#her interview style is so excellent and so conversational and it’s always a great time

[novelconcepts]

I could listen to the Yellowjackets cast deconstruct their characters all day long, holy shit.

[sometimesbeforeitgetsbetter]

Off the Record | Stiles Stilinski

Pairing: Stiles Stilinski x reader

Summary: High school in Beacon Hills, as told through the eyes of one inquisitive journalist who has a knack at getting on Stiles Stilinski's nerves.

Warnings: idk there's like a couple curse words lmao. also, spoilers? if you haven't finished teen wolf I guess??

Word count: 8,227

A/N: hi hi this is my first fic I'm posting on Tumblr (not to say that this is my first fic ever...anyway)! before you start, I just wanna say that there's a couple things that might be off from the show but please just ignore them. like I think it's bs Lydia brings Stiles back and not Scott in 6b so I righted that wrong. but I hope you enjoy and please let me know what you think of it! thanks for reading!!

--

All my life I’ve wondered why people didn’t question what happens in Beacon Hills.

It’s no secret that our town is unusual, but when odd things seemed to happen, people would just turn a blind eye and go about their business.

I, on the other hand, couldn’t let it go. I was inquisitive by nature, and my mom never knew how to answer my questions.

Why do we have so many animal attacks?

What happened to the people that disappeared in the Preserve?

Why did his eyes glow like that?

That last question almost caused my mom to get me a therapist – which probably would’ve helped me regardless – but she just continued to answer with her usual responses.

They just feel threatened by us, dear.

They’re in a better place now.

I’m sure it was nothing – you probably just saw some reflection in his eyes.

But no matter what she told me, I wasn’t satisfied. I knew there was something bigger going on, something my mom couldn’t explain, but I wasn’t sure what. As I got older, however, I realized that if I kept voicing my concerns, I’d be seen as the local crazy person – which, at the time, was the title reserved for my neighbor, Donna Romano, who always went to Town Hall meetings to complain about how some supernatural creatures were traumatizing her dogs every time she took them out at night to urinate.

Out of fear of sounding like Donna, I kept my suspicions to myself. I observed the strange actions of those around me and kept note of the bizarre events that happened in town. I found that it was something I was good at – observing. Always watching, but never voicing my opinions. Eventually, it got the best of me because I grew really quiet at school. But I didn’t mind. I liked being a wallflower.

One day in the fifth grade I saw my mom reading the Beacon Chronicle and I had an epiphany – journalists investigate weird, inexplicable events, so I should be a journalist. Reading the news became my favorite pastime, and by sixth grade I decided I would join the high school newspaper, The Daily Beacon, when I became a freshman. I figured maybe it would give me an outlet to investigate the odd occurrences in the town without looking like a lunatic.

But in sixth grade, I noticed that some of the odd things had stopped happening. There were less animal attacks and disappearances from the Preserve. Some people had even left town, including the last of the Hales, whose house had burned down that same year.

I didn’t give up hope though. I kept my head down and waited for things to get weird again. In the meantime, I wrote for enjoyment. In eighth grade I started shadowing a girl named Anna that was a part of the Daily Beacon, and I started writing articles – album reviews, movie reviews, school news.

Everything was going smoothly until my sophomore year of high school. Suddenly the weird things were happening, and I was sure that there was one person that was at the epicenter of it all – Scott McCall.

--

“...Angela, you’re covering the new faculty; Thomas, you’ve got the new Vegan Support Group club some juniors just created; and y/n, you’re covering lacrosse try-outs,” said Andrew, the editor-in-chief of the Daily Beacon.

I groaned slightly. “Andrew, couldn’t I write something a little bit more...my style? Like what about the one freshman class that boycotted their summer reading and is facing suspension?”

He gave me a slight look. “y/n, you know how important this lacrosse piece is. You know what that sport means to the school. You should be glad I’m giving you this opportunity,” he scolded. “Besides, Marlene is covering that class and is already interviewing their teacher.”

I nodded slowly and tried to refrain from rolling my eyes. I knew that Andrew meant well – he had been like an older brother to me ever since my freshman year – and he was right about the importance of lacrosse. I stayed quiet until he dismissed us, then mentally prepared myself to spend my afternoon watching some jocks exude machismo on a field.

When my last class was over, I walked over to the lacrosse field and found myself a spot on the top of the bleachers. It gave me an excellent vantage point – until a couple girls sat down right in front of me. The redhead I recognized to be Lydia Martin, the school’s resident popular girl. We’d been in class together all our lives, but I couldn’t remember a time she ever talked to me. I’m sure she didn’t even know I existed, just like the majority of the other people in our grade. The other girl, however, I didn’t recognize. I found out her name was Allison by overhearing their conversation. She was new and must have just moved to Beacon Hills.

The shrill sound of Coach’s whistle knocked me out of my thoughts. Tryouts started, and I watched as Scott McCall, a boy from my grade, was nearly knocked out by a lacrosse ball to the face. I winced but wrote down the event in the notebook I had out for documentation.

The next ball that went Scott’s way didn’t hit his face though. He managed to catch it in his goalie net. I couldn’t help but be a bit surprised – like Lydia, I’d known of Scott my whole life though he probably didn’t know me at all. But that meant I knew he was an asthmatic that wasn’t particularly skilled at sports.

“He’s actually pretty good,” I mumbled to myself as Scott continued to catch every ball that came his way.

I didn’t realize how loud I must’ve said it though because at my remark Allison turned around. “I was just thinking the same thing,” she said, obviously surprised. “Do you know him?”

I shook my head and quickly turned my attention to my notebook to write down the surprising turn of events. “Are you writing about this for the school newspaper?” I looked back up at Allison’s question. She was paying attention to me?

“Um, yeah, I am. I’d rather not write about sports, but here I am,” I joked lightly.

She let out a beautiful laugh at my statement. “Well, I’m glad you’re here. I’m Allison, and you are…?”

“y/n,” I answered. “Nice to meet you, Allison.” Suddenly the crowd roared, and I remembered why I was there. Allison, too, smiled and turned her attention back to the game. Lydia hadn’t said a word, but she was focused on watching Scott absolutely demolish Jackson Highmore, who, in my opinion, needed to be knocked down a few pegs anyway.

The more I watched Scott though, I got this weird feeling. He was good – too good. I tried to ignore my feelings and just focus on writing notes for the ridiculous lacrosse piece, which would include the headline: “Sophomore Scott McCall shines at lacrosse tryouts and becomes team co-captain.” But deep down I knew there was something up with him.

A few days later, I was sitting behind Stiles Stilinski, Scott’s best friend, in English class. Even though I’d had nearly all of my classes with him, we never talked. It originally was because I had a minor crush on him and was afraid I’d pass out if I spoke to him, but eventually it just morphed into me not speaking to many people and being convinced he didn’t know of my existence anyway.

But this one day, I was committed to speaking with him. I had to know what was going on, and if there was one person that knew anything about Scott’s new-found lacrosse talent, it was Stiles.

“Hey, Stiles,” I spoke up from behind him.

The brunette turned around, slightly confused but with that soft smile on his face. “Oh, hey, y/n. What’s up?”

I swear my heart stopped beating for a second. He knew my name? He knew who I was? I shook myself out of my thoughts before I went down the rabbit hole of the implications of him knowing me.

“Oh, nothing much. I’m just writing a piece about lacrosse tryouts for the school newspaper and I was just wondering if you had anything to say about it,” I explained.

He tilted his head slightly and shifted in his seat to more fully face me. “Um, yeah sure. I think it’s going to be a great season, especially since we’ve gotten some new leadership. My boy Scott’s co-captain now, so those Devenford Prep guys won’t know what hit them!”

“Speaking of Scott, when did he get so good at lacrosse? Would you say it’s natural talent?” I pressed a bit, hoping he’d say something that would give me a hint as to what was going on.

Stiles’ eyes squinted a little, and his head tilted slightly again. He seemed to be at a loss for words, which was unusual for the fast-talking, sarcastic boy, but he quickly recovered. “It’s definitely...natural...talent. He’s been working extra hard recently to hone his talent and skills so he could bring his A-game to this year’s tryouts.” When he finished speaking, he looked pleased with himself, and I could tell he had let out a small sigh of relief.

What are you hiding?

Though I didn’t know it yet, at that moment my rivalry with Stiles Stilinski began. He and Scott were hiding something, and I was going to find out what it was.

--

“You’re telling me that a girl is in a coma after the school winter formal and you don’t want me to write a story about it?”

Andrew leaned against the desk and crossed his arms. “It’s not that I don’t want you to write it. I just think it’s a tense time right now. The administration is receiving a lot of flack right now because of the winter formal fiasco, and Ms. Blanchard told me that we may want to avoid stirring the pot right now,” he explained. “That is not to say that we abandon our journalistic integrity and commitment to informing the student body, but we just may want to be sensitive to our environment right now.”

I trusted Ms. Blanchard, the faculty sponsor of the Daily Beacon, but not reporting on Lydia’s comatose state felt wrong. She was well-known at school, and students deserved to know the facts of her situation and how it had happened.Well, maybe I was lying to myself by saying that the real reason I wanted to pursue the story wasn’t the fact that something inexplicable had happened at the dance and I had to figure out what it was.

Andrew could sense my disappointment. “Look, maybe for now you can start collecting information and sources, and I’ll talk to Ms. Blanchard. Maybe she can advise us on how best to proceed.”

I threw my arms around Andrew in a quick hug. “Yes, thank you! I promise I’ll be sensitive when asking sources. I know how difficult this must be for the people close to her.”

“I know you will,” he said, chuckling lightly.

With a smile plastered on my face – perhaps a little inappropriately considering the topic I was excited to cover – I left the small newspaper office in search of my first source: Stiles Stilinski. He had been Lydia’s date to the dance, so surely he must know what happened to her, right? “No, I don’t know what happened,” Stiles angrily responded when I cornered him at his locker. “We were separated for a bit because she went looking for someone. When I went looking for her I–” he stopped suddenly, as if choosing his words carefully. He wouldn’t meet my eyes as he spoke.

“The next thing I know, she was at the hospital in a coma. They told me Jackson had found her out on the field when I went to check on her at the hospital,” he explained.

Something wasn’t adding up. “Ok, but where were you the rest of that time? You didn’t go looking for her when you didn’t see her for a while? What about when she had already been checked into the hospital?”

“What is this – an investigation?” Stiles shouted as he slammed his locker shut. I took a step back, eyes wide at the sudden display of aggression. Maybe I pushed too hard, I thought. Stiles rubbed a hand over his face and took a deep breath. “Sorry, I….I didn’t mean it like that. There’s just a lot going on, and my dad has been up my ass about those details too. To be honest, I can’t tell you where I was. The time just flew by and all of a sudden I’d realized I hadn’t seen Lydia for a couple hours. I wish I had been there for her, but there’s nothing I can do for her now other than check up on her.”

Running a hand over his buzzed head, he shot me a forced smile and said “good luck with your article” before walking away.

I was at a loss for words, trying to put the pieces together in my head. Surely he couldn’t have had a part in Lydia’s injury? There’s no way. But his defensiveness was off-putting–

“Hey, y/n!” I was snapped out of my thoughts by Allison approaching me from behind. “What were you talking to Stiles about?”

“Huh? Oh, um, I was just asking him about…” I remembered that the funeral for Allison’s aunt was happening and didn’t want to mention the additional stress of her best friend being comatose, so I opted for a white lie. “Biology homework. I wasn’t really paying attention in class today.”

“Oh, I didn’t realize you two were friends,” she said as she leant against the lockers.

I shook my head violently. “We’re not.” I’d grown too close to Allison for her to not pick up on my feelings though.

“You say that now, but–”

“I have to get to class. See you at lunch, Ally!”

--

Other things that year were weird, but none warranted any further investigation via newspaper article. Sure, I was wondering about Erica Reyes’ sudden transformation into the ultimate baddie, the mysterious deaths of a mechanic and Isaac Lahey’s dad, numerous paralyzations at the Jungle, and a death of someone at a secret rave, but Andrew thought it would be best for the Chronicle and Ledger to cover those bigger events. In fact, the only other unnatural event that happened that I had to cover for the newspaper was Stiles’ unbelievable winning streak at the lacrosse championship. I would have quoted him after the game, but I really didn’t want to speak to him and anyway, he had disappeared for a bit right after the team won.

I could tell that things were happening, but it was all hidden from public view. I even noticed Allison’s behavior fluctuating. The arrival of her grandfather shook things up, and while he gave me a bad feeling, I couldn’t exactly figure out why. Lydia was more troubled than usual after coming back from the hospital even though she tried to act normally. Jackson was going through something and was more angry and aggressive than usual, but I wasn’t close enough to him to ask him if he was okay.

Over the summer, I spent a surprising amount of time with Lydia. Allison spent her summer in France, but she asked me to keep an eye on Lydia to make sure she was okay, especially since Jackson had moved to London during the summer break. I was surprised how much I enjoyed spending time with the redhead, and we hung out when I wasn’t working at my internship at The Beacon Chronicle, which my mom had convinced me to apply for after she noticed how irritated I was that I couldn’t pursue some of the stories I wanted.

By the time Allison came back before the start of school, it felt like Lydia and I had been best friends for the longest time.

“So, Allison, have you talked to Scott at all this summer?” I asked when I was sitting in the backseat of Lydia’s car, Allison in the passenger seat.

She shook her head. “No, I think I still need some time. He...hides things from me and I don’t know if I can trust him.”

I nodded my head, understanding the feeling. I still couldn’t place my finger on what had happened between them or what Scott was involved in. Though I comforted her when I found out they broke up, I didn’t really know why they’d done it.

“What about you, y/n? Have you talked to Stiles at all?” Allison asked, looking back at me in the backseat.

“Why the hell would I talk to Stiles?” I questioned, confused.

She and Lydia shared a small look that I couldn’t decipher before she shrugged her shoulders. “I don’t know, but you guys are more similar than you may think. I don’t know why you guys act like you don’t like each other though.”

The car rolled to a stop at the stop light, and all of a sudden I noticed a familiar baby blue jeep approach next to us. “Speak of the devil,” I mumbled. Lydia and Allison didn’t notice Stiles staring and waving at first, but when they did the car was filled with awkward tension.

The next events were a blur: Lydia running the red light, both cars stopping in the middle of the road, and a deer running straight towards us, nearing killing me in the gap between the front seats. We were shaken, and the boys ran towards us when they saw what happened.

“Are you okay?” Stiles asked Lydia, but he kept looking at me. I nodded slightly and he turned his full attention back to Lydia.

“What was wrong with it?” Allison asked as Scott got closer to the deer.

“It was scared,” he explained. “No, terrified.”

Things got progressively weirder after that. On the first day of school, I interviewed our new English teacher, Ms. Blake. She was nice enough, but it was unfortunate that her class was the one that a whole flock of birds decided to burst through the classroom windows. By the time the police arrived, I was already drafting up a story in my brain: Why are the animals acting weird in Beacon Hills?

I had overheard Stiles talking to Scott about the deer’s weird behavior and the number of deer-related incidents in California, so I swallowed my pride so that I could talk to him and maybe get some stats and information on the whole situation.

I walked up to him when he was sitting alone, texting on his phone. “Hey, Stiles.” “y/n? What’s wrong?” He had genuine concern written on his face.

“I overheard you and Scott talking about deer-related incidents earlier,” I noticed how he tensed up at my statement, “and I was wondering if you could help me with a piece I’m writing? It seems like you know all the stats, so maybe...you could write it with me?” It pained me to finish that sentence, but I figured it might be easier to figure out what was going on if he was helping – especially if he already had inside information.

I think for the first time in his life, the talkative boy was speechless. “I understand if you don’t want to or you’re busy–” I said quickly, trying to give him a way out.

“Yeah, sure.”

I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t caught off guard by his response. “W-what?”

He smirked slightly. “Yeah, sure. I’ll help you out with your article, y/n. Collaborate with you, if you will. We can work on it at my house tomorrow afternoon if you want.”

Nodding and agreeing with the plan, I left the chaotic English classroom.

The next afternoon, I felt like I was walking into the lion’s den. Going to Stiles’ house felt foreign, but what was even stranger was seeing him in casual clothes in a comfortable environment.

He answered the door wearing some sweats and a t-shirt, looking more comfortable and confident than I’d ever seen him. “Hey, y/n. Come on in,” he greeted.

I thanked him awkwardly, and we walked to his dining room table to get set up. “Sorry, I need to go grab my notes from my room. Be back in a sec,” Stiles said before leaving me alone in his dining room.

After a moment of silence, Sheriff Stilinski walked in wearing his uniform. “Oh, y/n! What are you doing here?” He had seen me a couple weeks ago in the police station when I was requesting documents for a story for the Chronicle. Though journalists and cops don’t often have a jovial relationship, he said that he liked me because of my commitment to the truth and respectful nature.

“Hey, Sheriff. I’m writing a piece about the animals acting weird, you know, with the deer accident and bird incident, and Stiles said he’d help me since he has a bunch of statistics on deer related car accidents.”

“Stiles is helping you? Well, I’ll be damned.” When he saw the confusion on my face, he rushed to explain himself. “No, not like that. It’s just, you’re all organized and focused, and Stiles is….Stiles.”

I was laughing heartily when the boy himself walked back into the room. “What’s going on, Daddy-o?”

“Nothing, son. Just catching up with y/n here. I’ve got to get to work, but you’re welcome anytime, y/n.” He said before patting Stiles on the shoulder and heading off to work.

Stiles looked over at me oddly when he placed his notes on the table and sat next to me. “Since when are you all buddy-buddy with my dad?”

Shrugging, I said, “Ever since we started grabbing beer every Thursday night while you’re at lacrosse practice.” His jaw dropped slightly, and I laughed again. “No, idiot. We’ve just interacted a lot because of my internship. Now, can we get started on the article?”

--

After the article was published, my next assignment was writing about the track meet a couple weeks later. I found out Allison and Lydia were riding together to the meet, so I tagged along.

Both girls were extremely tense the whole ride, seemingly concerned about something going on in the bus. We were only a few cars behind the bus full of track runners (and lacrosse players who were forced to attend the meet), but the stand-still traffic was a force to be reckoned with.

“Do you think we’re too close?” Allison asked.

“Honey, if you were any closer I think you’d mount the bus,” Lydia said sarcastically. She got a call from Stiles and looked over at Allison. “Hey, Stiles,” she dragged out the ‘hey,’ tension obvious in her voice.

She listened to what he was saying, something clearly wrong. “What do you mean he’s not–” she stopped when she remembered I was in the car, “healing?” She finished the question quietly, probably hoping I wouldn’t hear.

Healing? Is he injured?

“Yeah, ok, just find a way to get Coach to stop. We’ll meet you there.” She hung up and told Allison to pull off at the next stop.

When we got to the rest stop, I could see everyone hurrying to get off the bus. Allison parked the car, and we quickly went to the bathroom where I saw Scott nearly passed out on the floor. “Oh my god, is he okay?”

“Yeah, y/n. He’s fine. At least, he will be,” Stiles responded. He positioned his body in front of me a little bit as if he was trying to block my view of Scott.

I gently pushed him aside so I could see and was shocked to see black blood coming from the injured boy. “What the hell is going on? Why is his blood black?” I ran forward to get closer, kneeling next to Allison.

“It’s nothing. We just need to stitch him up and he’ll be fine.”

“Stiles, don’t fucking lie to me. I can see that he’s obviously not fine.”

“He’s right,” Allison said quietly. “We need to stitch him up. I need something to stitch him together with.” She looked around before remembering something in her bag.

I shook my head. “We need to tell Coach. Take him to a hospital or something.”

“No!” All three of them yelled at me.

It was quiet for a moment, all of us deciding where to go from here. “Just…” Stiles started, “please go and make sure the bus doesn’t leave without us. We’ll handle this.” I got up and slowly made my way to the door.

As I reached for the door, a hand grabbed my wrist. “y/n,” Stiles said, “it’ll make sense someday. Just trust us for now. Trust me,” he pleaded quietly out of earshot of the girls and Scott.

“I do,” I replied quietly, not meeting his eyes, before pulling my hand from his grasp and leaving the bathroom.

That night, we all had to stay at the Motel Glen Capri because of the postponed meet. I didn’t like its energy, and neither did Lydia. “A lot can happen in one night,” she said.

Though it was supposed to be two to a room, I convinced Coach to let me room with Allison and Lydia. Admittedly, Coach didn’t need much convincing because I was saving the school money by doing so. Once we got our room key, we went up to our room on the second floor.

“I’m going to go get a snack from the machine,” I told Lydia once Allison was in the shower.

She nodded. “Sounds good. I’m going to the lobby. There must be something we can do about these towels that reek of nicotine.”

Grabbing a couple one’s from my wallet, I made my way down the hall to the vending machine where I ran into Boyd and Stiles. As I approached, I could hear Stiles trying to talk to an unresponsive Boyd, who subsequently punched a hole through the glass of the machine, grab his snack that the machine refused to give him, and walk away.

“What the hell was that?” I asked Stiles as I walked up next to him.

He shrugged. “I don’t really know, to be honest.” He reached into the machine to grab his snack and tossed one to me as well.

When I got back to my room, a shaken Allison and Lydia were hurriedly talking about something. “Oh, y/n! You’re back. You won’t believe what just happened…” Allison started

She recounted the story of Scott’s bizarre behavior in the bathroom, and Lydia filled me in on the counter that they have at the front desk. “Can you imagine having a counter for the number of suicides that take place in your hotel? Crazy,” Lydia said. Taking her phone out, she sent a quick text to Stiles telling him that we all needed to talk.

We met him in the hallway a couple minutes later. “What was the text for?” Stiles asked when he saw our little gathering.

“There’s something going on with all the…” she looked over at me before continuing, “guys. You know, Scott, Boyd, Isaac, probably Ethan too.” I tried to connect the dots between all of them, but I didn’t really know what they all had in common. Scott and Isaac were both on the lacrosse team, but from what I could tell they didn’t have a particular fondness for each other or Ethan.

“I think someone’s going to die tonight,” Lydia said decisively.

“Why do you think that?” I asked, but it seemed like I was the only one questioning her line of reason.

She shook her head slowly. “I just...have a feeling.” After a moment of silence, she told us about hearing something from the room next to ours through the vent, so we decided to investigate it. Room 217 seemed empty and locked, but all of a sudden we heard the sound of a saw from behind the door.

Stiles busted the door open, and we opened it to find Ethan turning the saw on himself. “Ethan, stop!” I yelled as we ran into the room. Stiles started wrestling him for the saw, but luckily Lydia saw where it was plugged into the wall and unplugged it.

The next thing that happened was completely unexpected to me. Ethan grew fangs and claws, his eyes blazing red. What the fu–

Allison and Lydia rushed forward, wrestling his claws away from his torso where he had been planning on slashing himself. In the struggle he fell on the space heater, which apparently brought him out of whatever state he was in. He ran out of the room soon after. When we tried to question him about what he was doing, he couldn’t answer us. He had been out of control, and it made Allison realize we were forgetting someone.

“Where’s Scott?” She asked suddenly. When no one could answer, we all decided to split up – I’d go with Allison to look for Scott while Stiles and Lydia went to find Boyd and Isaac.

Scott wasn’t in his room. Allison and I ran all over the motel, looking in every crevice. At last, we decided to check the school bus, and that’s where we saw him. Standing drenched in gasoline, a flare lit up in his hand.

“Scott…” I approached quietly, careful to not make any sudden movements.

It was then that Stiles and Lydia joined us. I watched as Stiles walked into the gasoline, my breath catching in my throat as he nearly sacrificed himself. Scott was talking, but I didn’t really understand what it meant. He said that his life was better before the bite.

Stiles eventually talked Scott down, but the flare rolled into the gasoline. Luckily, Lydia was able to make sure we had all gotten out of the way. I’d ended up next to Stiles on the ground, and though we made eye contact, no words were spoken.

We spent the night in the bus because none of us could bear the thought of spending another second in that cursed place. Coach woke us up in the morning, definitely thinking the worst about what we may have gotten ourselves into, but whatever he was thinking wouldn’t possibly compare to reality. What was reality? I couldn’t have really told you at that point. I didn’t understand what we’d just lived through.

Before the other students started loading onto the bus, Stiles slid into the empty space next to me. “y/n, you know that all of this,” he made a grand gesture to Scott and the others as well as the motel, “is off the record. You can’t tell anyone about this. About what happened.” I held eye contact with him for a moment before nodding. “I wouldn’t tell anyone. To be honest, I don’t even really know what I would tell people, but I wouldn’t.” He nodded, a sad smile on his face as he looked down and fidgeted with his hands. “But Stiles,” I said as he looked back up at me. “Please help me understand it all. You can trust me, I promise, I just want to understand. I want to help.”

With a deep sigh, Stiles nodded once more. “Okay. I’ll tell you everything.”

--

When Stiles said he’d fill me in on everything, I didn’t realize he meant everything. I couldn’t believe how oblivious I had been to everything that had happened in the past year. Sure, I knew something weird was going on, but how was I supposed to know it was supernatural?

Finding out that my little corner of the world, little old Beacon Hills, California, had werewolves (and a kanima, pack of alphas, and whatever the hell a Darach was) was a lot to process. It was unbelievable, but Stiles helped me believe it.

I could tell that he didn’t fully trust me though. There was something in the way he looked at me that told me he was wondering when I would be done with my source acquisition and I’d write the next big exposé: Supernatural Beacon Hills: How Werewolves Have Been Hiding In Plain Sight. I didn’t know how to assure him that I was on their side and wouldn’t expose their secrets.

As the year progressed, things simultaneously made more sense and less sense. To defeat the Darach, we had to perform a sacrifice for the parents that had abducted, and Deaton – the veterinarian that had taken care of every family pet we’d ever had – told me I had to hold Stiles down during it. He said we had some sort of connection, but I guess that’s what mutual loathing does to people.

In the end, we won. We beat the Darach, the alpha of the alphas Deucalion left, and Scott became an alpha himself. But it was still just the beginning.

--

The sacrifice did something to Scott, Stiles, and Allison that we didn’t fully understand. Deaton said they left a door open, which only made it harder for Stiles to trust me because he could barely trust himself.

Knowing about the supernatural didn’t preclude my other responsibilities though. I still wrote for the Daily Beacon, much to Stiles’ displeasure, but I enjoyed it. So, on the first day of school I interviewed our newest faculty member – Mr. Yukimura. He and his family had just moved from New York, and his daughter Kira was in our grade. She was nice, but shy, so I invited her to have lunch with us.

Surprisingly, Kira jumped right into the conversation at lunch by mentioning bardo, the Buddhist concept of being in an in-between state.

After lunch, I caught up with Allison to walk to our next class. “Hey, Allison, could I ask you a favor?”

“Of course! What’s up?”

“Well, I don’t really know how to ask this but...I need help learning to defend myself, I guess? It’s just that I’m going to be helping you guys now, and I actually want to be helpful, so I want to protect myself so you guys don’t have to worry about me,” I admitted.

Allison smiled softly. “I’d love to help.” I returned her smile, suddenly giddy, yet nervous. “But, I think you should know that my...aim...has been off since the sacrifice.”

I could hear the disappointment in her voice. “Nonsense, I’m sure that you’re still the best shot in this school.” She shook her head. “It’s never been this bad.”

Touching her arm lightly, I gave her a reassuring smile. “We’ll figure it out together.”

A few days later, I was surprised when I was paid a visit by both Scott and Stiles while I was sitting in the library. “To what do I owe this pleasure, boys?”

“We need your help.” I perked up at Scott’s statement. “We’re trying to solve the Tate case, you know, the one where Malia Tate disappeared all those years ago after that car accident, and we could use your help tracking her down.” He looked over at Stiles and nudged him with his elbow.

“And, you can write a piece about it. Not including all the details, if what we think happened is true, but you can still write something factual,” Stiles said, still displeased that I was writing for the newspaper.

To annoy Stiles, I acted like I was really thinking about it for a minute, but then laughed lightly. “Yeah, I’ll help you guys. Where do we start?”

--

Pull yourself together, y/n. You’re a journalist. You’re supposed to report on tragedy all the time. Be objective.

I took a deep breath and wrote the first line for what would be the cover story of the next Daily Beacon issue.

Junior Allison Argent, 17, died in an unfortunate carjacking incident last fall.

Before I could write any more, I got a phone call from Stiles.

Oh, thank god. “Stiles?”

“Do you want to come with us to Mexico?” He blurted out.

I couldn’t help the laugh that bubbled from my chest. “What? Mexico? Why? When–”

“Tomorrow.”

“Stiles, are you insane? Even if I wanted to, there’s no way my parents would ever let me go.”

“We’re all telling our parents we’re going camping, if that helps at all,” he said with what seemed like a hint of disappointment in his voice.

I was quiet for a minute, but my mind was already made up. “Why? And who exactly is going?”

“Scott, Lydia, Kira, Malia, and I have to visit some hunters and see what they know about Derek being missing.”

As soon as he mentioned Malia, my mouth started curling into a frown. It’s not that I disliked the werecoyote, it’s just that she and Stiles had been pretty full on since they hooked up at Eichen and started dating. I wasn’t jealous – though I’m sure Lydia would argue otherwise since she’s convinced I like him or something – just...weirded out by their relationship.

I sighed. “I want to help, but I really can’t tomorrow. School starts back up in a couple days, and I need to finish this elegy for Allison and come up with a bunch of assignments for the staff writers…” I trailed off, thinking about all that I had to do before the coming week.

“Oh yeah, I forgot. Ms. Editor-in-chief over here has a life outside of us,” Stiles joked.

Andrew graduated at the end of last year and left his glittering empire to me, though suddenly I felt overwhelmed at the prospect of running a newspaper while being way too involved in the town’s supernatural endeavors. It didn’t bother me last semester, but after Allison…

“I’ll just see you guys when you get back, okay?” I told Stiles. He made an unintelligible noise of agreement. “And try not to let anyone get killed.” “Yes, mom,” Stiles said sarcastically. I could almost hear the smirk in his voice.

When the pack got back, I was surprised by the events that had taken place. “What do you mean it’s a young version of Derek?”

A few days later, I had to cover the spring lacrosse tryouts. Though I wanted to assign it to someone else, I had to do it myself because everyone was busy with the assignments I had given them.

To my surprise, a new freshman, Liam Dunbar, showed everyone up at tryouts – even Scott. I took note of how he seemed almost athletically superior to everyone, and I wondered if he was supernatural.

“He’s human, I’m sure of it,” Scott said as he came up next to where I was sitting on the bleachers, scaring me out of my mind in the process.

“Jeez, Scott. A little warning next time would be nice. But how do you know?”

He shrugged. “I can just tell. He’s just a really great athlete.”

“He’s going to be a great pain in my ass, I can tell,” Stiles said, sidling up next to Scott.

I took note of their reactions, writing down Scott’s comment – about being a great athlete, not human – to consider while writing my piece.

“Oh no, don’t tell me you’re writing a story about him,” Stiles groaned.

“You know I have to write one about the tryouts, and he just happens to be the star player of today,” I told him. “Sorry, Scott.”

Scott waved me off, but Stiles was still upset about the situation. “No, don’t give him the ego boost! He’s already a little shit, and an article about him would make it worse.”

Taking a break from my note-taking, I looked over at the brown-haired boy. “Stiles, have you even talked to him?”

He looked at a loss for words. “N-not really...but I can see his arrogance from a mile away!”

I rolled my eyes. “Well then, if you’d excuse me, I’m going to write up a fantastic story about a talented up-and-coming lacrosse player.”

The article became the next issue’s front page, but I almost wished I hadn’t given him as much attention when Scott turned him into his beta.

The rest of the year didn’t go as planned either, but isn’t junior year supposed to be everyone’s worst year?

As much as I liked helping out with the supernatural problems Scott and the rest of the pack were having, it was hard knowing about what was going on and not being able to write about it, especially when all of the mysterious killings started up. We eventually found out about the deadpool, but I could write about a kill list of Beacon Hills’ resident supernaturals, could I?

At the end of the year, I finally had to make the trip to Mexico with the rest of the pack. “Stiles, I’m going. You can’t stop me!” I attempted to open the passenger door of the jeep when he reached out and shut it from behind me.

“No, it’s going to be dangerous. We don’t even really know what we’re facing,” he tried reasoning with me. “I can protect myself,” I said, thinking of the training that Allison had given me. “Besides, I can’t just sit by and wait for you guys to come back. I need to try helping Scott.”

Realizing that I wasn’t going to back down, Stiles removed his hand from the side of the door and opened it for me. I nodded a quick thanks as I hopped into the vehicle.

I wasn’t expecting to fight Scott that day, but we all did in order to return him from his Berserker form. At the end of the fight, I had a few cuts and bruises, but nothing I couldn’t deal with.

As Derek drove away with Braedan, I could feel that things were changing. “I can’t write about any of this, can I?” I asked somewhat jokingly.

“Off the record,” Stiles replied from where he stood next to me.

--

“Stiles, what’s wrong?”

“Oh thank god, you remember me!” He said as he grabbed my hands. He’d been running down the hall frantically when I saw him.

I looked at him with concern on my face. “Yeah, of course I remember you? Why wouldn’t I–”

“y/n, it’s the Hunt. The Ghost Riders. I saw them, and now they’re coming for me.” He was breathing heavily, eyes sweeping the surroundings for signs of the Ghost Riders. His eyes locked on something to his left, but when I looked, I couldn’t see anything. “They’re here. We have to go,” he said, pulling me towards the parking lot. We got into his jeep, but he didn’t start the car. “Stiles, what are you doing?”

“It’s too late.” I could see the look of grief on his face. “No, don’t say that. It’s not–”

“It’s the truth,” he cut me off, turning to look at me. “Promise me you won’t forget.”

I shook my head. “I won’t. But Stiles, I can’t do this without you,” I could feel a tear escaping my eye and slipping down my cheek, my emotions getting the better of me.

Stiles reached forward and wiped the tear away before placing his hand on my cheek. “What do you mean? You’re one of the smartest, most inquisitive people I know. If I had to trust anyone to find a way to stop the Ghost Riders, it would be you.”

I couldn’t help but smile at his honesty. “Yeah right. Lydia will probably figure it out before me.”

He shook his head. “You can do it. I trust you.” I could tell there was more he wanted to say, but he turned to look at something through the window over his shoulder. “Can I tell you something? Off the record.”

I couldn’t help the laugh that escaped my mouth. “Yes, of course. What is it?”

He took a deep breath. “I don’t hate you. I know it may seem like I’ve never trusted you or that I don’t care about you, but it’s actually the opposite. I...really really like you,” he admitted.

I was stunned. Stiles likes me? He was searching my face for any indication of feelings as I sat there silently.

“Oh, shit,” Stiles mumbled. “Ok, forget I said that. Well, you won’t need to forget when you forget me in a minute–”

I cut off his rambling by placing my lips on his. They were warm and familiar, as if they were made for mine. “I like you too,” I mumbled when I disconnected, my eyes still closed from the interaction.

But when I opened them, I was alone in the baby blue jeep.

--

All semester, I’d felt that something was missing, but I couldn’t figure out what it was. Or who it was.

But after months of searching for it, we finally figured it out. Lydia had gone into a banshee trance to discover the word “Stiles,” and it brought back vague memories for me when I heard it. The feeling of soft flannel. A sarcastic laugh. Red string around my finger. A hefty wooden baseball bat.

The collection of memories made sense when we all finally got our memories back and remembered the person we were missing from our lives.

We traced the trail of clues to the sewers, where Scott tried to bring back Stiles because of their brotherly love for one another. I thought it would work, but the portal closed and Stiles hadn’t appeared. Come on, Stiles. Where are you?

We had to fight the Ghost Riders off, making sure they didn’t turn our beloved Beacon Hills into another ghost town. I’d run into the high school, looking for something to use as a weapon when I ran into someone in the hall. A tall, brown-haired figure wearing a flannel shirt. “Stiles?”

He turned, and smiles emerged on both of our faces. I broke into a run again, right into his arms. “I can’t believe you’re here. You’re really here.” I mumbled, the sound muffled against his shirt.

“I knew you could do it,” he said.

I pulled back slightly and looked up at his face, suddenly nervous. “That night in the jeep...did you hear what I told you before you disappeared?”

A soft smile rested on his face. “Of course I did. It was the one thing that kept me going, especially when I was stuck with Peter.”

“Peter Hale? Why the hell were you with Peter Hale?”

Stiles shook his head. “We can go over that later. For now, there’s one thing I’ve been wanting to do.” I was a little confused, but I understood once he leaned in and connected our lips.

This is what I’d been missing, and I was never going to let it go again.

--

I watched from afar as Stiles gave his trusty baseball bat to Mason, who didn’t seem to appreciate the hunk of wood.

“Have you told him yet?” Lydia asked as she appeared next to me.

I shook my head. “We haven’t really had time to talk about that stuff. I think he doesn’t really want to think about it just yet and what that might mean for us.”

She nudged me with her elbow, silently telling me to go over there and talk to him. Rolling my eyes, I walked towards the familiar blue jeep and familiar mess of brown hair.

Liam and Mason had already walked away, and Scott and Stiles were standing and talking at the jeep’s trunk. “Hey, y/n. I’m just heading out, but I’ll see you guys later,” Scott said as I came up and Stiles threw his arm around me.

We waved as Scott left, and Stiles pulled me closer. “Hey,” he said, looking down at me with an affectionate expression.

I pulled him over so we could sit in the open trunk. “We need to talk.” I could see the panic flare up in his eyes.

“Oh, um, okay? Is everything okay?”

Chuckling lightly, I nodded. “Yeah, we just haven’t talked about college at all,” I explained.

His head dropped. “Yeah, I know. I just don’t want it to ruin what we have here, and I don’t even know what life will be like outside of Beacon Hills, and I feel like we just got together and now–”

“Stiles,” I cut him off. “I’m going to GW too.”

His eyes widened at my confession. “You...you’re going to GW?”

I nodded, a small smile on my lips. “I committed a while ago. I’m going to study journalism there.”

I watched as a smile spread across his face. Then, it was replaced by a quick smirk. “Oh great, you’re following me there, huh? I just can’t seem to get rid of you.”

I shrugged. “What can I say? I’m going to need someone to give me the inside scoop on the FBI’s antics.”

He looked pensive for a moment. “I think what you’re describing is illegal.”

“Not if it’s in the public’s interest. But maybe it just needs to be off the record,” I admitted. Stiles laughed. “Oh, it’s definitely going to be off the record.”

[oftenderweapons]

Steamy Waters — Jungkook

Pairing: Jeon Jungkook x reader (nicknamed Candy)

Wordcount: 7.7k 

Genre: smut, pwp; initial fluff, but don’t let that fool you; established relationship;  idol!AU

Rating: 18+

Hello my fluffy ducklings, welcome to Jeongguk’s Steamy Waters 😈

I won’t even pretend there’s a plot in this. It’s just Jk, coming home from the gym and finding excuses to shower with his gf. Set almost a month after Love Talk, Jeongguk is finally ready to take a big step in his relationship with Candy, however finding the courage for the big leap is excruciating. Candy is more than willing to reward him before asking for something in return, she simply doesn’t know how much her game will cost her. 

I decided I’ll keep using the nickname the nickname “Guk”, (see more in this post). Now, straight on to...

TRIGGER WARNINGS: unprotected sex within an established relationship (don’t do that unless YOU’RE TESTED AND CLEAN), mentions of therapy and mental health; sweaty jock!Jungkook, smitten!Jungkook who can’t express his emotions but IS WORKING ON IT, with a very supportive gf; I guess there’s a striptease, if you like... squint?; masturbation (female and male receiving); breast worship; period talk; very intimate love confession; foreplay under the shower (specifically mutual oral sex — aka 69 — while laying on the floor); predator/prey dynamics (namely she runs and he chases her, finds her as she tries to hide, drags her out and throws her over his shoulder); plenty of lube (lube is important and useful, let’s normalise using it); lots of degradation and objectification, name calling (fuckdoll, slut, cocksleeve, cockfairy), very multiple orgasms — like a lot; edging (both male and female receiving), begging, crying, slight humiliation. These two know all the possible variations to missionary sex (sorry not sorry); biting; slightest, most delicate face slapping and grabbing; spanking; tattoo fetish; cumplay, mentions of cum eating. 

[Inspired by this look]

Here is my masterlist and check out my non-idols!AU (Partition update coming on Sat, Jan 23rd!!!) 

Remember to vote for next prompt (link in bio)!

And now, enjoy ✨💜

————————————

The entry door smashed loudly sometime around ten p.m., followed by the thud of a bag falling to the floor, Jeongguk’s heavy steps stopping as he took of his shoes.

The moment he appeared he looked unreal, with an oversized black shirt reaching his mid thigh, the sleeves exposing his forearms and part of his tattoos, his hair falling messily in wet curls over his forehead.

“Candy, babe?” He called from the entry. “I’m home!”

“Guk?” You called from the kitchen, your head peeking around the corner. He spotted you and smiled.

“What you doing there?” He said with a smile, sauntering towards you, standing at your side and placing a hand around your waist as you stood by the stove.

You turned and stood on your tiptoes, puckering your lips and closing your eyes.

He bent down and pressed a chaste kiss to your lips. “I’m sorry I’m messy.” He said, close to your mouth.

“Are you fresh out of the gym?” You asked.

He nodded. “I haven’t even showered yet. I wanted to come home as soon as possible.” His fingers rubbed your side gently, trying not to tickle you. “I missed you a lot today.”

You smiled as you finished warming up his favourite post-workout snack. “I’ve already eaten. I thought you might be hungry.” You said, just as he stole the ladle and took a sip.

“Yum!” He commented, placing the utensil back in your hand. He stood behind you, placing his hands on your shoulders. “I wanna hug you but I’m too sweaty.” He commented as he kneeled the tense muscles of your neck.

You shook your head. “Oh, these need to be washed,” you said, referring to your outfit. “We went to a bulgogi place today and I feel like I smell so bad.”

“You haven’t showered yet?” He asked, his hands slowing down, almost stopping.

“No… I switched on the tv and there was this interesting old interview with Miyazaki and I got caught up.” You explained with a cheery tone.

“The Japanese director and artist?” He asked.

“Yeah.” You confirmed, switching off the stove and pouring a couple ladles of noodles and broth in a bowl, adding some basic decorations on top.

He paused before wrapping an arm around your waist. “Can I hug you then?” He asked gently, almost too quietly for you to hear.

Still, there was no way you wouldn’t hear his voice. Sometimes you thought you could hear his very thoughts.

“Of course you can hug me, Guk.”

His body adhered to yours without hesitation, a low moan exiting his throat as he felt you sink even deeper into him, pressing into his body, almost trying to hide into him.

“I said I missed you.” He said shyly, waiting for you to praise him as he opened up about his emotions.

You were working through it, together, trying to make him open up more, offer you more of himself, of his feelings and fears.

“I missed you too, baby. I love you.” You spoke against his chest, taking in the clean and humid scent of his skin. He always smelled so good even after working out. Especially after working out.

Your hormones did a somersault.

“Today I felt very… restless.”

That was a very specific word for his emotional vocabulary. Lately, he was getting better and better, finding new words that fit his moods appropriately. His way of speaking was always plain, in the best meaning of the term. He is simple and transparent, always using basic words with great meaning. That seemed to be his style, pure and direct, honest.

However, he was growing a lot, even emotionally. He was slowly losing the adjective “young” that people normally put before the word “man” when trying to describe him.

He is a man. And an excellent one at that. Sure, a bit naive sometimes, and still shy, but he always showed a caring, attentive side whenever you tried to speak your needs and grievances within your relationship.

“Mh… What made you feel restless today?” You asked, repeating an exercise that your psychologist always made you do when you were a teen.

“We practiced a choreo all morning. And we always messed up the same part. There’s a very difficult transition and it’s just… so difficult to end up in the right position after the passage.” He said, huffing out loudly.

You thought about his food getting cold, still you knew that if you made him eat the conversation would quite surely stop. “Anything else, baby?” You asked, kissing his breastbone.

“We had a couple interviews this afternoon. One with a radio and another one with a talk show.” He said. “I’m glad that my English is improving. Namjoon hyung said he’s proud of me and that I did a good job.”

You heard the smile in his voice.

“Even Yoongi hyung said I did a good job. And he offered me a tangerine!” He said enthusiastically.

You rubbed his back. “We’re all proud of you, baby.” You said fondly.

“Thank you.” He replied and when you looked up at his face you saw his ears flush red.

“Time to eat, Koo.” You said, pressing your hands to the sides of his head, trying to calm down the blush.

He smiled.

He looked beautiful.

On your tiptoes, you kissed the mole under his lip, shortly before he picked you up by the waist and brought you at his eye level, your arms anchoring behind his neck as he pushed his mouth to yours. “Thank you.” He said again, that feeling in his chest getting more and more urgent.

He would say it. Just… Not now.

He had plans.

He took the bowl and a spoon in his hand, the other one staying around your back, pulling you to the table with him. First he placed down the objects and then he sat, still holding your hand, tugging at it gently and making you sit across his lap.

You giggled and adjusted yourself, your forearm moving behind him and securing you to his back.

He pecked your temple and thanked for the food quickly before digging in, slurping loudly and devouring the whole meal in eager, large spoonfuls.

“No one’s stealing your food, baby, don’t eat too fast.” You said, worried as he paused for a moment, only to take a few breaths and dig in again, finishing the bowl.

He placed down the spoon and rubbed his belly, exhaling with a satisfied grin.

You smirked. “Would you like some more?”

He shook his head no. “I wanna shower.” He said, placing the spoon in the bowl and handing both to you; but before you could protest, thinking he was asking you to tidy up, he moved one arm under your knees, the other around your shoulders, picking you up bridal style.

“Guk, for goodness’ sake!” You shrieked, trying to secure yourself with one arm, the other holding the bow.

“Trust me,” He said, “I’ve got you.” He reassured you, stopping in front of the sink and helping you place the bowl down. Next, he made you sit on the counter, “I need both hands free for this,” he said, picking up the pot and covering it with its lid before placing it back inside the fridge.

He would deal with that later.

“Come here,” he called, standing between your legs and picking you up again, his hands pressed to the back of your thighs. You pushed your nose against the soft hair of his nape. “Where are we going?” You asked, curious.

“Shower.” He said, reaching the room and placing you down near the sink in the dim light coming in from the window. He looked at the saffron gleam of the streetlights landing on the floor, cutting a thin, long stripe landing at your feet.

He took a step forward and stood in it, his black shirt immediately absorbing the light with a curious pattern of shadows that seemed to offer small outlines of the taut, solid muscles underneath.

Jeongguk stood there, fascinated with the way you looked at him, almost ready to hide his face in his hands before you traced the line of his collarbone, then up his throat, until you reached the deep darkness enshrouding his mouth.

“Would you take off your shirt?” You asked, cupping his jaw.

He nodded. “In a second.” He said, staring some more.

He would have never believed he looked at you the same way you looked at him, weren’t it for the picture that had become his new desktop wallpaper a few hours ago. Jin had sent him a picture of the night Jungkook had introduced you to the boys, a week after the two of you had reunited. In the picture, you were talking with Jimin and Taehyung, the older leaning into you as he laughed hysterically while the younger looked at you like you had hung the very stars in the sky. Sitting on the sofa, you glanced up at Jeongguk as he stood behind you with his hands on your shoulders, a large grin on his face and the warmest feeling glittering in his eyes, his ears bright as your own lips opened up in a soft smile.

And now he stood in front of you and you were gorgeous. And he felt so in love.

So desperate to touch you.

But you looked like a vision, a mirage ready to disappear like his unsteady feelings; like that ugly, lying voice could come up any moment and make his doubt you and himself, making him believe that he was incapable of understanding true love, that he had been fooled once and it was sweet like this at the beginning until all there was left was barren land and bitter dust.

He took off his shirt. You moved away the hand on his face before you got tangled up, giving him space until his naked torso was right in front of you.

“You’ve been getting skinnier.” You said, placing your hands on his pectorals. “You’ve lost weight?” You asked, cupping his face again.

“It’s why I’m exercising. It was hard to keep a routine while I was gone.” He explained, placing his hands around your wrists and pushing them down. “Am I not strong enough? Fit enough?” He asked once your hands were resting on his pectorals.

Your thumbs circled his nipples, making them harden immediately. “No, baby.” You argued, a bit disappointed. “I’m saying I wouldn’t mind if you slowed down with the gym and ate a tiny bit more.” You replied. “I love you. I don’t care about your looks, but you’re all bones and muscles. I don’t mind the flesh.” You said, pinching his belly and finding only skin between your fingers. “I’m saying I don’t want you to be so hard on yourself.” You explained before your hands travelled to the ribbon of his sweats.

“You want me to put on some weight?” He asked, incredulous.

“I just want you to be healthy and eat enough food to match your workouts, and do anything you want with your body without feeling pressured. True Army will love you with or without abs.” You raked your nails across his taut abdomen. “And I don’t care as long as I get to touch you like this. Or kiss you here.” You said, following the shape of his cock with a finger.

He smiled and blushed — which you couldn’t see, considering the dark room. What you did feel was his sex twitching and hardening some more. He moaned weakly, his head falling forward and landing on your shoulder. “You mean you care only about blowing me?” He asked, his hips pushing against your palm, his hair tickling your neck and ear, making you arch away from his sinfully messy mop of hair.

You cupped him from over his sweats, massaging him slowly, gently. “Let’s say it’s a pretty important factor in our relationship.” You joked, nuzzling your nose against his head.

“Mh...” He commented meditatively. “How important compared to your love for me?” He asked, mouthing at the underside of your jaw, chuckling and teasing it with the vibrations of his voice clad in a deep rumble and the thick, teasing accent of his dialect.

“Mh… they’re neck and neck for factor number one.” You teased back, tracing his happy trail with your index finger.

“Neck and neck, you say...” He mused, nipping at your throat harshly, making you gasp. “Let’s see what happens if I take it away from you.” He wondered as he took a step away, out of your grasp.

You tried to keep touching him until he was too far for you to reach.

“Hands to yourself, babe.” He scolded as you licked your lips, looking at him as he switched on the soft led from the shower, lowering it to a soft dark red. “Promise me you’ll keep your naughty fingers at bay.” He asked, taking one step toward you.

You nodded eagerly, “I promise. Please.” You begged, placing your palms flat on your thighs and waiting for him to come closer. Once more he stood between your legs, his hands catching your wrists and bringing your arms behind your back, indirectly making your spine arch forward and push your breasts up.

He stared unashamed at your curves, barely visible over the large cotton blouse. “Keep your hands there.” He said, his fingers starting at your buttons. “My turn.” He said, undoing enough buttons to reach the lower hem of your bra, his hands sliding into the opening and cupping your breast from the lower, outer part, pressing them together and planting his face right in the crevasse, making you laugh at the drastic way he dove in.

“You good there, Guk?”

He nodded simply. “God, if you’re listening, this is a good moment to die.” He commented gingerly. “Let my girlfriend’s tits be the last thing I see before I pass.” He went on. “Amen.”

The laughter overtook you, your whole body wiggling with giggles. “Admit it, you love my tits way more than you love me.” You said before realising that the joke didn’t work both ways: even though you had confessed your feelings, he hadn’t done so with an actual declaration yet.

“Neck and neck.” He replied, letting his feelings implicitly show with ambiguous confessions.

He drew the upper curve of each breast with small kisses while his fingers worked the buttons left. The moment he reached the last one, he undid it and raised his head, looking you in the eye for the longest, slowest seconds in the history of the universe. His lips collided with yours, pressure building and building until you separated, galaxies of feelings and sensations blooming in both of you.

His hands pushed the blouse off your shoulders, letting it slide to your wrists. Next, he moved the straps of your bra off your shoulders kissing the slope of your neck and collarbone slowly and leisurely on the left side, before turning to the other side and parting his lips, letting half an inch of his tongue hang from his mouth and trace the ridge of your collarbone, his fingers undoing the clasp of your bra. The garment slid lower, your breasts heavier now without the support of the small cage. “Are they sore?” He asked, kissing you under your ear before moving his hands to your forearms, freeing you from the shirt.

“A bit. It was hot outside today.” You paused. “And my period’s close.” You added, hoping he didn’t get embarrassed by the small statement.

He stayed silent for half a minute. “How close?” He asked, moving your arm to your front so he could remove one strap, then focusing on the other one, baring your torso completely.

“It should be… four or five days away.” You said after making a quick count.

He nodded before cupping your face and kissing your mouth. “Do you need me to stock anything in the house?” He asked, parting from your face and looking you in the eye? “Sanitary products, comfort food, anything?” He asked, his gaze so soft and caring you felt a string of your heart snap and break.

“I have those at home.” You said, combing his hair away from his face, the red light making his eyes even more intense, his lips even more tempting.

“You won’t be here on the weekend?” He asked, suddenly hesitant. “I know we met today because I called you and normally you prefer staying at your place on weekdays and coming over for the weekend; but I thought that meeting today wouldn’t mean I wouldn’t have the weekend.” He said, confused and a little bit sad. Even with the dim lights you could see the disappointed look on his face.

“I thought that since I had my per—”

“It’s not like I wouldn’t want to cuddle and sleep with you. You know I—” love you. “I don’t want only sex.” He said, frowning.

You noticed he grew increasingly upset, his teeth torturing his lower lip.

Can’t you just fucking say it, Jeon Jeongguk, for goodness’ sake! His brain snapped at him, but his heart stayed guarded and wary.

“Come here.” You said, opening your arms, and letting him barricade himself into your embrace, your chest hot against his, the late summer night making both your and his skin clammy. “I know you care about me.” You said, your hand sliding into the long locks of his nape. “I’m not used to this, Guk. You know how we did this before you left.”

“This is not before I left. This is now.” He said, his voice so insecure. “I want everything. The cuddles and the sex and the feelings and… all of it. I want to be there for you. Always.” He said, raising up, towering over you as hegave up on the protection of your arms and offered you the safety of his own. “I want you to count on me. To trust me and tell me when something’s wrong. I want to support you and protect you.” He said, more and more determined. “I want to be the one you want when you had a stressful day and you need to talk. I want your problems too, ____. I want the ugly bits too. I don’t want you to choose the parts that you think I can handle and offer those alone.” He patted your head before making you look at him. “I want everything, Candy. Every damn thing, baby. The good, the bad and the in between.” He bent to your ear and closed his eyes, leaning into you, pressing his forehead to your temple. “Will you let me be there for you, baby, please?” He asked, begging, holding the crown of your head with one hand and your waist with the other.

You nodded, almost too emotional. “Yes.” You replied simply before he pressed you to his chest, where his heart beat so loud you thought he would get a heart attack.

He placed both hands on your waist lifting you off the counter and placing you with your feet on the floor. “Take off your trousers and panties, Candy.” He spoke softly as he watched your hands slide down your sides dragging the garments all the way to your ankles before stepping out of them. He placed them in the basket with the dirty laundry.

“Your sweats,” you said, trying to reach for the waistband.

“No,” he said, getting undressed by himself.

Just like that, you stood naked in front of each other, his eyes focused on your face, your gaze laced with his.

“You're so beautiful.” He whispered, cupping the side of your neck before letting his hand skim your chest, the plumpness on your breast, the sensitive curve of your waist, his palm stopping at your hip before his fingers sunk into your flesh, his eyes following his hand with unbreakable focus.

Gently, he tugged you toward the shower, making you stop before entering. “Let me get the temperature right.” He said, opening the tap and waiting a little before the water turned warm. You stared at him as he tested the spray and dove under, small rivulets rolling down his body, following the curve of his back, drenching his hair and rolling down his cheeks as he rubbed his face with his hands.

“Come, babe.” Jeongguk said, stretching his hand toward you.

Biting your lip, you took a few steps before he moved out of the spray, hugging you before he took a small step back, your and his body both under the water. You simply pressed your mouth to the base of his throat while his hands made sure that your hair got properly wet before he could wash them.

Your hands moved down his back, from his shoulder blades to the small of his back, until you managed to reach the full roundness of his ass, massaging it slowly, comfortably.

He snickered. “Are you comfy there?” He asked, just as his hands reached your own ass and squeezed it. “Does that feel good?”

You nodded, the sound of the water drowning your small moan. “Let me.” You said, turning around and rubbing at your hair, making sure it was soaked.

His hands followed the curves of your body capturing your heavy breasts in his palms. He took a deep breath before he stretched to reach his body wash, pouring some in his palm and foaming it up before spreading it over your skin, the scent of his soap filling the space.

The lights were making it even more intimate, with the red-to-black spectrum tinging the experience in a variety of tones of eroticism. First and foremost, the mildest but most difficult of them all: intimacy.

Jeongguk placed his hands on your waist, making you turn around. You were there, with your hair pushed back, your beautiful face completely exposed to his observing stare. He couldn’t hold your gaze.

He poured more shower gel on his palm and after it turned into a small handful of bubbles he bent down and divided it between his hands, bending down and washing your legs, until he knelt, washing your feet.

“Guk.” You called shyly.

He hummed in reply, just as he took a gentler soap meant for your intimate parts. He pumped a dollop on his hand and foamed it briskly before cupping your vulva delicately, focusing on the simple, affectionate task at hand, making sure to spread your labia as you parted your legs slightly to let him have access. He rubbed the palm slowly, lightly against your skin, not sparing the back, in between your ass cheeks, waiting for the water to rinse his hands and clean you fully.

He felt ready.

His hands cupped your hips, holding tight without his fingers digging in, all the pressure focused on his palms.

He kissed your belly button.

“I love you.” He almost whispered.

You were far too lost in sensations to be sure that he had actually said what you thought you had heard.

“What?” You asked, looking down at him.

He delivered another small kiss on your tummy and looked up. “I love you, ____.” He said, before smiling timidly.

“You love me?” You asked, incredulous.

“Yes. I love you, Candy. A whole damn lot.” He said, kissing a straight line from your belly to your pubic bone, stopping there. “I wanna… Can I… Can I taste you?” He asked, waiting on his knees, removing his hands and mouth from you, letting you choose freely.

You looked at him before your mouth opened in the happiest, widest smile you had ever given him. “I love you, you know that, right?” You told him, touching his face, combing his hair back.

He nodded. “I love you too.” He said, and the more he said that, the more his body felt how right, how true it was.

“You wanna eat me out?” You asked as he nodded furiously.

You lifted a leg, ready to place it on his shoulder when he sat on his hip, then turned with his back to you, laying flat on the floor, his head away from the water spray.

Your brow furrowed before he tucked his elbows next to his torso, his hands close to his face before he grinned and wiggled his fingers in a “come forth” motion.

“Uhm…” You wondered, confused for a brief moment, trying to understand if he really meant for you to ride his face, especially since you were both still trying to understand the whole cunnilingus discourse.

“Sit on my face?” He asked, his cheeks blushing — which fortunately you couldn’t see with the current lighting, he considered.

Your eyebrows shot up. “You sure?” You asked.

“Pretty sure, yes. If you want to, of course.” He replied.

Slowly you lowered yourself to your knees, his hands circling your waist and heading up, up, until he met your breasts, before heading down again, fixing your hips right against his lips.

“I’m gonna start now, Candy.” He warned you, “you can ask me to stop whenever you want to, baby.”

“Wait!” You called. “Is it okay if I blow you?” You asked, pretty sure that it would be good for your mind space if you dedicated yourself to his pleasure, easing the mental pressure you felt whenever someone went down on you. After all, Jeongguk had been the first to make you cum during oral sex, and even with him sometimes you struggled reaching your high.

“You want to sixty-nine?” He asked, trying to comfort you by lacing his fingers with yours.

“I wanna try?” You asked. “Maybe it all works better if I’m not thinking about it too much. I could use a…distraction?” You explained, doubtful.

“Okay, let’s give this a go.” He replied, completely oblivious that the simple movements of his mouth as he spoke against your crotch were making your hole drip in wetness.

“Okay then!” You slowly lowered yourself on your elbows, his lips going on a slow side-to-side motion before he opened his mouth, his upper lip pressing against your entrance while his lower one met the sensitive nerve endings of your clit, making you moan just as his tip entered your mouth, your hand cupping his balls and sliding upwards, until you could grip him as comfortably as you could.

He released a heavy breath, the hot air meeting the raw skin of your slit. Just as his tongue made its way between your labia, you bobbed your head a couple times, making him moan loudly, which made you moan in return.

The whole situation turned into a game where the more you received, the more you gave.

As you started sucking him, creating a vacuum effect with your cheeks, his hands gripped your ass, his lips wrapping around your left labium, pumping it with his cheeks into his mouth, just past his teeth, that grazed it perfectly, alternating the softness of his lips and tongue with the hard edge of his teeth, making blood pool in the sensitive tissue. Meanwhile, on his lap, you were drooling all over him, pumping him with your fist as you started losing focus. “Guk.” You called.

He simply hummed and switched to the other side.

Yes, he was dedicated like that.

“Gu— Oh, yes, love, like that, baby, just like that.” You said as you felt his hands direct your hips in a grinding motion, your mouth returning between his legs out of sheer gratitude.

He moaned again, his eyelids fluttering with pleasure as you pushed his soft head to the back of your mouth, bobbing your head a few times before your hand started fondling his balls with your palm, twisting your wrist and using the pad of your thumb to tease the delicate spot between his balls and his anus.

He released your labium. “Candy. Fuck, baby, yeah, that a… I— I really like your finger there, baby.” He said, swallowing loudly before flicking the tip of his tongue repeatedly against your clit, spanking your ass brusquely before he gave a few strong pumps to your most sensitive spot.

You released his cock, letting it snap back to his belly and speaking against his shaft. “Please… Guk. Too good, love—” Your hips began to gyrate on him, his hands leading you, keeping your movements controlled so that he didn’t lose his grip between your legs. Holding his tongue rigid and still, he pushed the tip to the underside of your clit, dragging it up and exposing the most sensitive nerves, usually protected by the hood and way too sensitive for direct stimulation. Which is exactly why after two minutes your body stilled before starting to shake uncontrollably with effort, your whole universe silent, holding its breath before your lips opened in a high pitched, incoherent cry that announced your orgasm and predicted your reckless, ruthless movements on top of Jeongguk.

He took everything in.

Every small thing.

He kept moving his tongue even as it cramped, slapping your ass shamelessly, violently, spurring you into a wilder, more desperate pace as you — completely oblivious to your raw knees — rode him with a passion, pulling him into your mouth once more to quiet down your moans.

You felt your legs shake even more as his hips started pushing into your mouth, his long hums turning into short, deep groans and whimpers.

Just as you felt his balls tighten, you drew away, making him whine and arch his hips toward you.

“Please…” He called, his voice so, so miserable and pleading.

“You want your orgasm?” You asked, voice sultry.

You precisely knew what you wanted. And you had very clear plans on how to get it just right.

You looked right in front of you, at the small bathroom carpet laying just outside the shower, ready for you to dry your feet. Your escape route was bright and clear in front of your eyes.

“Does it feel nice?” You asked, un-straddling his face, acting as if you had each and every intention to bring him to the very edge and watch him dissolve.

“Please, Candy...” He cried, his hips undulating hypnotically.

“You wanna cum?” You cooed cutely.

He nodded eagerly. “Yeah… Please.”

You stopped. “Then come get me, bunny boy.” You grinned and stood, exiting the shower with a long step, shaking the water off your body as you rubbed your feet against the carpet a few times, before dashing for the door.

Alone, he opened his eyes and raised his head, looking around. “Candy?” He called again.

No sign.

He shook his head and stood up, his erection painful and uncomfortable as he closed the tap and walked out of the shower, drying his feet harshly as he switched off the bathroom lights and exited the room, looking around, spotting a trail of droplets on the floor.

He sneered and swore, staring at his hard on and clenching his jaw as he walked down the corridor with quick, long steps.

He found you as you tried to hide in the walk-in closet, almost sure you were unfollowed the moment you moved on all fours and tried to crawl under a lower shelf.

Jeongguk smirked, the scene disgustingly hilarious to him as he grabbed your hips and pulled you out of your hiding spot.

“That’s your plan?” He asked just as you tried to wiggle out of his grip.

His fingers dug into your waist, grabbing you even harder as he dragged you away from the shelf, where you could hit your head.

“You’re ridiculous.” He said, putting you on your feet before he turned you around and hoisted you over his shoulder, spanking you unceremoniously. “Running on wobbly legs.” He spanked you again. “Leaving a pretty trail of water leading me right here.” Another spank. “I thought I had taught you better than this.” He said, offering you some mercy and biting your leg instead of smacking your ass.

Your world was very unstable as he began walking you to his bedroom. He threw you on the mattress and switched on the led light behind the headboard. Again your view became nothing but the sultriest black and red.

“You wanted to make me angry?” He asked, looking you in the eye as he climbed on top of you, spreading your legs and sitting in between before both his arms caged your head.

His chest, wet and toned, was right before your eyes, moving with the fury of a wild beast. He grabbed your chin and led your gaze upward, into his. “I said, you wanted to make me angry?” He repeated.

You nodded.

“You wanted to make me snap?” He asked again, grabbing your face, making your lips turn into a silly pout.

You nodded once more. “I am—”

“I’ll tell you what you are.” He said, getting off you, opening his drawer and taking out a towel and a plastic bottle, which he placed on the bedside table before he lifted your legs with one arm and laid the towel down with the other.

You stayed silent as he took his time.

“You are a ridiculous little fuckdoll.” He stated clearly, no lips, no stutter, no hesitation whatsoever. “You are my dumb little fuckdoll,” he went on opening the bottle and letting a heavy amount of lube draw a line from the base to the tip as he held his cock away from his belly with his thumb and forefinger running around the glans. He spread the slick liquid with his palm, sliding it up and down as he hissed. “You always need to act like a dumb brat to make me fuck you like a slut.” The moment he leaned over you and poured some lube on your cunt too, you knew you were in for a long night. He closed the lid of the bottle but kept it nearby, in case he needed more.

You were close to your period, and once you had mentioned that you had some issues getting wet because of hormones changing. He was glad you gave him that kind of notions too. He had so much to learn still.

“You want me to fuck you hard?” He asked, spreading the wetness between your legs.

You nodded wordlessly.

“Not so wordy anymore, are we?” He said, cocking an eyebrow.

“Please, Guk.” You whimpered.

“That’s my little slut. You need to be fucked, uh?” He asked again, making you beg for him.

“Jeongguk, please.” You called again, pleading for his cock inside you.

“She even says ‘please’. Aren’t you desperate?” He asked, rubbing his tip up and down your slit.

“Yes, I’m your desperate doll. I’m begging… Please—” You whimpered, opening your legs as far as they would go.

He tutted and snarled. “Oh no. You’re not my desperate doll. You’re my desperate fuckdoll.” He said with a smirk. “Say it.”

“I’m your desperate fuckdoll.” You repeated with a thin voice.

He nodded “That’s right,” he replied, rewarding you with the tip of his cock as he swore and let it stay inside you, helping you get used to it — still, he grit his teeth, his deltoids and trapezei bulging with the effort. His tattooed hand held his cock to your entrance, covered in slick, helping you as he fed you a small inch at a time.

The moment he looked up at you, you noticed the lack of harshness in his eyes. “Are you okay, Candy?” He asked just as you hissed out a ‘yes’, closing your eyes and biting your lower lip. “Can I move?” He asked again, at which you nodded energetically. He giggled. “I love you, bae.” He concluded, making you whisper a brief ‘love you’ in reply before his bad boy persona came back into play.

“So you want it hard, uh?” He asked, feeling his cock already pulsate inside you.

“Yes, hard and fast, Guk. Please. I’m your fuckdoll. Do me like your little cocksleeve, please.” You begged, whiny and weak.

“Like my cocksleeve?” He said, rolling his hips twice before he pulled out. His hand drew away from his sex and moved to your mouth, laying there gently. “Cocksleeves don’t make a sound.” He leaned towards your ear. “So you’d better stay quiet.”

Your eyes blew wide as you bit your lip and furrowed your brow, his cock sinking in your flesh so hard that the smash echoed through every single organ inside your body.

You laid there and admired him as he fucked himself inside you, biting his lower lip and releasing it slowly, letting it roll and snap forward, past his teeth. He switched his position, leaning on his hand rather than on his elbow, arching even further, spreading his legs wider, propping his weight on his knees for better leverage, using his thighs to push your legs further apart as his eyes closed, chilly droplets of water falling on your face and your chest as he hammered into you, the tendons of his neck growing taut, his veins pulsing and growing and showing even in the dim red light.

Your high was there, right there, right…

Jeongguk roared, loud and aggressive and so, so angry that he sat on his heels and gripped your hips, shoving you on his length on and on, his hips meeting your body with loud smacks as he released inside you.

“No, no no. No, please no, please—” you begged as you felt him slow down, “So… close…” You sobbed as he stopped entirely.

He placed you down on the mattress. “Oh, no...” He said with faux compassion. “Poor cocksleeve.” He said with a sadistic grin, his smirk almost demonic in the crimson light.

He caged you with his body, his arms bulky and delicious at each side of your head, several rivulets of water — or maybe sweat — sliding down his face and chest. “Cocksleeves don’t get to cum, do they?” He asked rhetorically.

You whimpered and tried to squeeze him with your inner muscles.

“Or maybe I could be generous… Offer you another round…” He wondered, kissing your lips. “Would you like that?” He asked.

“Please. So close,” you whispered, chasing his mouth with yours.

He stretched and grabbed his pillow from the headboard, sliding an arm under your hips and lifting them up, placing the pillow right under your ass. “Do you need more lube, Candy?” He checked in on you, at which you shook your head.

“I just need you inside.” You replied miserably.

He pouted and got in position, cupping your jaw and sliding his thumb in your mouth. “Take it,” he said, his right hand pushing his cock in, only barely softened. Once he sank in and gave two tentative rolls of his hips, any sort of softness disappeared.

“Like this?” He asked, his nose curled adorably and sexily at the same time as his face scrunched at the effort of slow, deep thrusts.

You purred and shook your head. “Faster, harder… please.” You moaned before he started going even slower.

He chuckled. “What do I get in exchange for it?”

You opened your eyes and bit into his arm delicately. “Please,” you pleaded again. “I’m—” A tear rolled down your face. “It’s too good, let me cum, please, I love you. I’m your fuckdoll, Guk, please let me— I’ll be so tight around you, I’ll milk your cock so good, let me cum.”

He loved when you grew wobbly-lipped and teary-eyed. He loved seeing how desperate you always were for him, how much you depended on him for your pleasure.

He collected one of your tears with his lips, “are you crying for my cock?” He asked, wicked as usual.

You shook your head yes. “More, I’m begging you, Jeongguk. I’m begging you. I’m…” In an act of pettiness, you turned completely quiet, trying to rebel against him and his oversized ego. Self-sufficiently, your hands went to your boobs, grabbing them, pinching your nipples, sometimes climbing up to your throat and pressing against it softly.

He swatted your hand away, bending his mouth to your breast, tugging and suckling at your nipple messily, just as his arm grabbed your right knee and hooked it at his elbow, pushing your leg up, the angle so irresistible that your high finally peeked from around the corner. Still you stayed silent — mouth open, but quiet.

“Candy?” He called, curious about your sudden lack of noise.

You furrowed your brow and looked at him.

He tutted at himself. “Hard and fast?” He asked again.

You didn’t react. He rolled his hips deeper, hitting the spot you loved so much. Another tear spilled from your eye, but you proudly kept your stoic approach.

He smirked and started going faster, now that he had found the spot.

A small hiccup escaped your mouth.

“There we go, Candy.” He said, finally sure of his decision as he started pounding into you with everything he had in himself. “Touch your boobs, Candy.” He suggested as he saw you grow closer and closer. “So messy for this cock, uh? Whose is the best cock, Candy?”

“Yours.” You sobbed, your hips beginning to stutter, trying to meet his thrusts but too weak and sensitive for that.

“That’s right. You love this cock, Candy, don’t you?” He asked again.

“Only yours. I do, yes, please, Guk. Jeong— Guk, please I—” Your body thrashed against his as your orgasm finally caught you and drew you under.

Jeongguk’s head dove for your breastbone, pressing there as he tried to resist your high, currently threatening to drag him with itself.

As your climax persevered, he pushed your leg over his shoulder, picking up the other one too, sinking so deep with the new angle, his mouth kissing your calf, the inner side of your knee. “Is it good enough, baby?” He asked as he saw your eyes slowly flutter open.

Fuck, his jaw line was impeccable with that angle. “It’s perfect, Guk.”

“Nice, can you take another round, love?” He asked and damn, that nickname made you say yes, yes, ten thousand times yes with no hesitation.

He pushed his thumb in your mouth, against your tongue.

“I need to touch you.” He said, watching as his finger emerged drenched from your lips, immediately bringing it to your clit.

“Can you lift your ass?” He asked right as you obeyed, the angle so deep that he slowed down specifically to make sure he could guarantee you one more orgasm before he achieved his own.

His thumb replicated the motion of his tongue earlier in the shower, teasing the tender underside of your clit just as your eyes closed—

Too intense. Too much, you thought as your breathing slowed down again, your whole body focused on your kegels.

“Give me another… Work your magic, cockfairy.” He teased as your lips parted, your eyes flashing open before slowly, messily crossing and sliding shut again, your body too confused and overwhelmed to give a verbal reaction.

Jeongguk kept going, so, so close, his hips digging deeper with tiny rolls focused on staying in, enjoying every tight squeeze you had to offer, your hands leaving your breast as you tried to slap his hand away from your clit while his teeth began teasing your calf on one side, his deep moans unstoppable even when he turned to the other side and actually nibbled on your leg, his hand persistent in his torture.

“No. Oh god! Please. No! Oh— I need to— Yeah, yes...” You hissed as Jeongguk finally crumbled against your body and delivered the last few thrusts, deep, slow, so destructive as your head tipped back, your final high too much for your body to handle.

He looked down, where your bodies joined and with a loud growl, he came apart and spilled inside you, his cock swelling intermittently for so long he almost worried at some point. But the softness of your breasts, pillowing his head, and the warmth of your breath fanning over his head, your legs sliding off his shoulders, to his waist while your arms circled his back. “I love you, Candy. So damn much. I’m so in love with you baby.” He repeated on and on, trying to make up for each slur, each degrading word and idea he had used against you.

“I love you, baby.” He repeated again. “I love every little thing of you.” He kissed your breast — even though he truly aimed at the heart beating underneath. “I don’t want just the sex. You get it now?” He asked, nuzzling his hair against your bosom.

You caressed his head fondly.

“I get it now, of course, love.” You reassured him.

“You’ll lean on me, right? You’ll count on me?” He asked insecure, afraid at how many things he still had to learn about adult, mature relationships.

“I’ll lean on you. We’ll lean on each other.” You said, kissing his forehead as he raised his head.

“We didn’t finish the shower…” He mused, pulling out of your entrance carefully, staring as his seed dripped out of you and down your thigh.

You looked at his mesmerised expression.

He bit his lip before releasing it with a snap. “Fuck, you’re dripping.” He said before looking up.

And you don’t know if it was for the hot sight of his tattooed arm flexing, for his mop of damp long curls, for his wide, taut pectorals, for his lips glistening in drool or the dark lust in his eyes as he saw the mixture of his seed and your wetness oozing from your cunt, but you decided you were far from having enough.

“Didn’t they teach you to clean after yourself?” You teased with a cocked eyebrow.

His eyes climbed all the way to your gaze, finding the silent permission he was looking for.

And he dove for your cunt like a starving wolf.

[jocia92]

Collider: When this came your way, how was it presented to you? What was the pitch for the series and did they give you an overall sense of what it would be?

DAN STEVENS: I didn’t really know what the other episodes involved. Although, I was briefly involved in Helen Mirren’s episode as the onboard computer, so I’d seen that one play out and knew something of the style of the writing and the themes that were going on. But I hadn’t seen any of the other episodes and didn’t really know where ours fit in, in the context of the others. It was clearly a great piece of writing with a couple of great roles, Morgan Freeman, and just an incredible emotional challenge.

If you’re going to both get mad and have to hug someone, I feel like you’d want it to be Morgan Freeman. What was that like? How was it to explore that dynamic? Did you guys talk about that at all?

STEVENS: It was a fantastic opportunity to play with somebody who’s just a master of their craft and really knows how to surf the nuances of a piece of writing. It was a wonderful journey to go on, really, and in such a short space of time. It really goes there. All of the episodes I’ve seen have been incredibly moving, but I think that the “Stuart” episode particularly is a very unusual and interesting journey, with these ideas of memory and who owns a memory and what that means to our own identity. So, it’s this slightly wretched character of Otto, who shows up and has clearly had a bit of a rough journey to try and find this character Stuart, who is in possession of this thing that he is so desperately in search of, and it goes from there and takes you to quite surprising places. A lot of it was just getting yourself over to the rhythms and the nuance of the text.

All actors are colleagues with each other and I’m sure there are people that want to work with you, but when you know that you’re going to be working with someone like Morgan Freeman, do you still get nervous?

STEVENS: There was an element of that. It was very surreal. Given that I hadn’t set foot very far from my own home for quite some time, and then suddenly was on a beach hugging Morgan Freeman, it was a pretty surreal journey. The car ride home was like, “Did that really happen?” It was a strange day.

How was the whole production of this? What was this shoot like, with everything going on in the world?

STEVENS: It was amazing that it could happen at all. Kudos to the production that they put it together with these very strict protocols. It was a slightly reduced crew, but everyone was in several layers of PPE. It was not the usual working environment that any of us are used to, but everybody recognized that, if we wanted it to happen, it had to be like this. That, alone, was pretty strange, but also to have the luxury of 36 pages to get to explore with one other actor, and for that other actor to be Morgan Freeman, that was a real luxury. So, there were restrictions and limitations on one hand, but on the other hand, there was tremendous freedom and some great writing to really go to town with.

How long did you actually have to shoot this in?

STEVENS: For the Morgan Freeman episode, I shot for two days.

What was it like to have that experience of getting back on set? What was the first day of filming again, like for you?

STEVENS: A lot of nasal swabs, to begin with. Every day started with a couple of sticks up the nose. There was just a lot of that stuff going on. Really, you were kept at a distance, which is unusual. So much of what we do is about collaboration and togetherness, and just being silly with your cast and crew, and throwing yourself into it together. I suppose maybe appropriately for some of us, we were kept isolated. We were in our trailers until the take started, and then you’d go on set. It was a different way of going about work, for sure. I’m sure those protocols will stick around for a bit, but hopefully, eventually, we’ll get back to how it was.

How did you end up also doing the voice for Helen Mirren’s episode and were you ever able to actually interact with her?

STEVENS: I was live in the studio for that episode. I was in a little booth in the corner of the room, while she was in her space pod. We would chat over the monitor, as it were, as if she was talking to the computer anyway. We maybe met face-to-face a couple of times, at arm’s length and with masks on. I didn’t have a huge amount of interaction with her, but I did get to watch. In order to respond to her, I had a monitor and I was watching her work up close, for those two or three days that I was doing that as well. That was a great privilege, in and of itself, but then a very different experience to go and be in person with Morgan.

Much like getting to hug Morgan Freeman, if you’re going to be a disembodied computer voice for anybody, it seems like Helen Mirren is a good option.

STEVENS: It was pretty fun and just great to watch her get to grips with this writing as well. It was about just giving yourself over to the journey that the writing took you on. It was fantastic.

“Stuart” is an interesting episode because you’re not really playing the past or the future of this guy, you’re just fully living in this moment of his life and exploring his emotions right now. Did it feel very different to do something like that, as an actor?

STEVENS: There was an element where I was thinking a little bit about his journey, but it’s such a momentous thing that he’s doing and it really is a culmination of seemingly a lifelong quest. It’s both in the moment and a huge deal for him and a massive emotional rollercoaster, to find this guy and find what he’s in possession of and to execute his plan that he’s been dreaming of. There’s a lot going on there. It’s very much a moment that’s in the now.

How did you find the experience of working with Sam Taylor-Johnson, as a director and collaborator? Were your conversations mostly with her, or were they also with show creator David Weil?

STEVENS: I suppose they were primarily with Sam. There was a little bit of conversation with David. He��s the writer and producer, but Sam was directing this episode. It was about really encouraging both Morgan and myself to just let the rhythm of the story and the text really speak for itself and, and take us to these places. It is such an extraordinary emotional moment for both of the characters, in a funny way, with what they go through in those 30 minutes. It was all about that, really.

Did you find yourself learning anything about acting or about yourself, as an actor, from doing a project like this that is so different and where it is just you and another person?

STEVENS: I feel like I learn something on almost everything I do, especially when you’re working with someone as great as Morgan. It’s almost like an osmosis or something, where you’re just bathing in this excellence and watching it unfold. I don’t know if there was a specific lesson that I was making notes about. It was something to do with a rhythm and a bearing, and also just a willingness to let the text take you to places and not necessarily to force anything. He has such a natural gift that it’s amazing to watch it.

It was announced recently that you’re going to do Gaslit and play John Dean. Is there simultaneously an incredible feeling of being excited and terrified to take on a role like that, when you’re playing somebody that exists and that’s still very much around?

STEVENS: Yeah, there are challenges to that. What’s interesting with that story, and this is probably true of every role and project, is looking at the person, looking at the man, and looking at the people involved in this situation, and their motivations, and their flaws, and things like that. I’m trying not to think too much about the historical significance of that and just looking at the minutia and the inherent drama of being involved in that whole situation. It’s a fascinating story.

Was that what made you want to take on that project, or was it the fact that you’d be surrounded by people like Julia Roberts and Sean Penn?

STEVENS: That’s got a huge part to play, for sure. There are some great people involved, and Matt Ross is directing it. It’s gonna be very interesting. We start next month (in June).

You did some great work in Kipo and the Age of Wonderbeasts. What did you most enjoy about being a part of that project? Did anything surprise you about doing that kind of voice work?

STEVENS: That was a lot of fun. I love that project. The diversity of it was very attractive. The themes were great. There are some wonderful characters and a very, very silly villain in Scarlemagne. I really got to go to town in the booth with that one. It was a really fun team. My kids really enjoyed it too, which is always a bonus.

Are there more voice acting roles, in your near future? Is that something you want to do more of?

STEVENS: Definitely, yeah. It’s something I’ve been longing to get into, for a long time. It looks like there’s more on the way, which is great.

What was the draw of that kind of voice work for you? Is part of it the fact that you can play characters that you’d never be able to play in live-action?

STEVENS: That’s certainly one of the appeals. I’ve always enjoyed voice work. I’ve done a huge amount of audio books and things over the years, in all sorts of different voices and characters. To apply some of that work to the animated space, and I’ve always adored animated films anyway, it’s getting to dive into something that I already love anyway. So, there are some fun things on the horizon. It’s partly about making people aware that there’s something you really enjoy doing.

[ayuuria]

Yashahime Translation: Animage Plus Editorial Department Interview

Please do not repost this translation without my consent! This includes screenshots of any type and amount. If you wish to share this translation, simply link to this post.

For more information regarding the use of my translations, click here.

Jaken is the Mother Theory!? We ask Matsumoto Sara, Komatsu Mikako, and Tadokoro Azusa About “Hanyō no Yashahime”

The TV anime currently broadcasting, “Hanyō no Yashahime”. Continuing the world of “Inuyasha” in the same style, the new development in the Inuyasha world depicts the struggles of Sesshōmaru’s twin daughters, Towa and Setsuna, and Inuyasha and Kagome’s daughter, Moroha, as they travel all over the modern and feudal eras. Now, right after the broadcast of episode 14, we had the voices of Towa: Matsumoto Sara-san, Setsuna: Komatsu Mikako-san, and Moroha: Tadokoro Azusa-san, talk about the appeal and the behind-the-scenes of the work.

— What did you think when you first found out that a new story about Inuyasha and Sesshōmaru’s daughters was being created this time?

Matsumoto: When I found out it was being created, 1. the shock was huge… The fact that the characters I watched when I was little “had children” was a shock and I started thinking about all sort of things like how were they born? (laughs).

Tadokoro: I was really surprised as well! I knew that “Inuyasha” had wrapped up nicely, so to think that there would be a new story to continue that. I could see Inuyasha and Kagome having a child but I thought “Who would Sesshōmaru have a child with?” Before I prepared for the audition, I was looking at the character designs like I was lapping it up, wondering whose child it was (laughs).

Komatsu: At first when I saw the title of the work, I thought “there’s now a work with a name like “Inuyasha”” but I was surprised that it legitimately inherited the world of Inuyasha (laughs). On top of that, I was astonished that the story was set to be about the children of Inuyasha and the others. However, Miroku’s (and Sango) children were depicted in the final episode of “Inuyasha, The Final Act”, so it certainly seemed feasible. The feeling of joy and excitement I felt that I could touch the Inuyasha world I enjoyed as a child all over again was big.

— During the COVID crisis, I’m sure you are unable to record normally by any means so what is the recording site like?

Matsumoto: There are a lot of scenes where the three of us interact with each other, so a lot of the time, the three of us are together during recording. Though we’re in this situation, they’ve come up with a recording order that allows us to record with people we interact with as much as possible.

Tadokoro: Conversely, we don’t get to really meet if we don’t interact.

Komatsu: Moroha has a lot of individual scenes, so there are times where we don’t meet at all on those occasions.

Tadokoro: There are many times where Moroha is with Takechiyo and Jyuubee-san so on those occasions, I don’t get to see the two of them (Matsumoto and Komatsu) which is lonely…

— Seems like a harmonious recording site.

Matsumoto: Yes. The atmosphere in the recording (studio) is great and we do things together like go to the “Inuyasha” Collaboration Café after we’re done recording. It’s like we’ve joined the Inuyasha family which I’m grateful for.

— With each of you playing Towa, Setsuna, and Moroha, what sort of characters are they?

Matsumoto: Unlike Moroha and Setsuna, Towa was the only character that grew up in the modern era, so I thought that Moroha and Setsuna, who grew up in the feudal era, would criticize her like “you're too weak” or “you’re too soft” and Towa would deny that like “That’s not true!”. However, she surprisingly accepts things and I thought she was a very flexible child at her core.

Tadokoro: How to put it? Moroha seems stupid at first glance. Even sound director Nagura Yasushi-san told me “Please act more stupid” (laughs). She has an innocent side that acts before thinking, but she has a surprising side to her like how she’s managed to live on her own under fairly difficult circumstances, exceling in battle, coming up with the best plan among the three, and giving out orders like “You go there”. I think she’s a character you can’t take your eyes off of or rather the more you get know her, the more you like her. Not to mention, her emotions and facial expressions change constantly to the point that it’s hard for me to keep up. It’s an aspect that you never get tired of watching.

Komatsu: Setsuna is the opposite of Towa. While her calmness and her speaking mannerism makes you think she strongly inherited Sesshōmaru’s blood, there was a time when she grew up in a village, so she understands the human heart which I think makes her differ from Sesshōmaru. In regard to Towa, even though she (Towa) lives a soft way of life opposite to her which she finds annoying, she sways because she acknowledges that she (Towa) has a charm that she doesn’t have… I think she’s a girl who clearly displays the realistic swaying of a 14-year-old girl’s heart. Also, she does properly take part in comedic scenes, so she surprisingly gets into the mood. She’s the type that can read the mood (laughs). I wonder if that’s influenced from being raised in a village.

— While acting your respective characters, what aspects were easy and difficult to empathize with?

Matsumoto: To be honest, from the time of the audition, I never found it difficult to play (Towa). It’s like Towa’s thoughts smoothly came into me, even without thinking too hard on it. I don’t really struggle; on the contrary, there are a lot aspects that I empathize with.

Tadokoro: Since the time I received the first documents, I had this big idea that Moroha was the type to move like this. But I didn’t think she would feel down and seclude herself so easily just as I do… That’s why carrying her energy is hard work (laughs). Hence, I make large movements with my body when I act. When Moroha keeps walking with big steps, it’s an image of really using one’s body, so I move while trying to be really expressive. It’s like I’m trying to take a bite into Moroha’s vitality!

Komatsu:  Setsuna is the opposite of Moroha, so it’s like I talk without moving. But if I just quietly talk, you can’t feel the pressure, so I keep in mind putting in a little pressure. A pressured voice that’s like even though it’s not a loud voice, you lend your ear to it without realizing it which is the type of voice I think Sesshōmaru has, so I stay conscious of that.

— Is it like putting dignity into your voice?

Komatsu: You could say that. In terms of what was difficult, at the first recording, my voice became similar to Towa’s that they pointed out that it would become hard to tell which one is talking.

Matsumoto: Oh yeah! That did happen.

Komatsu: Towa and Setsuna are twins so if we’re talking feasibility, then it’s feasible but as a character you need to be able to differentiate them… Hence, I figure out a way to project my voice so that the difference in the environments that they grew up in comes through.

— Not only do they have to be similar, but also different which seems hard… What do you think of each other’s acting?

Matsumoto: The documents I received before the audition was the character design that Takahashi Rumiko-sensei drew and a simple correlation diagram, so it was a mystery as to what sort of people these characters would be once each of them had a voice breathed into them. However, come the start of recording, I was like “I see! I get it, it would be like this!”. During the recording itself, I’m desperately catching up to the other two so that I don’t cause any trouble for them. I receive so much from them each episode.

Tadokoro: When I auditioned, I did the other two besides Moroha but to be honest, I couldn’t imagine what Towa’s and Setsuna’s voices would be like. However, when they had me actually record with the two of them, I was like “This is it! This is all it can be! I saw the answer!” (laughs) Towa is a character that doesn’t fit in with either the modern or feudal eras and wavers a lot, so she makes statements that are off which makes her role difficult. With Sara-san’s sincere and honest acting, I would say it makes me think that Towa has her own beliefs that allows her to say and act the way she does. I like Sara-san’s honest acting with her personality mixed in.

Matsumoto: No no, not at all! Thank you… …

Tadokoro: I understand this because I auditioned for Setsuna as well, but even though Komatsu-san is a woman, I think it’s amazing that she is able to make Narita Ken’s (the role of Sesshōmaru) acting come through. However, I can feel Setsuna’s 14-year-old cuteness, which makes me think that Komatsu-san’s extensive skill is amazing.

Komatsu: Naah!

Tadokoro: No, that is Komatsu-san’s skill! Every time, I very much feel that I have to keep up with the two of you. I always go home feeling discouraged.

Komatsu: I agree that Sara-chan’s personality comes through in her acting. Towa has a boyish impression based on her appearance, but she has a friendliness that I think would allow her to survive in any era. Sara-chan herself has that friendliness as well as strong communication skills, flat with everyone, and fun to talk to. Also, the large size of her conversation drawer gave me the impression that she was similar to Towa in that aspect. The acting for Moroha is like without a doubt she inherited the blood of Inuyasha and Kagome! The playful absentmindedness within Koroazu-chan (translator’s note: Koroazu is Tadokoro Azusa’s nickname) blends in with Moroha which makes Moroha appear cuter. That’s why I think even if she gets annoyed at Moroha, Setsuna will still go along with her. That is “Koroazu’s Magic”!

— We would like to ask regarding the work but did all of you have a scene that left a big impression on you as you were acting?

Matsumoto: Episode 14. It’s the episode where you learn why Towa and Setsuna got caught in the forest fire. It’s heartrending, fleeting, beautiful story where you feel a little sympathy for the mastermind who burned the forest… The scene where Homura, who burned the forest, took his own life tugged at my heart during recording and left a big impression on me. I was dumbfounded at what happened before eyes and it was an unforgettable episode.

Tadokoro: What made me think this was just like “Inuyasha” was how they thoroughly explain things during times like when they’re surprised, in a critical situation, attacking with their moves, or doing something.

Matsumoto: Oh yeah! That might be especially true for Moroha.

Tadokoro: You have to leave a surprised emotion while thoroughly explaining things, so it’s difficult. Despite struggling, I’m doing my best. But being able to do what my senpais in “Inuyasha” did now really fires me up! This time, I rewatched “Inuyasha”, and Miroku was explaining things while shouting so that must’ve been hard...

Komatsu: What I looked forward to was the episode with the night of the new moon since it’s something half-demons go through.  Also, the episode where Miroku appeared. I was glad to see the parent-child interaction between Miroku and Hisui. Being able to see the good side of Miroku not just secluding himself in the mountains was like falling for him all over again and an unforgettable episode.

— With the mysteries of the story gradually being revealed, it’s about time for the identity of Towa and Setsuna’s mother to be revealed but what did you think when you found out?

All: (clapping) There was a lot of applause.

Tadokoro: We weren’t told either, so I was wondering who it was.

Komatsu: We repeatedly talked about it, but among them came the “Mama Jaken theory”. We thought about a lot of things like how Jaken is certainly a good caretaker and he’ll make a good mom but if it was Sesshomaru and Jaken’s child, they would just be regular demons instead of half demons (laughs).

Matsumoto: When I browsed through Twitter, everyone was having fun investigating.

— So you surf (Twitter).

Matsumoto: I’m especially curious on broadcast days so I end up looking. Like I look through the tags. I check while becoming grateful that everyone is watching like this.

Komatsu: I’m sure everyone is doing all sorts of investigations, but Towa and Setsuna’s mother will be revealed soon so please look forward to it while waiting!

Matsumoto-san, Komatsu-san, and Tadokoro-san spoke to us in a good, fun tempo just like the three girls in “Hanyō no Yashahime”.  In the next broadcast, the identity of Towa and Setsuna’s mother will finally be revealed… …?! With that, you really can’t miss “Hanyō no Yashahime” going forward. Episode 15 is scheduled to air on January 16 (Saturday) from 17:30 (5:30pm on the 12-hour clock) on Yomiuri TV and Nippon TV!

[silentexplorer18]

Epilogue

Word Count: 2,500+

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Draco smoothed the front of his cardigan and adjusted his ring, twirling it once, twice, thrice around his finger for good luck.  You were watching him from the doorway, an amused smile twitching on your lips.

“Don’t be nervous.  You’ll do great.”

He gave you a halfhearted grimace through the mirror.  Hopefully things would go well, but the ache in his gut wouldn’t let him believe it could go well.  The headline from the morning’s paper still skittered through his brain.  Ex-Death Eater Draco Malfoy Unveils War Novel on Motives: An Exposé by Rita Skeeter.

You reached forward to squeeze his arm, chase away the worries that danced in his mind.  “Everything will be great.  I just know it.”

He managed to give you a real smile that time, hand reaching up to meet your own.

You liked to tell people Draco had taken to writing “like a duck to water,” but that hadn’t been the case at all.  The stories seemed to pull him under, drowning him in the clamber to escape from his soul.  Really, they wrote themselves.  Draco just listened to what they wanted him to say.  He could only hope that he would be able to explain it, coherently make sense of his intentions in some capacity.

Thankfully, The Quibbler was sending someone relatively relaxed to do the interview.  At least, that’s what the owl had claimed a few days prior when they reached out.  He was a bit choosey with his interviews, though not increasingly so because few deigned to write genuine reviews about his novels.  Thankfully Luna’s paper was relatively unbiased against him, so there was that.  He hoped whoever he was meeting—Argon? Adergon? He couldn’t recall—wouldn’t make things too difficult.

He felt your lips graze his cheek, pulling him from his thoughts.  “You’ll do great, darling.  And I’ll be here with lunch when you get back.”

Your unwavering support always shattered any fear he possessed.

~

They met at a coffee shop, informal but cozy, for the interview.  Draco sipped on some green tea as he waited, idly watching the people meandering along the shop windows across the street.

It was a quaint weekend morning; it made him think of waking up early to play quidditch in the yard before breakfast when he was a child.  He felt like he’d been transported worlds away from whoever that little boy had been.  Maybe that was for the best.

When the shop’s bell dinged, Draco started, retracting his hand from his cup as a man reached out to shake.

“Draco Malfoy?”  Draco nodded, inwardly chuckling at the man’s politeness in feigning ignorance on who Draco was.  His face has been printed in enough papers, no one would ever be able to forget post-war Draco in all his gaunt, exhausted glory.  The man carried on regardless.  “Adeon Heinrik.  Nice to meet you.”

Draco’s smile was stiff, but it always was with strangers.  Polite formality had been ingrained in him since birth; using it nowadays always made him uncomfortable, a muscle memory he didn’t care for.

Adeon settled into the chair opposite him, charming a quill like he’d seen Skeeter do all those years ago.  Perhaps this was payback for all the times he’d subtly suggested Potter was up to more antics to get the paparazzi on his tail.  Now Draco understood the discomfort of interviews.

Additionally, a recording device was placed on the edge of the table, charmed to catch their conversation and store it for later broadcasting.  Radio interviews had become quite the literary rage; how could The Quibbler resist expanding their reporting style?

Adeon adjusted his tie, clearing his throat subtly.  “This is The Quibbler Book Talks and I’m Adeon Heinrik here today to discuss Draco Malfoy’s latest work.  So, Mr. Malfoy, this article will be focusing primarily on your newest work, Snow on Peacock Street, a war memoir on your experiences with Voldemort, as well as the tale of your rocky relationship with your current wife.”  Draco nodded, and Adeon continued.  “However, before we discuss your newest novel, I’d like to take a look at your other works.  Dark Absolute and Scaled Terror were released seven and three years ago respectively.  Two Young Adult themed works, you delve into the fictive worlds of Algernon and Evelyn where the protagonists face incredible choices between family, faith, and country.  You also released a collection of essays titled The Purpose of Family, which was later synthesized into a children’s picture book four years ago.  Children, teens, you’ve focused on a young audience up until recently.  What’s your motivation for writing a war memoir now, for honing in on an adult audience?”

Draco licked his lips, fiddling with his ring under the table.  “Well, Mr. Heinrik, the truth of the matter is that the children weren’t there.”  Adeon’s eyes flickered with confusion, but Draco carried on, hoping his point would make sense.  “Unlike the children now that have a bit of a reprieve, I was a child of the war.  Although it was clearly the wrong side, it was a necessary burden that many of my peers faced as well.  We had been raised on tradition and weren’t willing to sacrifice our families at any cost.  However, the children, they aren’t having to make choices like that at present.  My works remain fictional because I can’t undo my past, but I can place the readers into similar morally unsteady situations.  Perhaps they can be more prepared to make their own choices after facing the situations in my novels.”

Adeon sat forward in his seat, eyes glued to Draco like a siren attempting to lure words from his lips.  Draco took a sip of tea, trying to hide the nervousness he felt as Adeon stepped in with the next question.  “That’s an excellent point.  But your newest work is obviously a war novel.  Why do you feel now is the right time to publish it?  Have things settled enough that it’s the right time to critique the situation from both sides?”

Oh dear.  “No,” he answered with a cool wave of his hand.  Or, as cool as he could manage with the worry jittering through his nerves.  He could feel it coming, the twisted commentary about his choices already lapping at his feet.  “Truthfully, there will never be a ‘right time’ to talk about the war.  No matter how much time passes, my generation will never be untainted by those experiences.  My intention isn’t to advocate that my side was better, nor to paint myself as some perfectly good person.  It’s merely to give an examination of the other side, to provide some humanity to the actions that occurred.”

“Provide some humanity, what do you mean by that?”

“Well,” he twisted his ring under the table, “there’s certainly a lot more nuance to human experience than the black-and-white exhibited in most modern war talks.  In discussing the experiences I had, perhaps it can provide some humanity and understanding for those who have had or will have similar experiences.  Of course, the Death Eaters’ actions—my actions—were reprehensible.  Our choices should not be absolved based on a single text.  Yet, the burden of choice is never easy, and being raised to take the wrong side or face death is a situation as old as time itself.  Perhaps the reasoning behind my actions and others will help those who face similar situations again someday.”

Adeon nodded, glancing down at his notes.  “I’m currently with Mr. Draco Malfoy as we discuss his latest work, Snow on Peacock Street.  The war novel, published in late November, has received praise from Philanthropist Harry Potter as well as Minister of Magic Hermione Granger.  However, less-than-stellar reviews have come from Head Auror Ronald Weasley.”  He looked up from his notes.  “Let’s discuss that for a moment.  Any ideas on why the Head Auror dislikes your latest work?”

Draco chuckled, running his thumb along the edge of his teacup.  “I’m afraid not everyone can have excellent taste in books.”

Adeon laughed, and Draco joined him.  Something on the recorder flashed red before returning to green.  He hoped it hadn’t broken.  Adeon seemed unbothered.

“So is that all it is?  He merely has poor taste while Minister Granger and Mr. Potter possess better taste?”

The thought put a grin on his face before he could really stop it.  “It’s certainly a nice way of putting it.”  Slowly, the smile dropped from his face.  He twirled his ring again.  Once.  Twice.  Thrice.  “I suppose it’s more to do with our past and upbringing.  Although I’m flattered Potter and Granger enjoy my work, I’m afraid I’m rather undeserving of their praise.”

“I see,” Adeon nodded, sensing Draco’s discomfort.  “Let’s talk about your work itself for a moment.  Your Young Adult novels have rather intense titles, I’m sure reflecting the nature of the work.  Yet your newest novel is titled Snow on Peacock Street.  It seems a bit lighthearted for a war story.”

“Partially because it isn’t.  At least, not in the beginning.  When I was a child, we had these marvelous peacocks.  Bright and beautiful.  They went to Naghini during the war, though; the last bit of brightness sucked out of the Manor.  It seemed a fitting reminder of what once was, to describe it as ‘Peacock Street.’  Though, it also reflects my relationship with (Y/n).” 

“Your relationship with (Y/n)?  In what way is that?”

“She’s…” He looked for the right word.  The English vocabulary didn’t seem to have a word spectacular enough for you.  “She was a lightness then.  She’s a lightness now, too.  But especially then.  It felt like the world was so hopeless and dark.  And then she showed up with a book and changed my life.  I couldn’t have survived without her.”

Adeon was smiling.  Maybe his interview hadn’t gone so poorly after all.

“And she’s written a book as well, hasn’t she?”

“Yes!  Yes,” he beamed, thinking of the smile on your face when you came home with the first printed copy.  “Her memoir Forgotten Burns and Papercuts will be available for sale next month.  It’s truly marvelous; I highly recommend reading it.”

“I’m sure you’re a bit biased in that regard, but I’ll take your word for it.”  Adeon glanced back down at his notes.  “Alright, we’re almost out of time for today.  Would you mind reading a little excerpt from Snow on Peacock Street to close us off?”

“Of course, I’d love to,” Draco said, taking the marked book Adeon passed to him.  It was only a few pages in, but hopefully it would be compelling enough to attract a few readers.

He cleared his throat, ring glinting in the light as he pressed the pages down to read.

They told me they loved me.  But what really is love without death?  What’s love without suffering and fear and hunger?  How do you find love amongst everything?  You can’t.  It’s impossible.  It may come in fleeting fragments, in silvery flutters like the faint trace of a Patronus.  Yet you never truly find it until there’s nothing else in the way.  When stripped bare before the masses, you find love.

Seldom is it expressed in gifts or other material, flowery things.  It rubs you raw, claws at your throat, tears you limb from limb.  Love is being faced with death and finding something worth living for.  It’s the cold blooded fear before a battle, the ripped cry of the lonely, the desperation of a dying man.  Contentment breeds complacency.  But fear breeds love.  I suppose that’s how I found her then.  How I loved her amongst a darkness so pungent it rotted the soul and slaughtered person after person with it.

I didn’t love her in an all-consuming fury, not until the world was dark and she was there, blinding, brilliant, stinging against my fingertips like fresh fallen snow, to remind me that my life couldn’t be over yet.

I would learn many things from her, but this, love roaring against the dying embers of life, would be her ultimate teaching.  It showed me more about the world than I could possibly describe, but in this text, I’ll attempt to impart that knowledge on you.

He glanced back up at Adeon, who barely looked composed as he shuffled in his seat, glanced down at his notes.

“That was Mr. Draco Malfoy reading an excerpt from his newest novel Snow on Peacock Street, available through Wizz Hard Books publishing company.  Mr. Malfoy, thank you for joining me today.”

“Thank you for having me,” he nodded.

“That will conclude this week’s edition of The Quibbler Book Talks.  I’m Adeon Heinrik, and I’ll see you next week when we join…”

~

The article had been a hit.  His work had been rather well reviewed all things considered.

Yours had done even better.  Hermione Granger had even written to you personally with compliments.  Though, it seemed only fitting as the torture scenes hit a bit close to home.

Draco had nearly retched proofing those scenes.  You’d had to hold him close for hours, reminding him that he didn’t know, that things had ended up okay.  The two of you had made it out alive.  He’d twisted his ring around his finger.  Once.  Twice.  Thrice.  You were alive.  Things were okay.

Things were better than okay.

Headmistress McGonagall had agreed to let the two of you deliver your books to the library for students to read.  Of course, the conditions required that you come during Winter Holiday when the students wouldn’t be distracted by your arrival, but that made things all the better.

Two copies, both as pristine and polished as ever, were handed to Madam Pince.  She thanked the both of you, moving to put them on the proper shelves.

Rather than leave, you pulled Draco toward the back corner of the library, smiles curling on both of your faces.

It felt like ages since the two of you had seen the dusty shelves where you’d spent years playing chase amongst the covers.  Names familiar and foreign dominated the shelves, mostly old, handwritten collections that would seldom be read.  Only the passionate—only people like you—would pull them down to decipher the hurried texts, pulled straight from the soul of the authors.

Draco pulled his hand away from yours, tracing the cover of the worn, black notebook.  It was no longer pristine, the interior scribbled and smeared with ink and the cover well worn with use.  His novel, the original.  It had been primarily completed after his first year of writing it, but he hadn’t been ready then to publish it, to even consider publishing it.  Sometimes he still couldn’t believe he’d printed the words, had them reproduced.  But he needed it.  He wanted it.

Your hands traced over a set of carefully bound parchments.  Your first draft, scratched out, written in the margins, revised.  The raw, the original.  Lines messy with emotion, edges crinkled with touch.

You looked up at the shelves.  It had all begun with those shelves, with those books.  Stories of ancient wizards and desperate souls.  And, oh, how your lives found ways to mirror those stories, mimic the past.

Draco pushed two books apart, making space on the shelves.  Delicately, you placed your set of parchments there, Draco’s notebook following.

Someone else could find your stories one day, remember your lives in all their messy, unpolished glory.  But in the meantime, they’d grow dust waiting for another soul to remember, to wonder, to learn.  The words would wait for a soul like yours.

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Taglist: @yucksiedoodles, @rachie-ox​​

A/N: Thank you for reading!  It’s been so much fun writing this series.  I hope you enjoyed.  Sending you all the love! ~Silent

[brightbeautifulthings]

Infinite Jest by David Foster Wallace

"'What if sometimes there is no choice about what to love? What if the temple comes to Mohammed? What if you just love? without deciding? You just do: you see her and in that instant are lost to sober account-keeping and cannot choose but to love?'"

Year Read: 2014, 2020

Rating: 5/5

Context: It's hard to know where to begin writing a review for this book. I read it for the first time in graduate school in about five weeks (alongside everything else I had to do in grad school, so I don't recommend that), and it basically blew my mind. At the same time, it's hard to imagine tackling it any other way for the first time. Despite its difficulty, there are things obsessive and immersive and, appropriately, even addictive about it. Full immersion might be the only way to read it for the first time, and I obsessed about it for months afterward. Since I'm not on any deadlines, I took it more slowly this time (21 weeks) so I could enjoy the writing and the nuances without the pressure to finish. For my less coherent weekly updates in real time, see my blog posts. Trigger warnings: Everything, everything. Death (on-page), child death, animal death, suicide, suicidal ideation, rape, pedophilia, possible incest, child abuse/abusive households, graphic violence/gore, eye horror, severe injury, drug use, addiction, alcoholism, mental illness, depression, OCD, grief, racism, ableism, transphobia, sexism, inexplicable hostility toward Canadians.

About: If it's difficult to know how to write a review, it's equally hard to describe what Infinite Jest is about. It's about so many things, tennis, addiction, communication (failures), and entertainment among them, but I'll do my best. Beneath all the numerous characters, timelines, and subplots, the main plot is about a film so entertaining that it kills anyone who watches it, robs them of all desire to do anything but watch it until they die, and what a faction of Canadian assassins will do to possess it. The auteur is James Incandenza, a suicide whose son, Hal, is a prodigy at Enfield Tennis Academy. Next door to E.T.A. is Ennet House, a drug rehabilitation center where Don Gately, former thief and Demerol addict, is taking it day by day to stay sober. Though they don't know it, Hal and Gately are connected, and the deadly Entertainment and those who seek it draw their paths closer and closer together.

Thoughts: It's rare to find a book that is actually as smart as it claims to be, but IJ is--certainly much smarter than I am, despite all my attempts to make sense of it. It starts off strong and doesn't let up for several hundred pages, which is a huge achievement all by itself. Wallace excels at writing extremely polished sections that could almost function alone as short stories, and the first chapter is one of my favorites in all fiction. It's reassuring, I think, to start the book off on a strong note, in case we worried we were in for a thousand pages of tedious slog. It can be both, but it's often heartfelt, insightful, and funny as well, and the payoff is well worth the effort. I don’t know how Wallace manages to pack every page with so much meaning. Anybody can put tedious lists in their books or make reading purposely difficult (and I have attitude about writers who do this for no reason), but there’s nothing haphazard about this book, despite its size and varied focus. Everything seems utterly intentional. The conversations are really top-tier; Wallace has a great ear for how people talk, and it's a fascinating look at how communication works and doesn't work.

Thematically, I think the book succeeds on more than any other level, including plot or structure. If we could say this book is "about" anything, we would almost certainly start with the themes and not the plot, which is often secondary to whatever point Wallace is trying to make at the moment. It takes an in-depth looks at things like addiction, depression, loneliness, failed communication, sincerity v. irony, critiques of postmodernism and metafiction (while being very meta itself, at times), and the very specific selfishness of an American culture that insists on freedom even to the point of self-destruction. At times, it feels a little heavy-handed or like it was yanked right out of an intro to philosophy course, but I suppose something in a thousand pages has to be obvious if we're ever going to pick up on it. A lot of these themes resurface in his other work, from "This is Water" and "E Unibus Pluram" to Orin Incandenza's Brief Interview style Q and A (and he would be a perfectly fitting character in that book).

The characters are some of my favorites in literary fiction as well, particularly the Incandenza family and Don Gately, and to a lesser extent Joelle Van Dyne (although Wallace typically doesn’t write female characters very well, and she comes with some issues). Hal and Gately couldn't be more different; Hal excels at everything he's ever done, and Gately has a record that includes accidental homicide on it. Hal is the hero of non-action, since little that happens in the book is engineered by him, while Gately is closer to the more typical hero of action, who defends the undeserving at great cost to himself. Yet their struggles with addiction are similar, and they both manage to be incredibly sympathetic characters. In my opinion, the book is always at its best when we’re with Hal or Gately, but I’m strongly driven by good characters. Despite being dead, James Incandenza's presence is also felt all over the book, from the Entertainment he created to his haunting ETA and sticking beds to the ceiling (probably the weirdest ghost I've ever seen in fiction). He's a tragic character in a book full of tragic characters. The others are too numerous to name, from the other tennis players at ETA and recovering addicts at Enfield, to the various bystanders populating Boston. We get brief glimpses into almost all of them, and while they may not all feel relevant at the time, most are memorable or heart-wrenching or slapstick funny, or all three. It's a book that contains multitudes.

That's not to say it's always on point though, and it isn't. There are a number of very serious problems with representation in this novel, and they're as bad as its detractors claim. A lot of the 90s humor aged very poorly, but that's not an excuse for some of the unabashedly racist depictions of African Americans, the uncharitable descriptions of Steeply's and Poor Tony's cross-dressing, or--however much I love him as a character--the fact that Mario Incandenza’s descriptions are ableist in just about every possible way. Wallace thinks he's capturing "voice" when he's really encouraging harmful stereotypes. The humor of the novel often doesn’t depend at all on these stereotypes and would in fact, be a lot more funny if I wasn’t spending so much energy cringing at it. So many of the little racist and ableist asides could have easily been edited out of the entire novel to make it less offensive. There are also sections where he seems at pains to be as gross as possible for its own sake. There are plenty of things grim or uncomfortable or flat out distasteful about this book, but sometimes the graphic violence kind of jumps out and stabs you in the eye, say, with a railroad spike.

If there are times when I was totally absorbed in the little tragedies of the Incandenza family or Gately's struggles, there are plenty more where it's like pushing something heavy up a hill. No lie, some of it is slogging through tedious minutiae and various experimental writing styles (some more successful and less offensive than others). Wallace has a gift for purposeful tedium; it’s at its peak in The Pale King, but he gives it a nice warm-up round here. The novel is difficult and meant to be, since Wallace maintained that some of the best pleasures are the ones we have to work for, and he's not totally off base. There's something very satisfying about living, for a time, in a book that spans a thousand pages, that demands focus and perseverance, and manages to give back (almost) as much as it takes. The book is always structurally interesting, but it starts to get more complicated toward the end as various characters and plots begin to almost slide into one another. I forgot how frustrating it was to near the end and realize--again--that it wasn't going to wrap up with any kind of satisfaction; the various plots slide, but they don’t meet. I thought if I paid closer attention on a second read that I would pick up more of the plot things I’d missed on my first, but I think the problem is that those answers simply aren’t to be found in the actual text. Of course, they can point us toward various conclusions, and the novel certainly encourages us to speculate and make connections, but I don’t think the actual answers are there.

That brings me to some of my final thoughts, for now. There's no doubt that this is a hugely successful book, and I believe it accomplished exactly what Wallace meant it to do. He jokingly referred to it as a failed entertainment, much the way Jim considered his lethal Entertainment a failure, but I have the sense that Wallace, unlike Jim, failed on purpose. The book purposely pays more attention to structure and theme than it does to plot or character, yet the plot and characters are hugely compelling for what we see of them. Imagine the book it could have been if he had paid equal attention to all of them. Wallace attempted to create a book that people wouldn't want to stop reading. Reaching the end certainly encourages us to begin again, as the first chapter is actually the last in chronology, but that trick only works the first time. By my second read, I realized that starting over wouldn't help me fill in any of those blanks or answer any of my questions, and I was content to let it go. On the one hand, IJ depends upon its structure to tell the story it's telling. On the other, think of the book it could have been if it spent more time telling a story and developing its characters and less time belaboring a point. It's one of the best books I've ever read, and the tragedy is that I think it could have been even better.

[jimmigmalingan]

Her Name Is Not “baby”, It’s JANET.

It’s not “Miss Jackson if you’re nasty” either, although just as iconic.

What better way to celebrate Women’s Month than to get to know a great embodiment of a strong and powerful woman. In fact, so strong and so powerful that my instinctive reaction when I first saw the invite to her journalism class was “Oh no.”

That was the G-Rated version of it actually. Nevertheless, same message. 

I barely even knew who she was or what her teaching style was going to be like. Her G-suite display picture just exuded “Oh no” energy. I mean that as a compliment.

I went straight to my friend from elementary school who shifted to Communication a year earlier than I did. I said “Do you have any tea on her?” The first thing he told me was that she had very high standards.

I like that, actually.

Back when I was in high school, which seems like very long time despite only having been a whopping three years, those were the types of teachers that I would consider my favorite ones. Ma’am Rachel from my English class, and Ma’am Elma from my Research and Biology class. Both of which actually went on to be school heads in different schools after we graduated.

I’m just here thinking to myself “God, I would’ve been excelling at her class if it isn’t for this stupid pandemic.” I clearly am not. We will get to that soon.

When we had the chance to organize an interview as a class, it invigorated me a tad bit. This is the closest I can get to having human interaction in an academic sense, but it was also my chance to have an idea or two of who ‘Janet Tibaldo’ was. Is she going to be the bane of my existence for the next four or so years or is she going to be alongside the people who I consider to be my “heroes”?

To my surprise, she’s very, well... human.

From what I’ve gathered in both of the interviews, our class’ and the other, she is a woman of strength. She is a passionate educator, a dedicated mother, and most of all, a woman of faith and devotion. In both of the interviews, she often emphasizes the importance of the “vertical relationship” in her life, and how it can have a positive effect in one’s horizontal relationships.

I do appreciate those remarks from her quite a bit, despite me having a rockier and more complex relationship with God as a queer person. I never considered myself an atheist. I do believe in God, and I believe that I am loved by God, despite knowing that people out there will try to convince me otherwise.

How could he possibly hate me when I pray to him too and he answers them just the same? It makes absolutely no sense to me.

When she said that you can fix your horizontal relationships once your vertical relationship is stable, it did strike a cord just as much as it struck a verve in me. I am trying to. It took me a while, but nevertheless I’m glad that I am here.

She often described herself as “strict”, both as a parent and an educator. It often surprises me how much bombardment my friend from elementary experiences from her subjects. The way he describes it to me sounds a bit like torture. I always took his words about her with a grain of salt. I will probably never believe him until I experience it first hand. He did say I was lucky that I shifted during online classes because she is a bit more lenient, otherwise I would’ve been dead meat.

If she was the monster that she’s painted out to be, I do understand why. It’s not like I don’t have a maternal figure or two in my life with eerily similar approaches. Like I said, she is a bit more human than what one would expect. She talked about her sleepless nights to dedicate herself onto her work, how she takes it upon herself when things go wrong, and how she said she hopes for a better and more empathetic world when I asked about her hopes for the future. To me she sounds like a person who stands her ground and knows exactly what she wants, even if it gets the best of her at times.

With that, she shared a peek of her younger days, how she spent her childhood during the Martial Law era, how newscasters on TV sparked her interest in the field of Communication, how in her college days they made do with the resources they had back then, emphasizing how lucky we are to have the technology we have now, how she was an activist back in the day. It painted a picture in my mind. Ahhh. No wonder.

There has always been ‘fire’ inside of her. A fire that lead her to be an educator today, despite having left the path of being a media practitioner.

I did think about it a couple of times. If being a visual artist doesn’t work out for me, maybe I’ll just teach. To me, it looks fun. She did say that she never thought in a million years that she would end up becoming a teacher because she thought it looked boring. According to her, lot of her family members ended up becoming teachers and she never wanted to be one of them. Maybe there’s some ugly parts of it that I don’t get to see, but it seems like a much more stable career path than visual arts, especially in a country like this.

Just from the interviews alone, you can tell that she has so much wisdom to offer in this field. That makes me all the more excited to meet her in person. If anything, there’s your proof right there that God is out there writing poetic justice for people. Maybe it was God’s way of saying “I have something better in mind for you, you just have to trust me.”

Another standout from the interviews was when she told all of us as a piece of advice that we should grab opportunities as they come. Oftentimes, the biggest regrets you have in life aren’t the things you did but the things you didn’t do. I have to admit, the main reason why this music video is taking too long to make is because of self doubt and insecurity. She’s right. I should toughen up a bit, shouldn’t I? Not only that, but there’s a lot of competitions that I found interesting in the facebook group that I just allowed to pass me by. I don’t want to blame my years in Architecture for it, because it did cause me some good. It’s just that I knew what I was running away from after years of feeling like I will never amount to anything. 

I knew that. If anything I was way bolder when I left high school, only for Architecture to beat me down. It does take someone like her to remind me of who I was then.

When I was going through my depressive episode late last year, ultimately leading me to shift to Communication, I found myself seeking refuge in the music of Janet Jackson. As a matter of fact, I shared her music to the same friend I mentioned earlier, and now he’s a fan too. We’d often joke about which Janet we were talking about in the conversation.

On one hand, we have Janet the popstar, who despite being blacklisted by Bush’s racist and misogynistic America, kept on going. She kept performing and making music for as recent as 2018, and now she’s inducted in the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame. On the other, we have Janet the teacher, who keeps holding on to her faith despite all of the trials and challenges that came her way all these years.

What’s it about Janets being fiery passionate women anyway?

That actually leads me to my next point of interest.

What moved me the most about both of the interviews was her openness about her struggles with mental health, and how she refers students to seek help as well back when classes were physical. I don’t think conversations like these were possible back in the day, especially when I was a child. Apparently I didn’t have ADHD I was just an idiot, and people like me get punished for their idiocy. That was my upbringing, and it’s so refreshing to know that kids nowadays are lucky to have a ‘zeitgeist’ like this.

I was brought up for the longest time in the idea that if you show any signs of vulnerability, you are weak. It took some time for me to ‘rewire’ my brain and undo all of that...

because that is blatantly false.

If anything, for me, it further solidified how strong she was. It takes so much strength to admit that you’re human. It takes so much courage to tell yourself that you probably need help because you struggle in this aspect of your life. It is so easy to pretend that you can take everything like a champ and you don’t need anyone to help you.

The easy route was to say “I’m fine” or “I’m doing good” when asked a simple question “How are you?”, the hard route is to ask yourself that same question “How am I?” and be honest and introspective about it.

She did just that. She took the hard route.

She said she was having trouble sleeping and that she had to consult a mental heath expert for that recently, and that this pandemic made it particularly hard for her to juggle work and home matters.

I don’t think she will ever understand how a simple statement like that inspires someone like me, because what I got from that was ‘if somebody as strong and as passionate as her bleeds the same way that I do, I too can be strong like her.’

I just booked my appointment to my therapist yesterday. I haven’t seen her in quite some time now. It’s nice to know that I’m not alone in this, despite going there for feeling alone. Ironic, isn’t it? I feel like I’m running out of friends, and it’s starting to feel like paralysis, really.

After the interview ended, and I finished watching the interview from the other block, I couldn’t grasp the idea of this woman being taken as a monster, because the only words I could think of in association to her thus far is ‘uplifting’ and ‘inspiring’, in the same way that Ma’am Rachel was one of the people who inspired me to be a a cartoonist and Ma’am Elma inspired me to be a competitive dancer.

I had to give up three years worth of friendships to start back from scratch and to be here. I was actually so unsure if it was even worth the sacrifice, but Ma’am Janet Tibaldo, out of all people, showed me something to look forward to in this field. Based on what I’ve gathered from her, I’m up for a good time.

[colosseumed]

from:           EURYDICE     ›               is  this  the  path  you  want? from:           EURYDICE     ›               i  never  returned,  don’t  you  want  to? from:           EURYDICE     ›               or  is  the  road  you’ve  always  known  you’d  take?

not  to  be  the  most  annoying  person  ever,  but  too  late,  i’m  cc  &  i  love  the  hunger  games.  if  you  saw  me  writing  my  own  syot  fanfic  when  i  was  thirteen,  no  you  didn’t  </3  anyway,  einar  is  a  born  &  bred  career  from  district  two,  if  you  see  me  comparing  him  to  cato,  yes  <3  his  whole  thing  is  he’s  mostly  quiet  but  he  will  cause  problems  on  purpose.  i  don’t  have  any  stats  or  anything  BUT  i  have  wc  @  the  end  of  the  intro  so  if  you  want  to  just  scroll  all  the  way  down,  do  it  i  dare  you.

 ❛           𝗮𝗶𝗿  𝗳𝗿𝗼𝗺  𝗮𝗶𝗿     ›     𝐄𝐈𝐍𝐀𝐑     .  

[ NAM JOOHYUK, CIS MAN, HE / HIM. ]    introducing einar gallowind, TRIBUTE of the 74th hunger games, representing district 2. my sources say that they are twenty - five, & that they’re pretty handy with weaponry. wonder if that will do any good in the arena ? anyways, caesar says you can’t miss them, because they remind everyone of the eerie calm before the storm — the trees shouldn’t be standing this still, echoing footsteps that near hiding prey, a haunting drag of a blade against the ground, forbidden tears and fears that rear their faces in the stillness of the night & a rotting sunflower field abandoned by a once peaceful caretaker.

 ❛           𝗱𝗮𝗿𝗸  𝗶𝘀  𝗲𝘃𝗲𝗿𝘆𝘄𝗵𝗲𝗿𝗲     ›     𝐀𝐄𝐒𝐓𝐇𝐄𝐓𝐈𝐂𝐒     .    

blood  tw.

the  darkness  is  empty  –  but  it’s  home;  can’t  you  remember  walking  home  with  nothing  but  faith  on  your  back?  with  bloodied  bandages  wrapped  around  your  fleshy  palms  &  tape  around  your  brittle  ankles,  gingerly  smelling  the  quarries  as  your  dream  gets  less  &  less  likely.  &  home  –  what  you  call  home,  the  dimmed  lights,  the  absent  parents,  the  fading  colors  –  home  was  really  never  home,  was  it?  you  chose  your  path,  didn’t  you?  named  for  a  fearsome  warrior,  exterior  made  of  marble  &  blood  earned  arrogance,  what  would  they  say  if  they  saw  the  empty  glass  interior?  it’s  fragile,  make  sure  you  don’t  break  it  before  your  time.

 ❛           𝘁𝗵𝗲  𝗺𝗼𝗼𝗻'𝘀  𝗴𝗼𝗻𝗲    ›     𝐅𝐔𝐍𝐃𝐀𝐌𝐄𝐍𝐓𝐀𝐋𝐒     .

                              CHAPTER I.  

full  name  .  einar  seraph  gallowind nickname(s)  /  alias(es)  /   title(s)  .  tribute  of  the  74th  hunger  games,  tbd. age  /  dob  .  twenty  -  five  /  march  2 hometown  .  district  2. current  location  .  the  capitol status  .  alive  for  now  ig. specialty  .  weaponry gender .  cis  gendered  man pronouns .  he  /  him  . orientation  .  bisexual  ,  grayromantic occupation  .  career  trainee  /  tribute face  claim  .  nam  joo  hyuk

                              CHAPTER  II.  

height  .  six  feet  ,  two  inches  /  190  cm build .  the  build  of  someone  who’s  been  training  his  whole  life  –  tall,  broad,  well-built  &  toned.  his  limbs  are  muscular  &  lean,  his  torso  is  well  toned  &  he  keeps  in shape  with  daily  training. tattoos  .  none piercings  .  none scars  .  small,  3cm  scar  on  his  upper  left  lip. hair .  dark,  just  a  shade  lighter  than  black.  kept  short,  cut  often  by  a  family  chosen  stylist  from  the  capitol  –  these  days,  styled  specifically  to  help  him  look  more  visually  appealing  to  the  general  public  in  hopes  he’ll  gain  more  favor. eyes  .  the  same  shade  as  his  hair  &  generally,  has  always  been  told  they’re  off  putting.  inherited  from  his  mother,  he’s  got  the  same  eyes  that  can  easily  put  people  at  unease  –  cold,  soulless,  harsh  –  he’s  got  the  gaze  of  a  basilisk  but  he  often  doesn’t  realize  how  often  he  does  it. clothing  style  .  plain  &  basic  so  he  may  be  styled  however  someone  else  wants.  his  own  style  is  a  mix  of  darks  &  neutrals,  usually  comfortable  clothes  that  he  can  always  go  running  in  or  do  a  quick  spar  session  in. usual  expression  .  stoic  –  maybe,  too  stoic.  often  emotionless  with  a  lifeless  stare,  he’s  always  been  more  of  a  silent  statue  type  –  right  down  to  his  resting  expression.  it’s  uneasy,  the  way  he’s  clearly  alive  but  could  easily  blend  in  with  the  grand  statues  at  the  most  expensive  of  museums. speech  .  rarely  heard,  but  always  remembered.  einar’s  reserved  his  speech  for  only  the  necessary  moments  –  interviews,  reviews,  conversations  (  that  he  deems  alright,  if  he  doesn’t  find  interest,  it  isn’t  uncharacteristic  of  him  to  just  walk  away  mid-sentence  ).  when  he  speaks,  he  commands  attention,  inherited  from  his  father  who’s  always  known  how  to  work  a  crowd.  einar  speaks  well,  he’s  charismatic  &  equable  even  if  he  doesn’t  seem  it,  great  at  manipulating  crowds  but  he  chooses  often  not  to. distinguishing  features  .  his  tall  stature,  a  scar  shaped  birthmark  on  the  base  of  his  right  thumb,  the  actual  scar  on  his  lip.

                              CHAPTER  III.  

(  +  )  positive .  intuitive,  erudite,  striving,  benevolent (  -  )  negative  .  hubristic,  arrogant,  imperious,  haughty moral  alignment  .  true  neutral. likes  .  the  hunger  games,  most  weapons,  waking  up  extremely  early  so  he  can  have  time  for  himself,  being  alone,  staying  up  extra  late  so  he  can  have  time  for  himself,  the  wintertime,  icy  winds  that  bite  to  the  bone,  the  smell  of  beef  roast  i  won’t  explain,  slipping  into  shoes  that  fit  just  right,  being  in  the  capitol  when  visiting  his  father’s  side  of  the  family,  meditating  &  pretending  to  levitate  i  won’t  explain  either. dislikes  .  most  other  districts,  most  capitolites  idk  why,  tributes  who  don’t  even  try  (  like  what’s  the  point  ),  the  scorching  heat,  humidity,  victors  who’re  sad  (  get  over  it?  ),  corn,  artificial  food  but  what  can  you  really  do,  the  smell  of  the  quarries  from  district  two,  victor’s  village  cause  he  doesn’t  live  there,  hospitals  because  they’re  ugly. quirks  .  has  a  silver  heirloom  coin  that’s  been  passed  down  from  generation  to  generation  that  he’ll  flip  &  weave  through  his  fingers,  can  stand  /  sit  /  stay  still  for  hours  at  a  time  without  moving  a  muscle,  will  get  up  in  the  middle  of  the  night  to  stare  out  a  window  &  ponder. hobbies  .  training  restlessly  because  he  doesn’t  really  know  what  else  to  do  anymore,  twirling  whatever  blade  he  has  in  his  hand  because  he  can,  wine  tasting  with  his  father,  running  &  sprinting,  also  swimming,  watching  designer  shows  &  learning  how  to  make  clothes  because  of  his  mother.

❛           𝗼𝘂𝗿  𝘂𝗻𝗱𝗲𝗿𝘄𝗼𝗿𝗹𝗱     ›     𝐂𝐇𝐑𝐎𝐍𝐈𝐂𝐋𝐄     .

trigger  warnings : blood,  injury,  

life  has  been  easy�� for  you  –  you  can’t  deny  what  is  fact.  einar  gallowind,  descended  from  a  bloodline  of  gold;  it’s  always  been  fated  for  you  that  you’d  end  up  doing  something  great.  if  victory  isn’t  yours  to  grab,  you’ll  still  be  remembered  (  and  after  all,  isn’t  that  what  matters  most?  ).  your  father,  reinhardt  gallowind  of  the  capitol  –  he’s  a  former  broadcaster,  a  charismatic  man  on  television  who  sways  the  entirety  of  panem  with  his  words  &  charm.  he’s  a  dangerous  kind  of  evil,  one  that  seeps  into  your  own  blood,  &  you  learn  very  early  on  that  your  father  isn’t  the  same  evil  as  the  figures  that  loom  over  panem  –  he’s  a  sly  kind  of  evil.  his  words  sway  the  capitol,  he  decides  who  lives  &  who  dies  based  on  who  he  chooses  to  praise,  his  smile  is  as  sinister  as  it  is  warm,  you  witness  it  first  hand.

your  mother  is  from  district  two,  her  last  name  carries  weight  in  the  district  but  she  is  nothing  in  the  capitol.  lavender  goldheart  is  a  sweet  girl  from  a  sweet  family,  but  she  is  the  same  kind  of  evil  as  your  father.  she  is  upturned  noses  at  the  poor,  laughing  at  the  deaths  of  innocents  broadcasted  on  a  far  -  too  -  big  screen,  sending  gifts  to  the  already  privileged  tributes  of  a  game  nobody  should  partake  in.  she’s  the  kind  of  evil  that  attracts  your  father  &  you,  you  are  a  product  of  two  evils.  you  are  raised  in  a  district  that  your  father  chose  to  move  to,  you  hold  your  first  blade  when  you  are  five,  you  maim  your  first  opponent  at  seven,  you  learn  how  to  keep  your  composure  from  a  socialite  &  a  broadcaster.  two  evils  of  the  same  variety,  they  teach  you  to  become  worse  than  they  could  ever  be.

you  grow  arrogant.  to  the  citizens  of  district  two,  to  your  classmates  at  the  academy  you  are  ruthless  &  cold,  a  career  tribute  of  the  upmost  class  –  what  everyone  should  aspire  to  be.  you  excel  in  weaponry,  your  brute  strength  gives  you  an  upper  hand  in  hand  to  hand  combat,  &  while  you  lack  in  survival  skills,  you  exceed  in  making  sure  you  don’t  have  to  survive  long  enough  to  need  them.  bold  warrior,  you  are  a  deadly  silent  that  puts  your  classmates  at  unease,  they’re  only  friends  with  you  because  they’re  scared  of  you  &  that’s  what  your  parents  want.  they  want  a  victor  for  a  son,  you  want  victory  to  have  parents.  because  they’re  never  around,  not  really.  

the  lights  are  always  off  when  you  get  home,  you  have  enough  money  in  the  world  but  will  your  parents  even  show  up  when  you  ultimately  volunteer?  what  a  sad  story,  you  suppose  as  you  ponder  it,  poor  rich  boy,  his  parents  never  loved  him  enough  so  he  decided  he’d  gain  their  love  with  blood.  it  makes  you  laugh,  almost,  as  you  watch  the  years  pass  by.  you  watch  the  games,  you’re  hungry  for  blood  as  you  watch  victors  come  &  go  –  you  memorize  their  names,  their  stats,  their  victories  –  it  betters  you  as  a  trainee,  you  suppose.  your  training  continues  &  you  outgrow  your  classmates  (  you  are  the  best,  einar,  nobody  else  will  say  it  to  you,  but  you  know  ),  you’re  worthy  of  the  games.

but,  you  are  but  a  boy.  you  sit  on  the  eve  of  your  twenty-fifth  birthday  with  nobody  for  company  but  yourself,  you  have  the  riches  of  the  world  but  you’ve  got  nothing.  you  are  the  owner  of  a  heart  that  longs  to  love  (  to  be  loved,  ),  you  have  goodness  in  your  bones  even  if  you’re  convinced  you’ve  always  been  built  for  evil,  you’ve  never  had  the  ability  to  access  it.  the  world  your  were  born  in  was  always  against  you,  the  odds  were  never  in  your  favor  –  that’s  the  lesson  you’ve  refused  to  learn,  but  you  will  –  eventually.

❛           𝗮𝗻𝗼𝘁𝗵𝗲𝗿,  𝗮𝗻𝗱  𝗮𝗻𝗼𝘁𝗵𝗲𝗿     ›     𝐖𝐀𝐍𝐓𝐄𝐃  𝐂𝐎𝐍𝐍𝐄𝐂𝐓𝐈𝐎𝐍𝐒     .

from  district  two,  anyone  he  might’ve  trained  with,  anyone  who  might  know  his  parents,  anyone  who  he  might’ve  gone  to  school  with,  anyone  he  might’ve  sparred  with,  anyone  his  family  (  either  the  gallowinds  or  the  goldhearts  )  might’ve  wronged  at  one  point  or  another.

scenario  one,  a  tribute  that  he  finds  he  ends  up  caring  for  –  he’s  outwardly  cold  &  very  much  skilled,  top  of  his  game,  trained  his  whole  life  &  your  muse  is ...  not,  but  einar’s  like  well  damn  what  am  i  gonna  do  protect  this  tribute  with  my  life?  absolutely  not  but  i’ll  make  sure  they  at  least  get  out  of  the  bloodbath.

scenario  two,  another  tribute  but  he  doesn’t  care  much  for  them  at  all.  to  be  fair,  einar  doesn’t  care  for  most  people  but  he  knows  them  by  name  because  maybe  there’s  a  rivalry  there  or  maybe  they  just  don’t  get  along  or  maybe  einar  did  the  thing  where  he  just  turns  on  his  heel  &  walked  away  mid-convo.  anyway,  on  sight  means  on  sight.

for  other  tributes:  someone  who  isn’t  a  fan  of  the  careers,  someone  who  has  a  Bone  to  Pick,  someone  who  einar  will  manipulate  &  lead  on  to  k-word,  an  unlikely/reluctant  alliance,  a  likely  alliance,  someone  he  stares  at  just  to  make  them  uneasy,  someone  who  wants  to  get  him  to  say  more  than  hey  what’s  up.

for  victors:  a  ‘never  meet  your  heroes’  cliche  where  he  admires  them  but  they  said  no  thanks,  someone  who  he  thinks  is  lame  cause  they  didn’t  “deserve  their  win”,  someone  who  he  thinks  is  lame  cause  they  can’t  handle  their  win,  someone  who  he  thinks  is  cool  cause  they  could  handle  their  win,  someone  who  doesn’t  like  him  because  he  reeks  of  arrogance,  someone  who  likes  him  because  he  reeks  of  arrogance.

for  citizens:  um.  we’ll  figure  it  out.  please  love  me.

[goshwrites]

business (yandere x reader) 1

warnings: swearing, ageplaying, obsession, unhealthy relationships

word count: 2.9 

A/N: still not completely my best writing oof but here we go

taglist: (none as of yet since i’m keeping the taglist for the ben solo blurb separate from this one)

  You know how like in some novels things happen right away one after another? Like the very next day or something?  Well that didn't happen with you.  The day after the whole fiasco with Romeo and Juliette... things were pretty chill. Boss of course seemed just a little agitated, but that was normal in your opinion since well... she always had a resting bitch face. Always. And then it was two days after it.  Still nothing. You somehow got hit in the head with a paper ball that was thrown so badly it flew over the small wall that separated the cubicles instead of the trashcan. Yeah. That person's aim was horrible, but eh. They offered you chocolate once so you were cool.  Three days after everything still was kind of cool. Someone's phone kept buzzing the Backstreet Boy's song I Want It That Way and of course any reasonable person would sing along with it which of course was you.  Then four- well that was Saturday. And that was your glorious dayoff of going to the store and getting facial masks.  And fifth was Sunday and with that you mostly chilled while working on editing your paper.  Six was... Monday to say the least.  No comment.  And then what do you know? A whole week went by the incident and it seemed that no one even remembered or cared or just... were even awake to see it.    Tuesday started out kind of nice. You didn't do that annoying thing of where you wake up like ten minutes before your alarm and then you try to go back to sleep because hey it's way too early but then you can't because anxiety and you spent like seven minutes inwardly arguing with your anxiety and before you know it- it's time to get up.  But that didn't happen. That happened on Monday, yes, but Tuesday? Nah you woke up to the beautiful bliss of birds using their vocal cords and like some violins playing in the background. Over all it was nice.  And you got a cheese bagel at your nearby bagel shop because they're everywhere.    You greeted the security man that stood by the door with a 'good morning' on your way into the large building that also housed other companies like some kind of shoe company and like maybe one of Jojo's bowties? You really didn't know and didn't really wanna know. You walked out of the elevator of the floor you were on and proceeded to make your way to your cubicle. You sat down with the rolling chair moving backwards a tad before you reached out and got out your laptop from the beach bag. You were just typing in the password and going to your documents when you heard a soft, "Good morning," from your left and you look over to the opening to see Ben standing there. A small grin came onto your face at seeing the dark skinned male.  "It is this time." You mused while thinking back on your grumpy mood yesterday. He chuckled while flashing that pearly white grin of his.  "And am I not glad for that?"  "Oh shut up." You said playfully towards the male as you brought up your latest project on your computer.  He just chuckled and shook his head as if he just knew that you wouldn't pull through on your threat. And well he was right.  "Uh huh. Anyways since you're in a better mood, I was thinking we could like go out for lunch?" He suggested with a shrug as you looked back up at him. He always liked to wear bright colors since he could always pull them off so well, so today he was wearing a neon yellow t-shirt and washed-out jeans. You weren't really wearing anything special. Just blue jeans, (f/c) shirt, and some converse so eh. Nothing special or extraordinary. Just the way you liked it.  But somehow Ben always looked nice in everything he wore.  You decided to just shove your writing abilities to the back of your mind as you pretended to think about it.  "Hmmmm. I don't know. I don't really know if I like you or not." You said while stroking your chin as if there was a beard there. He chuckled and shook his head.  "Awww. Come on, (N/n). I know you do and you know you love me." He practically whined to you with a childish pout making you giggle.  "Of course I love you. You're one of the few people that are tolerable here." You told him with a grin and a shake of my head.  'You know you love me' was that one inside joke between the two of you. Whenever one just wasn't budging on something for whatever reason the other would always play that card. And usually it worked.  He was probably about to say something about being offended by that statement, but your little bicker was irrupted.  "(L/n)! My office!" You heard your last name being called out causing you to sit up right in your chair. And there standing at her office was Boss. Now Boss... was an interesting woman. One, she was born and raised in Liberia until her family moved here causing her to have a very strong accent. Two, she was very... well... blunt. She was like the Simon Cowell or Gordon Ramsey of writing. And three, even though her natural hair was black, she had dyed it a sort of burgundy red that stuck out like on a traffic light.  But you've never been called to her office before. Not unless it was for another project. But... you were working on a project. So why did she call you?    You forced yourself to rise from the rolling chair before you took in a deep breath. Just... don't jump around conclusions. You and Ben shared a look of mutual look of worry and confusion before you forced yourself to walk out and into the hallway. Others had already stopped typing to give you the look of 'uh oh' as you walked. Honestly you felt like you were going to your own funeral at these somber looks. But alas you reached the glass down of Boss's office. It was that type of office from Superman of where the walls were glass. You had to admit, you liked it.  But at the moment you kinda wished the walls were concrete so no one could see you get fired. Wait.  Fired? Now that started the anxiety ball rolling.  But before you could turn away and maybe act like you were too sick to come to her office, she saw you and simply waved you in. Those glass walls. Traitors.   You took in a deep breath and entered into the carpeted office room. Besides being all fancy with her name on the door in a sort of Instagram font, Boss had a reddish, dark brown wooden desk with four small drawers on each side at the top, and two large drawers at the bottom. The desk was definitely an expensive one since the handles for the drawers had designs on them. Overall Boss just causally flexed with the desk.  And the carpet was like really comfy too as you shifted on it sort of nervously. Boss just looked at you before she picked up a Rubik Cube and just twirled it in her hand. She looked down at the multiple colors as she mixed the cube up.  And finally easing the growing of your anxiety- she spoke.  "Sit down, (L/n)." Obediently you sat down in the brown, leather chair that actually fit very well with the desk. She waited a few moments as if she was waiting to see if you were comfortable before she spoke again. "Do you remember what happened last week?" What? What happened? What week? Last week?  What happened last week?  You had no fucking idea.  But were you gonna admit that? Hell no.  "Yes, I do." You told her with a nod to make it seem like you weren't an idiot.  "Well, today... I got the phone call from Stevie saying that she and Issac have gone back to his home town to get married."  Wait... who? Then... ohhh yeeaaaah.  Last week... those two. Right.  "Wow. They didn't waste any time, huh?" You said while acting like you had an excellent memory of all things at all time. Yup.  No dummy here.  But that kinda brought up a question... why was she telling you this?  "No, they did not." She said with a shake of her head before she leaned forward in her seat. "But.. I'm sure you're wondering why I am telling you this." You nodded at her words and she took this as a cue to continue. "Well... I assigned Stevie to an assignment that I thought that she was ready for, but now that she's getting married... well... I will need someone else for it."  Huh. Why was she telling you this?  Then... wait... oh. Oh.  "You... want me for the assignment?" You asked as you couldn't hide the surprise that leaked into your voice.  Huh. So obviously you weren't the first choice, but at least you were the second. Better than none, right?  "If you will take it." Boss responded with a shrug as she looked down at the Rubik Cube while simultaneously solving it and speaking. Woah.  "Well I mean uh- I would love too, Boss. But..." You briefly trailed off as you shifted in the leather seat.  "Just what is the assignment?"  "It's actually an interview." An interview? Now... that is something you did not have that much experience on. Who would you be interviewing? Harry Styles?  Oh now that would be great. (But sadly this isn't a 1D fanfic) "Well uh... I don't really have that much experience with like journalism and like interviews." You awkwardly confessed as you scratched your head. "But... who is it?"  Boss paused as she stopped almost... completing the Rubik Cube. What. How did she that so fast? But your confessed and amazed eyes moved back up to Boss whenever she answered your question with, "Edward Gimmens." Then... wait.  Edward Gimmens… as in... that really rich guy?  That Edward Gimmens? You just stared at your Boss in amazement as she finished the Rubik Cube. But you weren't amazed by her skill- okay yes you were actually- but more with the fact as... "How... did you get an interview slot with him?"  As far as you knew the philanthropist, billionaire, and whatever he had on his resume didn't do interviews for magazines that centered around Millenniums and Gen-Zs. He did it for those really big and out there magazines, you know?  "Well, believe it or not, he came to us. But that is not important. You'll have to come up with your questions and such, but you can use Stevie's notes." She said as she set the cube down and pulled out a folder out from her desk.  You blinked a few times at her rapid explanation as just.. woah. "But of course that's if you are taking the job."  That... was the million dollar question, wasn't it? Or the billion in this case. Ha, ha, ha.  "I... well... I... what makes you think I can do this?" You found the words coming out of your mouth before you could stop them. Uh- uh- uh- "Of course I am grateful you offered it to me, but umm... why?" You quickly added as to not seem rude.  "Well... Stevie was my first choice since she's done work like this before." Boss began with a shrug as she leaned back against the chair. "But when she had to go... well... you just popped into my head as the next capable person to do this."  You? Capable? You still got anxiety with ordering your own meal. "You... think I can do this?" You asked hesitantly and in an unsure way as your (e/c) eyes met Boss's. She smiled just a tad before she leaned forward.  "(L/n)… I see potential in you. You're a good writer and you know how to set a pace right in whatever you write. You're just... how do I put this? Not confident in your abilities. So... I'm giving you the old... shove-you-out-of-the-airplane thing."  That... did not sound ideal. Not at all. But still you slowly nodded your head.  "All right. Thanks, Boss, I'm honored you think so highly of me, but umm... can I have some time to think about it?"  "Ah yes. Of course, of course. Take as much time as you need." She said while waving her hand in the air and with her accent sort of slurring her words together making the 'course' sound like 'close.'  "But just not too much time. This does need to be written, you know."  You nodded before you stood up from the comfy chair.  "I'll... let you know by Friday." You decided on that day while your anxiety told you in one ear that you won't be able to decide by then and your self worth was whispering how she would find someone else in that time period. Fun times.  "That is good, (L/n). I'll be awaiting for your answer." She said with a nod as she stood up as well. You couldn't help, but slightly smile at the way she worded things. "And ah! Just in case you do decide to take the job, here is the notes Stevie had." She said while picking up the folder she had brought onto her desk previously. She handed it to you and you took it from her dark and freckled hands.  "Just read it over and see what you think."  "I will Boss. Thanks." 

  With one final goodbye and wave to Boss, you exited out of the office and back down the hall to your cubicle.

So... you weren't getting fired? You actually kind of got promoted in a way? I mean, if you did this interview right... others would be put on your desk. 

But this was Edward Gimmens, the CEO of Gimmens Incorporated. This was a man who's spent nearly three decades in making his name known in whatever way.

He was a well known and looked up to man in whatever he did. Whether it be taking mankind steps closer to having flying cars or what he was most known for, and you found it a little humorous, cosmetics. 

Yes that's right.

The philanthropist, inventor, and very rich guy was famous for his makeup. Somehow he had figured out a way to have any foundation or concealer or blush fit exactly to your skin tone. Instead of having to make a formula for each different skin tone, he was somehow able to make one for all. Needless to say, the product instantly became a favorite around the world. Even you had tried it once, and contrary to what you expected, it somehow blended perfectly. 

He was like the Willy Wonka of makeup. And you were suppose to interview him. 

  You sat back down on your rolling chair with a huff. But should you take it? It was a great- like really great- opportunity for you and the magazine. Of course Boss can always get somebody else, but still. 

It was great and big and perfect, but... also stressing. You were going to have to come up with questions... but Stevie did leave behind notes for you. And thinking of the notes- you had the folder. 

You set it on your desk before you opened it up to see the Instagram font that was Stevie's handwriting. 

Man. You'd probably kill someone for being able to write that elegantly.

You read over what she had so far in her notes and you had to admit that she had some pretty good ideas of what she wants to ask. You bit your lip and decided to close the folder for now. 

Hmm. Maybe... just maybe, this won't be so bad.

But of course- you needed another person's opinion on this. 

"Hey, Ben?" You decided to speak up over the clicking keyboards to your cubicle mate. 

"Yeah?" Came his one worded reply.

"I would love to go to lunch with you."

And even though you couldn't see it, you knew he was smiling.

[wellesleyunderground]

Wellesley Underground Interview with Founders (Sara Hess ‘08 and Shavanna Calder ‘08) of Feminist Fashion & Beauty Magazine, MUJER!

Need a break from the politics? Dive into the making of Issue No.2 of MUJER! Magazine. Interview by Camylle Fleming ‘14.

1. Wellesley Underground (WU): Tell us about the origin of MUJER! Magazine and bring us up to speed on the November launch.

Sara Hess ‘08, Editor in Chief: MUJER! has been a long time coming for us. Ever since Shavanna and I were swapping clothes from each other’s closets when we were roommates at Wellesley, we’ve had an interest in fashion and over the years we’d often played around with the idea of doing a fashion related project together. MUJER! came about in late 2017 when I had reached a point of being really frustrated with fashion magazines (all of the ads and the Photoshop, the lack of any real content and focus on hyper consumption). I also was disappointed to see that several of the fashion bloggers I’d followed over the years and enjoyed for their authenticity were following the same route as they transitioned from blogs to Instagram and started posting highly stylized Photoshopped pics that were all sponsored and very phony. Finally, I had recently turned 30 and it then occurred to me that I was older than nearly all the models I saw in the major fashion publications, which is insane when you think about it. I told Shavanna what I was thinking of doing-- a feminist fashion and beauty mag, all models 25+, no Photoshop on their faces or bodies, more racial and ethnic diversity, a focus on more sustainable production and consumption and no ads. Shavanna is an amazing stylist and has a great eye for design so I was super excited when she agreed to be creative director. I was living between Mexico City and New York at the time. I had developed some contacts in the fashion industry in Mexico and really admired the fashion scene there, which is one of the reasons we went with the name MUJER! It took us about 6-7 months to produce the content for the first print edition which was published in September 2018. 

2.WU: How did fashion and beauty become sites of contestation and rebellion for you two?

Sara: I grew up in a small town in rural Pennsylvania and was constantly getting in trouble for breaking the dress code at my public school. It’s ironic because I was definitely a major nerd-- not your typical rebel. In junior high, I was really upset to find out I had not been accepted to the National Junior Honor Society. I asked one of my teachers why and he told me that it was because the shorts that I wore to school were often too short. Honestly, it was not my intention to be risque. I was just awkwardly going through puberty and had legs that were too long for my body and it was impossible to find shorts that were long enough and didn’t look dorky. After that, I went through a punk rocker phase, where again clothing is a form of rebellion. I was totally into the early Gwen Stefani punk looks. I would get picked on a lot by classmates but then a few months later everyone would be wearing what I had been wearing before, which would be my cue to change styles because I never wanted to look like everyone else. For me, it became a way to stand out and to push back against conservative influences. 

Shavanna Calder ‘08, Creative Director: I can’t say that I’ve thought of fashion for most of my life as a site of rebellion. I just wore what I liked and (especially as a kid) what was on trend.

I had hip surgery 5 years ago and have struggled to be able to wear heels after that. In some ways that forced me to rethink how to dress for formal situations (without heels). Though I am working towards wearing heels again through physical therapy (my profession requires it), I’ve found a certain level of pride in showing other women that we can still look dressed up/professional etc. without wearing heels. Also embracing flatforms has been fun! 

I think beauty, more so, has always been a site of contestation and rebellion for me as a Black woman. Growing up and having hair that was different than most of my friends. Makeup and hair supplies that we had to drive an extra distance for. Reading different magazines than my friends because teen vogue (at that time), seventeen etc never catered to me (thank God for Essence). Now, being natural, my hair oftentimes is a point of rebellion/contestation as I educate and ask for the things that I need as a Black artist instead of accepting the burden of sitting in silence. 

Founders Shavanna + Sara (above)

3. WU: On social media, you’ve discussed the initiative of “showing women as they actually exist in the world”. Can you describe some of the images you two grew up with and how they are in conversation with MUJER!

Shavanna: In some ways growing up when I did, I feel like I did get to see images of women (more often) without photoshop and a ton of contouring etc because that just wasn’t on trend. It’s one thing I miss about the early 2000’s. That being said, the rest of the content oftentimes centered around ways to get men, look flirty etc etc. For us I think “showing women as they actually exist in the world” goes beyond imaging to the content of the magazine (the stories and issues that are discussed) as well as the lack of harmful ads encouraging women to alter their bodies by buying certain products etc. We are able to highlight a diverse group of female identifying folx and the complexity of us instead of the monolith that I often see portrayed.

4. WU: What are the ways in which your Mexico City base contributes to the core principles of MUJER!

Sara: Mexico City is just my heart and soul. I don’t know how else to describe it. It makes me turn to mush as though I’m talking about someone I’m in love with. The creative and design scene here is out of this world funky and unique and I really feel that I can wear anything going out here at night. People are elegant and cool and put a great deal of thought into how they present themselves. The fashion scene is authentic and fun and nowhere near as pretentious as it is in other parts of the world. We try to reflect this creativity and sincerity in MUJER! as well.

Shavanna: Additionally I’ll say that people have really embraced us there. There is an openness, flexibility and sense of collaboration that has made it super easy to throw any ideas we have out there and run with it (more than I’ve seen in other parts of the world).

5. WU: For those of us who are new to publication production, can you walk us through the steps of creating content, finding models, artwork, all without the filler of advertisements?

Sara: We are also new to magazine production, ha! We started by basically bringing together people we knew from the fashion world here in Mexico City. I have a dear friend, Jenny. She’s a stylist from Sweden and was working on the sets of reality shows here so she kind of kicked me into gear to do the first beauty shoot. She had a lot of experience doing shoots so she helped me get a great photographer and scout a location and models. We’ve really been blessed with meeting all of the right people at the right moment. We found a wonderful lead graphic designer, Celina Arrazola who happened to know the neighborhood where all the printers are and was an expert in hand binding books. Advertisements were never an option so we self-finance the production, which was and is intense.

Shavanna: Yes, as Sara mentioned we’re incredibly new to this and are (honestly) still figuring a lot out as we go. However, generally we come up with ideas/stories together that excite us, that we haven’t seen in other fashion magazines. We then reach out to female identifying folx to help us realize these ideas (because we want to support female entrepreneurs as well). The hardest part will be figuring out how to make it sustainable (and take the more of the financial burden off of Sara) and we’re in the process of sorting that out the best way we can!

5a. WU: Okay, same question. Add COVID, go:

Sara: Now, because of COVID, our plans to do another print edition were derailed so we decided to do a digital edition-- everyone featured sent in their own photos and instead of printing we created a PDF version of the magazine, with Celina’s excellent graphic design of course.

It essentially made printing the way we did with the first edition impossible. That was a very manual process that involved visiting the printer in person multiple times and Celina handbound the magazine, with me struggling to be useful to her by folding the pages. This time we went all digital.

Shavanna: In addition we had to become creative since we could no longer conduct shoots or interviews in person. Everything was done via email (except for Sultana’s shoot which happened pre-COVID). All other photos were submitted by the women in the issue. Whilst I missed many aspects of being in person, in some ways the challenge allowed us to lean in to our mission of showing women as we truly are. It also allowed for us to have a remote intern via Wellesley which was awesome!

6. WU: How do you want to grapple with the plurality of feminism(s) in the pages of the magazine?

Shavanna: By being truly intentional about seeking out diverse voices. By celebrating those voices and by taking our readers feedback to heart. Outside of the folx who are interviewed or featured in our magazine we attempt to employ women in the creation of the physical product as well (design, photography etc). The end result is something that has been touched by women from various parts of the world and from different walks of life.

7. WU: Can you share the story of how the magazine gained its title? How do you respond to any pushback and claims of appropriation from Latinx individuals for your usage of the word “Mujer”?

Sara: For starters, we were founded in Mexico City and at least half of our readers are native Spanish speakers. The publication, like many of its readers, is also bilingual. For the interviews and articles that are originally done in Spanish, we leave them in Spanish, only translating key quotes into English and vice versa for pieces that are originally in English. The title is also a global call to women that goes beyond the English-language paradigm.

8.WU: The fashion and beauty industry can carry both an air of superficiality and apoliticism. Tell us what people get wrong about the experience of working within it.

Sara: I think this is hard for us to get into because we are not really working in the fashion and beauty industry-- we are working parallel to it and trying to pick the piece we enjoy while also creating something new and different for women that makes them feel empowered, not inadequate.

Shavanna: Yes neither Sara nor I really work within the industry (nor have we prior to the magazine). I’ve worked as a stylist from time to time, but that’s about it. For the most part we’ve been consumers who were unhappy with what we were consuming and figured we could do something about it.

9. WU: In an effort to not over-glorify the value of success and “making it”, let’s talk about failure. Can you share with our readers what went wrong in the process of producing MUJER!?

Sara: Before our Chilanga shoot, Shavanna and I got horrible food poisoning. Like, nearly had to go to the hospital.

Shavanna: Yes we were living on pepto bismol and had just started eating plain bread and pasta the day of our shoot, but we powered through! Honestly this magazine has felt like a contribution to society that we were meant to be a part of, so despite obstacles that have come up, we know that we can’t be sidetracked.

10. WU: How do you react to the “self-care” trend and it’s correlation to the consumption of beauty products? Relatedly, how do you two take care of yourselves?

Sara: I’m an introvert who fakes being an extrovert, but I definitely know I need alone time so I try to make space for that. As of late, I try to use more natural/ organic beauty products and just less of everything period. Also sleep. Sleep is so important. Finally, I’ve decided I will deal with drama in my professional life because I feel like that’s where I’m making a contribution that’s important but I try to minimize drama in my personal life as much as possible.

Shavanna: I try to take care of myself by reminding myself that rest is ok and necessary (so hard). Practicing my faith/meditation. Asking for what I need. Going to therapy (physical and mental health). Exercising. Connecting with loved ones (friends and family). Being kind to myself.

11. WU: As a follower of your Insta page, I find myself lingering on your original posts, staring into the faces of the individuals you capture. It makes me realize how my brain has been trained to see the same faces featured in public spaces, so much so that they’ve become invisible. Can you share the favorite photos that you’ve captured and why they stand out to you?

Shavanna: My favorite photos are of Wellesley alumna Solonje Burnett. I’ve always admired Solonje’s fearlessness and creativity and I think we truly captured her essence in these. Though she is beautiful, the interview is about so much more and highlights her as the complex, multifaceted woman that she is (instead of just her beauty routine or what her house looks like).

12. WU: What does the day in the life of an Editor-in-Chief look like? How about a Creative Director?

Shavanna: We’re very collaborative. I don’t think we really have hard and fast rules as to who does what necessarily as much as it’s a partnership. One of us will propose an idea (in between juggling the rest of our lives) and we’ll discuss pros and cons and greenlight what works best and aligns with our values. We also just hold each other accountable. Right now there isn’t a typical day in the life as well just because we both have other jobs (though it would be amazing for Mujer! to continue to take off in a way that allowed us to devote more time to it). 

13. WU: Both of you currently have worked with higher education institutions (Harvard + NYU). Can you tell us a bit about your “day jobs” and the types of opportunities they have afforded you in relation to the Magazine?

Sara: While I was working at HBS, I co-authored a case study on Monocle magazine which has helped to inform some of our thinking around the business model for MUJER!

Shavanna: I worked for almost 7 years at NYU, first at Stern and then within the Faculty of Arts & Science. In terms of opportunities? I’d say actually, for me, anyway the two aren’t related. My time at NYU influenced my acting career more so than Mujer! by giving me some flexibility and certainly financial stability.

14. WU: Lastly - a question you ask your features in the upcoming digital issue: how have you been gentle with yourself during this time?

Sara: Uff, I have been eating a lot of ice cream and taking breaks when I need to. I turned off the New York Times news alerts on my phone. I still read the news everyday but this has helped a lot.

Shavanna: Uff indeed. Hm sometimes I remind myself that the fact that I’m functioning is enough. This quote from Audre Lorde has been getting me through: “Caring for myself is not self-indulgence, it is self-preservation, and that is an act of political warfare.” 

Working out and going for walks, journaling, therapy, being in touch with my spirituality, limiting myself on social media (or at least certain groups or accounts), listening to my body in terms of what it wants (whether that be food or change of environment). Talking to friends when I have the energy always brightens my day and constantly reminding myself to take things one moment/day at a time. This is all incredibly hard and I’m grateful to those who have been gentle with me when I struggle to be gentle with myself.

Check out the MUJER! Covid-19 digital issue here: https://www.mujerrev.com/mujer-sale Given the increase in domestic violence and gender based violence around the world during the pandemic, a portion of the proceeds from the issue will go to two organizations helping womxn that are survivors of domestic abuse and human trafficking: Women of Color Network - Blue Lips Campaign and El Pozo de Vida.

MUJER! Homepage: https://www.mujerrev.com/ MUJER! Instagram: https://www.instagram.com/mujerrev/

[becasbelt]

Chapters: 2/12 Fandom: Pitch Perfect (Movies) Rating: T Relationships: Chloe Beale/Beca Mitchell Characters: Beca Mitchell, Chloe Beale, Dr. Mitchell (Pitch Perfect), Beca Mitchell's Mother, Aubrey Posen, Jesse Swanson Additional Tags: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, skateboarder!beca, Romance, Angst

* * *

Beca taps her toes against the floor as best as she can from where they dangle in the air. The chair she sits in is small, but not quite small enough that her feet can completely touch the floor.  

She stares out the window at all the kids running around waiting for either their parents to pick them up or for the bus to arrive. Two girls are playing some sort of hand game that Beca’s tried to learn before, but could never quite get down. She would have to ask them to teach her tomorrow at recess.

Someone knocks on the door of the classroom, followed by the door opening. Beca whips her head around to see who it is.

“Daddy!” she exclaims when she sees him standing in the doorway. She slips out of her chair and runs over to him, hugging his leg.

Her dad smiles down at her. “Hey, Bug,” he says, ruffling the hair on the top of her small head. Beca giggles. He turns his attention towards Beca’s kindergarten teacher, who has just stood up from behind her desk. “What seems to be the problem, Mrs. Cook?”

Mrs. Cook smiles kindly at him. “It’s really not a big issue, I can assure you, Mr. Mitchell,” she says. “Beca is an excellent student; always so nice to her classmates and very eager to learn.”

Beca beams proudly up at her father. He smiles down at her and pats her head. “Well, I’m glad to hear that, but what is it you called me in for?”

Mrs. Cook laces her fingers together in front of her and presses her lips together momentarily. “Well, as enthusiastic as Beca is to learn, she is also enthusiastic about many other things as well,” she starts. “Your daughter has taken a liking to singing lately, and I’m afraid it’s becoming quite disruptive to the rest of the class.”

“My daughter is in trouble… for singing?” her dad asks, sounding confused. Beca also looks at her teacher in confusion, afraid that she’s about to get yelled at.

“Oh no, she’s not in trouble,” Mrs. Cook quickly assures. “We encourage all forms of expression and art at this school, so her singing is not a concern of mine. I just wanted to let you know of this so that we can work together to take steps that will prevent further disruption in a classroom setting. Perhaps letting Beca join some sort of choir will help her to channel her creative energy in a more appropriate environment.”

Beca’s dad thinks about it for a moment. “I guess that makes sense,” he finally decides. He crouches down so that he’s more eye level with Beca.

“Am I in trouble, Daddy?” Beca asks timidly, eyes looking down to the floor.

Her dad chuckles softly. “No, Bug, you’re not in trouble,” he tells her, tucking a piece of hair behind her ear, causing her to look back up at him. “You like singing, Beca?”

Beca nods her head enthusiastically, grin returning to her face. Her dad smiles back at her, the corners of his eyes crinkling.

“Do you want to sing more? With some of your friends, maybe?”

Beca’s smile widens even more. “Yes!” she exclaims.

Her dad laughs and straightens up, taking her small hand in his. He reaches out to shake Mrs. Cook’s hand with his other one. “Thank you for telling me this. We’ll help Beca learn when she should and shouldn’t, uh, share her gifts, I guess.”

Mrs. Cook laughs kindly and says goodbye to Beca and her father. The two of them walk down the hall towards the front door of the school, Beca bouncing up and down in excitement the whole way.

Her dad turns on Frank Sinatra in the car on the way home, and the two of them croon along to the best of their abilities. Beca laughs at her dad as he exaggerates how high some of the notes are, and she thinks that there can’t possibly be anything better in life than this moment right now.

* * *

The store that Beca walks into is small, overcrowded, and looks like it hasn’t been thoroughly dusted in years.

It’s essentially a garage of sorts, with a hangar door along the back wall, concrete floors, and a small office in the back corner. Shelves full of various parts and equipment line one wall while skateboards are displayed along the other. The middle of the room is taken up by a stained couch and a clustered coffee table.

Beca loves it.

She wanders over to the skateboards on display and peruses the various brands and styles available. There wasn’t a huge variety, and there definitely wasn’t anything super noteworthy, but Beca didn’t mind.

It was enough.

A door opening made her turn away from the boards. The blond guy from the booth steps out of the office, beanie on his head and an unlit cigarette in hand. He seems surprised to see her for a moment, so he must not have heard Beca walk in.

“Hey, you’re that girl from the activities fair,” he says in a smooth British accent. He speaks slowly, as if giving her the chance to correct him. “Becky, right?”

“It’s Beca, actually,” Beca corrects, watching him walk over to the coffee table. “And you’re... Luke?” He glances over his shoulder at her and grins.

“Right,” he confirms. Luke stoops down to pick up a lighter off the low table and turns to face her. “What can I do for you, Beca?”

“Um, I was wondering if that job opening on your flier was still open,” she says, pulling out said flier from her bag.

She offers the paper out to Luke, which he takes and spares a glance at before dropping it on the table next to him. “Yeah, it’s still open. It’s not like anyone else has come by for the position, anyways.”

Beca feels a small bit of excitement bloom in her chest. “So could I maybe get an interview or something?”

Luke pauses for a moment to look her up and down, taking her in. Beca’s not wearing anything too fancy; just her usual open plaid shirt over a grey tank-top, with dark skinny jeans and an old pair of black converse. She hopes she wasn’t supposed to be dressed up for this.

“You know anything about skateboards?” Luke asks at last.

“I do, actually,” Beca responds. “I’ve got my own board, and I do a lot of skating in my free time. If you want I can show you a few of my moves and-”

“Okay, sounds good to me,” Luke interrupts before she can finish. Beca raises her eyebrows at him.

“What?”

Luke shrugs. “You seem legit,” he says simply. “Plus, it’s not like you’ll be doing much anyways. Mostly just cleaning up around here and making sure people don’t hang around if they’re high off their asses.”

Beca nods her head. “Yeah, I- I can totally do that. That sounds totally cool.”

Luke chuckles and walks back over to the office to retrieve some papers. “If you keep showing that much enthusiasm for everything, it’ll be real obvious to everyone that comes in here that you’re a freshman,” he teases, handing the papers to Beca. “Fill those out and I’ll let you know when you can start.”

Beca eyes light up. “Really? So I got the job?”

“Yep, you did. An impressive feat, really, considering all your competition,” Luke says sarcastically, gesturing grandly around the room. He heads in the direction of the door, lighter and cigarette in hand. “I’m gonna go take a smoke real fast. Let me know when you’re done filling out those forms, Becky.”

He slips out the door and although Beca wants to be annoyed with him for his arrogance, she can’t quite find it within herself to care. The skate shop wasn’t perfect, but it was definitely the best thing about Barden so far.

* * *

The shaking of her shoulder wakes Beca up from her deep slumber. She blinks groggily up at the person responsible for the end of her sleep.

“Beca, wake up.”

It’s her dad.

Beca suddenly wishes that she would fall back asleep and never wake up.

Nevertheless, Beca groans and rubs at her eyes to let him know that she was mostly awake.

Her dad looks around her room. “Funny, this doesn’t look like your Intro to Philosophy class,” he says with fake surprise.

He’s trying to be funny. At – Beca glances at the time – 11:36 in the morning.

Okay, so it wasn’t that early. But still. She didn’t appreciate it.

“I’m posing an important philosophical question,” she says tiredly, pushing herself up into a sitting position. “If I don’t actually go to that class, will it still suck?”

From the other side of the room, Kimmy Jin turns around momentarily to glare briefly at Beca. Beca just stares right back.

“Oh, come on, Bec,” her father sighs. “You’ve been here, what, a month? Have you made any friends?”

“Kimmy Jin is my friend.”

A sharp “nope” sounds from the other side of the room and Beca shoots a glare at the back of Kimmy Jin’s head.

Good for nothing traitor.

Beca pushes the covers off her legs and stands up to retrieve a hoodie from her closet.

“Have you done anything in your time here other than skip your classes?” her dad continues to question her.

“I got a job at the skate shop,” she answers defensively.

Her dad scoffs. “Oh great, that place. It’s dark and dirty and has, like, what? Those three weirdos that work there?”

Beca holds a hand up to her chest, gesturing to herself. “Well, four, now.”

He sighs in response. “You really don’t want to be here?”

Beca rolls her eyes. “Gee, where’d you get idea from?” she says sarcastically.

“You know what, fine,” her dad suddenly says. Beca perks up instantly, interested in his apparent change of heart. “I’ll make you a deal. If you put in effort and do well in your classes, get involved in some way or another, and still don’t want to be here by the end of the year, you can quit college. And I will help you pay rent for an apartment in Seattle until you find a job.”

Beca’s eyes widen in surprise and excitement. “Seriously?” she asks, not totally convinced that this was real.

“Yes, seriously,” her dad says, then points at her. “But I really need to see it, Bec.” He heads back towards the door to leave. “This is college, join in!”

The door shuts behind him, and Beca stays standing in the middle of her room, unsure of what to do with this new possibility. She picks up her phone to check the time.

11:45.

Beca quickly strips off her clothes and replaces them with her dark blue robe before packing up her shower stuff. If she hurries, she could probably get ready in time for her 12:30 class.

There’s a grin on her face as she rushes down the hall towards the communal bathrooms, and for the first time since arriving at Barden she feels a glimmer of hope inside.

If it would get her out of here faster, she would be the best damn student this trash pile of a university has ever seen.

* * *

Beca’s in such a good mood on her way to the showers that she allows herself to sing quietly under her breath as she walks past empty stall after empty stall before stopping front of one. Because Titanium is actually fairly catchy and she’s feeling optimistic damnit.

She stops in front of one of the stalls and slips her robe off before stepping into the shower and shutting the curtain behind her. She turns on the water and continues to sing – it’s more like humming, really – under her breath.

“Bulletproof, nothin’ to lose. Fire away, fire away. Ricochet, you take your aim,” Beca sticks her hand under the water to check the temperature and a cold brush of air behind her is her only warning before a voice speaks up from behind her.

“You can sing!”

Beca whirls around in surprise. “Dude!” she exclaims, grabbing the shower curtain and pulling it shut in an effort to protect herself.

The curtain is ripped back open a moment later. “How high does your belt go?” A hand reaches through the water to shut it off, and Beca finally takes a moment to actually register who has joined her in her shower stall.

The ginger from the activities fair stands before her, apparently unashamed of her total nudity. Beca blushes furiously and desperately tries to cover herself with her arms. “My what? Oh my god,” she stammers.

“You have to audition for the Bellas,” the girl insists, seemingly oblivious to the discomfort she’s causing Beca.

“I can’t concentrate on anything you’re saying until you cover your junk,” Beca informs her, eyes directed at the ceiling.

“Just, consider it,” ginger pushes further while Beca tries to slyly grab the shower curtain to provide herself with more covering to her naked body. “One time, we sang back up for Prince,” the girl continues, as if the fact will convince Beca. “His butt is so tiny I can hold it with, like, one hand.”

She makes a gesture to demonstrate just how tiny Prince’s butt is, and when she brings her hand down it knocks all of the items Beca was clutching in her arms to the floor.

“Oops,” the girl says, sounding unconcerned.

This was surely how Beca was about to die; murdered in the nude by this admittedly beautiful, yet equally nude psycho.

“Oh, Jesus,” Beca mumbles as she turns away from the invader so that her front is pressed up against the tile wall. “Seriously?” Beca spits out, peeking over her shoulder. “I am nude.”

The girl chooses that moment to advance, leaning in towards Beca. “You were singing Titanium, right?” she asks earnestly.

“Uh, yeah, I guess,” Beca says, not sure why the fact is relevant.

“That song is my jam,” the ginger says, leaning even closer to Beca. Her voice drops in volume. “My lady jam.”

“That’s nice,” Beca says quickly, turning her face towards the wall again.

“It is,” the girl says cheerfully. “That song really builds.”

Beca looks over at her again just in time to catch the wink thrown her way.

Oh hell.

“Gross.”

Psycho girl is silent for a moment before speaking again. “Can you sing it for me?”

Beca’s stomach launches into her throat. “Dude, no!” she sputters, followed by a desperate, “get out!”

“Not for that reason,” the redhead claims. “I’m not leaving here until you sing, so.”

After that the girl is silent. Beca sneaks a peek again and watches as she takes a deep breath and lets it out in an airy sigh.

She was joking right? She had to be joking.

Apparently she was not joking. Ginger kept patiently waiting.

Beca resists the urge to let out a frustrated groan and instead shoots the other girl a tight, close-lipped smile. She hesitantly turns around and crosses her arms over her chest, eyes looking everywhere but at the naked woman in front of her.

When Beca starts to sing, she does so with no idea of where she should start or how long she’s supposed to sing for. Her eyes dart around, and she prays that the ginger will let her go soon.

What Beca does not expect is for the other girl to start singing with her. Beca’s eyes lock onto clear blue ones as they begin to harmonize with one another, their voices blending together to bounce off the walls of the vacant bathroom. Beca forgets about the fact that they’re both naked, forgets that she doesn’t even know this girl. She’s so mesmerized by the music they are creating that all her worries fly away.

Their singing comes to an end and Beca can’t help the small smile that appears on her face. Her companion smiles as well, and Beca finally takes a minute to recognize her beauty.

Which reminds her.

Beca clears her throat and glances down at the other girl’s body briefly before looking pointedly away. She makes a surprised noise.

“Oh! Yeah, sorry,” the girl says, not sounding sorry in the slightest. “I’m pretty confident about,” she gestures to her body, “all this.”

Beca looks her up and down once more. “You should be,” she says, feeling her cheeks heat up.

The girl grabs Beca’s towel from where it’s hanging outside the stall and hands it to Beca with a smile. Beca clings it to her chest gratefully. “I still need to shower,” she says awkwardly.

“Oh, of course! I’ll get out of your way, now,” she girl says quickly. She starts walking backwards out of the stall, but her eyes remain on Beca. “See you at auditions?”

“Sure,” Beca says uncertainly.

The redhead seems to accept that. “Great! I’m Chloe, by the way. In case you were wondering,” she winks before turning around and suddenly she’s gone as quickly as she appeared.

Beca shakes her head in disbelief and rips the shower curtain closed after hanging up her towel again. She turns the water on cold and sticks her head under the spray, hoping the icy droplets are enough to force the shock out of her system.

* * *

Beca doesn’t end up going to her 12:30 class.

Which is understandable, she thinks. After all, she did just get accosted in a shower stall.

She chooses to skate for a while instead. To clear her head.

Since Beca still doesn’t know the area very well and the nearest skate park is about five miles away, she decides on a leisurely ride; more just rolling around than anything. She ends up by the lake near campus, looping around the perimeter and watching the wind cause ripples in the clear blue water surface.

The events of the past hour run in circles around her head. First, her dad tells her that she can quit school. Then, a strange, psychotic girl barges into her shower and forces her to sing a duet with her.

Beca honestly doesn’t know which is more surprising.

She definitely knows which is worse, though.

Beca doesn’t think she’s been more uncomfortable in her life than she was when that girl invaded her shower. More than just the fact that she was left totally exposed in front of a perfect stranger, she had had to sing for the stranger as well. And Beca didn’t sing. She didn’t sing and was upset that she had to in order to get the strange girl away.

What was also upsetting was the fact that she’d almost… enjoyed it.

Which was decidedly weird and not okay.

But still… when the two of them had been harmonizing together and their voices had blended together so beautifully, Beca had felt calm. At peace.

Comfortable.

It had almost been enough to make her nostalgic for a time when things were better, before her life had gone to shit. Before-

No, Beca didn’t want to think about the past. No good ever came from thinking about the past.

Beca hits an uneven slab of concrete on the sidewalk, and her skateboard veers off course. She hops off quickly before she can wipe out, letting the board skid off a ways in front of her. With a sigh, she walks over to retrieve it before making her way over to a bench overlooking the lake to rest for a while.

She plops down on the hard wood surface and reaches into her hoodie pocket, pulling out a cigarette and a lighter. She hesitates for moment before putting the stick in her mouth and flicking the lighter to life.

Beca inhales the smoke deeply before letting it out in a cloud slowly, relishing in the familiar sense of calm it brings to her anxious thoughts.

Her thoughts switch from the awkward shower encounter to the conversation with her dad. She could be done with college at the end of the year, but only if she got involved and kept her grades up. The grades she could deal with; if she started going to class and actually payed attention, those would stay up naturally. The whole ‘getting involved’ thing was a little more difficult.

She assumed he wouldn’t count her job as being involved, so she had to figure out something else that he would deem acceptable. The only problem was, Beca wasn’t exactly super stoked about the thought of joining any of the clubs she had seen at the activities fair.

Beca takes a long pull from her cigarette and goes over her options for a while. When she doesn't come up with any good possibilities, she sighs in defeat and slouches down on the bench in dismay, sure that she’ll never come up with a good solution.

After a while, her traitorous mind drifts towards the shower incident again, specifically the end of it. See you at auditions, the redhead had said.

No, that wasn’t an option, Beca thought. She had promised herself that she wasn’t going to deal with music anymore. She didn’t want it in her life; didn’t need it in her life. Joining an a cappella group – gag – simply wasn’t an option.

Beca would figure something else out. She was not going to auditions.

* * *

She was at auditions.

Beca stands backstage, watching various singers belting as high as they can for the groups sitting in the audience. Her hand taps her thigh anxiously.

What was she doing here?

She didn’t like singing, she thought a cappella was lame, she didn’t even know the song everyone has been auditioning with. This was a horrible idea. She should just get out of here before-

“Okay, and that’s the last of them!”

And there goes her chance. At least now she didn’t have to decide if she was actually going to go through with it or not.

She hesitantly steps more towards the edge of the curtains to sneak one last peak of the room. A scrawny pale dude is jabbering away about how crappy everyone who tried out was while everyone starts packing up their stuff. Beca shrugs and takes one step back to slip out without anyone noticing she was even there.

“Oh, wait! There’s one more!”

Shit.

It was the girl from the shower. Chloe, if she remembers correctly. Of course.

Beca grits her teeth and walks out on stage. “Hello,” she says awkwardly, giving a little wave.

Chloe beams up at her and beckons her closer. The blonde from the activities fair (Aubrey?) stares coldly up at her. Beca chooses to focus exclusively on Chloe, since she’s the one who told her to come here.

“Um, I didn’t know we had to prepare that song,” she admits, feeling foolish.

“Oh, that’s okay,” Chloe assures her. “Sing anything you want.”

Panic grips Beca momentarily. She was not ready to do this.

Her eyes dart around the room as she tries to think of what to sing. She briefly considers I'm A Little Teacup before quickly dismissing the thought. Her gaze eventually lands on a bright yellow cup holding an array of pens sitting on the table in front of Chloe and Aubrey, and a terrible idea pops into Beca’s head.

She gets down on her knees and leans over to reach the table. “May I?” she asks, gesturing at the cup.

Chloe nods her head to let her know she doesn’t mind, so Beca awkwardly dumps the pens out and leans back onto the stage. She crosses her legs and takes a moment to get settled before glaring down at the cup. With a sigh, she claps her hands to begin the familiar song she’s known for so many years as an unwelcomed memory invades her mind.

*

Her dad, sitting in front of her on the ground, a cup moving skillfully in his hands as he sings a simple melody. Beca stares at him in wonder.

“Can you teach me that, Daddy?” she asks once his song is done, looking up at him with pleading blue eyes.

He smiles at her with a twinkle in his eye. “I don’t know, Bug. I’m not quite sure you possess the amount of skill needed to do this.”

Beca shakes her head. “I can do it,” she says confidently.

Her dad laughs before reaching behind his back to magically pull out a second cup. “I know you can. I have complete faith in you, Beca.”

*

The cup hits the stage one last time with a resounding thump. Beca retracts her hands immediately and folds them neatly in her lap. She looks briefly at Aubrey to see her pursing her lips in an unimpressed manner before looking back at Chloe. The smile on the ginger’s face is almost enough to balance out the regret overtaking Beca.

Almost, but not quite.

So, without another word, Beca stands up and walks off the stage, leaving the cup behind her. If she’s lucky, they won’t even pick her, and she can forget this whole stupid audition ever happened.

* * *

In hindsight, Beca should have known that her luck wouldn’t hold out. Perhaps the universe just enjoyed making Beca miserable, or maybe it was the fact that Chloe Beale always got her way. Nevertheless, Beca has lost all hope in ever having the odds in her favor ever again.

She stands at the top of an outdoor amphitheater, watching a cappella nerds mingle with each other, and wonders how the hell her life had gone downhill so quickly.

If there was a God, Beca wanted to have a few words with him.

The initiation ceremony she’d been dragged – literally dragged, with a hood on her head and everything – to had been frightening and confusing, to say the least. She doesn’t really remember most of the details of it, since she’s pretty sure her fight or flight instincts had been activated the moment the hood went over her head, but she’s pretty sure there had been something about wolves and vocal chords and blood of the sisters.

Honestly, what the hell.

Her inner anguish is interrupted when she spots a head of red hair rapidly approaching her. Beca doesn’t even have time to even think about running away before Chloe is grabbing her hands and pulling her close.

“I am so glad that I met you,” Chloe tells her sincerely, leaning her face in close to Beca’s. Her breath smells like whatever alcohol is available at this thing, and Beca momentarily wonders how much she’s already had to drink. Chloe leans closer still so that their foreheads are resting together. “I think, that we’re gonna be really fast friends.”

“Yeah,” Beca says amusedly. She doesn’t really know how to handle this whole situation, so she decides to fall back on sarcasm. “Well, you saw me naked, so,” she adds a wink to her statement without really thinking.

Chloe giggles and runs her hands up and down Beca’s arms. Beca tries not to shiver at the contact. “Have you had anything to drink yet?” she asks.

“Nope, but it seems like you have,” Beca replies.

A small expression of shock crosses Chloe’s face and she swats at Beca’s arm. “Oh, shut up. I’m not that drunk.” Beca can tell she’s not actually upset because her smile is still intact and a twinkle appears in her eye. Chloe reaches down to lace their fingers together and starts pulling her down the steps of the amphitheater. “Come get a drink with me. You need to un-grumpify yourself.”

Beca laughs and allows herself to be pulled along. She’s just taking the first sip of her drink, Chloe latched onto her arm as she talks with one of the new Bellas, when music starts playing. There’s a noise of approval from the crowd gathered together as everyone begins to dance. Chloe starts pushing Beca over to the dancing mass, but Beca slips her arm out from Chloe’s grasp.

“I actually think I’m going to head home,” she explains when Chloe looks at her questioningly. She pushes her drink into the ginger’s hands. “I’ve got a lot of homework to do.”

Chloe pouts. “But the music just started,” she says.

Beca shrugs. “Sorry, dude. I’ve gotta go.”

Chloe surprises Beca by pulling her into a tight but brief hug before letting her go with a “see you tomorrow!” Beca waves awkwardly goodbye and starts hiking back up the steps towards her dorm.

When she opens the door to her dark room, she doesn’t even bother turning on the light or changing her clothes. She just kicks off her shoes, sheds her jacket, and flops down on top of her bed.

The silence that surrounds her is blissful, but unfortunately it leaves her alone with her thoughts. Beca has done more singing in the past 48 hours than in the last three years. Her head pounds with a headache, and the emotions raging inside threaten to break free. Beca tries to push them down and ignore them, but they feel more fresh than they have for a long time.

With a sigh, she rolls onto her side and closes her eyes, hoping that if she goes to sleep now, she’ll wake up in the morning and discover that this whole mess was just one bad dream.

[brightbeautifulthings]

Week 1 | Week 2-3 | Week 4-5 | Week 6-7 | Week 8-9 | Week 10-11 | Week 12-13 | Week 14-15 | Week 16-17 | Week 18-19

Week 20 (p. 651-808)

"Hal himself hasn't had a bona fide intensity-of-interior-life-type emotion since he was tiny; he finds terms like joie and value to be like so many variables in rarified equations, and he can manipulate them well enough to satisfy everyone but himself that he's in there, inside his own hull, as a human being -- but in fact he's far more robotic than John Wayne" (p. 694).

I'm pretty much over this week-to-week business. Now that the end is in sight (roughly 300 pages), I'm abandoning the schedule and reading as much as I can. Scheduling reading has only ever worked for me as far as it goes. I prefer to immerse myself, however much a novel like IJ seems to discourage that. The book is always structurally interesting, but it starts to get more complicated now as various characters and plots begin to almost slide into one another. There's a cool series of scenes where Matty Pemulis observes Poor Tony, Kate Gompert, and Ruth van Cleve pass by, with Lenz running around the fringes, where pretty soon all the paths intersect at some point, with or without the characters (or the reader) noticing. There's a lot in here about J.O.I.'s films, which seem increasingly unnecessary (but so much of the book is, and is meant to be). The section on the Incandenza family from Joelle's perspective provides some of the clearest insight we have of them, and they are indeed one of the saddest families in literature. We also get Joelle's history from Molly Notkin, both interestingly told from outside perspectives, as if main characters can't be trusted to see their own families clearly.

Week 21 (p. 809-981)

I forgot how totally frustrating it is to near the end of this book and realize the plot isn't going to wrap up in any sort of satisfying way. Wallace commented in an interview (I forget which) that he didn't need to talk about what happens at the end of the book because we know what happens. Buddy, YOU know what happens. The rest of us are here flailing about trying to fit a thousand pieces together, as I suppose we're meant to. We know that the A.F.R. is planning to infiltrate Enfield by the end of the novel, that Poutrincourt is one of their spies ("...which is the slip that indicates that Poutrincourt's figured out that Steeply is neither a civilian soft-profiler nor even a female ... and would require an almost professionally hypervigilant and suspicious person to notice the significance of" p. 1052)., and that John Wayne has some vague connection besides simply being Canadian. We know that, given Orin's capture at the end, they will probably have a Master copy of the Entertainment very soon. What we don't know is how that all goes down, what the fallout is for O.N.A.N., or how Hal gets to be in the state he is in the first chapter (DMZ? AFR? I still can't decide).

"...but it couldn't ordinarily affect anybody or anything solid, and it could never speak right to anybody, a wraith had no out-loud voice of its own, and had to use somebody's like internal brain-voice if it wanted to try to communicate with something, which was why thoughts and insights that were coming from some wraith always just sound like your own thoughts, from inside your own head, if a wraith's trying to interface with you" (p. 831).

This seems like the most compelling motive for J.O.I. to want to dose Hal with DMZ, if in fact he did. Wraiths can only talk to someone who has slowed way down and is no longer experiencing time the way humans normally do--which sounds exactly like what happens when someone ingests DMZ. By the end of the novel (the beginning chapter), we know that Hal can no longer communicate with the outside world, but that there's nothing wrong with his brain voice ("I am in here" p. 3). Will Hal and Jim finally get to have a conversation?

It's clearer than ever that something has happened to Hal though. I don't know if there's any support for the DMZ toothbrush theory--I was actively looking for it and didn't find any, other than the DMZ obviously being missing when Pemulis goes to get it and Hal and other E.T.A. kids vigilantly guarding their toothbrushes. If it's true, it's a leap, but making a leap may be the only way to make sense of that particular conundrum. Whatever has happened is getting worse, as people continually interpret Hal's facial expressions as either very sad or very amused, when we know he's neither. Most tellingly, the narrative switches to first person point of view, Hal telling his own story for the first time (chronologically, if not structurally).

"He dreams he's with a very sad kid and they're in a graveyard digging some dead guy's head up and it's really important, like Continental-Emergency important ... and the sad kid is trying to scream at Gately that the important thing was buried in the guy's head and to divert the Continental Emergency to start digging the guy's head up before it's too late, but the kid moves his mouth and nothing comes out ... while the sad kid holds something terrible up by the hair and makes the face of somebody shouting in panic: Too Late" (p. 934).

It seems like Gately eventually recovers, since we know he goes with Hal to help dig up J.O.I.'s head (verified in chapter one when Hal recalls it). It's possible the Wraith told him about the Entertainment, and this seems especially plausible when Gately somehow knows the plot of the Entertainment while he's still lying in the hospital. It's also possible that Joelle told him about it; through her conversation with Steeply (p. 940), we know that she knew the Masters were buried with Himself--which, ironically, is now buried in the Great Concavity. I'm still not clear about how John Wayne got involved, but there's this super oblique comment in an endnote about Bernard Wayne, a potential A.F.R. member who had not jumped when the train arrived and later drowned (p. 1060), which could potentially be John's father or grandfather.

I had forgotten that the 'Swiss' hand model was actually Luria P----. There are two obvious nods to other novels near the end here, with Fackelmann's A Clockwork Orange style end, and Orin's business with the cockroaches echoing the rats in 1984, specifically his nonsensical shouting "'Do it to her!'" (p. 972). Her who? Luria? Avril? All Subjects in general? I'm a little curious as to why Wallace bothered to make the references. He was doing well on the graphic horror all on his own, no need for outside references.

I'm amused by how many of my questions in my Q and A section are still unanswered. I thought if I paid closer attention on a second read that I would pick up more of the plot things I'd missed on my first, but I don't think that was the problem. I think it's that those answers simply aren't to be found in the actual text. Of course, they can point us toward various conclusions, and the novel certainly encourages us to speculate and make connections, but I don't think the actual answers are there. I have some more thoughts on this, and I'll likely have a review up this week or next.

SPOILERS SPOILERS SPOILERS. TURN BACK BEFORE IT’S TOO LATE.

Questions & Working Theories

[tw: drug mention, infidelity, incest, statutory rape]

Q: What happened to Hal? (Obvi) - Hal purposely ate the DMZ. He even says in this section, “I cannot make myself understood, now. Call it something I ate” (p. 10). I never bought this explanation, though, because later in the book it seems like Hal is making an effort to come off drugs. - The mold Hal ate as a child had long-term effects, and something (coming off drugs?) may have triggered his current condition. Also supported by, “Call it something I ate” (p. 10). - Aaron Swartz has a very convincing theory that Hal accidentally ate the DMZ when The Wraith placed it on his toothbrush. (Again, supported by above.) Hal is an excellent communicator but lacks feelings, and J.O.I. was attempting to create something that would draw his son out of himself. - Hal was injured when the A.F.R. attacked Enfield Tennis Academy. There’s a weird line in this chapter: “I once saw the word KNIFE finger-written on the steamed mirror of a nonpublic bathroom” (p. 16). This is likely also the work of The Wraith, indicating some kind of violence, perhaps the A.F.R. attack on Enfield. - "A surreal memory of a steamed lavatory mirror with a knife sticking out of the pane" (p. 951). A: Still unclear, but I'm leaning more toward DMZ than A.F.R. on this read. We can see Hal's symptoms growing worse from the Eschaton game onward, and in the last chapters, people think he's either laughing or grimacing when he's not feeling either of those things. Still super interested in the mirror/knife asides though. Is this part of the A.F.R. attack?

Q: Why was Hal hospitalized “almost exactly one year back” (p. 16)? - The side effects of the DMZ were first starting to appear. - Hal was injured in the A.F.R. attack. - It’s clear, also, that this was when Hal met Gately. Although they never have an on-page scene together, Hal refers to the two of them attempting to dig up J.O.I.’s head to find the Entertainment, alongside a masked John Wayne. A: Unclear. See above.

Q: How did Gately, Hal, and John find out about the Entertainment in order to dig it up? How did they discover where it was hidden? - Himself actually mentions that the cartridge has been implanted in his head when he’s talking to Hal as a posed conversationalist. However, this is all the way back in the Year of the Tucks Medicated Pad, when Hal is only ten-going-on-eleven. Hard to imagine that Hal remembered what was basically a throw-away comment, let alone understood its meaning. - The Wraith may have told Gately about it while he was lying in the hospital, the same way Gately somehow knows the plot of the Entertainment while he's there. - Joelle may have told them about it, since from her conversation with Steeply, we know that she knows that all the Masters were buried with Jim, which is now buried in the Great Concavity. A: Unclear, but several plausible scenarios.

Q: Who is mailing out the Entertainment? - Swartz suggests that it’s Orin Incandenza, who later under threat of torture releases it to the A.F.R. This seems well-supported by the text, since the initial cartridge is mailed from Arizona, and it’s conveniently sent to a medical attaché with whom Avril probably had an affair (per J.O.I.’s conversation with Hal). - Some support for this theory during one of Hal and Orin's phone conversations: "'What are you doing going to the post office? You hate snail-mail. And you quit mailing the Moms the pseudo-form-replies two years ago, Mario says'" (p. 244). Why is Orin at the post office, if not to mail more copies of the Entertainment? - However, as Marie pointed out, we don't know for sure that Orin was in Arizona in April YDAU. He's there in October, but there's a flashback of him in New Orleans in July that doesn't mention the year. If it was YDAU, Orin couldn't have postmarked the Cartridge from Arizona in April. - Orin also asks Hal directly about the days leading up to Himself's death, and he seems suspiciously interested in whatever film he was working on. "'Did he have film-related things with him when he flew somewhere? A film case? Equipment?'" (p. 250). However, if he already knew about the Entertainment back in April, why ask Hal about it in November? - This conversation is continued in a lengthy endnote where Orin asks about the definition of samizdat ("the generic meaning now is any sort of politically underground or beyond-the-pale press or the stuff published thereby" (p. 1011) and comments, "'So you'd have no idea why The Mad Stork's name would come up in connection with somebody saying samizdat?'" (p. 1011). Again, it's suspicious that he's even asking, but also, if he already knows about the Entertainment, why bother to ask? Is he trying to find out, or just trying to find out what Hal knows about it? Why? - "...place the likely dissemination-point someplace along the U.S. north border, with routing hubs in metro Boston/New Bedford and/or somewhere in the desert Southwest" (p. 549). Obviously, the Southwest could be Orin, but who's distributing it in Boston? Orin before he moved? I'd guess the Antitoi brothers, but their copy turned out to be blank (or seemed to be, if it was played on the wrong model). Orin has motive to want the medical attache dead for the affair with his mother, but why the film scholar, the avant-garde film festival, and the members of the Academy of D.A.S.? Were these Himself's rivals, or people Avril also had affairs with? - "Swiss cuckolds, furtive near-Eastern medical attachés, zaftig print-journalists: he felt ready for anything" (p. 597). - "There was reason to think M. DuPlessis had received his original copies from this relative, an athlete. Marathe felt U.S.B.S.S. felt this person may have borne responsibility for the razzles and dazzles of Berkeley and Boston, U.S.A." (p. 723). Did Orin give a copy to DuPlessis, or did he send it to him to kill him? A: It seems pretty clear on a re-read that it is Orin sending out the Entertainment, either from Boston before he left it or from Arizona where he currently lives, or both. I'm still not clear how he knew about it in the first place though, in order to dig it up. Between Orin's capture/torture at the end and the Antitoi brothers' having copies of DuPlessis's stolen cartridges, it seems certain that the A.F.R. will soon locate a Master copy. (The Antitoi's turns out to be Read-Only p. 725.)

Q: How did Orin find out about the Entertainment? - Joelle might have told him, though this was after her disfigurement and their breakup, so I'm not sure why she would. A: Unclear.

Q: When did Orin transfer from New Orleans to Arizona? - In June YW-QMD, Orin was still with the New Orleans Saints, per the mail between him and Avril (p. 1006-7). - In October YDAU, he's in Arizona. Q: Unclear.

Q: What happened to John Wayne that he can’t win this year’s WhataBurger competition? A: SUPER UNCLEAR. Thanks for nothing. We know he survived the A.F.R. attack (if Steeply didn’t stop the attack) because he’s in the off-page graveyard scene with Hal and Gately. Was he an A.F.R. target after that for going against them?

Q: What “sordid liaison” (p. 30) with the M. DuPlessis, who dies in a later chapter, did the Incandenza family have? - Still not clear, but it sounds like J.O.I. either purposely or under duress gave a Master copy (or copyable copy) of the Entertainment to DuPlessis, or had it stolen from him before or after his death, and it was then stolen by accident when Gately robbed and killed DuPlessis. ("Whether or not the A.F.R. ever even recover this alleged Master copy from the DuPlessis burglary..." (p. 489).) A: Best guess is that Avril had an affair with DuPlessis, Orin/Jim discovered the affair (possibly with a name written on the fogged up glass of Avril's car), and Orin sent him a copy to kill him, which he didn't watch (because he died? Not clear on the timeline). The copy was then stolen by Gately and ended up with the Antitoi brothers.

Q: Is Marathe a double-agent, or is he just pretending to be a double agent? - Marathe has betrayed the A.F.R. and is aiding Steeply and the Americans in finding the Entertainment in order to get medical care for his wife. - Marathe is only pretending to betray the A.F.R. in order to get more information from Steeply. A: Marathe is a double-agent, and is actually betraying the A.F.R. "The A.F.R. believed Marathe functioned as a triple agent, pretending to betray his nation for his wife, memorizing every detail of the meetings with B.S.S. ... M. Fortier did not know Marathe had reached the internal choice that he loved his skull-deprived and heart-defective wife Gertraud Marathe more than he loved the Separatist and anti-O.N.A.N. cause of the nation of Québec..." (p. 529).

Q: Where did the tripod set up in the middle of nowhere on the ETA grounds come from? - The U.S.S. Millicent Kent set up the tripod as an excuse to get Mario alone. - This is the possibly the first instance of the Wraith's work. He's responsible for most of the odd occurrences at ETA, and "Mario said his late dad had used a somewhat less snazzy IV-model Husky back in his early days of making art-films..." (p. 122).) A: The Wraith put it there. "But it's true. The Husky VI tripod of Mario's near-fatal encounter with the U.S.S. Millicent Kent was only the beginning" (p. 632). After this, the instances of objects being in odd places around E.T.A. increases dramatically.

Q: Who is the narrator in some of these sections about ETA? - It's a distinct voice from the sections that have conversations, but it also sounds a little like someone talking to us. ("I want to be like that. Able to just sit all quiet and pull life toward me..." (p. 128). Is this a character? A: Unclear. The only clear first person POV character we have in the novel is Hal. In some ways, the narrator's voice does sound a lot like Hal's, but if this is the case, he also discusses himself in third person a lot (which... Hal is pretty removed from himself, so that's not entirely impossible). I'm not confident enough to say that Hal is the mystery narrator throughout the book though.

Q: Are the effects of DMZ the effects we see in Hal in the first chapter? A: Very likely. Whatever starts in the Eschaton game grows worse toward the end of the novel, as people continually interpret Hal's facial expressions as either very sad or very amused, when we know he's neither. Most tellingly, the narrative switches to first person point of view, Hal telling his own story for the first time (chronologically, if not structurally).

Q: Why do Hal's symptoms in the Eschaton game seem more like DMZ side effects than marijuana side effects? Was there DMZ mixed with it? Was it purposely mixed in, or was it the work of the Wraith? - This is the first time we see Hal with similar symptoms as the ones he has in the first chapter, which seems to suggest that--whether or not the DMZ and marijuana are related, whether it was intentional or not--Hal did take the DMZ on Interdependence Day YDAU. - Pemulis goes looking for the DMZ later on, which seems to suggest it wasn't intentional, at least not on his end. Hal also doesn't consciously acknowledge that he's going to take it in this chapter either. - Mario reflecting on his brother: "He can't tell if Hal is sad. He is having a harder and harder time reading Hal's state of mind or whether he's in good spirits. This worries him. He used to be able to sort of preverbally know in his stomach generally where Hal was and what he was doing, even if Hal was far away and playing or if Mario was away, and now he can't anymore" (p. 590). Why the change? DMZ-related? - "But the crisis of faith that cost Stice the match had concerned a different Hal, Hal can tell. It's now a whole new Hal, a Hal who does not get high, or hide, a Hal who in 29 days is going to hand his own personal urine over to authority figures with a wide smile and exemplary posture and not a secretive thought in his head" (p. 635). If Hal took the DMZ on purpose, does he know it will be out of his system in a month? What else could have created a "whole new Hal"? It seems like a leap to think that quitting marijuana is the sole cause of all the changes. A: Very likely that Hal took DMZ, maybe more than once, starting at the Eschaton game.

Q: Who is Mario's father, Jim or Charles? - This is more of a detail question than anything because I'm not sure I care about the answer. It certainly doesn't seem to matter to Mario. He obviously bonded a lot with Jim over film in a way that seems almost worshipful at times, and I'm always in the camp of family is who you choose, not necessarily who you're related to. Also, Charles seems repelled by Mario, whereas Jim apparently loved him and spent time with him, so fuck Charles. A: Unclear.

Q: Is Charles Avril's half-brother or step-brother? - Again, this is a detail question, although one is significantly grosser than the other if they're having an affair, which it sounds like they are/were. ("...the thing it's not entirely impossible he may have fathered asleep up next to the sound system..." (p. 451).) That’s... not really a question if they weren’t sleeping together. Fuck you twice, Charles. - "Charles Tavis is probably not related to the Moms by actual blood" (p. 900). A: According to Hal, he's most likely her step-brother, though it doesn't seem like anyone ever cared enough to verify this.

Q: Was Pemulis selling DMZ to the Antitoi brothers, or buying it from them? - "Bertraund had been starry-eyed enough to agree to barter the person an antique blue lava-lamp and a lavender-tinged apothecary's mirror for eighteen unexceptional-looking and old lozenges the long-haired old person had claimed in a jumble of West-Swiss-accented French were 650 mg. of a trop-formidable harmful pharmaceutical no longer available and guaranteed to make one's most hair-raising psychedelic experience look like a day on the massage-tables of a Basel hot-springs resort..." (p. 482) A: Unclear, but I'm guessing buying, since Pemulis ends up with it and, as far as we know, the Antitoi brothers don't.

Q: What's the significance of Lucien Antitoi's spirit immediately after his death? Does this have an impact on the Wraith's activities? - "...and is free, catapulted home over fans and the Convexity's glass palisades at desperate speeds, soaring north, sounding a bell-clear and nearly maternal alarmed call-to-arms in all the world's well-known tongues" (p. 489). A: It seems like the Wraith's activities amplify after Lucien's death. If he knows that Hal is in danger from the A.F.R., he might be trying to rally Gately to help.

Q: If Pemulis has Avril's affair with John Wayne to hold over her, why is he still expelled at the end of the novel? A: WOOPS. Peemster accidentally dosed John with 'drines, as well as his very public tennis opponent. Can't help feeling Pemulis unfairly got the worst of it, while Avril got in zero trouble for having an affair with a teenage student. Also, hilariously, Hal already knew about the affair and didn't care about it.

Q: What's up with John Wayne and Hal? - "...John ('N.R.') Wayne opened up the ajar door a little more and put his whole head in and stayed like that, with just his head in. He didn't say anything and Hal didn't say anything, and they stayed like that for a while, and then Wayne's head smoothly withdrew" (p. 560). - "I could somehow tell for sure that John Wayne's head was inside the open door. I could feel it clearly, almost painfully. He was looking down at me lying there on the Lindisfarne carpet. There was none of the gathering tension of a person deciding whether or not to speak. I could feel my throat's equipment move when I swallowed. John Wayne and I never had much to say to one another. There wasn't even hostility between us" (p. 956). A: No idea. There’s the possibility that John is a spy for the A.F.R. the same as Poutrincourt, but I’d thought they had to infiltrate the tennis academy because they didn’t have another spy already in place. Thanks to the weird endnote, we know he has some connection, but I’m not totally sure what it is.

Q: Do Pemulis's descriptions of the effects of annulation have anything to do with how DMZ affects people, or the effect the mold Hal ate as a child had on him? It seems oddly similar to how Hal is experiencing time in the first chapter. Is this how J.O.I. stumbled onto it? - "'Accelerated phenomena, which is actually equivalent to an incredible slowing down of time", "relativity of time in extreme organic environments" (p. 573). A: Could be one of a million metaphors in this book.

[aeneasx]

artists

Aries - Lady Gaga

Aries, the first and most rambunctious of the twelve signs. They are outgoing, wild, energetic and most importantly courageous! They're said to be the life of the party and always the center of attention, with their bold personalities it's hard to miss an Aries. So it makes a lot of sense that Lady Gaga is an Aries, just look at her. It's clear she embodies these traits -- her confidence is blatantly obvious and she is definitely the center of attention at almost every event she attends. She makes herself known and never shies away from the spotlight. Gaga also demonstrates some of Aries' negative tendencies -- she is definitely impulsive and can at times be quite aggressive in her delivery of art and herself. This woman is the definition of an Aries, so for all those Arians out there (me included), we've got one hell of a role model!

Taurus - Adele

These are the chill, somewhat stubborn, people of the signs. They enjoy the luxuries of life whilst indulging in their home comforts, ensuring they're comfortable at all times and rarely enjoy fast paced changes. These people are the rocks, they're reliable and stable, and they're the ones we count on in our needs of friendship and advice. Well, obviously Adele is a Taurus! She literally radiates stability and loyalty, to her fans and more so her music. Taurus' have a special tenderness to the things they hold dear, and as we have seen through Adele's lyrics and music she devotes herself to her creativity and relationships. She's all about finding that satisfaction in life, from her work and the people who surround her. She's lovable because of her realistic perspective on the world, especially through her downright stubbornness to complete her goals. Adele you are a loud and pride Taurus and we love you for it!

Gemini - Kanye West

If we had to guess what star sign Kanye was, Gemini is definitely the first that would come mind. He's sociable, flexible and has a confusingly large number of different personas. Geminis are known as the "twins," as they can have multiple personalities, or sides to them that they choose to show to the world. This makes them extremely versatile when it comes to socializing, as they can effortlessly blend into almost any social circle. They usually have a wide group of friends and love to experiment and venture into every aspect of life they can. This is pretty clear with Kanye, with his musical endeavors, his fashion ventures, and maybe even his potential presidency… There's no doubt he's inspirational and never boring, just like every other Gemini out there. Although the negative characteristics of a Gemini revolve around this indecisiveness that they face and can lead into nervous energy, which has been seen from Kanye from time to time.

Cancer - Solange Knowles

Cancers, the crabs of the zodiac. They're emotional, sensitive, and highly imaginative people. They can sometimes be difficult to get to know due to that tough shell they have to protect their highly sensitive nature. Cancers are a water sign, meaning their lives are driven by a fluidity of emotion, constantly making decisions based on their heart rather than their head. Solange is evidence of this, especially in regards to the trait that Cancers are deeply intuitive. Through her music, Solange shows us the deepest parts of herself and her culture, just like Cancers do. They are big family people, constantly resulting back to that sentimentality that comes from their heritage and family. Solange uses her music as a means to express these emotions, whilst maintaining her guard for protection against the world and it's attacks. Their drive to help others and support those close to them resonates with Solange, especially in regards to those oppressed. She acknowledges her position and uses all of that love as a means of expression in the wider world. Oh Solange, you're a crab with a big heart.

Leo - Madonna

These people born under the sign of Leo are dynamic and dramatic in almost every aspect of their life. They live to be admired by others and it's honestly difficult to resist their charming natures. Due to the image of a Lion, these people embody that "king of the jungle" status, especially in regards to their pride. They hate having their name or image tarnished and strive to be the best in their field. They're natural born leaders, similar to Aries hence why these two stars get along so well. Madonna in her wild, almost obnoxious, way is a true Leo. She is fearless in her decision and embraces her quirks, creating this air of admiration around her. This confidence can at times be translated into arrogance, which Madonna definitely has, but it doesn't deter people, rather it has the opposite effect. These people alike with Madonna, are driven by personal gain and success, which can create a lack of understanding for others needs. Madonna changed the face of pop music with her outrageous stunts and style, making her unforgettable, the ultimate definition of success for a Leo.

Virgo - Michael Buble

Virgos are the perfectionists of the zodiac and in turn are the biggest worries. They're constantly dealing with feelings of inadequacy and living up to their own expectations. These people are highly methodical and practical in their everyday lives and thrive on organization. Virgos have a strong sense of humanity which makes them excellent communicators as they respond with tenderness and care in everything they do. Although Michael Buble may not elicit these traits as obviously as other artists, he definitely radiates a strong humanitarian aspect. His kind nature is clear in all of his interviews and his music is extremely well thought out and follows a strict criteria. It's an almost perfect model for his swing/jazzy style of music, which in itself is such a Virgo genre of music. He embraces his sense of control and uses it as a tool to express himself, conveying his message clearly and easily so others can understand.

Libra - Halsey

Libras are the scales, priding themselves on their intuitive need for balance and weighing up their options. They are deeply creative people and need to be surrounded by the arts to feel fulfilled. Music and culture are always big conversation topics for these people and they thrive with others who have opinions and offer new and interesting perspectives. They have a peaceful air about them making them easy going friends and non confrontational, you will rarely ever get into an argument with a Libra. Halsey has this balanced air about her, specifically in regards to her public persona. She's known to voice opinions that are just and fair, reflective of her Libra qualities. Her various collaborations with other artists proves this desire to be surrounded by interesting people and exploring different perspectives and points of view. Her composed personality and appearance is very Libra, she's so well rounded it's an inspiration for all Libras.

Scorpio - Lorde

Scorpios seem to always get a bad rep just because they're somewhat jealous at times and can express themselves kind of violently, but it doesn't mean they're bad people! These people are determined and brave, making them quite successful in their designated area. Known for their resourcefulness, Scorpios make great leaders as a mysterious higher being. They have a cool air to them, which creates this kind of detached vibe to many people. However they're deeply emotional, especially in regards to dishonesty and suspicion. These traits lead to their determination to find the truth, focusing on living experiences. Lorde demonstrates this in her bravery to break boundaries and delve deeper into herself and the world around her. Her decision to cancel her tour in Israel is an example of Scorpios' stubborn convictions on matters close to them. She is fierce, in her appearance as well as her personality, but not to the point where it's frightening or off putting. These people are very popular due to their bravery, and clearly Lorde is a brave woman to have made such a career so early in life! Lorde you're an icon and you bring back Scorpio's good name!

Sagittarius - Nicki Minaj

A Sagittarius is a brash and wildly enthusiastic person. Their senses of humor usually define them, as people respond to this kind of energy positively. These people have an idealistic way of looking at life, and when coupled with their intense curiosity they can achieve their dreams. This need to be free to explore makes them worldly travelers, constantly seeking new and exciting adventures. However this desire to be moving all the time can lead to impatience and a less than tactful way of dealing with issues. Nicki is literally every part of a Sagittarius -- she's extremely funny and willing to experiment with different things throughout her career. Her curiosity is satisfied by trialling new personas and new ways of expressing herself. She is definitely known for her impulsive statements, but we love her for it!

Capricorn - Marilyn Manson

Capricorns are the last of the earth signs of the zodiac, making them highly grounded and disciplined. They are extremely responsible people, making them able to manage others and delegate work. These people have a deep sense of independence and pride themselves on their ability to focus on their professional and personal lives with little distraction. This strong realistic component to their character gives them the ability to make solid and practical plans where they will always follow through. Marilyn Manson appears to be a strange Capricorn, but there are several traits that he embodies perfectly. Although his eccentricity is similar to that of an Aries (these two signs are very alike) his forward thinking and ability to make things happen reflect on Capricorn. His unforgiving nature towards people who veer away from his values, and he can definitely get caught up in these negative perspectives. However, his stubbornness has been one of the contributing factors to his success, so despite his outwardly weird appearance, he is a Capricorn through and through. 

Aquarius - Ed Sheeran

Aquarians are an air sign and embrace the world of possibilities. They're forward thinkers and are usually quite revolutionary in their actions. They are intellectual people and need constant mental stimulation to feel fulfilled in life. People born under this sign are similar to Libras in their ability to see different perspectives, and can make amazing mediators between contrasting sides. Ed is literally the sweetest Aquarian, he is kind, nurturing, and very future focused. They are originally humanists and thrive around other people, as does Ed, evident in all of his celebrity friendships. His work to help promote freedom of speech and equality for all is a huge Aquarius trait, making them influential due to their flamboyant natures. Ed, you're a gorgeous Aquarius and we're glad to have you!

Pisces - Rihanna

These people are the most tolerant of all signs, making them the most easy going and understanding. They're giving people without the hope of receiving anything in return for their good deeds, which can lead to them becoming martyr type icons. They're a water sign and so are driven by their compassion for others, especially paired with their gentle natures. Rihanna is a generous understanding human as evident in all of her activist and humanitarian work. One of the most prominent traits of Pisces are their innate musical abilities, which obviously Rihanna has in overload. Her wise speeches and knowledge is a clear reflection of Pisces and continues to demonstrate her love for people and individuals stories. These people have a comprehensive understanding of life and so form many relationships, as does Rihanna with not just her numerous friends but her fans as well. Pisces have all have a beautiful role model too look up to, if Rihanna can embody this sign and emit such positivity you can too!

[casual-eumetazoa]

mmmmmmmmmmmkay... gotta say Words about the episode, I guess

things I liked:

the show looks good, I’ll give them that - visually/aesthetically very pleasing, the music is amazing (I still miss Gold but I am starting to like this new guy a lot), everything seems modern, expensive, high quality

the theme music is wonderful and the title sequence slaps; love that shit! feels classic and brand new at the same time, and very Doctor Who; probably my favorite title sequence combo of the entire new run

the TARDIS design is gorgeous, like I cannot stress enough how much I love it; again, probably my favorite of the entire new run, and definitely top three of all that were ever made; it feels like a hybrid between Tenth’s TARDIS and Eighth’s TARDIS - bold, creative, beautiful design; on a related note, loved that “fixing the TARDIS” bit; I hope the fam will spend more time inside the TARDIS this season

the actors are giving their best; I feel like C was a huge waste of Stephen Fry, but perhaps it was a deliberate decision (because maybe Mr Fry wanted a cameo but did not have time for more scenes); 

Whittaker is good - idk if that was a move on her part or the writers/directors decision, but her Doctor feels calmer, more natural now; she is still quirky and mysterious and herself, but she feels more like a person, you know, and not a bunch of facial expressions and voice inflections thrown together

the companions are good too - Yaz is finally getting attention, and God, Graham and Ryan are like my favorite thing now! their dynamic is just a pleasure to watch; you can make a ‘comedic duo’ compilation just out of this episode alone

the new monsters are definitely my cup of tea; strange, spooky, not full on horror movie scary but still threatening... *chef’s kiss* I loved the twist of them getting through the TARDIS door - that has never happened before, I like that; I like how the Doctor quietly freaks out about it as well, cause she hates not knowing something and hates not being in charge; that scene where she keeps asking the creature and when it finally replies it is just mocking her? good shit right there; wanna see more of these guys for sure

and after some reflection, if you take it in isolation, I do love the final airplane scene; like if I just look at it as a piece of TV/storytelling, I think it is a really good scene; it’s loud, it’s chaotic, yes it is kind of all over the place but it is engaging, and the reveal was out of nowhere and predictable at the same time but I still enjoyed it; and yes it is a stupid cliffhanger but like... it’s Doctor Who! it has always had stupid cliffhangers and I for one respect that decision

things I didn’t like:

oh God... the writing; like I am sorry, okay, but that writing is bad; and it is so confusing to me cause the story overall was good in my opinion - the pace was okay, the events made sense, it has an actual plot, etc - but the writing is still bad? I think the dialogue is the worst by far, but the way the scenes were stitched together is really awkward as well; it feels like it has been written by a talented but severely inexperienced writer who understands more or less how a story is supposed to work but has no idea how to edit

specifically what annoys me is that the dialogue and, to a lesser degree, the sequence of events feels very superficial and forced; it’s not elegant, and it’s not surprising, and it doesn’t feel natural at all; the actors are giving their best but how the hell can you have a good delivery of those lines??? 

I wanna rewatch it already to give particular examples but the two things that come to mind are C explaining the whole deal with the aliens (telling instead of showing anyone? especially after you’ve already shown it???) and the interview with Lenny Henry’s character (again, telling instead of showing much?); and idk, the dialogue in general is just... eh, it annoys me that I can’t quite put my finger on why it is so bad - but it is so bad, that initially that thing alone made me dislike the episode 

and this is double annoying because I know that Chibnall is a good writer and can write excellent dialogue and put scenes together with no problem, and also because, traditionally, Doctor Who has always had great script editors that should have fixed this; like how do you give a dedication to Terrance Dicks and not fix these awkward fucking lines?? I am confusion

things I am unsure about:

the whole spy thing; initially was very excited about it, because I thought we would get a very Third Doctor era thing, but no, that was just a straight up James Bond knock-off; like, don’t get me wrong, Thirteen in a suit gives me life too - but they could, idk, Doctor-fy the whole thing a little bit? throw in some gaffs and alien words and the Doctor going “oh I was a spy so many times”; instead it felt kinda, idk, not integrated enough; like it made sense for the story, but not for the show overall

also I think that the episode had too much action; that car malfunction at the beginning? entirely unnecessary, could have replaced it with a conversation (Thirteen trying to get info out of the driver for example) and get better results; the motorbike chase? looks very cool, also unnecessary and could have been cut to twenty seconds easily; like, come on, this is Doctor Who! I want good dialogue, not Marvel-level action scenes

and now the most controversial thing... the Master; ufff, I have very complex thoughts about this

I’m not gonna lie, I do like that they are back; I think it was too early to bring them back, and it feels like a solely “for the views” decision with little to no creative thought put into it, but damn I love the character; the actor is great too - that being in disguise with no physical disguise bit? love it! like, in retrospect I can see how much he (the Master) must have enjoyed playing the sweet innocent bloke; and that switch in the final scene... that’s some good acting right there

I am kinda conflicted about his style in general, like I would have preferred for him to lean more on the Delgado side of things - more gravitas, calmness, but still with strong chaotic dumbass energy - but I do understand that the Master has to mirror and contrast the Doctor simultaneously, and this sort of more Simm-like delivery (more in the direction of bananas) works better for Thirteen, especially now that she is less awkward and more calm and collected; I like the homage to classics as well, like that tissue compressor thing, that was really good; and yeah the Master is hot again... nice

also the whole “the Doctor is still being secretive about her past” thing is really working for me - I’d love to see the Master slowly destroying whatever image she has built for herself and thus creating enough conflict between her and the fam to go on for the entire season

but having said all that, if we come back to the decision to bring them back... is Chibnall sure about that? because from what we have seen so far, it feels like we have cancelled out everything that Moffat has done with Missy; we’ve had such an amazing character arc with her in Capaldi’s era and now it’s all gone? now we’re back to blowing up planes and killing the Doctor? why? 

I am still holding on to hope that this is an earlier, pre-War incarnation of the Master that somehow slipped in to this timestream, but that seems unlikely; another way I could digest that was if the Master has lost their memory and doesn’t remember being Missy, which would make for a nice eventual reveal of the memories coming back to them and him being like “oh shit” - but if Missy’s entire character arc has been retconned, I am definitely not a fan

also, overall, I feel like Chibnall retconned one thing about the Capaldi era that I really loved - he brought Doctor Who from a proper serious drama (as one part of the show, obviously) to all cheesy, goofy, silly sci-fi nonsense; and like, has Doctor Who been cheesy in the past? definitely, and for most of its history, and I won’t complain about that; but this? this feels too cheesy, especially in contrast with Capaldi’s era; like please, Chibbers, can we please see some drama? if you’re going for the whole quality TV show feel, can we also get proper good dialogue and heightened emotion and higher stakes? cause I think you can overdose on ridiculous in Doctor Who

summary:

honestly if the writing - especially the dialogue - was actually good, this would have been a very good episode, an 9 out of 10 at least; but as it stands, those lines are spoiling it a bit too much for me, so I’ll give it a solid 6 out of 10

I know it is a part one of a two-parter so I won’t make any solid and final judgments yet, especially about the Master and the feel of the series overall; all I can say is that, again, if you ignore the dialogue (which I hope is a random fluke and will go away), this sets a benchmark for series 12 higher than series 11; so I am cautiously optimistic about it, and actually excited to see the next episode, but God do I have high standards now, having consumed a lot of Doctor Who media...

and now that I’ve said approximately 563 highly controversial things, feel free to rip me to shreds I guess - or agree with me, who knows

[leotanaka]

An interview with Emilia Fox

Is Nikki is reunited with Matt in this series?

A private jet crashes at the opening of the series in very dramatic circumstances. On board is an ex-US ambassador who is friends with Matt, so that’s how his character is brought back into the series. We see the effect that this incident has on Nikki and Matt’s relationship.

How are things panning out for Nikki and Matt this year?

Nikki and Matt are trying to cope with the long-distance relationship, which is something familiar to a lot of people. The plane crash affects Matt and brings back some painful memories relating to another family member of his. Nikki is trying to look after his needs as well as being part of solving the crime. She is balancing that working life/personal life dilemma.

What does Episode 1 (Deadhead) illustrate?

Deadhead deals with feelings, with how you feel when you’re isolated with your emotions and who you reach out or don’t reach out to. If you can’t speak to the people that you are meant to be closest to, it can be to the detriment of your relationship and to yourself and your own sense of mental well-being. It's also about how to access ways of dealing with grief or loss or not knowing who you are. So the episode tackles quite a lot in an emotional sense as well as in the actual solving of the crime.

Was the aeronautical jargon hard to learn?

We had a lot of “aero-lingo”! I think that was the most complicated lingo we have had to learn. The language is very specialised and it's really hard to remember. When I have to remember stuff which is so complicated, I do riddles. Like with the medical stuff - you can talk it through with a pathologist so, with the bodies, there is a sort of picture to it and you can make it work by remembering the words as riddles. That means that if a word sounds like something, or if it’s got a certain number of letters in it, that just triggers the memory of what that word is.

Will we see more of the main characters' personal lives?

Yes, in this series all of the characters have a story that we are personally invested in. For my character, Nikki, there are a few things: There’s the relationship element to the episodes with Matt and there is story called Seven Times (Episodes 5 and )] written by Tim Prager, who is always excellent at dealing with the topical issues, and has written a really heart-felt, moving episode about domestic abuse and links that into Nikki’s relationship with her mum.

Is that hard for the writers to craft?

Yes. It is a very difficult balance for the writers. The characters are meant to be, and are, on the professionals’ side of things and not emotionally invested with every single case. You can’t do it in every episode because it would be too much for the series to cope with, but when a writer ties-in a personal connection to the case, and we become involved emotionally, it’s lovely to play. It gives us more to play with and you definitely have that in this series.

Is there one storyline in this new series you have not been able to shake off because it’s been so emotionally powerful?

Definitely. It's called Hope. It’s Liz’s episode. It deals with such a personal story for Clarissa but also it explores an area of death that we haven’t explored in Silent Witness before. It's about cryogenics and the validity really of how we can manipulate life and birth to great benefit with IVF or helping people have babies through medicine and science and how that relates to death. Would we try to keep our loved ones alive if there was hope that medicine could help them in the future? It's such an interesting, muscular topic to talk about. It could have gone slightly science-fiction, but it doesn’t, and it runs parallel to, I think, a very, very moving story.

Do you still make charts to plot Nikki's progress through a series?

I do. I find it really helpful. We often film out of sequence, and so you have to remember what information the character already knows during certain scenes, because otherwise - and particularly at the speed that we film - we’re coming into scenes thinking “Where are we in this story?” and “Was that in the last script or was that here?” So I make charts on every job that I do, I map it out. I think it must be a hangover from university days. I like to have done the homework on it and then I know that I’m okay, particularly with solving crimes! We are bouncing between episodes and so you have to know what you know and what you don’t know.

Do you get much feedback from the public?

Very often I get lots of young people and students who come up and talk about how the show has inspired them to go into pathology or forensic science. That’s what they have chosen to study, and they communicate with you through social media. I love that side of it.

Are the exchanges on social media always positive?

Yes. The stories in Silent Witness can often provoke people to say that they don’t agree with that or that it’s not how it’s been with them, but that’s as valuable as the other side of it. You have to be prepared to face people saying, "No, that’s not how it was for me".

A couple of series back, Nikki was in therapy because of what had happened in Mexico and people had quite strong feelings about that. But it gets a conversation going, and that’s no bad thing. I like it that people can communicate about it if it’s made them feel something. If they have just enjoyed it for entertainment, fine, but if it actually strikes a chord as well, then that's even better.

Do you like Nikki's dress sense?

Definitely. I only ever go to the shops when I go costume shopping. We all have an influence on what we wear in the show. It’s a contemporary show, and certainly I’ve found the pathologists we have met have very particular styles of dressing. That’s part of the fun of the character, and it seems to be a part which people address on social media a lot - hairstyles and what we’re wearing. What makes me laugh is that Liz said at the beginning, "I will never discuss what Clarissa wears on the show" - and oh, how in these years she has changed!

Why has Nikki gone brunette in this series?

The real explanation is that I was doing The Trial of Christine Keeler (BBC One) and playing Valerie Hobson and they dyed my hair for that. The producers on Silent Witness said they really liked it brunette. We talked about whether I could be Nikki’s twin sister, Vicky Alexander, but then we thought we would just get on with it. People change their hair colour all the time. Richard (Lintern) says that my hair is now "cognac by the fire rather than a blonde skipping through meadows."

Does working on Silent Witness ever give you funny dreams?

Yes. I definitely have dreams about doing post mortems because you’re constantly trying to settle things in your head if you’re doing a post mortem the next day. Then last night I dreamed that we were all doing a scene together and there was a detective in it. The detective asked a question and Thomas Chamberlain answered it, but as the doctor in Tootsie. It was so funny. I’ve never had a dream which has made me laugh so much. I had to go back into my sleep and finish off the dream because I was enjoying it so much. Then I woke up thinking how lucky I am that I go to work with people who really make me laugh!

How do you keep the passion for the show going?

I love it with exactly the same excitement as the first day I arrived on it, but with the history of loving it now, too. It’s a really huge relationship that I’ve had with it as a show. I still feel excited by it and I still feel sad when it comes to these last weeks. As soon as we get into filming the last episode, I get like, “Oh, we’re going to be saying goodbye for a little bit!” and I still get excited when we’re back on it!

I think a large, large part of that is the relationship that we four have with each other and the fact that it is a show which is constantly bringing in new casts. So it’s constantly giving us as actors the luxury of the familiarity of the character, but always being put into new situations.

Tell us more…

Sometimes the nature of the beast is that we are the information-givers and that’s a skill in itself, to try and deliver information ad infinitum, but as though we are very relaxed about it. That’s our everyday. There's a challenge in that as an actor as well. Then you also get to play the emotional stuff and the action stuff – we always have that. We are so lucky. I never take this job for granted. Seven months of the year we are working on a job that we really love.