#sarah paulson images

[aboutcustardcreams]

Can't hide you the truth

Wilhemina Venable x reader

I've got no warnings for this os, it's essentially fluff and a bit silly. I wrote it down using these two prompts "Please, stay on the phone with me." & "Stop telling me you're fine." I've been watching a lot of Modern Family recently, so it's not exactly angsty as one would expect. I hope it's decent anyway. Lemme know <3

It was the third time that I tried to reach out to her, but no answer. I know I shouldn't worry, but it wasn't like her to avoid my calls, especially if insistent. I start thinking about every little scenarios, from the worst to the least worst, with my mind focusing on the first ones obviously. What if she isn't feeling well? Maybe I did something bad without noticing? Could be? I quickly check the date on my phone, think a couple of seconds and no, it wasn't neither our anniversary nor any other special date worth remembering. I squint my eyes in thought. What was happening, then?

I tighten my grip on the wheel and let out a long sigh. On top of all of this, I'm stuck in the traffic, and visibility is partially limited due to the light haze covering the surroundings. I groan, after waiting a couple of extra minutes, "Siri, call Mina, again." I'd have tried to reach out to her on and on if I had to. I silently beg that she answers me, counting each second passing inside my head. In the meantime, I turn on the heating, because my fingers are getting cold due to their stillness on the wheel.

Finally, she answers. When I hear her voice, murmuring a soft "hi, little one", I let out a long breath, I didn't know I was holding. "Mina, hi! I've tried calling you for a while, is everything okay?", I wonder aloud, "Also, I'm stuck in traffic, " I make a face, "I go at a snail's pace if you're wondering and-", I stop a moment, realizing that, as per usual, I'm speaking on and on without giving my girlfriend the opportunity to answer any of my questions. I hear a faint chuckle from her part, when I mutter a faint, "Sorry."

"I was taking a shower, sweetheart, that's why I didn't answer," I frown at the sound of her voice, that appears to be a bit off, tired maybe... but also, kind of restrained. Normally she would tease me, use one of her sarcastic jokes to tell me how silly I am, but none today. "Are you sure it's just that?" It's not that I don't believe her. On the contrary, it's essentially because I do, that I believe there is more to it she isn't saying. Plus, she normally waits for me to take a shower, because it's our thing. One of the moments we share to enjoy the intimacy of one another. Each and every time she reminds me how much she loves to lather and rinse my hair, occasionally leaving sloppy kisses here and there on my skin. Her hands make my stomach flip and my head fly into outer space.

I avert my gaze from the street ahead of me to the phone, tempted to activate the camera, when she hums without giving me a verbal response. "Wilhemina...", I insist, in a sing song tone. She knows that when I use her full name, I'm either concerned or mad. I hope she knows it's not the latter. "Y/n...", she mimics my tone, probably wriggling her eyebrows too. I can't immediately tell if it's an attempt to take the edge off or not. Truth is, she gets particularly annoyed when I insist on asking her how she feels. I've learned to know that the last thing she wants is to feel a burden to me. It doesn't matter how many times I tell her she could never be, that my asking is simply a way to show her I love her. Yet it still doesn't stick in that stubborn head of hers for some reason.

"We have been on the phone for ten minutes and you haven't made any sexual innuendo yet," I point out. I start worrying for real, when she doesn't even chuckle at that. Perhaps, she has a bad back pain? Or maybe those dickheads at work did something bad to her? I need answers or I'll go crazy, "Little one, how many times do I have to tell you I'm fine to make you believe it?", I can tell she is trying to use a more cheerful tone, but it breaks my heart that after all this time she still tries to hide from me. I sigh tiredly, as i slowly massage the root of my nose, "we can continue for all the time you want, or you can just tell me the truth," considering I move at the pace of an ant carrying ten thousand times its weight, I let my guard down and rest my chin over my  arm.

I don't hear her tapping her cane, so I suppose she is sitting somewhere, or maybe she is lying down. She normally would have after an answer like that, but purposefully avoids what I just said, to ask, "Are you still long away? Where are you precisely?", her voice seems to crack a bit when she pronounces her second question. Or maybe it's only my imagination considering she insists on saying she is fine. I blink softly, still taking a mental note on that. "Uhm," I look around me, before answering, "I'm pretty close. If it wasn't for this traffic, I'd be there in five minutes at max. I just passed the florist on the 14th street, " I inform her and she hums. I can almost hear her breathing through the phone. It's like she is clinging to it, keeping it super close to her ear. I can almost see her frowning, her slow blinking.

If the camera was on, I'm sure I'd recognize it in a split second. "Mina...", I voice out softly, "are you in pain, love?", she takes a while to respond, giving me the further proof I didn't need. Yet, she decides to keep lying to me. "No, of course not, why would you think that?"she says flatly. As she speaks I shake my head in slow motion, without beliving a single word that is coming out of her. "Babe...", a bitter smile cracks my lips. I'm hurt honestly, but I push past that pain to focus on hers, "I told you, I'm-", "Stop telling me you're fine." I interrupt her, my voice laced with urgency and deep care. I'm pretty sure she's just rolled her eyes at me now, which puts a brief smile on my face. Wilhemina can be the most stubborn woman in the whole world, when she tries.

I lost count of all the times I reminded her that hiding, lying, pretending serve no good in a committed relationship like ours. It's okay to ask for help. It's okay to be in pain and tell your girlfriend about it. There is no shame in it, but Wilhemina is still so proud to let go to such vulnerabilities without a little fight. "Do you want me to lie to you?", I scoff and say, "You're already doing that, that's why I'd like you to stop," I grin softly, when I hear her groan on the other side of the phone.

Without noticing the car before me has come to an halt. I almost bump into it, but I manage to help it by hitting the brake by force the very last minute. My car boings off a bit and as consequence I bounce on the seat, "Woah, shit!", I curse under my breath, but loud enough for Wilhemina to hear. "Y/n? What happened?", she questions, her voice an octave higher, "Are you alright?", I can't help but melt at her caring tone, "Yeah, all good, still alive unluckily for ya, " a hint of a smile graces upon my lips, when she scoffs and calls me imprudent for getting distracted while driving.

I know how much she hates it when I multitask while on the road, but in my defense, she is giving me enough reason to worry about her with all those unnecessary mysteries. "You should keep your eyes on the street, little one. We can talk once-" I don't let her finish, letting out a loud and urgent, "No!", instead. I sigh and move my finger over my smartphone to activate the camera. When she can see me but in return I'm still facing a black screen, I snort again, "I mean it- I will not let you change the topic, Mina," nothing changes yet. "Can I see my girlfriend or should I speak to a black screen?", I pout and she hums in thought, "Come on!", I insist.

"I'd very much prefer you focused on driving, little one," she says as I hear her sigh, and slowly shift position. Something tells me she was lying down by the sound of the sheets moving underneath her. Now she is sitting up, I'm sure, "Please, stay on the phone with me," I whine, displaying my infallible, fine as hell, pickle lips. I hear a faint chuckle from her. She is probably shaking her head too. I'm dying to kiss that face once I'm back home, "Besides, I can multitask," I add to prove my point. I hear her click her tongue in response, a clear sign she doesn't agree with me, "Like that time you tried to make french toasts and record the episodes of 'Orange is the new Black'?", she teases and I gasp in shock. Each and every time, she uses that story against me to prove a point. "Stop using that story! It's as old as the birth of Rome!"

She chuckles, "It doesn't make it less efficient, though," she retorts making me snort, "If you don't turn on the camera right now I'll scream," I'm playing all the cards at my disposal now, and this one beyond my wild expectations works, "Fine! I wouldn't want to arrange your funeral for bumping into a car that goes about eight miles per hour," I squint my eyes towards her and fake a chuckle. When I finally see her, a sense of guilt rushes over me. She looks... exhausted. Her soft red locks, loose on the shoulders, are still partially damp from the shower. Her eyes looks weary, not fully open either, probably because they carry a mild headache along with the back pain. Her lips, however, are stretched in a placid smile. It feels like she is trying to force some vibrancy out of her. But she doesn't have to, especially when she isn't in the mood. I wish she knew.

"It's the back, isn't it?", I say tentatively and she simply gives me a nod of her head. "m' sorry. I'm almost there, alright?", she cracks a smile, ready to diminish her pain, but I hear none of that, "I'll take care of dinner when I come back. Lie down on the left side, I remember it's the position that is most comfortable to you, then uhm— medicine's in my bedside drawer," I continue, remembering to having put a tin of pills there. She raises an eyebrow at that, "Should I run to the drugstore to get you anything else?", if it wasn't for Wilhemina, I'd probably never stop rambling, especially when it comes to her, "Y/n, for the love of God, just relax," there is some strictness in her tone, that makes me obey like a puppy to her owner.

"I'm a big girl. I don't need a babysitter doing things for me," I know she doesn't mean to be harsh with me. It's the pain speaking for her. Instead of answering to the provocation, I simply smile at her, "Oh I know, you certainly don't need a babysitter, but I do, look--" I point out at the greenish spot on my once white and immaculate blouse, "I stained it with the avocado cream," I feel like coming back to life when her eyes soften and she lets out a quiet, low chuckle, while shaking her head, "Why am I not surprised?", she hums amusedly, and I stick my tongue out at her in response. "Have you been working like that all day long?", she wonders in disbelief, while I nod solemnly, "Yep, ma'am," I say, popping the "p" childishly, "Add the laundry to the list of things you have to do once you come back," she teases and I giggle softly, "Fist things first," I say, with a wink.

"Oh, I wonder what those would be?", I pretend to think a couple of seconds, before saying, "Kissing my girlfriend for a start, brushing her hair, giving her a massage, make her some tea, kissing her again--", Mina hardly stifles a laugh and says, "Alright, fine, I got it. Get your ass over here, I've waited long enough," I nibble on my bottom lip as I recognize the familiar twinkle in her eyes. "Oh, my, my, looks like I've arrived," I chant and before we know it I find myself stopping the car right in front of our house. She smiles and a light blush comes coloring her cheeks, "At last," she mutters, looking at me with nothing but pure love in the eyes.

[cursedpinterest]

spreading misinformation on pinterest 💞

[sandyspaghettibag]

I GOT A LIKE!!!!

UNDERGROUND ERA IS OVER

[talaok]

Hello, I have an idea.

how about something cute, about pedro and the reader at the Beyoncé concert, and Pedro being a little jealous and possessive, because of all the attention the reader is drawing to herself.

aries men are extremely possessive and jealous. LOL

Thank you. ♥️

Pairing: Pedro Pascal x reader

The amount of attention the people around you were paying to Beyonce, the woman they had paid good money to see perform, had decreased exponentially since they'd realized " the Y/n fucking Y/l/n" (as Pedro had overheard one of them saying) was standing between them.

And when you had started dancing... well let's say the situation had only worsened.

Sarah, yes as in Sarah Paulson, Pedro's good friend, had hooked you up with tickets, and when you'd heard about it, you almost fainted by how happy you were.

I mean who wouldn't be, it's fucking Beyonce we're talking about.

You had dressed up, of course, a tight, silver, sparkly dress hugged every curve of your body, and as much as you had tried to persuade Pedro to do the same, all you managed to achieve was to paint one of his fingernails silver to match your outfit.

You both spent the first twenty minutes of the concert looking up at the stage in awe, and wondering how the fuck you got so lucky.

But now as you were dancing and screaming the words to every song at the top of your lungs, he was starting to come to the realization that a lot of people in the crowd were enjoying that same pretty outfit you'd put on, and not just him.

Like the two dudes in the row behind you, whose eyes were wandering a little too much for his liking.

But he didn't want to disturb your experience, so at first, he just started standing closer, reminding everyone how he was your boyfriend, and only he could touch you.

And when that wasn't enough, one of his hands found the small of your back, and god but the moment you turned to him and flashed that stupidly happy smile at him he felt like the luckiest man in the world, and forgot all about his worries for a while, loosing himself in the music.

Until a chuckled "dude!" made its way to his ears, and he turned around to see one of the guys he'd already spotted pointing at you as he elbowed his friend.

Yeah that's definitely a fucking no

All it took was for him to shoot them both a look, and suddenly their eyes were only able to point to the ground.

But of course, he knew that wouldn't be enough, so for good measure, he stepped behind you and brought his arms around your torso, hugging you from behind.

"hey there" you talked over the music, slightly out of breath

"hey," he kissed your sweaty cheek.

You were really going all in tonight.

Even under that lighting, he could see tints of crimson painting your cheeks

"what are you doing?" 

"I'm just making sure people don't get to see more than they paid to"

"What?" you frowned

"don't worry about it baby" he shook his head 

"no, I wanna know"

God, but he could never say no to you, no matter how much fun you'd make of him after.

"It's just people are staring at you, that's all"

"so?" you asked "I'm sure they're staring at you too"

An amused smile pulled at his lips "No see, they're... well they're staring at you a little too much"

"ahh" You smirked at that, finally getting it "So you're jealous"

"I don't know what you're talking about"

"Is that so?" you tilted your head, a mischievous glint to your eyes

"Yup" he nodded, "And for no reason at all I'm just gonna stay here for the rest of the night if you don't mind"

"Oh I don't mind" You smiled "just as long as you can keep up"

Image: @thesweetestdecline

[blysse-and-blunder]

In lieu of a late summer commonplace book

sunday, august 25, 2024 ~ 6:30 pm

hello again c:

trying to remember what routine feels like, what my rhythm from semesters and work-weeks past felt like, and i think i had a good thing going with a sunday afternoon/evening round-up post alongside filling out my planner and to-do lists for the week. so here we are again, at long last.

reading recently finished a couple of things, several thanks to @un-serial-writer's excellent recs. pictured below in no particular order:

most time spent reading, and therefore the one that feels like the biggest accomplishment: lady, thomas tryon, a best seller from 1974 that was among the many agéd vacation reads and slightly-musty paperbacks in the family cottage. i didn't predict the twist but it sure did take like 80% of the book to actually get to there being some genuine suspense. luckily, i like a slice-of-life and even better when it's, like, an interesting study on how the seventies thought of / wrote about nostalgia for the thirties.

least time spent reading: the intuitionist, colson whitehead, which was exceptional except that i did feel like i had missed something when i finished it. huge fan of the setting and characters and twists and atmosphere and prose, though.

most enjoyable time spent reading: prophet, by helen macdonald and sin blanché, which was so goddam compelling and had such delicious dialogue, only to leave off in the middle of a GOOD SCENE C'MON. delicious character work btw the two leads! delicious concepts and premise! not sure i feel like the payoff from the main threat really...landed...but it almost doesn't matter.

most reluctantly enjoyable / frustrating time spent reading: bunny by mona awad, which i want to discuss with someone who has done an mfa in creative writing (aron. aron please. it's like not even good but it is? something?). its got two sort of big twists and i was very grateful for the first, then sort of disappointed by the second, and then the big reveal at the end actually did gratify me. i will not be forgetting this one but i also, desperately, need to mock it with someone who will understand.

watching most recently, the bear season two, because i am finally catching up with the culture. yes chef please it is so good. i just finished ep. 7, "forks," and oh my god richie. richieee. don't make me so, so proud of you. save me, juliet, etc. i also texted @madonnavenus after watching ep 6, "fishes," because that was a lot. but luckily, luckily, the emotions were manageable through the distancing effect of recognizing that it was acting, good talented but most importantly familiar actors doing incredible work (and successfully making me so, so tense and nervous ha ha). jamie lee curtis you're a queen, and also, god. sarah fucking paulson? gillian jacobs? and then also john mulaney was there, immediately recognizable, taking me out of the fiction in a useful way genuinely. but lest you think i'm forgetting our main loves, here's to sydney and marcus and ebra and tinaaaa.

i love finding these promo images online, they're always so goofy.

listening shout-out to my comfort listens this summer: the new decembrists album as it ever was, so it will be again (2024) and the associated spotify this is the decembrists playlist,

and the two podcasts 99 percent invisible's breakdown of the Power Broker and dimension 20's the unsleeping city, which in fact speak to each other so well and it was such serendipity that i ended up listening to both of them this summer. i think i said out loud, early on, "brennan you mother fucker you've read the power broker" when i was beginning to understand who the villain was going to be, and whether he actually had or not, it's a beautiful thing when your soothing book club urban design readalong ends up cluing you in to a twist in your magical new york urban fantasy liveplay.

playing today specifically i finished another language in chants of sennaar, but for the past month (while getting over covid, l m a o) it's been pokemon. old school 2DS pokemon ultramoon, for anyone who wasn't here when i first inherited it in 2020-- i've evolved three of my favorites, dear sweet primarina, my growlithe is now up an arcanine, and i've gotten my much beloved mareep up all the way to ampharos! i do wish she still looked a little more like a sheep still, the flaaffy evolution is really like peak design imo, but i still love them.

unpopular opinion maybe but i 'm really leaning into pokemon refresh, both as a former neopet kid, someone who is consistently amused by the way this mechanic forced them to animate and come up with cute/affectionate animations for like zubat, and also as someone who, like, does periodically think too much about the real-world uhhhh implications of video games. getting to scritch arcanine or cubone (which can apparently feel it even through? the skull mask? hilarious) makes it feel a little less. mean. to make them fight.

making fallow month+. i have two new patches to sew on the jean jacket, which meant rearranging a few already on there, but apart from pinning things into a possible new arrangement, no progress there.

working on - syllabus plan for fall class-- finish assignment plan tonight, finalize readings and post? by tuesday? - diss chapter 1 which is now four -- you fool. you absolute buffoon. - article draft. see above. - cover letters (x2) see aboev. - raship work because it a) pays me more immediately and b) allows me to feel in control of my life somewhat. we stan a concrete list of achievable tasks and accountability to an external structure. - oh yeah and this translation i'm working on-- for fun!

yeah, it sure is the beginning of the semester next. week.

[brian-in-finance]

Twitter

Video 📹 where Caitríona mentioned Geena Davis during the ATX TV Festival Outlander panel

By Chris Colin

Published May 25, 2023

Updated May 28, 2023

“Transforming Spaces” is a series about women driving change in sometimes unexpected places.

Geena Davis and her family were returning from dinner in their small Massachusetts town when her great-uncle Jack, 99, began drifting into the oncoming lane of traffic. Ms. Davis was about 8, flanked by her parents in the back seat. Politeness suffused the car, the family, maybe the era, and nobody remarked on what was happening, even when another car appeared in the distance, speeding toward them.

Finally, moments before impact, Ms. Davis’s grandmother issued a gentle suggestion from the passenger seat: “A little to the right, Jack.” They missed by inches.

Ms. Davis, 67, relayed this story in her 2022 memoir, “Dying of Politeness,” an encapsulation of the genially stultifying values that she had absorbed as a child — and that a great many other girls absorb, too: Defer. Go along to get along. Everything’s fine.

Of course the Academy Award-winning actress ditched that pliability long ago. From “Thelma & Louise” and “A League of Their Own” to this year’s coming-of-age drama, “Fairyland,” back-seat docility just wasn’t an option. Indeed, self-possession was her thing. (Or one of her things. Few profiles have failed to mention her Mensa membership, her fluency in Swedish or her Olympic-caliber archery prowess.) But cultivating her own audaciousness was only Phase 1.

Next year will mark two decades since the creation of the Geena Davis Institute on Gender in Media. When her daughter was a toddler, Ms. Davis couldn’t help noticing that male characters vastly outnumbered female characters in children’s TV and movies.

“I knew everything is completely imbalanced in the world,” she said recently. But this was the realm of make-believe; why shouldn’t it be 50/50?

It wasn’t just the numbers. How the women were represented, their aspirations, the way young girls were sexualized: Across children’s programming, Ms. Davis saw a bewilderingly warped vision of reality being beamed into impressionable minds. Long before “diversity, equity and inclusion” would enter the lexicon, she began mentioning this gender schism whenever she had an industry meeting.

“Everyone said, ‘No, no, no — it used to be like that, but it’s been fixed,’” she said. “I started to wonder, What if I got the data to prove that I’m right about this?”

Amid Hollywood’s trumpeted causes, Ms. Davis made it her mission to quietly harvest data. Exactly how bad is that schism? In what other ways does it play out? Beyond gender, who else is being marginalized? In lieu of speechifying and ribbons, and with sponsors ranging from Google to Hulu, Ms. Davis’s team of researchers began producing receipts.

Ms. Davis wasn’t the first to highlight disparities in popular entertainment. But by leveraging her reputation and resources — and by blasting technology at the problem — she made a hazy truth concrete and offered offenders a discreet path toward redemption. (While the institute first focused on gender data, its analyses now extend to race/ethnicity, L.G.B.T.Q.I.A.+, disability, age 50-plus and body type. Random awful finding: Overweight characters are more than twice as likely to be violent.)

Geena Davis accepting the Governors Award for her institute during the Primetime Emmy Awards last year. At her right are the actor Sarah Paulson, left, and the screenwriter Shonda Rhimes. Next to Ms Davis is Madeline Di Nonno, the institute’s president and chief executive. Kevin Mazur/WireImage, via Getty Images

Even when braced for it, the institute’s findings are staggering: In the 101 top-grossing G-rated films from 1990 to 2005, just 28 percent of speaking characters were female. Even in crowd scenes — even in animated crowd scenes — male characters vastly outnumber female ones. In the 56 top grossing films of 2018, women portrayed in positions of leadership were four times more likely than men to be shown naked. (The bodies of 15 percent of them were filmed in slow motion.) Where a century ago women had been fully central to the budding film industry, they were now a quantifiable, if sexy, afterthought.

“When she started to collect the data, it was kind of incredible,” said Hillary Hallett, a professor of American studies at Columbia University and the author of “Go West, Young Women! The Rise of Early Hollywood.” “This wasn’t a vague feeling anymore. You couldn’t claim this was just some feminist rant. It was like, ‘Look at these numbers.’”

Ms. Davis is by turns reserved and goofy offscreen — a thoughtful responder, an unbridled guffawer. (At one point she enunciated the word “acting” so theatrically that she feared it would be hard to spell in this article.) On a recent afternoon in Los Angeles, she took a break from illustrating the children’s book she had written, “The Girl Who Was Too Big for the Page.”

“I grew up very self-conscious about being the tallest kid — not just the tallest girl — in my class,” she said. “I had this childhood-long wish to take up less space in the world.”

In time she began to look beyond her height — six feet — to the insidious messages reinforcing such insecurity.

“Hollywood creates our cultural narrative — its biases trickle down to the rest of the world,” she said in “This Changes Everything,” the 2018 documentary she produced about gender inequity in the film industry. The documentary takes its name from the incessant refrain she kept hearing after the success of “Thelma & Louise,” and later “A League of Their Own.” Finally the power and profitability of female-centric movies had been proven — this changes everything! And then, year after year, nothing.

Geena Davis, right, with the director Penny Marshall on the set of A League of Their Own in 1992. Columbia Pictures, via Everett Collection

It was here that Ms. Davis planted her stake in the ground — a contention around why certain injustices persist, and how best to combat them. Where movements like #MeToo and Times Up target deliberate acts of monstrosity, hers would be the squishier universe of unconscious bias. Did you unthinkingly cast that doctor as a male? Hire that straight white director because he shares your background? Thought you were diversifying your film, only to reinforce old stereotypes? (Fiery Latina, anyone?)

It’s a dogged optimism that powers Ms. Davis’s activism — a faith that Hollywood can reform voluntarily. When she goes to a meeting now, she’s armed with her team’s latest research, and with conviction that improvement will follow.

“Our theory of change relies on the content creators to do good,” said Madeline Di Nonno, the president and the chief executive of the institute. “As Geena says, we never shame and blame. You have to pick your lane, and ours has always been, ‘We collaborate with you and want you to do better.’”

If a car full of polite Davises can awaken to oncoming danger, perhaps filmmakers can come to see the harm they’re perpetuating.

“Everyone isn’t out there necessarily trying to screw women or screw Black people,” said Franklin Leonard, a film and television producer and founder of the Black List, a popular platform for screenplays that have not been produced. “But the choices they make definitely have that consequence, regardless of what they believe about their intent.”

He added: “It’s not something people are necessarily aware of. And there’s no paper trail — it can only be revealed in aggregate. Which gets to the value of Geena’s work.”

“Hollywood creates our cultural narrative— its biases trickle down to the rest of the world,” Ms Davis said in This Changes Everything, the 2018 documentary she produced about gender inequity in the film industry. Magdalena Wosinska for The New York Times

Unique to the institute’s efforts is its partnership with the University of Southern California’s Signal Analysis and Interpretation Laboratory, which uses software and machine learning to analyze scripts and other media. One tool born of that collaboration, Spellcheck for Bias, employs AI to scan scripts for stereotypes and other problematic choices. (Janine Jones-Clark, the executive vice president for inclusion for NBCUniversal’s global talent development and inclusion team, recalled a scene in a television show in which a person of color seemed to be acting in a threatening manner toward another character. Once flagged by the software, the scene was reshot.)

Still, progress has been mixed. In 2019 and 2020, the institute reported that gender parity for female lead characters had been achieved in the 100 highest-grossing family films and in the top Nielsen-rated children’s television shows. Nearly 70 percent of industry executives familiar with the institute’s research made changes to at least two projects.

But women represented just 18 percent of directors working on the top 250 films of 2022, up only 1 percent from 2021, according to the Center for the Study of Women in Television and Film; the percentage of major Asian and Asian American female characters fell from 10 percent in 2021 to under 7 percent in 2022. A 2021 McKinsey report showed that 92 percent of film executives were white — less diverse than Donald Trump’s cabinet at the time, as Mr. Leonard of the Black List noted.

“I think the industry is more resistant to change than anybody realizes,” he added. “So I’m incredibly appreciative of anyone — and especially someone with Geena’s background — doing the non-glamorous stuff of trying to change it, being in the trenches with Excel spreadsheets.”

Ms. Davis has not quit her day job. (Coming soon: a role in “Pussy Island,” a thriller from Zoe Kravitz in her directorial debut.) But acting shares a billing with her books, the diversity-focused Bentonville Film Festival she started in Arkansas in 2015 — even the roller coasters she rides for equity. (Yes, Thelma is now Disney’s gender consultant for its theme parks and resorts.)

“We’re definitely heading in the right direction,” she said. “Bill Gates called himself an impatient optimist, and that feels pretty good for what I am.”

A correction was made on May 26, 2023: An earlier version of this article misspelled the surname of the president and chief executive of the Geena Davis Institute on Gender in Media. She is Madeline Di Nonno, not Di Donno. The error was repeated in a photo caption.

A correction was made on May 28, 2023: An earlier version of this article incorrectly stated the number of Academy Awards Ms. Davis received. She won one Oscar for her supporting performance in “The Accidental Tourist,” and was nominated for a second Academy Award for “Thelma & Louise.”

How we handle corrections

A version of this article appears in print on May 30, 2023, Section B, Page 3 of the New York edition with the headline: Onscreen Sexism Hasn’t Gone Away. She Has the Data.. Order Reprints | Today’s Paper | Subscribe

Remember… if a car full of polite Davises can awaken to oncoming danger, perhaps filmmakers can come to see the harm they’re perpetuating. — The New York Times

Times source

[xansmenagerie]

Find the Vibe

Ah jeez, my notifications apparently just bundled everything for the last week and only told me about this when I was too sleepy last night to do anything about it XD Thank you for the tag, @ambiguouspuzuma

My vibe to find is something close or akin to "I get that all the time" - I had to think fairly hard as I only have one major WIP at the moment and while at least one of the Darcys will be getting that vibe later in the book we're not there yet.

And then I remembered Trent, one of the background characters who exists mostly to be Trent at appropriate moments...

From SYJKR:

The inside of the train carriage was pure chaos. Teenagers of all ages filled every seat, and maybe only a tenth of them were actually sitting in them as designed; although no one was rude enough to have shoes on the upholstery it looked like a good many had simply discarded their shoes to get around this. Before she could start looking for an empty spot of her own, however, Darcy was stopped short by a brick wall of a human being who nevertheless had Head Boy written all over him. Literally, once she spotted the badge. "First year? Need a hand? I can put your bags up, no probs!" On one hand, Darcy had had poor experiences before with boys like him - blond, pale, in a position of power - and she tensed automatically. On the other, his tone was unexpectedly high-pitched and perky for someone his size; Darcy found herself irresistibly put in mind of a large, friendly, Golden Retriever that wasn't entirely sure if she wanted to play. The two warring thoughts stopped her from responding straight away. "Trent! Give them a chance to breathe! And stop looming!" Against all ergonomic sense the new speaker was lounging belly down on the nearest seat, propped up on her elbows, feet up against the wall. Darcy received a wide and toothy grin under the darkest eyes Darcy had ever seen as Trent bashfully backed off a bit. "Don't mind him, he's got no manners but he's a big old softy really," the girl continued, not helping with Darcy's mental images. She expected Trent to kick up a fuss but he just gave her a sheepish grin and shrug that said "It's true" louder than words ever could. Trying not to laugh, tension released, Darcy said, "Sure, I could use a hand." Trent instantly perked up again. "Right! Anything that goes on this rack will get taken in for you at the other end, so make sure you have anything you want for the train ride on you." Given it was the first rack by the door Darcy couldn't see how Trent could think there would be room for another bag on it, never mind her duffel, but she dutifully handed it and the smaller bags attached over while working on getting out of her rucksack. Somehow he found a space to squeeze them into - and her rucksack after Darcy extracted the day sack from the top of it - although she somehow missed seeing him do it, and couldn't spot them amongst the old-fashioned wooden trunks lined up on the rack.

For the next poster, I give you the vibe of "Go on, make me."

Anyone who wants to, feel free to join in - tagging @pure-solomon, @sender-paulson, @sarah-sandwich-writes and @faeveries as fellow Writeblr Discord members if you have time/spoons/inclination :)

[tea-with-evan-and-me]

In my humble opinion, Jessica Lange, Evan Peters, Sarah Paulson, Lily Rabe, Frances Conroy and Denis O’Hare MAKE American Horror Story, with honorable mentions to Angela Bassett, Kathy Bates, Finn Wittrock and Jamie Brewer. Outside of them, the show doesn’t feel special or unique and I completely agree with the comments about the writers and production aesthetics changing as well. It definitely shifted downhill after season 7. Season 10 fell apart because they wanted Evan on Dahmer. His role was originally completely different in season 10 and it was much bigger. I wonder if they always intended to split it or if the split was part of a rush rewrite due to Evan leaving. Never saw season 11, but never had an interest and never saw the spin-off stories either. I hope they lay ahs to rest. Season 12 doesn’t have a chance…..

Off subject, Zegna and Elder Statesman should star Evan in their next campaign. He’s a perfect image of their brands and they always hire actors to do their short film ads. Not sure how those fit into the strikes but I would love to see him do something in the fashion world, bro has style

well said. and i totally agree about the campaign.. seems he’d be a perfect fit for these brands. can you imagine evan modeling some of these? 😫 there’s so many cool pieces.

[thestangossip]

Idk why people don't acknowledge pedro pascal' nepotism. his parents were rich doctors he grew up in a fancy neighborhood. he studied in a fancy art high school. he only got GOT because of sarah paulson and his older sister has connections. he is also a very known kiss ass. the image of struggling actor is fake af.

Yes Pedro is on the same fucking level as Hailey Bieber, Dakota Johnson, Maya Hawke, Willow and Jaden Smith, and Lily Rose Depp.

That’s why Pedro was famous at 25… oh wait.

Lmao having middle class parents and making connections in acting school is so not nepotism. Lily Rose Depp and Hailey Bieber are the face of nepotism.

Pedro did struggle as an actor for years. Yes he has achieved fame now. But literally he is almost 50. Even after GOT and Narcos he didn’t get that famous.

[aboutcustardcreams]

It's you and I

Abby Gerhard x fem!reader

On the way to Abby's house, Gabrielle (my character) spots her girlfriend and Carol on the porch, sharing a too intimate moment. How will she react?

fluff and angst with happy ending

As I stand there, in trance, I'm completely lost. My head spins and my heart aches painfully. I've never been certain of anything in my life, and I'd lie if I said I knew from the beginning what I was doing. But that sentiment, damn it, that one, I could have sworn was real. I can't keep my eyes on the scene too long; it's only been one second, maybe two, yet it hurts unbearably so. I don't realize I'm crying until I feel my own hot tears slide down my cheeks and wet my lips. My fingers drop the little gift that I personally wrapped for her. I'm frozen in place just few meters away from Abby's porch, where she stands, both her and Carol. That night, we should have spent it together.

A sob escapes my mouth and at the same time, my legs turn weak and I bend my suddenly sandy knees. I don't want to stay there, yet I can't move yet. I refuse to see what else is happening between the two women so I keep my gaze on the soil under my knees. All I can hear are their muffled voices, then silence again. The engine of a car starts and I presume it's Carol's. I wonder if Abby is leaving with her. Would she really do something so awful to me? The headlights illuminate the garden path, and it's maybe with that glow in the dark that Abby sees me. I don't need to look up at her to feel her gaze upon me. When she calls my name, I remain quiet. I hear her delicate footsteps coming at me, but she keeps up the pace as I continue to ignore her.

"Gabrielle, sweetheart, what happened?" I can't believe she is really asking me this question. As if it couldn't go worse than that. Does she really believes I haven't seen a thing? She places a hand upon my shoulder but I shake it off as if I had been burned. Her eyes too well up with tears at that point. She is devastated and confused but so am I. Like mine, her knees bend and she crouches in front of me. "Sweetheart, please, tell me what you saw..." her voice comes out shaky and insecure. There is a certain urgency in her tone now. Mortification even. Well, at least she is guilty, or maybe she is only putting on a show. How can I know at this point? For a brief moment she acknowledges the small package left on the ground. On top of it a red envelope written with a very fine calligraphy bores her name above the seal.

"I can't believe you want me to repeat what you did," my voice comes sharp, I've never heard myself speak this way. It doesn't even sound like me. When I finally look up at her I barely see her. I have so many tears welled up in my eyes that I struggle to bring into focus past my nose. Everything around me is blurred and unclear, as if I am trapped into a dream. A nightmare. Abby bites her bottom like and shakes her head slowly, "you've seen us.." realization hits her like a running train. Her face looses color at once. I say nothing, and her heart breaks at the distance I've put between us already. "No, no, it's not like that. Oh Jesus— it's not," I notice she is having a hard time trying to explain herself. Maybe because there are no excuses to justify what happened. I exhale shakily, my limbs trembling, "I thought things between us were going fine," a bitter smile appears on my face, "great even," I voice sadly.

"Listen, I know what it looked like, but I swear to you, it was just a big, terrible misunderstanding. Carol—" she freezes when I start chuckling lowly. It seems that I'm amused by the entire situation but the truth is that that laugh hurts like a roundup of knife wounds in the chest. "I could never compete with her, that's the truth." I reason partly resigned. Abby's frown grows deeper as she looks at the way my face crunches up and sheds tears with no control. She keeps shaking her head, she repeats over and over that I'm wrong, that Carol means nothing to her, that she can't even begin to compare to me and to what we have carefully build  together. I mumble a bit spaced out, "she is so beautiful, self-confident, it's with her you feel safe with. It never was me, although I sure hoped to be. I was just.. a rebound thing for when she wasn't around."

I can't believe I found the bravery to say these things but I'm hurt beyond words and I don't know how to cope. Abby scoffs between tears, I can see it in her eyes, she is outraged by what I've just dared to spill. I don't believe it, not completely at least. Her cheekbones turn scarlet, both in exasperation and fear. "You stop it!" Her nostrils flare, suddenly it looks hard for her to breathe properly. She shakes like an orange autumn leaf. "None of this is true. Do you hear me?", she angrily wipes her tears, her lip  quivers as well as her voice, that comes out in a stuttering mess, "how can you think such an awful thing? How can you even say that?"

She reaches out to touch my forehead, and this time I let her fingers linger on my skin. "Carol and I are nothing," I want to believe her, but after what I saw, it's so hard. I inhale sharply, "Please, just—" I trail off, "don't touch me," she can't believe it. She doesn't accept my distance. I can tell by the rigidity her back assumes, by the way her eyes tighten and her breathing gets heavier and louder, "no, now you listen to me," stubborn as ever, Abby Gerhard hardly ever lets herself be tamed. I wonder why she is crying so desperately. What did she hope to achieve? Spend time with me on odd-numbered days and have fun with Carol on even ones? Or maybe have both and get away with it thinking I'd never find out?

I crack a thin smile, and her fingers tighten around my arm with much force, "she kissed me and I pushed her away the second she did that," I frown as I consider the option. She sniffles and waits for a sign, a nod of hope from my part that yet struggles to come. She tilts her head to meet my downcast eyes. She lifts my chin when I stubbornly avoid her orbs, "I told her it was wrong, that my heart belongs to another person and that's been this way for way too long that it is impossible for me to ignore it. Do you understand that, Gabs? I rejected her because I only love you and that's not going to change." I softly wipe my tears. She comes closer and when she does, her sweet perfume inebriates and weakens my senses. It's so good, I tell her often. She knows that's my favorite fragrance.

I remember of the cozy afternoons we spend together, sitting on the living room floor, as we smoke from the same cigarette and at the same time, sharing soft and sloppy kisses. I've never been a smoker myself and she knows, I only do it to have the sensation of kissing her lips from the cig too. Call me crazy, but that's what love feels like for me. I also remember when we play dumb and silly, we make faces to see who can make the other laugh first, or when she poses like a movie star and I pretend to be her personal photographer, holding my hands as if they were a camera. The slow dances under the moonlight. The conversations about life. Our life. Didn't that mean anything at all to her, considering to me it meant everything?

"Look at me, Gabrielle," she pleads. I grit my teeth in return. She groans painfully as I keep resisting her. I want to believe her with all my being. I'd be willing to smash my head against the wall in the hope to forget what I saw to grant us another chance. Because I love her and love makes people do the most questionable choices. "Gabrielle now stop it, and look at me!" she is mad, angry tears slide down her cheeks and neck. Her eyes are puffy and red, and lightly squinted as if it hurt to keep them open. "Look at me in the eyes and tell me I'm lying to you!" I tighten my hands into fists so strongly that I pierce my palms with my nails. How dare she? She infuriates me because I know what I saw. Carol's hands around Abby's waist while she kissed her. While Carol kissed her... Abby kissed back, right?

I look up at her as she asked because despite everything I struggle to deny her whatever she asks for. She clings to my clothes and pulls me against her a tiny bit possessively, but I recognize the behavior as desperate most of all. "Carol came to me, she was devastated about the question of the divorce, the custody of Rindy, and also about the way she treated Therese. You recall of Therese, right?" I nod absentmindedly. She was just another young, naive girl deceived by an older one. Well she was way younger than me, only nineteen if I'm not mistaken, and the fact that Carol was probably her first love, doesn't make it any better. "She used that girl only to come back to you. Isn't it?", Abby would have gladly slapped me in the face for that assumption, yet she didn't. It makes me falter because maybe I'm getting it all wrong. "That's bullshit, bloody hell. And I goddamn love you! And Carol loves Therese!" Her hysterical cry makes me sit upright and I frown, feeling both wrong and guilty. What if I'm only a ruthless monster breaking her heart for getting it all wrong?

"Abby...", I voice softly, tempted to reach out to cup her cheek. I love her. I'll always do. I was stupid to think that hurting her would make me feel better. Spitting those venomous words is only increasing my pain. She hiccups and shakes her head feeling helpless, "Carol told me she feared that Therese might never forgive her for all the things she put her through. She loves her so much, she never felt this way before. Not even with me. In a moment of weakness, while she realized I could be the only person to understand her struggle, she... she just kissed me. But she didn't mean to. She kissed me because she fears the possibility of being left alone." I can see the guilt in her eyes and the small resentment in regards of Carol for having caused all of this.

I nibble on my bottom lip as I ponder on her words. How could I be so blind? That's my Abby, not some stranger I've just met up in a bar. I feel it in my soul, that she isn't lying to me. In her heart I always knew there would be a place for Carol, and I accepted that when we met. But what I still have to learn is that the place I'm referring to has nothing romantic in it. Abby and Carol grew up together, they experimented love, and fell out of it. Why was it so hard for me to understand? I had the chance to meet Carol, I knew she wasn't a bad person. But, goddamnit, if I hated her right now.

Abby reaches out to cup my face as if she could listen my thoughts loud and clear. "She apologized as soon as she realized what she did," her voice is a bit steadier, her forehead rests upon mine in a gentle, sweet cuddle I was craving so much. I breathe slowly, but I still feel my heart thrum loud and painful in my ears. Her fingertips brush against my damp and heated cheeks while her brown orbs dive into mine with nothing but love and understanding. I nod and for the first time, finally I offer her a kind and relieved smile. She reciprocates it, "Carol spent the last two months pretending to be who she isn't. She ignored There's calls because she didn't want to risk to never see her daughter again. You and I...," she strokes my hair, pushing some wavy locks behind my ears, "you and I are what Carol and I never were." There is so much honestly in her tone, I feel suddenly unworthy of this immense gift.

I let out a watery chuckle, as I shake my head in thought, "I never knew what I wanted from life," I reach out to touch her thigh and she smiles at the contact I'm finally granting her, "but when I met you, it felt like the skies opened up to me and showed all the things I could be thanks to you," Abby's lip wobbles and her eyelashes tremble under the weight of her big tears. However, hope veils them too. She takes her hand in mine and proceeds on kissing my knuckles one by one. I continue with a smile, "I'm born again with you Abby and I never want to lose this," I confess between guilty sobs and tears. When she pulls me closer, my heart melts to the rhythm of her light kisses. I moan softly when she places her mouth to cover mine to both hush me and soothe me. "if I see Carol again that close to you, Lord help me..." I mutter jokingly into her mouth and she chuckles heartily, nodding her head, "I'll help you," she hums and racks her fingertips through my hair.

"So you believe me?", when I place a hand upon her chest I feel her heart drumming madly. I nod and I apologize for the way I reacted. "I love you too much not to believe every word you say," I mutter and she wraps her arms around my neck, "even if sometimes I act tough, you know that I just...", "all mushy mushy and a big softie.", she teases adorably. I groan since that's not exactly what I wanted to say but I let it pass. She giggles again. Then she guides me to rest my head over her chest as we silently recover from bittersweet rollercoaster we just endured. Again, her perfume sends me to heaven. "I'd forgive you anything," I mutter to myself. But Abby hears me. She plants little kisses all over the crown of my head affectionately while she holds me, "I'd rather die than hurting you in any way," I look up at her to give her a smile.

"Same for me. Please forgive me. I was rash and unfair to you. I should have listened to your side of the story sooner and without much of a fuss." But she shakes her head, as to let me know that everything is fine. "What else could you think? It's not your fault." I nod. Then I avert my gaze towards that little gift bought for her. And I pout because the once shiny beautiful red paper is now soiled and brownish. I pick it up, examining it carefully, "I got you that... as early Christmas present but now, it's all ruined... Maybe I have time to change it and wrap it up all over again?", Abby places her fingers upon my lips to shush me. A playful grin appears on her features, while she does so. "Ah-ah, I want this. Perfect the way it is." I roll my eyes, but I don't argue with her considering the gift inside is probably still intact.

"You're so thoroughly stubborn, Abby Gerhard," I mutter in the best British accent I can perform, and she too enters in the part. Another thing we do is to pretend to be members of the upper English class just because we do it so well and it's incredibly funny. She clears her throat and pursues her lips funnily. One eyebrow majestically raised, "and also thoroughly and hopelessly in love with you, lady Gabrielle."

[recentlyheardcom]

Sarah Paulson Is 'Excited' to Act Alongside Kim Kardashian (Excl)

Sarah Paulson and Kim Kardashian Getty Images (2) Sarah Paulson can’t wait to act alongside Kim Kardashian on their new series, All’s Fair. “She’s always been so lovely to me the few times I’ve met her, and I have no reason to think anything other than like it’s going to be a great, great, good time,” Paulson, 49, exclusively told Us Weekly at the Friday, October 4, premiere of her new movie Hold…

[universomovie]

Sarah Paulson diz que ajudou Pedro Pascal no início de sua carreira

Atores se conhecem desde 1993GIOVANNA BREVE Sarah Paulson and Pedro Pascal at the 2016 SAG AwardsJeff Kravitz/FilmMagic/Getty Images American Horror Story revelou que ajudou o começo da carreira do astro de The Mandalorian. Para a Esquile (via Deadline), Paulson revelou que amparou financeiramente o amigo. “Houve momentos em que eu dava a ele minha diária de um trabalho em que estava…

[withahappyrefrain]

You know the image of Sarah Paulson screaming under a table?

That's me currently

Imagine she is in recovery and then gets a bad cold or something and that’s what does her in

“She had the flu—“

“And her immune system was already compromised from the aggressive cancer cells and chemotherapy treatment Jake.”

“But—but she can’t be gone.”

[lotties-ashwagandha]

BODY.

pairing: diane sherman x reader

word count: 1484

notes and warnings: scars,, knives,, and that’s about it — i wrote this in the car today lol. this is inspired by “body” by gia margaret. specifically when alan watts says, “when there is nobody left for whom the body can be a burden, the body isn’t a burden. but so long as you fight it, it is.”

summary: you see diane’s scars for the first time (i wanted to write her something fluffy bc there’s a distinct lack of diane fluff even tho she a crazy bitch). i have so much fun writing this passive aggressive wholesome bitch i need to write more of her

BODY:

A storm had come, and you were caught in the middle of it, blinded by the rain.

You hurried in from the garden, sliding the door shut behind you as quickly as you could. You had come in with an exceptional harvest, more than you had expected to come out with. Everything you were growing was thriving, just as you knew it would – everything Diane touched seemed to thrive.

You had brought in over a dozen tomatoes, a few zucchini, and bell peppers, almost all of which had been planted by Diane. You were terrible at gardening, she teased you for it relentlessly, and you preferred not to get your hands dirty… but you didn’t mind, for it warmed your soul to see how pleased she was when her work paid off, when you got to give your excess harvest to the neighbors and tell them of how talented Diane was.

Tomatoes to the basket on the left of the fridge, zucchini in the basket to the right of the tomatoes, bell peppers in the refrigerator.

Diane was in the shower, you knew, and if you had gotten the timing right, you would start to cook dinner at right about–

A thundering crash from upstairs made you freeze.

“Diane?” You shouted carefully, starting toward the stairs. You contemplated going up and checking on her, though more often than not after work she was aggravated and needed a bit of space.

There was no response.

You began to creep up the stairs. “Diane,” you tried once more, “are you okay?”

Still, no response.

You hurried the rest of the way up the stairs – nothing could have stopped you.

You knocked rapidly on the door to the bedroom, calling out for Diane, asking her if she was alright, asking what had happened.

The only response you received was a strained “I’m fine,” from the other side of the door.

You almost turned around, almost continued to cook dinner and take Diane for her word… no, you didn’t, for you were far too suspicious, and the idea of leaving her never really crossed your mind.

You opened the door, your nerves on fire, wondering what you would find on the other side.

Diane was sitting against the wall, half-dressed and hair soaked, massaging her left shoulder and paying little attention to the way the bedside table had crashed right next to her or the way the lamp had been shattered only inches away from her foot. She met your eyes immediately upon your entry, and only then did she take in the destruction of the lamp and the table.

You rushed to her side, scanning her for any bleeding, any noticeable injuries. “Diane, darling, what the fuck happened? Are you okay?”

She nodded slowly, her attention returning to her shoulder. “I was getting dressed and I tripped over my pants like a fucking idiot and then crashed into the table, and then the table crashed, and…” she trailed off, avoiding your eyes. “I think I fucked my shoulder.”

You sighed, nodding in acknowledgement, lightly gesturing to her shoulder. “Can I see?”

After a moment she nodded, moving away from the wall. Besides her haphazardly thrown-on jeans she was dressed only in her bra, the entirety of her shoulder revealed to you as she turned around.

Your attention was not caught by her shoulder. You did not notice it at all.

Down the expanse of her back was a series of scars, remnants of what looked like the work of knives, a whole series of them visible just below her shoulders.

Diane must have noticed your silence, for when she spoke, her fear was palpable. “What is it? Is it bad? Y/N?”

You did not respond, hardly hearing her from how far your heart had dropped. Gently, you traced one of the scars with your index finger. The skin there was more rough, slightly raised.

Diane tensed at your touch. Her voice was above no more than a whisper as she realized what had grabbed your attention. “Please, get out.”

“What? But your shoulder, and the lamp is-”

“I’ll handle it, but please, please get out,” her tone had darkened. There was an aggravation taking hold of her that you had never seen before, and every light in the room seemed to have gone dark, working to suffocate everything in sight.

As much as you hated to admit it, as much as you adored and cherished Diane, in this atmosphere you hardly wanted to spend another moment in the room.

Silently, you left the bedroom, shutting the door softly behind you.

You took a moment in the darkness of the hallway to bring your breath back into rhythm. Now that you had escaped the fire of the room, you wanted to throw yourself back into it, for you knew that inside your most beloved was burning.

Yet you dragged yourself down the stairs and began to cook dinner, attempting to focus on the task at hand, attempting not to burn the entire house down in your distraught state.

When Diane finally made her way downstairs in a beige sweater, you were chopping tomatoes by the stove. You were cooking pasta for the two of you, using some of the vegetables from the garden.

You watched as Diane opened a cabinet and silently retrieved a box of noodles.

“You forgot to put in the noodles,” she told you as she poured them into the boiling water on the stove.

You did not respond, continuing to cut up the tomatoes.

When she grabbed your wrist, you jumped. Your concerned gaze connected with hers, and the two of you attempted to decipher one another’s unspoken thoughts, each attempting to silently take dominance over the other.

It was the briefest of moments, yet it could not be discounted or ignored, for it had been palpable.

She took the knife from your hands, your eyes still connected. “Let me finish this,” she whispered, gesturing to the cutting board a beat too late.

You nodded and moved away to lean against the opposite counter. You wondered if you had any right to ask about her back, if she would answer if you asked about her shoulder.

The sound of the knife against the cutting board became melodic. Every chop became predictable, a pattern established at last.

“Your shoulder…”

“It’s fine,” she interrupted.

“Your back…”

Diane interrupted you again. “I don’t want to talk about it.”

“Okay,” you said softly, chewing your lip for a moment, “but you know I love you anyway, right?”

She froze.

The pattern stopped with the knife, and time stopped with it. The moment before you seemed like the scene of a painting, so small and fleeting yet capturing a feeling no one would soon forget.

You took the chance to move toward her, placing your hands as softly as you could on her shoulders, moving them down to rest on her waist. You attempted to read her mannerisms for any sign of protest, yet you found none, so you rested your head on her shoulder. “Is this okay?”

She nodded.

“I love you so much,” you continued, “and you are beautiful in every way. You have no idea — if you could only see yourself the way those around you do, the way I do…” you trailed off, and after a moment you felt her start to tremble slightly. Alarmed, you searched her face, noticing that she was trying not to cry.

“I didn’t want you to see them,” Diane admitted quietly, her voice strained. You knew she was referencing her scars. “They’re hideous.”

“No, they’re not, they show how strong you are.”

She turned to face you, giving you a doubtful look, as if she were attempting to decipher if you were being honest or not — trying to uncover any bad intentions you might have.

Yet you had none.

“You are perfect to me, Diane, and nothing will ever change that. If anyone is willing to be wary of your scars, they’re a fucking horrible person and I will personally hunt them down. And you don’t have to tell me what your scars are from, never until you're comfortable, even if that day never comes.”

She nodded, muttering a small ‘i love you,’ and allowing you to pull her close, embracing her. She had begun to cry, and you let her tears stain you, engulf you, for you had each other so completely and boundlessly.

You were everlastingly tied — the body was accepted in its full form, for the body is beautiful, the body is ours.

When there is nobody left for whom the body can be a burden, the body isn’t a burden… but so long as you fight it, it is.

“Now,” you started, “let me tend to your shoulder, and then we’ll go fix the lamp upstairs.”

The body is beautiful, the body is ours.

[the-virgoperspective]

Sun in the 4th House

Diana Ross - Aries Sun

Megan Fox - Taurus Sun

Naomi Campbell - Gemini Sun

Halle Berry - Leo Sun

Rose McGowan - Virgo Sun

Adrienne Bailon - Scorpio Sun

Sarah Paulson - Sagittarius Sun

Rita Ora - Sagittarius Sun

Jennifer Aniston - Aquarius Sun

Eva Longoria - Pisces Sun

[thatspookyagent]

No one:

Sarah Paulson whenever she plays a character on AHS: