor and an african-american art teacher, cherry was raised in a house full of love and art. after her father decided to move the whole family west from louisana upon his retirement to follow his dream of owning his own horse ranch. their family bred and broke horses in the middle of the santa fe desert, where there was nothing but empty land for as far as the eye could see but they made the most money with guided tours of the best tourism trails in new mexico. her childhood was filled with tourists, coming and going, taking a break from their lives and she loved it. hearing about all their stories and where they'd come from. personable, bright and cheery, she spent all her life chatting to whoever would listen.

not particularly interested in anything academic beyond devouring a good book, cherry always preferred things more on the creative side of life. she enjoyed painting, sculpting or putting together art constructions with the random pieces of materials laying around the ranch. she decorated most of their land with her art pieces, a particular enjoyment of the guests that stayed with them.

at the age of seventeen, she was matured into a beautiful young woman and with that came wandering eyes and flirtatious glances from the men who frequented. it was one particular gentleman that visited often that cherry fell head over heels for. the small glances across the room, the lightest touches from a hand - but nothing ever came from it. she went away to college, studying art but when he returned for the summer of her junior year, there he was.

she didn't mind that he clearly had taken his wedding ring off for the visit, as evident by the tan lines around his finger. her college girlfriend didn't need to know that she spent the whole summer completely smitten over a man twice her age, but eventually they gave in. they were together just for a week, in secret and away from the prying eyes of her family. but it was enough to completely unravel her.

when he left, cherry realised that she was pregnant. too ashamed to tell him, to ruin his life for whatever small love they'd shared. she contemplated keeping it, but knew that her life was only just beginning and so she made the hard choice on her own. never telling a soul. it bled into her art, this heartbreak was hard on her on so many levels. eventually, she graduated - choosing to continue on with a masters degree at southwestern college in california.

away from school, she was producing art in most mediums. her speciality was large installations that included welding, electrical work and major construction. cherry chose a nomad lifestyle, moving place to place every year or so - never wanting to settle down too long. she was in constant search of inspiration. her latest residence is aurora bay, where she's renting out a studio space where she is creating art and creating trouble.

POSSIBLE CONNECTIONS:

born and raised in santa fe, new mexico but has moved from place to place after she graduated from college. never known to stay in one place for too long. ( possible connections: old friends, interstate flings, chance encounters )

is currently renting an art studio space in aurora bay where she’s making her art. she specialises in large-scale metalwork sculptures from scrap materials. to get extra money, she also teaches small art classes in her studio. ( possible connections: art buyer, art student, fellow artist )

owns an old vintage 1967 mustang that she got when she was twenty one after selling her first sculpture back when she was living in nevada. she takes great pride in it and knows a little about cars because of it. ( possible connections: motorheads, mechanic )

very much online, posting her art and occasionally some thirst traps. uses online dating apps to find dates or hook ups. ( possible connections: hinge dates, instagram followers, mutuals, art fan. )

above all, cherry loves love. with anyone. she falls head over heels time and time again so her romantic connections would be plentiful. while she’s not necessarily a relationship person, she’d definitely try and make it work with the right person. she’s a proud pansexual as well, so all romantic connections can be any gender. ( possible connections: ex-hook ups, friends with benefits, serious lovers that didn't work out )

her favorite haunts around town are the reef bar as she is a regular for an art work wine, dancing her cares and the night away at oasis nightclub (or crying in the bathroom depending on how the night is going) or at the all-nighter diner eating a vegan burger at 2am. ( possible connections: run-ins, drinking buddies, people she overshares with because she's drunk )

CURRENT CONNECTIONS:

besties with @ponderosus and @lemielewis

is getting married to @ziggykyeons if they're both single at 40

previous hookup and ex-something of @dxnielibxrra

close friends with @lucianaxalvarez, @cricketcampbell and @esmaxdemirci

psychologically damaged by @borawinters

casually hooked up with @xlalitax

is christine daaé to @mackmontgomery's phantom of the opera, also her tattoo artist

roommates with @erickxng in seabrook quarter

close friends with @finn-brooks and @javicastillo

always talking art with @leomlarson

flirts with @pcrdita while he fixes her car

[journalsouppe]

This is a repost with better images (and the original was posted to my main blog not here)

Uncensored version and close ups below!!

Also apologies for the small and crazy writing, I went insane playing this game and had a lot to say about it LMAO

Stickers are from NoodlesandTeaShop on etsy!!

Rating: 10/10 Played: Su 2022 Port: N. Switch Favorite? Y Replayable: Y Recommended? Y

Comments

my first ace attorney game!!

omg the little anime scenes are so cool

The twist endings/court conclusions are so well made

oh my god I'm in love with Kazuma <3 his theme T-T

each character has such a distinct personality esp from just their animation

I love the [sholmes/iris/ryuu] forhead thing

yeah I'm also in love with Ryuu T-T

the logic and reasoning spectaculars are my favorite thing they're so fun and stupid

Sholmes and Iris are the cutest dad and daughter duo

FIREWORKS? IN THE COURTROOM??

I am so stressed about the Hounds of the Baskerville case O_o

British Ryuu jumpscare

CHUUNOSUKE ON RYUU'S SHOULDER T-T

I like Gina's new job and personality

Ayy Gregsy is back

ohh the great departed soul is both Susato and Kazuma omg

AMNESIA? T^T

Ryuu is scared of everything and I adore it [me too Ryuu]

PLAGUE DOCTOR WANTS TO CUT ME UP??

The wax museum is horrifying wtf

case 8 [2-3] is an all time favorite

HOLY FUCK

[Phonograph sticker] looks just like Barok's

Love goofy Herlock clothes

Case 2-4 specific comments

THE PARALLELS ARE CRAZY

give me your damn sword Kazuma you don't need two of them

KAZUMA'S NEW THEME????

KAZUIMA'S FATHER?

DEAD?

I love how confident, sure, and determined Ryuu is now

bullying Ryu to pay the vendors T-T

is this a fake trial??

Beppo!!!

STOP FLIRTING IN THE MIDDLE OF A TRIAL

Was the will the note sent to Kazuma?

Finishing each others sentences

love [prison warders and a prosecutor, reborn] 10/10 music

Case 2-5 specific comments

FUCK NOT STRONGHART

Kazuma [eye roll]

JIGOKU???

The girls are FIGHTING [kazuma and barok]

IM MIKOTOBA OMG OMG INVESTIGATION

Elementary my dear Mikotoba T^T

TAP DANCING

Was the sword broken from Genshin? NVM LOL [im dumb]

Gregson in the luggage is so fucked

They're all family T-T brother Ryuu

Kazuma's theme is both intimidating but assuring

HOLOGRAM??

THE DANCE????

Iris Van Zieks... IRIS SHOLMES

THE CREDITS, I'm not okay

Game Dev notes

Masterfully done music, esp reinvented themes for change

incredible animations, gives each character so much personality

great story telling - best visual novel for length, story, interest, etc

chronicles has its own achievements - encourages replayability

great pacing and saving - east to pick up and set down

amazing foreshadowing - whole series planned together

incredible balance of comedy and tragedy

takes preexisting stories and tropes and masterfully retells them

Summary:

I'm afraid I won't have enough room to describe how much I love this game. I don't even know where to start :'). This game is a masterpiece of masterpieces. Easily comparable to FMAB in terms of incredible storytelling, foreshadowing, mystery, tragedy, comedy, score, design, you name it. I have never genuinely been so shocked by the surprises in this game, but they were all so well made and fit in the story seamlessly. The tragedy and comedy, the two most important aspects of a story to me, were not only very well balanced, but were used as expert emotional devices throughout the game. The character design is incredible. Small details such as Ryuu's arm brace or Enoch's mechanisms or Iris's dolls add such character and personality even if some of these details aren't plot relevant. Each character has a unique body type, face shape, facial features, etc that it is easy to identify each character without their hair or clothes. The deigns are also so brilliant that it even taught me how to not only draw older people and children, but to be able to distinguish between teenagers and 20-30 year olds in my art (instead of all looking the same age). The animations are beautiful and so ridiculous. I always looked forward to interacting with Herlock and the witnesses. These games also have one of my favorite scores, especially the way they are able to turn established themes on their heads. The music does an amazing job at establishing setting, character, tension, emotion, you name it. Now for the story telling. Holy fucking shit. Holy shit. You don't even realize how important every small is until it hits you in the face. This is a story that will rival my 1st place spot of FMAB [in terms of all media]. It is so beautifully designed and thought over that I can only say the writers at Capcom are true geniuses to make this story. It doesn't hold back any punches but also comforts you. It toys with your emotions and is smth almost evil, but it also gives you hope and confidence and lifts you up so that you can scream to the world. The key to this is Ryuu. He's no avatar like Link but you and him share a strong bond through shared experience. It was an ingenious move to have the first story be Ryuu accused of murder, you learn the hardest way possible how to become a defense attorney of true integrity. His relations to others is this game is incredible too. The betrayal, the longing, the tenderness. Him and Susato have an incredible "sibling" bond to where I truly felt anxious without her. Not to mention Kazuma. A human through and through. Once thought to be the righteous angel, he had later fallen from heaven just to learn the truth of who he and his father really are. Even as the game has ended, I still sit and contemplate on these characters. Although it was the right decision for Kazuma to stay, I am still in pain from their separation. I really wish I could say more but it's also hard to put into words all my feelings with so little space. If I could forget this game just to experience it again, I would. An outstanding work of art. I highly recommend. My new favorite game.

[just-a-domesticated-cryptid]

TW: death of a pet, but if you skip over all the text there is a cute dog at the end

I want to talk about the dog who looked death in the eye and came back home, until she didn't.

When I was 13, still living in Romania, I had some god awful neighbours. Like many rural households, they had chickens, dogs, a horse (at one point). They mistreated all of them, and whilst I won't go into details, I hope a special hell is built around their souls after they die.

She was a puppy, back then. It was a hot and dry summer when she got stuck underneath the dog kennel. And she cried and cried and cried and those fucking assholes were just going to let her die.

Until another neighbour, who shared the fence with them, cut the fence and got her out. This 80 year old woman cut through the metal net and moved heavy rocks out of the way to get her out; she wasn't going to let her suffer any longer.

That's how she defied death the first time.

She brought her to me and my grandma. This little ginger dog, with a star on her forehead and white socks. I named her Ginny.

My grandmother, the woman who, in her 65 years of life, couldn't stand the sensory feeling of fur on her skin and couldn't fathom the concept of 'sleeping in bed with the dog', she would lovingly call her Gina or Ginuța. Ginny would sleep at her feet every night and rest her little head on her ankles. Ginny sat at her feet whilst my grandmother was cooking or doing crosswords at the table.

With all the love she could muster, my grandmother pet her, which is more love than she's ever shown to an animal in her life.

Hell, she'd make food and claim 'that's Ginuța's favourite' as she'd put a generous helping of polenta or potatoes in her dog bowl.

Soon after Ginny came home, she got into a fight with a stray three times her size. He got in because our front gate was broken and didn't properly close, and for the past 3 years nobody was bothered to fix it because it's not like we had anything valuable to steal anyway.

I still remember the yelps and growls as I broke them apart. All three of us were bleeding at the end of it, and it was my grandma's yelling that scared the dog off.

The next day, my grandmother nagged her brother until he finally fixed the gate.

Another time death narrowly missed her was when Ginny got hit by a car. Not run over, but it was considerably tough on her knowing she's about 4 kilograms of dog.

She limped home next to my grandmother's feet and slept.

She was fine, somehow.

Two weeks later, she was running and chasing the neighbourhood cats once more.

She was so happy to see me when I came back home after 4 years. I thought she forgot me, and I wouldn't blame her if she did.

But she didn't.

She wagged her tail and yelped with joy when she saw me walk through that old gate.

My grandmother is too old to take her on walks, so the time I spent home I took her to the park and I let her sniff and explore to her heart's content. I don't know what happened in her brain, but I imagine seeing a squirrel for the first time blew her mind.

She was 5 years old and I don't know what happened. Her fur, her beautiful ginger coat started falling off. Then she stopped eating. They took her to a vet and they said it's just a throat infection and she will be fine.

And today she died. She threw up blood and she died.

I don't know what happened. I don't know what fucking happened.

She was born and she died hungry.

But I know she lived well fed and well loved, with all the treats a good dog like her deserves.

[cdyssey]

Sea Barbara

Summary: One year after her divorce with Gerald, Sea Barbara is a little in love with everyone... including, and perhaps specifically, her best friend.

CW: Alcohol Use, Suggestiveness, Catcalling

AO3 Link

—

Sea Barbara is three-and-a-half cosmos in and she’s a little in love with everything and everyone right now: the sweet waitress who keeps generously plying her with alcohol and the mosaic rim of the martini glass. The plump statue of Aphrodite stretching her marbled back next to the bar. The color of the sky outside the smooth, curving windows.

Peach with creamy clouds. 

A golden wafer sun.

She’s in love with every stranger who so much as glances her way on the crowded casino floor and the kaleidoscope of lights from all the various games that she doesn’t play. And the cellist in the house band with a beautiful gap-toothed smile. And the delicate tinkling of so many cocktail glasses, flashing through the air, brilliant and prismatic.

She is in love with the chemistry of this moment, with this intoxicating cacophony and stew of so many diverse people, impressions, colors, and sounds.

Because love is less of something that Sea Barbara meticulously doles out to a select number of people than it is an indescribable rush frothing forth from the carefully maintained sanctuary of her soul.

It is an outpouring and an overflow.

An anointment that trickles over her head and through her like soft and cleansing rain.

And, naturally—being gloriously indiscriminate with her affection right now—she can’t help but be a little bit in love with Melissa Schemmenti too, who is radiant tonight in a green jumpsuit that highlights all her ample curves. Her hair is wild and wind-tossed, drifting like fire across her exposed shoulders, and she’s wearing the golden hoops that Barbara bought her for her birthday last year. Her slender wrists shimmer with matching bangles that chime with every movement that she makes.

Oh, how gloriously that they sing.

Sea Barbara is in love with everything about Melissa right now, from her hair to her hourglass hips to the way her nose always crinkles when she smiles.

(It only vaguely crosses her mind that her current tipsiness has nothing to do with it.)

“C’mere,” the other teacher gestures at her, wrists pealing. Though her cheeks are rather rosy from the Manhattans that she’s been downing, she’s otherwise unaffected. It takes more than a few cocktails to turn her friend into a saccharine mess. “There’s a machine that I was doin’ hot at last night. I wanna try it again.”

“And what am I supposed to do?” She raises a brow that she doesn’t have a fool’s prayer of looking serious. “Stand there and look pretty?”

“Stand there and look pretty,” Melissa agrees, laughing deeply, taking her hand. “You can be my good luck charm.”

And Sea Barbara, weak-kneed, not exactly sober, soft, allows herself to be dragged along, centering herself in the warmth of Melissa’s palm scraping against her own, their life lines touching. 

Melissa has been a godsend since Barbara’s divorce—a quietly sad affair, but both she and Gerald had known that it was time. Their conversations had started to fizzle out as soon as Gina moved away for college a few years ago, and all that was left was for the adult Howards to come to terms with the fact that for the last three decades, most of their conversations had revolved around their girls. Their grades. Their recitals. Their awards. Their romantic partners. They had so much to discuss about their daughters that somewhere along the way, neither of them had realized that they had fallen out of love until they were sitting alone at the dinner table night after night with nothing to say to each other except, “How was your day?”

“Fine.”

“That’s good.”

“Yes.”

Melissa, having already weathered a divorce and all of its unholy heartbreak, has unfailingly been there for her through it all—every time Barbara has asked and even when she hasn’t, helping her move into a new apartment, handing her tissues in the lounge when she’s needed them, coming over nearly every weekend to keep her company. They’ve played board games together and watched countless episodes of horrible reality shows. They’ve drunk cheap wine and made good food and laughed about the time that they accidentally burnt their damn sugar cookies in the oven. Barbara has cried on occasion, missing Gerald even though she’s not in love with him anymore. She’s missed his companionship and his stability, the divot he once made in their king-sized bed. And Melissa, who had once said the exact same thing about Joseph, has unfailingly rubbed circles into her back every time, whispering gentle words into her ear, soothing the pain away, gradually becoming the piece of herself that she has lacked.

Barbara doesn’t know when it happened—can’t identify a direct moment, time, or place—but one day, she woke up and suddenly believed that there is such a thing as soulmates.

And that she has never had one until she met Melissa Schemmenti.

She can't live without her.

As friends, naturally.

She loves her.

Quite platonically.

She has vivid dreams about her sometimes, wearing lace bras that are the exact shade of her scarlet hair—

—that she neatly chalks up to having a little too much wine.

They've been close for the past twenty-seven years of their friendship, of course, but now, since Barbara's divorce, they’ve seemingly unlocked a new dimension of their intimacy and been utterly inseparable—picking each other up for work on most days, knowing the other's coffee order as intimately as they do their own. Getting a couple’s discount at their favorite breakfast diner and not bothering to correct anyone—simply for the discount, obviously. Falling asleep on the couch together, side-by-touching-side, on one of their weekly movie nights. (More than once, Barbara has woken up with her head pillowed on the other woman's lap, one hand casually resting over her thigh.) And now, on the first winter break since the divorce was finalized nearly a year ago, she and her dearest friend are cruising to the Bahamas at Melissa’s insistence—presumably to get Barbara away from the aching sadness of an empty house. The girls did Thanksgiving with her, so they’re doing Christmas with Gerald, which is fine, and she’s good, and she’s glad that Taylor and Gina are with him…

… but still.

She’s grateful for the distraction.

And she’s entirely indebted to Melissa Ann Schemmenti for giving one to her.

For not being yet another absence.

For being present and lovely and so totally here.

She could kiss her even.

Her inhibitions lowered, every cocktail she’s had tonight warm in her bloodstream, fizzling pleasantly, she sometimes wonders if maybe she should—studying the shape of the other woman’s lips with far more deliberation than she has ever allowed except in her wildest, most wine-soaked dreams.

(None of this counts when she’s at sea, or course.)

(She allows herself this one indulgence, content that she is subjugating hundreds of others within the well-organized system of her mind every day. Self-abnegation. Masochism that is the proof of her own staunch faith.)

(Sea Barbara, though, she’s a different woman altogether. She wears big, floppy sun hats and drinks piña coladas on the beach. She gladly lays her crosses aside, half-buried in the sand.)

(Sea Barbara is happy.)

(Sea Barbara is free.)

“Shit!” Melissa groans, mere minutes later, having lost nearly forty dollars already. With her last pull, she’d almost landed triple sevens, but the third slot ticked over to a blank at the last second. “Fuck me sideways.”

“Maybe later, Red,” a balding guy, who is sitting two machines over, winks at the second grade teacher lecherously, immediately sending Barbara into a tailspin, a conniption, a Biblical, almighty fury. How dare he objectify her like that? Has he no manners? No sense of decency? Did his mother raise him to be a godless heathen? But just as she opens her mouth to say something that she wouldn’t once regret, Melissa’s already rolled her eyes and flipped the sleaze off like it’s nothing.

“Up yours, weirdo,” she only snorts, never once losing her cool. “Go back to nursin' your future hangover.”

Flushing, the man grumbles something indistinct under his breath but thankfully looks away, rattling the whiskey glass surgically stitched to his hand, and Melissa—with the slight smirk she always seems to get when she trumps someone with her own cleverness—withdraws her player card from the machine and stands up.

“C’mon, Barb,” she yawns, touching Barbara’s elbow before threading their arms together tightly. “I ain’t spending my entire Christmas bonus on this machine.”

And so they’re off again, weaving their way through the bright lights and the people and the noise. She might be starting to feel the last half-Cosmo she drank trying to kick in because her boundless love for all humankind is slowly ceding to a headache that ricochets between her temples.

Granted, it doesn’t help that she can’t get that catcaller’s expression out of her head—the visible hunger that had dilated his pupils as he raked Melissa over, undressing her with just his eyes.

“How do you do that?” She demands when she can't take it any longer, a little bit in awe at her friend’s nonchalance and somewhat irritated by it too. Melissa Schemmenti is an unflappable force of nature—sure, undoubtedly, powerfully—but she wishes she wouldn’t be so cavalier about things like that.

Men with no social filters.

Men who have nothing but sex on the mind.

Men like Joseph Lombardo, Melissa’s first husband.

Men like all the other men Melissa ever seems to date.

(The women, though—the ones whom Melissa sometimes dates—are notably different: usually bright and fun, clever and always beautiful. And Barbara, who tends to find a flaw in every person her friend gets involved with, finds it harder to do so with the women. They’re chosen more carefully. Some of them are even good for Melissa, and she hates that too.)

(At least with the men she knows they’ll never last.)

(It's awful of her.)

(Selfish, really.)

(She sometimes thinks she stakes too much on her best friend's total availability.)

“What do ya mean?” The younger teacher asks as they pass through the double doors that lead out onto the top deck again. The tropical air is balmy but not humid, soothing after the sharp coldness of the casino. All the same, Barbara shivers when Melissa looks up at her—still a little shorter than her even in heels—her long lashes delicately curved above her eyes. 

Lord, she is gorgeous.

A goddess in the flesh, down to the way that the bronze saints on her neck are laying just above the visible divot of her cleavage, perhaps worshipping their good fortune, kneeling upon it.

“Let comments like that roll off your shoulders,” she continues in a somewhat constricted voice, forcing her eyes upwards again.  “I’ve seen you threaten to cane someone with your baseball bat just because they stole your parking spot… but you can just simply walk away from someone saying something so crude about you?”

Pedestrian even.

Melissa Schemmenti is anything but.

“One,” her friend readily chuckles, holding her index finger up, “Mr. Gill had it comin’. If I’ve told that douchecanoe not to park there once, then I’ve told him twenty flippin’ times. Two”—she flips another finger—it’s not that big of a deal. Drunk and horny old men kinda have a thing for me. Happens all the time."

An electric pause as Barbara swallows that last sentence like it’s lead.

As Melissa inexplicably grins like it’s the funniest joke in the world.

“That’s frankly even more disturbing,” she frowns deeply and wishes she could capably articulate the why.

She’s never liked when people make light out of holy relics, and here Melissa is, unfazed, participating in her own desacralization like it's comedy night at the bar; she shrugs a shoulder and gently unlinks their arms.

“To you, maybe,” she returns, a smile still touching her red lips. “But it’s no skin off my back, Barb. Lighten up.”

And then Melissa is suddenly walking again, half-lit by the silvery glow of the moon, the sea breeze making magic out of her hair, whirling it into endless configurations.

And Barbara deeply misses the feel of her friend’s skin pressed against her own.

The warmth of that.

The familiarity.

She follows dutifully, trails behind her like smoke.

“It should be, though,” she argues pointlessly, well-aware that Melissa is quite literally trying to move on from the sticky conversation, but the gentle buzzing in her head is an anesthetic, dulling every part of Land Barbara that might have objected to continuing in such dangerous waters. Here they are, almost openly talking about sex and desire and the particulars of lust. 

No barriers between them.

The sky an infinite canvas of stars above them, watching silently, with ancient patience.

But no one else, though.

The part of the deck they’re on is empty, everyone else inside—at dinner or the cruise’s nightly shows or in the casino.

It’s just her and Melissa and one billion twinkling lights freckling the heavens.

“No one should ever feel comfortable enough to disrespect you for your looks, Melissa,” she insists, fervent and convinced. Self-righteous? Always, even when she's Sea Barbara and has lost the high ground upon which she so comfortably stands.

“My looks, huh?” Melissa laughs playfully without ever once looking behind her, her glittering hips undulating with each step, bangles clinking, heels clicking rhythmically against the salt-warped wood.

She is a dance.

A performance.

An endless masterpiece, this miracle of a woman.

And Barbara thinks she could just sit in the front row and watch her forever, already a master in religious adoration. She bites her tongue between her teeth just to feel something other than worship.

"Yes," she just barely exhales.

“What exactly does that mean?” The other woman asks, throwing the question over her shoulder with a teasing snicker, but she suddenly stops short—freezes entirely—apparently seeing something in Barbara’s expression that annihilates the easy smile from her mouth and her flashing eyes, the entirety of her physiognomy.

Because Barbara is simply standing still, a hand just touching her abdomen, as electricity radiates outwards from her stomach and all the way through her central nervous system, tingling. And there is guilt, of course. There is always guilt. Irrational guilt that she’s betraying the man she’s been divorced from for nearly a year. Personal guilt that she’s betraying herself and everything Land Barbara has conscientiously erected herself to be. Ingrained guilt that she’s betraying God and His edicts, God and His rules, God and all His codified laws...

... but there is also the all-encompassing darkness of this night, giving her permission to simply exist without a porcelain facade, to believe in a fantasy world—if just for a few hours—where no one is looking and caring about the way she presents herself on a silver platter. And there is the sloshing of the wine-colored sea all around them, the gentle sifting noise in her ears, her head, her bones, needling her to go on.

Urging. 

Pleading.

But it’s not about her body. It’s about the words that have collected at the tip of her tongue for the last eleven months since her divorce—and maybe even longer that if she’s being completely honest with herself—stuck there.

Now finally coming unglued.

Because there is Melissa, stunning in the moonlight, staring at her from the depths of wide and vulnerable eyes.

And she finds that she cannot run from this moment—as she always does—cannot hide from it, like a coward.

She can only live it.

“It means that you are radiance reconciled, Melissa Schemmenti,” she murmurs and only hesitates a little before she reaches upwards to move a strand of hair behind her ear.

The tips of her long nails skim that smooth, creamy skin.

The column of her exposed neck.

The delicate shell of her ear.

And then back again, though she doesn’t entirely withdraw her hand, cupping the other woman’s jaw, tenderly thumbing her pink cheek as she's dreamed of doing so many times before. And every time she's done so, she's scolded herself, despised herself, prayed to never dream that dream again. Stopped drinking alcohol for a while. Made her deepest fantasies yet another inhibition to store under the floorboard with the rest.

“But I would never say such a horrid thing to you,” she continues as Melissa’s mouth slightly parts at the touch, a perfect ‘o’ of confusion and surprise. “I would never reduce you to your body.”

“You’re tipsy,” Melissa instantly breathes, her champagne sweet breath gently blowing over her face, uncoiling her insides, simply fermenting them. “Drunk even.”

“So what?” Barbara replies a little recklessly, gently studying the shape of Melissa’s jawbone, relishing every stroke, savoring the texture of her.

“So everything,” she retorts, a delicious snap in her voice, a visible uncertainty in her eyes. "You wouldn’t be doing this sober, Barb.”

It's hurtful—makes her flinch even—but it isn't exactly a lie.

Perhaps that's why it stings as much as it does.

“No,” she agrees quietly, finally letting her hand fall away—empty, desolate, still grasping—next to her side. All the same, whatever there had once been of space between them is nonexistent now, a distant memory, Melissa having leaned forward at the touch, as though magnetized. “Because then I would finally be telling the truth.”

“Oh,” Melissa breathes, the weight of those words enveloping them both.

A warm embrace.

A horrible vice.

“Oh,” Barbara agrees, having lived with these burdens for years upon unfathomable years, quashing them all beneath the perfection of her well-constructed mask.

But they're in the open now—now Melissa can see.

I love you.

I have ached for you.

She’s not entirely sure who makes the first move, but the next feeling she knows is the sensation of Melissa’s lips clashing against her own, her hands in the younger woman’s hair, Melissa’s fingers twisted into the back of her silky shirt. And then they’re against the nearest wall, and then they’re pressed against a metallic railing, and then, incapable of keeping their hands off each other, stumbling all the way, they’re miraculously in Melissa’s room less than five minutes later, and she's is on top of her on the bed, kissing the exposed line of her collarbone.

Barbara can feel warm tears pricking her eyes, rivering down the weathered crevices of her cheeks.

“You’re crying,” Melissa notices. She always notices, and she just as quickly pulls back, breathing heavily, panting. Her fiery hair falls over her shoulders, dripping like a waterfall. “Are you okay? Do you wanna stop?”

There’s fear in her wide eyes.

Sudden and powerful reluctance.

For as long as she has known her, Melissa always prioritizes how others feel—thinks it is her God given duty to be emotionally uncomplicated for the sake of the other person in the room.

But Barbara wants all of her, every last bit of her—even the messy parts.

Perhaps especially them.

She has always envied what she doesn't know how to love within herself.

“No,” she protests immediately, the sound welling from deep inside of her, raw and visceral, as she wraps her arms around the other woman’s neck, reeling her in. Her shirt is still mostly buttoned and something feels so wrong about that.

“Don’t force yourself into anything you don’t wanna do,” Melissa warns again, lips hovering just inches above Barbara’s own. Her breath catches in her throat, pulsating there, throbbing, like a tangible ache.

“Never,” she croaks.

All the damn time.

Barbara forces herself to be someone she is not every single day, painting an impeccable smile on her face, wielding her morality and her goodness and her Christianity like an impregnable shield and sometimes matching sword.

But not here.

Not now.

All of her reservations laid bare before the altar of Melissa Schemmenti.

“Okay. If you say so, but—“

“I say so,” Barbara adamantly interrupts the sentence and punctuates it, lowering her hands until they’re on Melissa’s hips, fingers curled into the thin fabric of her jumpsuit there.

“Melissa,” she begs, more tears starting to form in the corners of her eyes. “Please.”

She isn’t entirely sure what she’s asking for.

Sex.

Melissa’s presence.

Melissa’s love.

Maybe all three at the same time, a holy trinity. 

All she knows is that when Melissa’s slender fingers obediently unravel the clasps of her blouse, undoing what had once been so perfectly done, she is no longer sure where Sea Barbara ends and Barbara Howard begins.

The two are finally one and the same.

Utterly and unrepentantly free.