#tw it’s been so long since I made choices art it’s so weird to see him in my style now fhdkakdj

[cashweasel]

miss u scalpel jockey 😔❤️

[yxstxrdrxxm-a]

SYNOPSIS: Tattooing is a work of art. Though, he definitely saw that it can also be used as more than an art medium itself.

TW/s: yandere behavior, abstract/drabble writing, protective Xiao, he’s a dumbass but its okay, nsfw tws include targeted by the dark web, graphic depictions of violence, near abduction, stalking + sexual harassment. Please proceed with caution.

NOTE FROM HR: Happy Valentine’s Day! It would seem that today just isn't working out for you, is it, miss Ana? Well, never fear! I’m sure our lovely tattoo artist has something to help you with that… Right?

“You’re back.”

That was the first thing that Ana heard from her tattoo artist, Xiao, speak at 1 in the afternoon— a weird time, considering he wasn’t aware she had an appointment booked with him.

“Are you here for a tattoo?” he asked her, making her shake her head. Carrying the food she bought for him, he placed it on the counter, noting the small shift of expression on his face as he caught a whiff of something faintly sweet in the packaging.

“No, but I’m sure you’ve been working for hours on end,” she said, tapping on top of the package. “Here, eat up. I made sure to buy almond tofu for you.”

Now, for those who may be wondering, just how can the reclusive tattoo artist be with a date that’s the clear opposite of his personality?

It was a long story, which started from the very beginning when they matched up in the app.

Xiao isn’t the type to choose anyone on a whim. He has standards, and for him, many others failed to fit those standards. It was also obvious when he saw Ana’s, but instead of scrolling past and ignoring her, he took his time to look into what she wrote. He didn’t want to write her off just yet.

The next thing he knew, he swiped right with her and began to talk to her in the app.

Their conversation topics were all random at first: general get to know questions, their experiences, and even bits of what the two like. The two clicked on what they both liked listening to, which artists they enjoy the most, and even a few preferences for both to tune into. He did suggest a few that lean into crime podcasts, since he tends to listen to them often while he worked on tattooing his clients. Perhaps it was a strange preference, but she didn’t see it that way.

It wasn’t even long until they began to discuss matters in seeing each other in person, and the first time was because of a tattoo appointment she wanted on her arm.

“So, you want this tattoo placed… Here. Am I right?” “Mhm. Do you think you can do it? My friends had said that you were a good tattoo artist, so I wanted to be sure that it’s something you can do.”

The two were sitting at his office as Xiao was looking at the image, examining the tattoo design she wanted him to put on her. The design wasn’t all that complicated, but he knew he could add something to make it pop out easily, and especially with the detailing of her tattoo choice.

“... I can,” he answered, closing the folder as he faced her again. “However, you must pay upfront. I need to get the materials and equipment needed in our next appointment for this type of tattoo on Friday.”

He watched her nod as she handed him the payment, his hand drifting over to grab it and check how much she paid. It was enough for what she wanted, with an additional $20. Raising an eyebrow, he looked over at her and grabbed it, handing it back to his client.

“No need to give me extra,” he told her, sighing. “It’ll be a waste.”

“Oh? Well…”

He could already hear what she planned on telling him. He should take it anyway as she felt bad, or that it’s not right to not tip someone for their services, or—

“... I’ll take it back, then. Thank you again, Xiao. it’s a pleasure to meet you.”

—!

Xiao seemed to be caught off-guard at the turn it took, his eyes widening for a fraction of a second, but it left as quickly as it did. Regaining his composure, he nodded and simply stood up to lead her out of the shop.

“If you need anything from me, you know my number,” he told her, his amber eyes shifting away for a moment. “... And if you want to go on a date, call me.”

It was strange. He’s not used to romance, and Zhongli had all but taught him how. He wanted to say that he had the confidence like that old man has, but he’s still learning. And Gods, he’s unable to even comprehend how social interaction and cues work.

Still, he did hear her laugh and feel a gentle warmth on his shoulder.

It felt nice.

“Of course! For now, I need to go and meet my friends this afternoon. Goodbye, Xiao.”

As the warmth left his shoulder, he finally raised his head to watch the lady exit, his eyes drifting to her while he recalled the expression she wore in front of him.

Such a gentle smile, unwavering and confident. He had always admired those who could do it without a single moment of hesitation, and sometimes, he found himself loathing that he couldn’t do the same. To be able to smile and look onwards, like nothing was bothering them in the first place.

He sighed and raised a hand to sift through his hair. The bitter feeling rising in him was something he disliked, but he couldn’t bring himself to blame it on her.

It was their first meeting, and it was one that Xiao remembered well.

How ironic, considering the next ones were as eventful as the first, if not even more than anything he’s endured.

The second time this happened was when he was on one of the first few dates with Ana. The two were surprisingly able to her friends commenting on how she found someone and kept it a secret from them.

He didn't like to make their relationship known, and there was a good reason why— he hated to have them find out he has someone he tolerated better than others.

Even if it was just a simple drunkard. Or two.

Point is, it happened. While Xiao was dealing with her friends asking him about his occupation, he caught wind of Ana getting involved and being harassed by one of the older men that are obviously wasted. She was trying to tell them to stop bothering her, but it seems they weren't paying much attention and even touched her in areas that can warrant sexual harassment.

“C'mon, pretty girl, why don't—”

“Move. She's my fiance.”

The drunkard looked over at Xiao, his eyes narrowed as he noticed that he was one of the clients he tattooed years ago. He scowled at the sorry state he was in— the man had a job as a republican, but one too many scandals led him jobless.

Hmph. I'm glad I managed to tattoo him with that before then.

“Yours? Pfft, do you have anything that makes her yours, little boy?”

Xiao scoffed.

“That ring she's wearing. I gave that to her.”

Complete and utter lie, he knows Ana had it since the day they met. Though, the ring was placed on her ring finger…

“You're harassing my girl. If you don't move, I'll get security,” he warned, walking closer to Ana to gently hold her hand. “And you wouldn't like getting kicked out again, would you?”

The ex-republican scoffed but he slunk away, and the two watched as the others jeered and called out to the republican figure for what he's done.

How annoying.

“I didn't know you'd say that out of all things.”

Xiao's head whipped towards Ana. It was clear from the way she said it that it was meant to be seen as light-hearted, but from the tense moment they had, he was struggling to process it.

…

He scoffed and let her hand go.

“He won't back out otherwise.”

And he knew he wouldn't. No one would.

“How many people have you tattooed with that mark?”

“I don't know.”

“Oh, but you do. People tell me that the victims went to you to get tattooed and died after a few days!”

“Sounds like a load of bullshit.”

Xiao isn't fond of dealing with people. He didn't even bother hiding that fact, since he disliked meaningless drivel with some of them. What he hates is when they become overconfident with knowing what he didn't.

It was a big deal to them, but to the artist, he found it more of a joke. An impractical, unfunny joke. He'd rather listen to one of his co workers explain it and ruin it than this.

“A load of— listen to me, sir,” he spat, jabbing at his chest. It would've been intimidating if Xiao didn't think it was a bit childish, “I work with the agency. We're trying to figure out what the hell is happening, and if you don't say shit, I'll tell them you're that famed serial killer going on the loose!”

…

“Seriously?”

Xiao sighed.

Such is the way of being an idiot, he thinks. It's no wonder I don't bother tattooing people on a walk-in appointment.

“Wh— are you doubting my credibility?!”

“Not when you're harassing me.”

Watching him get annoyed, he saw the man out, watching as a certain someone came to the shop. Seeing the man storm off, he watched Ana raise her eyebrow at Xiao; a silent question, it seems.

What happened? He can read from her expression. Though, this made Xiao sigh and turn his head to the shop.

Come inside. That is what he was trying to say by his body language.

And she did.

It wasn't long until the two were talking about the incident: Ana had to hear Xiao explain briefly of the accusations he's given, what he replied due to the lack of evidence, and the childish fit that the reporter had to leave.

Still, that looming threat was never something he can let go of, nor he can't stop pondering about. Maybe it's just him, but there have been moments when that came to light.

… Or nearly, anyway.

“I see… Well, they're definitely too nosy for their own good.”

“Mhm,” he answered, cleaning up the pen he used for tattooing. “Anyway, are you here for your appointment?”

“Oh! Yes, I am. I want you to tattoo my arm.”

Retrieving the paper detailing her tattoo, she handed it to him. Examining what it looks, he simply raised an eyebrow.

Granted, the tattoo is simplistic— he can make do with outlining the bird like it was a constellation. It wasn't something he would suck at. However, the bird she chose was a phoenix.

Interesting metaphor. Though, he's simply curious on what drove her to choose such an interesting thing to be on her arm.

“... Hm. Alright. I can do it.”

Placing it down, he began to prepare the tools and lead her to take a seat on the chair. Pulling on the lever, he adjusted it so that she was facing up and he pulled up the arm that she wanted it on.

It wasn't long until the soft thrumming of the tattoo gun echoed as he worked on the tattoo, following each and every step of the stencil down to its smallest details. Sure, Ana and him conversed while he worked, but he remained silent to focus on doing the tattoo.

Silence was a comfortable thing for him, and sometimes, he can see it be a comfortable thing for her, too.

It did take hours until he was done with the tattoo, and although he had half of his mind to add that mark, he added something else that’s tied to him. Right by the wing had 保护 written on it, each line and curve made as accurately as one could with writing a different language.

It was different from the ones he’d do. And he made sure to keep it that way.

“There. It’s done.”

He observed how Ana’s eyes would trail over at the tattoo, moving as she examined it in great detail. He was one of the best tattoo artists she could ever find, but he knew she saw that print on the wing, too.

It was just a relief that she didn’t bother to ask.

“Since it’s your first time getting a tattoo, you can have this,” he added, grabbing a bag full of supplies with an addition he left there for her. “It’ll help when your skin gets irritated with the ink. Others had that happen to them.”

“Really? Well, I’ll use them if that happens.”

“Good.”

His amber eyes flickered from the tattoo gun and towards the bag, catching the gleam of turquoise peeking from inside.

It was convenient that he placed that thing in her bag.

Now, he had an even bigger reason to do what he had to do to those that dare to mess with what’s his.

“I didn’t know you’d come back to stalk her,” the tattoo artist commented coldly, his heels digging into the wound on the reporter’s side. “I’m surprised. Seems like you have the audacity to try again to ‘frame’ me yourself.”

He hardly cared for the amount of blood he spilt. For the tattoo artist, having to make someone be worried in his shop was more than enough to gun for the culprit.

“Tell me. Were you going to abduct her?”

The reporter had the audacity to laugh at his face, the pain sending his mind to overdrive. Scowling, he dug in deeper, feeling his patience wear thin. He hated to delay what could hurt his lo— friend, he had to correct himself. He didn’t want those people to get to her.

“W-What’s it to you? I thought—”

“I’m not involved, but that’s my friend, you garbage.”

With another dig at the wound and his gun loaded, he aimed it at his other leg. He was already sure that she would wind herself in danger because of what he’s done, so he needed to be swift if he wanted to reach Ana.

He can’t risk losing her. Not to those bastards.

“I’ll ask again. Were you going to abduct her, you vile being?”

Much to his displeasure, the reporter laughed again. Although, he can tell that he wasn’t in the right mind. The expression he wore simply reminded him of those bitter memories he had hid all those years ago in his time at Enkanomiya, and he loathed to see it on another person.

Heaven knows what drove him like this, but he had done something immoral. He needed to do this in return.

…

Yes. He needs to. She’ll die if he doesn’t.

“... Hmph. I suppose you’re no talk and bite.”

Click. BANG.

…

Xiao could vaguely hear the gunshot ring as blood began to pour out onto the pavement, but this time, he felt no guilt for his actions. He knew it was bad, but he could hardly care about what’s on his mind.

Turning around, he grabbed his phone and contacted Ana’s number. He needed to be able to speak to her. He needed to.

…

It rang once.

It rang twice.

It rang far more than that. It continued to ring and ring, amping up Xiao’s worry the longer she didn’t take the call.

And after God knows how long, he heard it click.

“Xiao?”

… She’s fine.

“... Did I wake you up?” he asked her on the phone, his voice lowering its usual volume— possibly due to his relief. “I thought you’d be awake.”

“Mm… Almost, but yeah,” he heard her yawn. “I was… Looking for that guy. Then I fell asleep for, uh… an hour or something.”

…

“Has anyone entered the house?”

“... No. I’m fine. I had it locked, like you told me to.”

Good.

“Say, you sound panicked—”

“I’m fine,” he told her, cutting her off. With a sigh, he looked at the body, then at the phone. “Anyway, I’ll… Leave you alone for the night. I have a few things I need to take care of.”

He’d have to ‘clean’ things up. He can’t let her see it.

No one can ever see the crime he's done.

@.throw-letter-away | do not republish or repost my works anywhere | 2024

[cursedcola]

TWST: The Hall Of Mirrors - Baby Update, January 24’

ART:

Guys I don’t think I’m going to be able to put art in the game because I lack a tablet. As much as I want to, it would require making *way* too many images.

So, I’m making the TW game a pure piece of interactive fanfiction as a text-based game only. I’ve poured so many hours into it and I think I would rather go extend the plot/add on details so you can visualize it rather than stress anymore about putting art in. I know I said previously that I was taking time off from it, but I actually spent a good chunk of my free time last month trying to get art to scan in. Twine does not like imagery. No, no it does not.

So I’m just going to take a wee bit more time and make the plot more detailed. I also really want to get back to writing more here >_<

PLOT:

Like I said, I’m taking more time to add in detail. Without art I feel that it needs more to make the visuals pop.

AUDIO:

I haven’t given up on this bit quite yet. Since this is a fan game that isn’t getting monetized or anything, I don’t feel the need to make original music. I’ll see if I can find anything I like enough to fit the vibes

~ On that note, this is the last written update I’m giving. I might post some pictures when I feel it's in a good place, or ask if anyone would like to test the game out (catch any technical errors or bugs)….but yeah, I’m pretty much done now? I think? Hard to believe I’ve slowly been writing this since July. It’ll be weird to not work on it anymore, but also nice since I want to write other things hehe. I will say that this is the biggest thing I have ever made for any fandom, and I hope it's something I can look back on fondly.

(Small rant below about the art because I’m me and my perfectionism demands I offer an explanation)

Like, I did the math and it just isn’t feasible to do with what I have sadly. The game was going to have 15cgs for each route’s climax. I also got a bit crazy and even did base sketches for 15 cga for the after endings without really thinking about how rough it was going to be. You can customize your Mc by their clothing, body size, eye color, hair length and color, and hair type. If I had a tablet then I could make a singular CG as the base, and then basically make a bunch of copies where I make small changes so that the proper combination will pop up depending on the choices you made. It would have took a long time but I could have done it - although using a quick combination showed that there were hundreds of different possible combinations.

I mean, there are 2 clothing options, 4 body types, 8 eye colors, 4 hair types, 4 hair lengths, and i think 6 hair colors if I remember right. I also put in customization features that have you answer Q’s that I can’t predict to edit the cg with. Regardless that’s 2X4X8X4X4X6 = 6,144 possible combinations for ONE cg. That’s kind of rough even with a tablet, so without one is just like…death. It would be 2x4x4x4 = 128 different iterations of the image (as things that are not just color changes that can be quickly altered). That’s 128 versions of 15 images. That’s 1,920 drawings. Even if they were going to be in a very simple artstyle, heck even a sketch, it’s not feasible.

I love Otomes and have always wanted to play one where your customized MC is featured in the cgs. Making a game like that is one of my life goals - but not for a fan game. If I’m doing that then it’s going to be an original work.

I’m sorry for hyping it up and making false promises. I really did want to make it happen for my mini fangame, but this is kinda just my little side project and stressing over it was zapping the fun away. So now we’re going back to plan A and just sticking to a text game >_<

[real-fanta-sea]

Prompt for the kiss no. 71

Prompt: "Not to be cringe or anything, but I really like the idea of the kiss 71 (height difference kisses where one person has to bend down, and the other is on their tippy-toes)...where Trevor is his true height. i.e. Ogg's height and Michael has to stand on his tiptoes to snog him."

I'm sorry, anon, but I saved the post as a draft and it just vanished into thin connection. So, I have to answer this way.

This work is more of a spur of the moment thing, but I kinda like the way it turned out, being it just my emotions spilt onto paper. If you'd like, you can read it on AO3 here, or under read more. I hope you'll like it as much as I enjoyed writing it! :)

tw: kissing, child abuse memories

It's been three weeks already.

An unhealthy greenish glow of flickering light tubes and the icy breath of an industrial refrigerator made him shiver as Michael, gliding on the orbit touching stars in his mind, put yet another box of ready-made microwave hamburgers into his shopping cart. If he were not a regular in this particular shop, he would have got lost. It resembled an anthill with seemingly infinite shelves and aisles, bursting with the merchandise, even though the depressed lights covered everything in the same shade of decay green. The same life outlook was shared with most of the shadows roaming around whose name tags qualified them as proud employees of Flormart.

It's been three weeks, and he still stuck around, hanging on his every word.

Michael pushed his cart further from frozen goods, and the pictures swirling and smearing all around transitioned from photoshopped vegetables to flashy fireworks of chips and other guilty pleasures he planned on indulging in later on. Some people would find the height of the shelves menacing, but to Michael, it was just a memory that pulled him from the orbit back to earth and placed him in the middle of a football pitch. The smell of sweat building up underneath his helmet. The crunch of the crisp lawn under his feet. The spotlight following him whenever he scored. Cheering faceless crowds in time with busty faceless girls' pompoms. But most of all, he felt happy again - needed, cherished, innocent, and with a bright future awaiting his embrace. But then, just as he crossed from the snacks aisle to the alcohol quarter, the football stadium lights flickered and turned bright red. All the faceless girls turned around, their mouths gaping as if someone dislocated their jaws, and the cheering turned into a hellish cry of pain. Where their eyes were supposed to be, he saw a flair, screwing itself deeper into their skull, and a stream of scarlet goo drip down on their immaculate white dresses.

It's been three weeks, and somehow, his puppy-like behaviour didn't irk him yet. Quite the opposite if he were honest with himself - he felt strangely peaceful in his company.

Michael gulped in a desperate attempt to wash down the horror that invited itself under cover of a happy memory. Shaking his head only did so much and dispersed the spectators and cheerleaders alike, in the same way shaking a snowy paperweight would. Michael's chest constricted as he felt unable to breathe in properly, people splatting and exploding upon impact all around him in his mind. Suddenly, he felt a pull under both of his shoulders and found himself flying towards the pitch-black sky, where instead of one moon, two shone down on him. As he flew closer, they shrunk into two amber irises - and Michael immediately knew who pulled him out of the memory. As he crashed into a mass of pink candy cotton clouds, his vision blurred just to clear up when he felt a solid surface under his feet and someones hot hands in his. Somehow, he found himself looking at the tips of abused old pair of sneakers he was wearing, the same pair Michael knew he wore that faithful day at the airstrip. A moment later, a couple of dark blue, equally run-down ones stepped into his field of vision. He slowly let his sight slide up on crumpled jeans, the hem of a military jacket, a pair of dog tags hanging around a slender neck, a sharp jaw, a pair of full dark lips and finally, to the pair of amber eyes, eyes that radiated worry, care and, at the same time, something he could only read as love and utmost devotion.

It's been three weeks since the incident, and anytime he woke up from a nightmare that played in his mind over and over again, he was there to soothe him; he was there waiting for Michael's tears to dampen his naked shoulder. He didn't bitch about it and didn't tell a soul in the morning.

Michael let out a shaky breath. Stopping his feet from casually continuing in their stroll proved harder than he thought, and he leaned on the shopping cart handle, running fingers through his hair. He couldn't decide what mortified him more - the creativity his brain proved to possess when playing out the horrible things he has witnessed in just a few years of his fresh adulthood, or the way it put his acquaintance on some fucking pedestal and presented him as the alpha and omega of his thoughts and desires.

"Hey Michael, are you ok?"

Speaking of the devil... "Yeah, yeah, I'm fine. I just.." Michael breathed in again and turned towards the source of the voice, trying to display a small smile by twitching his tired lips "I need a smoke, that's all."

It's been three weeks, and he got that tingling feeling in his guts already. He could barely tolerate touch or prolonged eye contact without getting goosebumps and that ticklish feeling solidifying and slicing right into his groin. Michael wanted to believe it was just his weird head showing gratitude for saving his ass, but anytime he found himself in the company of that amber-eyed twink, the longing grew worse.

"Hey, how about a bottle of something to wash the cig down?" said the guy and his oversized jeans jacket hanging from his shoulders cringed into weird shapes as he took one of his hands out of his pocket and pointed his thumb towards the shelves. He looked so adorably dishevelled in all jeans, and with his silky hair framing his hopeful face, Michael couldn't have said no to anything he would suggest. Instead of mustering the strength to say no, Michael threw another smile towards his companion and turned his back to him to choose the dream crusher he wanted to numb them with before they went to bed.

To someone who grew up in a functional family, all the labels and bottle shapes would seem the same. To Michael, however, to choose the right brand and size meant the same as selecting the bananas or avocados of the proper ripeness would for them. It was a work of art; he learned so much in the ten years of living with his stepfather. While scrutinizing the shelves, index finger and thumb scrubbing on the sides of his chin absent-mindedly, he remembered how they would come to the similar shop together, he and his mother's second husband, and how he slipped behind the shelves. At the same time, Frank chatted with the clerk, and he stuffed his lunch box with a large flat bottle of Chief's Heritage Fire Water whiskey. He had to carefully close it to avoid disturbing the aluminium foil that served as a guard from the primitive electronic protection device they had to pass through on their way out. Michael would then tuck his stepfather's sleeve, babble some cute nonsense to get candy from the unsuspicious clerk, and after they paid for the two packs of cigarettes and a beer, they would leave. Frank would let him chug on whiskey then, and if he were in an exceptionally good mood, he would let him sleep through the night without beating the shit out of him.

Finally, spotting the whiskey he knew so well on one of the top shelves, Michael attempted to grasp it but only managed to graze his fingertips against the bottom of one of the bottles that rocked gently upon touch but otherwise didn't move an inch. "Fuck", he uttered under his breath, cracked his neck and stretched onto the tips of his toes, steadying himself by holding onto one of the lower shelves. But, again, he could only touch the bottle but not get a good hold of it. He even contemplated climbing the shelves to get it, as if the shame of his disappointing height haven't already painted his cheeks bright red and didn't make him want to leave the shop right away. Just as he braced himself for the climb, eyes fixed on that damn bottle, a gentle touch of someone's hand squeezing his shoulder made him turn around. It was Trevor's hand, and even though Michael still had to look up to meet his eyes, the small sympathetic smile put him in ease in a blink of an eye.

"Chief's, huh? Good choice, Mike!" the praise in his voice made Michael shiver, and he desperately tried to ignore the warmth he was receiving through the palm still steady on his shoulder and which upset his heart into beating twice as fast as ever before. "My old man used to drink this. It tastes like cat piss but knocks you out good for the buck." Trevor's grin felt like a warm touch sunrise after countless years of freezing darkness. Michael couldn't help but soak in the warmth, allowing himself to lose himself in the feeling completely. "Let me get it for you, eh?" he heard Trevor say from somewhere near, and before he could object, most of the light was obstructed by a jeans-clad chest.

It was then when Michael closed his eyes and tried to get hold of the situation. Trevor, the guy he only knew for three weeks, pushing Michael's back onto the shelves as he leaned for the bottle but also pushing his chest almost to Michael's. If it weren't for a couple of inches of hot air and fabric between them, their bodies would brush against each other. Michael could only gulp when he opened his eyes again, and his mind provided him with the maddening picture of Trevor's naked lean chest, peppered with dark brown hair as if puberty marked its way down towards his groin with it. Michael's head was spinning when he looked up to see Trevor still busy fetching the bottle. Michael's racing imagination saw him grabbing the guy's head, crashing lips with his and dissolving into what he thought would be the best kiss he would ever receive. Michael gulped again. He had to have him.

He was anxious about the way it was too easy to raise both his hands and grab fists full of other man's jacket as if it was the most natural thing in the world. Michael didn't fight it when he felt his muscles pull on the fabric and only turned his gaze up to where he expected Trevor's eyes to look once he would feel the movement of his clothes. Michael didn't have to wait for it at all, actually; the puzzled expression was already waiting for him to drink it up. However, he couldn't maintain the contact for too long as his eyes focused on something completely different; the dark lips, deliciously parted in the unspoken question. The distance between his own and them unnerved him, and in the sparking silence, Michael again propped himself onto the tips of his toes, pressed harder on the fabric to steady himself and, closing eyes, pressed his lips to Trevor's.

For a delicious moment, the world fell apart as if some invisible force made the dimensions crash down. The trembling soft firmness against his lips sent shivers down his spine with each cautious move. Whenever Michael recalled the moment years later, he could always sense the faint smell of cigarettes, petrol and sun mixing between their bodies and the way the ground shook and cried under his feet when he felt Trevor's palms slide down his sides and pull him closer, effectively sweeping him off his feet.

Trevor seemed to be relishing at the moment as much as Michael was, but when he felt solid ground under his feet again, and the pair of arms letting go of him, Michael reluctantly broke the kiss with a coquettish wet pop and tried to catch his lost breath. Then, leaning against the shelves again, he only dared to peek up when his cheeks stopped burning from what felt like a mixture of acid and a marathon run. Trevor's face might as well have been a mirror, for he looked down on Michael with eyes wide, face red and lips wet and trembling as if he didn't get a grasp of reality yet. Michael couldn't help but let the anxiety scream right to his face in the voice of his stepfather - and there were thousands of things he might have ruined then and there, just because he didn't fight his stupid queer side, because he let himself kiss another man, because by the twisted chain of mistakes he fell from what could have been a good life to longing after a rabid smuggler in the middle of a liquor aisle.

Just as he was about to duck under Trevor's arm and run away from the voice and feelings of shame it brought about, he was stopped by a gentle, almost shy touch of a hot palm on his cheek. The slender fingers brushed against his face in such a delicate way Michael's heart skipped a beat, and closing his eyes, he leaned into the touch, seeking the soothing silence it brought with the warmth. The hand fit his cheek like a glove, Michael mused as he relaxed into slow movements of fingertips on his temples. Right there, at that moment, everything felt so right, so natural. Why has he deprived himself of the delicious heat for three weeks when somewhere deep inside, where the beating of his heart always gave away the truth, he knew he needed it from the start - well, Michael didn't know. Instead, he slid his arms around Trevor's waist and buried his face into his chest.

"Michael?"

The vibrating echo of his name, spoken in such a husky yet caring way, made Michael squeeze his arms around Trevor even tighter. He sought the last bits and pieces of it before he dared to speak up himself, afraid of spoiling the delicious contentment of the moment.

"Let's get out of here."

A gentle kiss on top of his head and long arms lacing his shoulders later, Michael found himself too far from Trevor for comfort. But even with the newly gained distance between them, a quick glance sideways has provided him with a sight of a beaming smile and a fire deep inside Trevor's eyes that made his own lips twitch into a happy upwards bow. As they rolled into the checkout, Michael has noticed the world has changed as well. The depressing shade of green has somehow transitioned into a welcoming warm white; the shadows that they passed by on their way in suddenly bloomed into happy faces. The various packings of goods exploded in all the colours of the rainbow. As Michael and Trevor emerged into the darkness of the parking lot, ready to relive their revelation in thousands of ways, Michael has felt at peace with himself for the first time in forever. The days of the inner night were over.

[mortedeveles]

Model For Me

HERE: PART FIVE.

PART ONE. PART TWO. PART THREE. PART FOUR. PART SIX. 

Summary: Y/N has always been a timid and awkward person and artist when it comes to social interactions and it only gets worse when she asks her crush and best friend, Katsuki Bakugou, to model for her.

And not just any type of modelling; Y/N needs to do a composition of a nude male body. Luckily for her, Katsuki’s personality is anything but shy and he doesn’t hesitate to undress in front of her. It’s for art, he says. But something tells Y/N that the boy has hidden and devious intentions, intentions that she has to unravel and discover.

Copyright © 2020-2021 by Veles.

Genre: fluff, humor, suggestive content (a wee bit of NSFW themes)

TW: cursing, sexual themes, nudity.

Pairing: Katsuki Bakugou x fem!artist!reader

________

QUIRK: LIQUIFY! Y/N can manipulate any type of liquid to her advantage and can also melt inanimate objects, but doesn’t work on animals, plants, or people. And at night time she can make any type of liquid into a solid!  

_________

a/n: hellooo! i have an AUTHOR’S NOTE at the end and I would appreciate if you guys took the time to read it! as always, please leave a like, follow, reblog and/or comment if you enjoyed! i really appreciate it! 

I don't like Katsuki.

I don’t like Katsuki.

We're just... friends.

You kept repeating the words in your head for a week, but it was useless. You were lying to yourself and you knew it- the feelings you had for Katsuki weren't platonic.

They had never been platonic, perhaps at the beginning of your friendship they were, but not anymore.

Since your last modeling session, you did your best to stay under the radar and avoid Katsuki. What he had said was simple and true, but whenever you recalled the moment, you wanted to scream. Maybe avoiding him wasn't the best idea- considering the fact that he hated being ignored, but you couldn't handle being close to him.

You had been perfectly aware that you had a crush on Katsuki but when he stated that you two weren't anything, why were you trying so hard to convince yourself you didn't like him?

Every glance you shot his way made your heart ache. Watching from a distance only reminded you of reality- you're nothing to him. Just a friend.

You were a friend and nothing else. He was way out of your league- you would never be able to tangle your life with his.

He was one of the top three of 1A, possessed a marvelous quirk and although he could have murderous tendencies, his determination and strength left you breathless.

But...you? You were only becoming a Pro Hero because your parents had pressured you into it and you didn't have a choice. If it was up to you, you would be a professional artist. Liquify wasn't an extraordinary quirk, compared to Katsuki's.

You were nothing compared to him.

These negative and insecure thoughts flooded your mind for the next few days, and without even realizing, you had placed some distance between your friends and yourself, including Katsuki. 

It was Wednesday and throughout the entire school day you had escaped from Katsuki- twice. Today you had your art class and you desperately needed to talk to Aneko. 

If you could talk to someone- Aneko in particular- about your current situation, you knew that it would remove the invisible weight from your shoulders.

Ranting out loud had always helped you calmed down and it was just what you needed today. Though, the interactions you avoided with Katsuki today were making you feel more stressed and overwhelmed by the minute.

When the final school bell rang, you blocked out any noise and began to pack your materials quickly. You didn't notice how Katsuki called out for you twice and how there was a glimpse of sadness on his face before it was quickly replaced by an angered expression. Or how Mina was carefully watching the scene.

You were a foot away from stepping out of school grounds when a pair of familiar warm and heavy hands clamped down on your shoulders. 

You practically ran out of the school buildings and picked up your speed when you heard Katsuki's explosions. By the sounds of it, he was not happy.

You can do it, you thought. If you can just make it to the end of the day without talking to him, everything will be fine.

''Fucking hell!'' he growled. ''Do I always have to grab you like this, you shitty girl?!'' you were used to Katsuki's shouts and insults, but this time his words made you flinch.

No, no! You wanted to scream. I can't face Katsuki today, not right now! Why can't he leave me alone?!

Your body froze on the spot, but you refused to turn around. One look at his bright red eyes would render you useless.

''Why the fuck won't you look at me?!'' he forcefully turned you around but you struggled to meet his gaze.

''I...I'm...,'' your face was burning out of embarrassment but just as you predicted, your heart ached when you met his gaze.

He was so, so close to you and yet, so far out of your reach.

''I have to go,'' you murmured and tugged his hands away from your shoulders.

 Katsuki stared at you with a bewildered look and you grew painfully aware of the sudden audience you had. Several students were near you, watching the scene develop as they giggled and murmured with each other.

''Hah?!" despite the aggressiveness in his tone, Katsuki dropped his hands and glared daggers at your head as you walked away.

You didn't dare look back and your entire body was tense- fearing that Katsuki would shout or chase after you. But once you took notice that he did neither, you felt your body relax.

Though, Katsuki never took his eyes off you. He watched you with a peculiar expression as you fled from the school. 

Once you arrived at the train station and stepped into the train, you sat down and pressed your palm over your heart. It was racing and the thumping of your heart roared in your ears.

''Everything will be okay,'' you murmured to yourself. You made sure to keep your voice low enough so no one besides yourself could hear.

''You'll get through this.'' 

When the train roared to life and the journey to the recreative center begun, you closed your eyes and doze off to the sound of your heart beat.

━━━━━━━━━▼━━━━━━━━━  

''Y/N. Let me see your progress,'' you quickly handed over your art piece to your teacher. She hummed and pushed her glasses onto the bridge of her nose, raking her eyes over the details that held all your effort.

''It's looking beautiful so far, Y/N,'' you smiled and clasped your hands together. Her compliment made your heart swell.

''Thank you, miss!" you outstretched your hands to receive your artwork but faltered when your teacher frowned and stared closely at your work.

''Is this...this boy seems very familiar...'' she murmured. You felt panic invade your veins and you discretely took your artwork with a shrug.

''Maybe you've seen him on TV, miss! I wouldn't know, he's just a friend of mine...,'' you laughed awkwardly and quickly stashed your work into your backpack. Aneko was watching the two of you with a mischievous smile and once your teacher nodded and stepped away to attend other students, she laughed loudly.

''Afraid that sensei is going to steal your boyfriend?'' she winked but you felt your stomach drop at her words. ''Don't worry, he only has eyes for you,'' she crooned. You groaned in response and shook your head. 

''I don't want to hear about Katsuki again,'' you grumbled angrily. Aneko frowned and crossed her arms.

''Wait, why? Is everything okay between the two of you?''

Your hand faltered and hovered above your backpack and you swallowed visibly.

''I...I don't know,'' you murmured and sighed loudly.

Aneko frowned and clutched your hand, squeezing it comfortingly.

''I would really like that.'' 

''If you want to talk about it, I can come over today,'' the teasing tone in her voice had quickly left and there was nothing but concern and understanding in her voice.

You smiled and nodded. 

Half an hour later, you find yourself sitting on your bed. Aneko is sitting next to you as the two of you munch on unhealthy snacks.

''So?'' Aneko asked between bites. ''What's up?''

You sighed and dropped the snack on the bed. This would take long.

''As you know, I've had feelings for Katsuki for like, since the beginning of studying at U.A. We've only been friends and that's okay with me, but something changed in the last session.'' you let out another dramatic sigh and grab a chip.

''Actually, since the second session, Katsuki has been acting a bit weird...'' you grumbled and crossed your arms. ''He's been oddly quiet and sometimes even distant and well, mom was home in our last session.''

You heard Aneko choke and splutter. Her reaction made you laugh and shake your head in amusement. 

''Oh my god,'' Aneko cackled. ''What did your mom say?!''

Nervously, you scratched your head and slumped your shoulders.

''There's the problem. Um... so we were having dinner together, and my mom asked us if we were a couple of and-,'' you were interrupted by Aneko's loud laughter. 

''Jesus!" she wheezed and turned over in your bed. You snickered. ''Did she really say that?''

Your face warmed up at the memory and you nodded. ''Yeah! It was really embarrassing. Anyways...'' you faltered and lowered your voice. ''The thing is, I just said and Katsuki well, he said that we weren't dating. But when he said that, I don't know why it hurt so much? His tone was so cold and firm...'' You groaned and buried your head in your hands.

''I don't know what's wrong with me,'' your words were muffled behind your hands.

You heard Aneko sigh and gently remove your hands from your face.

''Nothing's wrong with you, babe. You like the guy, and that’s why it hurts,'' she offered you a smile. 

''Tomorrow's our last session and I don't know what to do.'' 

Aneko hummed in response. She grinned deviously and clasped her hands together.

''Well then, that's it! Tomorrow, you should confess your feelings at the end of the session,'' 

Your mouth went dry and you swallowed thickly. 

''What?'' was the first thing that came to you. ''No, I can't do that...''

Aneko sighed and cradled your face between her hands, making your cheeks look squishy.

''You can and you will, honey. The boy likes you, that's obvious. You should at least tell him how you feel,'' Aneko's gazed drifted away but quickly returned to you, this time with a grin on her lips. ''And who knows? You'll probably score a date for the weekend!" she shot you a wink. 

''Just relax, Y/N. Don't overthink it. He likes you, and everything will be perfectly fine. Okay?'' she smiled softly.

You nodded and inhaled deeply. Aneko was right. You were stressing over nothing! Tomorrow would be the last session and by the end of it, you would make sure that your feelings were known to Katsuki.

But knowing your luck, things wouldn't go as planned.

''You're right,'' you forced a smile. ''There's nothing to worry about.''

hi guys! can’t believe i have 100 follows this fast. i really appreciate all the fb and support i receive from everyone <3 to celebrate 100 followers, i will be OPENING my REQUESTS! here’s some of the basic information;

-i will open my requests for 5-8 slots

-i will share a prompt list and you can choose a number, character and whatsover!

-my requests will be available for MHA and JJBA. 

reminder: my requests are not open YET. i will post an individual post with all the details explained! this is just like an intro. if you’re interested, stick around to stay updated! xx 

TAG LIST:  @bakugou-is-my-daddy @justanotherlifeff @seokookchan @playboygeniusphilanthropist @awwjesus-gross @jenna-sakura @mykuronekome @ggclarissa @irenevyas @mrstodorooki​ @warmchoccymilk​ @coupsieddori​ @yikerb​ DM me if you want to be on my taglist or if I forgot to add you!! 

[rae-arts777]

I want to talk about my religious trauma

I just want to tell my story, I know mine is minor, I know there’s worst out there, but I’m hoping maybe mine cause reach out to anyone experiencing the same so they feel less alone

Let’s start way back

Edit: (sorry I should have put this earlier) TW: slight sexual assault, self harm, suicide mention

Growing up a christian adventist, I knew Friday night to Saturday was worship. No electronics or TV unless it was veggie tales, or a Bible cartoon, and church Saturday.

Of course I acted out a bit, and would get scolded for not staying still. My mother however wasn’t upset at me for ruining church, just upset I wasn’t behaving and granted don’t blame her cause I was a brat lol. I would get in more trouble if I went with my grandma. I was “disrespecting the lord in his house” and well...I mean it’s hard for a child to sit still for 8 hours wearing a dress and shoes that made me itchy and gave me blisters

Now church was fun in some sense. Got to see my friends, food after services, I loved being able to help in the kitchen and help the elders as well.

Good right?

Well...as a child, we think what we know if right. I thought the way we had church was common to everyone. When I started school, it was different for me. I asked “why do my friends go to church on Sunday?” My grandma told me “they just don’t know the proper way, it’s your duty to tell them”

I remember...being really horrible towards a kid who’s family was an atheist. We were still friends, but I will tell him “you’re trusting the devil”. My words never seem to hurt him since he laughed them off, but I never stopped...I look back and have so much guilt. So much guilt towards others too since I tried to tell them church was Saturday’s, and going on Sunday was wrong. I think about how horrible I was, cause my religion never taught me to be accepting to others beliefs, it taught me that it’s my duty to turn others to the right way. And that makes me upset. If my religion was the religion of “accepting everyone no matter what” then why is every one else’s religion the work of the devil? And why are baptism, also who was Christians, deem “evil” like Catholics in our religion.

Middle school. I started attending the church school. Hell

I didn’t like our new pastor, something about the way he said things just...didn’t stick. His kids were a nightmare. They torment everyone. Got teachers fired they didn’t like. And went crying to their parents if they didn’t get their way. No they were not toddlers. They were teens. One got in between my old best friend and I, and since then her and I were never the same.

Because I liked art and anime...I was the weird kid, so they constantly picked on me. Pastor kids telling me certain kids here didn’t deserve to be made by god. That god made a mistake. I told them to stop, but they would go “you just don’t know. It’s hard for us!!! We don’t mean what we say!” And looking and writing this now, that was the first gaslighting and toxic friendships I experience.

It made me more mad the pastor told the whole church that his kids were perfect children. And they set an example of how all the kids in the church could act. That pastor family was just horrible. Lies, manipulation, just rude. He would make side remarks about my mum’s blonde dye hair. He would say something to my mum if I wore pants or a leather jacket to church. Just the way he said things, made my mum feel like she was a horrible parent. They made side comments when my dad would finally show up.

“I’m sorry my dad wasn’t constantly gone, he’s was too busy fighting for our country.” Is what they would want us to say.

Church become a chore. Not a joy. And when we got a new pastor, one I started to connect with, we moved away and in with my grandma

Now highschool. This is where I started drifting away from religion. I love my grandma..I really do ...but she’s so extreme. The Bible this. The Bible that. I can’t have a normal conversation without her being up the Bible. Can’t watch a movie, show, or listen to music that’s not Christian without her bringing up the Bible or turning it into a Bible lesson. I hated going to church. I hated hearing “repent. The world is ending soon”

Hearing constant that our young generation is filled with the devil, feeling all the eyes of the elders on me as I’m trying to comfort someone’s child so they can enjoy church peacefully

Hearing anyone experiencing love towards the same gender is the devil’s working

That everything I like is filled with the devil

My grandma start forcing religion worst and worst down my throat. Saying I have to be prepare. I need to make my choice. Don’t I want to be in heaven with everyone? I need to give myself to god

I won’t see my family members who passed away Catholic.

That I need to tell my other side of the family who’s Catholic the right way

The news comes on....hearing the Bible says this the Bible says that

Trying to defend trump with the Bible

This pandemic is the first plague, the world will end soon

The studies getting more and more. I can’t even read the Bible just to study out of joy cause I feel like someone is breathing down my neck.

I’m getting a headache just thinking about it.

And then I’m introduce the rotten apples of my religion.

We shouldn’t wear mask it’s God’s air

Only having faith is god will keep you from getting sick and heal you

Ever remember of LGBT is going to hell

Woman who abortion are going to hell

People will tattoos go to hell

People who don’t read the Bible everyday are going to hell

People who want to make this religion more open and accepting, are hearing the devil and are going to hell

People who kill themselves are going to hell

Mental illness isn’t real; it’s just the devil and you just have to be happy cause you have god.

I told my mom I can’t do it anymore, I just can’t, it’s more forced down on me too much. If the world is ending what’s the point? What’s the point of college? What’s the point of life? What’s the point of looking for love?! Cause I’ve been told so many times my own children won’t ever get to adult or teen hood cause the world will end! What’s the point. I’m so grateful to have a mother who understands..

And it pisses me out with these Christian movies. A boy is about to kill himself, and is getting told “you’ll go to hell! You really want that?! To go to hell?!” Why are you showing this?! That’s a last thing a suicidal person needs to hear. They don’t need a fucking Bible lesson, they need comfort!!! As a person who’s tried drowning, choking, and harming themselves, I fucking know I wouldn’t want someone to find me and say “you’re going to hell for that!”

And then you have those horrible people who think just cause they are religious that it gives them a right to be a shitty person. My grandma would fucking forgive a murder if they came out as Christian.

I told my grandma once “I do want to be more involved with the church, I want to give a sermon” and she told me “you can give a small one, not a full one, god did not use women to preach, he used men. I rather you do the children’s story”

.......

The Vice President...some Christians hate her cause “god didn’t intend for women to lead, if he did his apostles would have been women”

my grandma says “she slept her way to the top!” But oh! She didn’t mind if trump, a man who’s assaulted god knows how many women was in office...

Forgive everyone....you’re suppose to forgive abusers..my bullies....I was told to forgive them even if they never said sorry..cause god wants us to forgive

I allowed..a boy to convince me to do things...cause men always knew what was right...it was ok as long as we didn’t have sex...and it was ok...cause he was a Christian boy...

I just try to be a good human...I have sickenly forgave so many people who’ve hurt me....and now...I’m the pushover...

But what I did was wrong...

I’ve just....drifted away slowly...my grandma has sort of stop trying, maybe cause I’m an adult so I can make my own choices..maybe my mum told her something...

But the things she says makes me feel ashame for being Christian....

For the longest time I thought we were perfect people...now that I’m older...I see we’re just as bad..if not worst...

It makes me so sick...just thinking..how I forgave people who HURT ME cause ...if I can’t forgive, then God doesnt want me.

If god really wants all of his “children” then why if it when we says “I don’t want to forgive the person who gave me this trauma” then it’s “i forgave you why can’t you forgive them? It’s so simple, you really can’t do something that simple? Guess you don’t want to go to heaven”

I’m so done

I’m so tired..

I have a headache and started crying a bit while writing this and there’s so much more. But my wrist hurts and just...I want to scream.

But for the majority...that’s my religious trauma.

I’m not hoping to gain anything, just to reach to anyone else who’s going through the same emotions...you’re not alone ok?

[antivirus-mh-au]

Antivirus - Chapter 4

First Chapter Previous Chapter Ao3 Link TW: None Note: I am completely exhausted and working on a laggy computer. I will add these links when I’m not a zombie trying to use a zombie laptop. Thank you for your patience.

Click the link. Let the page load, the old laptop whirring as it opened. A YouTube video, like so many others. Opening shot, an abandoned building in the middle of the night, muffled voices talking.

Shrieking, screaming. The camera lowered as the one holding it ducks for cover. Four voices yelling at once. Suddenly, laughter. Relieved laughter.

"Fucking bats!" A man called out. The camera raising, focusing on the dark shapes fluttering out the window.

"We need to be careful," a woman said, voice light-hearted. "Those things carry rabies."

Laughter breaking through the group again, a logo of a camera appearing on the screen.

He paused the video and glanced down at the title. "OUR GREATEST HITS, VOLUME ONE." 

He sent a text to his friend.

Phoenix: who are these assholes?

The reply was immediate.

Skully: they're my assholes. College kids I made friends with on Twitter. Really cool. I don't remember being that cool when I was twenty.

He grunted aloud. Lucky him, remembering anything about his twenties. Not everyone was so fortunate.

Skully: They’re part of the MH fandom. They actually live in Alabama and were able to track down some of the locations in the videos.

He rolled his eyes.

Phoenix: Find any bodies?

Skully: Just blood.

He shuddered, pulling his hooded jacket closer to his body.

Phoenix: Cool. Morbid, but cool.

He was such a liar.

Skully: Anyway, not what I was sending them to you about. They just made a new video today and I think you might be interested in it

He grimaced.

Phoenix: This is about your crazy boyfriend, isn’t it?

Skully: He’s not my boyfriend!! I don’t know him!!!

Skully: And you know my partner doesn't share.

Phoenix: But it’s still about him. The prophet guy.

Skully: … Yeah. But you should still watch this! I think you’ll find it interesting

He leaned back against the wall and huffed.

Phoenix: Why?

Skully: … the kids talk about Tim, alright?

Skully: They talk about him a lot.

His fingers hesitated over the keys. He lingered, reading the words again and again. Tim…?

Phoenix: Fine.

Phoenix: Send me the video.

The video, almost thirty minutes long, took its sweet time to load. First thing on screen was the same logo as before, a camera with a generic full face mask behind it. The name of the channel followed, MH Unlocked. He shook his head.

The name faded out, replaced by three people on a couch. Two women, one man. A second man sat on top of an end table on the right side of the couch. The lamp that probably belonged in that spot sat on the floor at his dangling feet.

The woman on the left, a bushy haired brunette with deep tan skin, a high ponytail and golden brown eyes, gave the camera a grin.

"Hey investigators!" She waved. "We're back with another video."

"And this one's a doozy," the woman beside her said, raising her mug, which proudly bore a pride flag. If he had to guess, it was the lesbian one. Her hair was dyed orange, peachy skin flushed by makeup or a light sunburn, it was hard to tell.

"Before we start," the first woman said, "be sure to leave a like and give us your thoughts and theories in the comments! I promise, we read all of them."

"Eventually," said the man on the end table with a grin. He was the palest white guy ever, with curly black hair, glasses, and about a thousand freckles on his face. The man next to him gave him a shove, and the first man burst into laughter. 

The other man, with skin several shades darker than the brunette and a suit far too good looking for this kind of environment, rolled his eyes. He waved a hand, with a silver ring on his index finger, at the camera.

"You already know us," he said. "I'm Mix."

"I'm Holly!" The brunette on the other end said.

"I'm Wren," the orange haired woman said.

"And I'm Steve!" The freckled man grinned wide, his green eyes practically glowing with excitement. "We've got a big story for you guys today."

"Oh, very big," Wren said, before taking a drink from her mug.

"Big like the worst headache you've ever had," Mix said with a smiling roll of his eyes. Wren smacked him on the shoulder without looking away from her drink.

"So." Holly reached up from the floor and pulled up a laptop. The brand logo was covered up with a pineapple sticker. Her eyes scanned the screen as she fiddled with the touchpad, Wren leaning over to see what she was doing.

"Last night," Holly said. "Something weird happened over on the Neophyte_Calling YouTube channel."

"Weirder than normal," Wren said.

"Yeah," Holly said. She glanced over towards Steve, who swiped at the screen of his phone. He looked up.

"We'd show the footage but people don’t seem to like when we do that," Steve said. "Something something spreading the sickness." He shrugged with a smile. "But we've all watched it and we can give you a play by play of what happened."

"It might not seem that dramatic," Wren said, "but the implications are pretty intense."

"I'll say," Mix said. 

"Last night, at around ten pm," Holly started, "in the middle of his usual stream, the Neophyte went quiet. The way he does when whatever he's supposedly channeling is trying to talk through him. After about thirty seconds of silence, he started bleeding onto the table from his head, which remember, is mostly off screen. He said, "he's coming," and fell over as the screen glitched out. For another hour there was complete silence before the stream randomly ended."

"Weird shit," Steve said.

Holly nodded. "Very weird shit - but in character for him."

"Now, for those of you that don't know who the Neophyte is," Mix said, "he's the guy you see people calling 'the Prophet' in this fandom. Talks like a drug addict on a high, but many people believe there are secret messages in his words that can be decoded. They say those messages predict the future."

"Not everyone believes this," Holly said.

"I don't," Steve said, hunched over and watching his friends. "But there's definitely something funny-weird about the guy. Very… uncanny valley."

"Sometimes, unprompted, he'll stop talking and do this creepy voice." Holly cleared her throat, and when she spoke again, she lowered her voice, taking on an odd pitch to her words. "Grains of sand in the hourglass of time. Your existence is irrelevant." She shuddered, and let her voice go back to normal. "Something like that."

"That's an awful impression but it gets the job done," Mix said.

"You try doing one better," Holly said.

"The one thing all of these coherent messages have in common," Wren said, "is that they're all addressed to the same person. Someone called Tim."

Steve nodded. "And you can guess who most people think that 'Tim' is."

"It's been ten years since Marble Hornets ended," Mix said. "But it would make sense if it were Tim Wright the Neophyte was talking to. He was the only survivor, after all."

"But that would imply that Tim is watching the Neophyte streams," Wren said.

"And if he's watching the streams, he could be aware of us, too," Holly said.

The four went quiet. Mix looked at the floor. Steve traded a look of discomfort with Holly. Wren took a sip of her mug. She pulled it away from her lips with a sigh.

"If he does know about us," Wren said, "why not come forward and tell his side of the story? He could change the whole game by revealing himself."

"Probably because he's a fucking murderer," Steve said. Mix glared at him, but Steve only shrugged. "You know I'm right!"

"He did kill two people," Holly said, looking at her laptop. "Just because Kralie killed Jay doesn't make what Tim did right."

"But what other choice did he have?" Mix said. "Alex wouldn't have stopped trying to kill Tim. One of them needed to die."

"That doesn't matter to the legal system," Holly said.

"We're getting off topic," Wren said, raising a hand. "It doesn't matter if the Neophyte was talking about Tim from Marble Hornets or not. What matters is that someone is going somewhere and that's apparently good news for the Neophyte or whatever he's channeling."

"You can say the Operator, it's okay," Steve said.

Holly glared at him from over Wren's head.

"It does matter, though, if he's talking about Tim in particular," Mix said. "What if Tim is heading back to Alabama? Maybe he left after the end of the series."

"It's possible," Holly said, "but that's pure speculation. We don't know that."

"Isn't speculation all we do?" Steve said, swinging his legs gently. "Come on, let's give the audience something to chew on. What do you guys think the Neophyte was talking about? The crazier the theory, the better."

Mix frowned. "Well…"

With a shake of his head, the viewer closed the tab. He'd seen enough. Enough to make his eyes burn and hands shake. He took a deep breath, and shuddered, pulling his jacket around himself. It was a warm day beyond the safe confines of this abandoned house, but that didn't stop the chills shooting through him.

Was he afraid? Or was he angry? 

With a growl he thrust the laptop away from him and reached for his sketchbook. The pen he'd been using before still rested inside. Forcing his thoughts away from the video, he focused everything in his mind onto his art.

He wasn't a great artist, but his memory was good, and with nothing else to do most days, his skill was getting better. With proper art tools, he could've even gotten great at it. But there was no need for greatness right now. Art was supposed to be healing, and that more than anything was what he needed.

In his mind he captured the image, something he'd seen so many times before. Grinding his teeth, he let the image flow onto the page once more. His favorite thing to draw, the one thing that really made him smile.

Losing track of time was part of the appeal. With the light from his laptop, he could see the whole page, or at least enough of it to work. The ink bled into the paper, the lines assembling into a rough image that soon became a face. He could see it so well in his mind's eye. As if the man he pictured was right in front of him. But he wasn't. And if the man knew what was good for him, he'd stay that way.

The sound of a new message on Discord got his attention. He glanced at the time instead. An hour, flown by, his mind lost in an ink-based daydream. Exhaling hard, he looked back at the art on the page. It wasn't finished. It would probably never be finished. But as it was… it was perfect.

Tim Wright made a very good model, unaware of that as he was.

Running his hand over the page, feeling the indents where his pen dug deep into the paper, he shook his head, and smiled.

"Better not be coming back, Tim," the man, the Maniac, said. "If you do… I'll have to kill you.”

[mor-beck-more-problems]

Desperate Gal Pals of White Crest || Morgan & Cece

TIMING: Current

PARTIES: @thebickedwitchoftherest & @mor-beck-more-problems

SUMMARY: Morgan and Cece hit a roadblock with their research on an exorcism, so they take a field trip.

CONTAINS: drug manipulation tw (magic poisoning), gun (not fired), 

“I know I literally can’t get tired, but if I see one more book handwave harm exorcisms away with ‘wooo dark magic’ and ‘oooh dangerous! Sacrifice!’ I am going keel over with exhaustion. You’ll have to call Regan for my autopsy and explain to my girlfriend that boredom and no helpful answers is the new hip cause of death.” Morgan flopped down the side of the couch, her head dangling over the edge. “Tell me you’ve got something to banish Puritain Carrie,” she groaned. “I need a win. Literally...any kind of win. A can of seltzer of a win.”

Cece was lying on her back on the ground, book in hand and avoiding reading it by listening to Morgan’s melodramatic self-eulogy. She at least knew how to spice up a story and make it more interesting. She made dying of boredom sound marginally interesting. The irony was not lost on Cece. “That’s a lot of pressure to put on me for the record. How am I supposed to talk at your funeral and make your death sound badass that way?” Cece eventually gave in, shutting the book and tossing it away from her in her own dramatic show of exacerbation. “Nothing. These books have lots about magic and yet a surprisingly lacking amount of ghosts. My coven really should have expanded their horizons a bit.” Cece stated, mostly to herself. She rolled over onto her stomach, finding Morgan’s eyes again and pushing herself up, “We need some new source material. There’s got to be somewhere around town with some decent exorcism knowledge, right?”

“You’ll have to make something up much cooler,” Morgan sighed. “Just don’t promise any of my fae friends to tell the truth about me and you’ll be good.” She looked over at the pile of books around them, new purchases on the diamond card Deirdre had gotten for her, and pulls from the Scribrary. She felt guilty about those the most, sneaking in and using Rio’s resources for something he was bound to hate. “We have to be looking in the wrong place. The wrong key-words, or the wrong sections in the library. You would think ‘most brutal harm exorcism’ would be a short dig, but…” She puffed air through her lips. “Apparently the powers that be think discretion is super ‘in.’ Tell me what you found. Let’s go over it again.”

“No worries there. I don’t like making promises to humans.” Cece laughed, thinking of any ideas she could to spice up Morgan’s imagined death and make it a bit more grandeur. She wondered how she could fit fireworks into the story. Maybe one of the daredevil car jumps through a flaming circle. No, this was all way too distracting when she was supposed to be focusing. She shook the thought away and reached for the notepad that she had used to take any notes that she found vaguely helpful. Emphasis on vague. “Nothing too useful. I found some old history on this former Scribe that studied exorcisms. John something. Sounded like a real bore. I got an autobiography by this Amanda Wallace chick who wrote about her haunted house and how she got rid of it. Not exactly sure how factual that one actually is. Basically, I have nothing but crap. You sure we can’t just call the ghostbusters in for this one?”

Morgan’s brow furrowed at the name Wallace. “Is that name from a comic book movie? It sounds familiar…” She turned herself right side up and crawled to Cece to read over her shoulder. She moved so fast, her focus was groggy, but the illustration on the page she was looking at definitely seemed familiar. “No, wait, that’s...fuck, that was in something I read. Not here but…” Morgan fumbled for her laptop and started digging through her browsing history. She looked sheepishly over at Cece, glad that she couldn’t blush. “...Don’t judge me, okay?” She mumbled. Buried under searches for pirated theory articles, halloween themed lingerie, and Buzzfeed quizzes for Which Character from Grey’s Anatomy Are You, was several rows of local blogs, niche social media groups, old news reports, and PDF access links. Morgan scrolled past them all to get to an access link to an article from the library. There was the same picture, Amanda Wallace and a few others. The caption read, Cromwell was mentored in his early years by the local Ghost Watchers Society. Pictured, left to right… The article was about a man named Ernie Cromwell. He was arrested, several times, for vandalism, arson, and public disturbance. He claimed he needed to in order to make the ghosts go away. He also escalated to a much more deadly life of crime after this, around  the period Roy ought to have been town. That’s why she’d been looking in the first place. “Hey, Cece?” She asked. “You wouldn’t happen to know if any of these people are alive, do you?”

“I hope you know that prefacing with that only makes me want to judge you that much more.” Cece perked up immediately, if she wasn’t interested in studying Morgan’s open tabs before, she was definitely interested now. Fortunately, it was so much better than what Cece had predicted. “Oh my god. This might be more embarrassing than if you just had like straight up porn in your search history. Which for the record, I’m in full support of.” Cece added in, finger gunning and winking in Morgan’s direction. “Please tell me you’re an Izzie too.” Cece tried focusing again once Morgan asked her a question about recognizing anyone. She scanned the page but shrugged after a long moment, “I wish I could be more useful. But most of my magic knowledge was before I got to town. I’ve been about as low key as I can manage since I’ve been to town.”

Morgan rolled her eyes. “I appreciate the sex positivity, and so does my girlfriend. And, you know, hopefully she appreciates the spider web themed set I ended up buying. And I’ve taken way too many and no matter what I do, I’m solid 50% Izzie or Meredith. My dark and twisty ways defy simple categories.” She wiggled her brow, mouth curling into a grin, and turned back to the picture. “I swear I’ve seen these faces somewhere. And the names. You don’t remember any from the paper or…” Morgan took out her phone, scrolling furiously. “Oh. Mother of Earth! Oh, this is so weird!” She showed Cece an event page on the UMWC social media page. Two people stood next to a handmade poster advertising GhostWatch Parties. Ostensibly, it was a horror film club. But the names of the two faculty shown were Amanda Wallace and Leigh Cromwell. There was no accounting for coincidence, but it seemed pretty likely that there was a connection to Ernie. “They’re meeting tonight. We have to go, right? Scope things out, set up a time to talk better and see what they can offer, or ask if they have any exorcist finding tips! We’re going, right?”

“Anything for you, as usual.” Cece might not be Deirdre’s biggest fan, but she still wished for a killer sex life for the two. “You know? I can see it, honestly. I support it. Among the characters you could get, I think those are two of the better ones.” Morgan seemed sure that the faces would be familiar, so Cece did her best to study them again, but just ended up shrugging. “You think I read the paper?” She asked the woman curiously. Not a moment later and Morgan was poking the screen and then changing pages to find a social media page. From the college. Cece gasped overdramatically, “Right under your nose this whole time? Also, do you think this horror movie club accepts members that don’t go to the college? Actually never mind that’s not important right now.” Cece jumped up and found her bag, moving towards the coat closet to slip her jacket on. “Well obviously we have to go. What other choice do we have? Plus I need to find out if this club is even worth my time. Which is obviously like a side objective. Priority is the ghost thing for sure. Let’s go!”

The GhostWatchers of White Crest met at Professor Wallace’s ivy covered town house near campus. The gathering was small; only three cars littered the street beyond the driveway. Morgan parked them at the end of the street, positioned to make a quick and easy getaway. The bue-white light of a television illuminated one of the back rooms, bright enough to illuminate parts of the yard as Morgan approached. She knocked on the door gently, but found it already open. Inside was exactly what you would expect from a liberal arts professor. Stacks of papers, catalogues for bamboo kitchenware, and books bursting with post-it’s in every room. Morgan wrinkled her nose at the normalcy of it all. At least she kept a few decorative skull paperweights in the great room and kept the foyer clean.

“How do you think we should play this?” She asked in a whisper, lingering in the front hall, one eye on the back den where the movie, The Innocents, was still going on. “Is it rude if we snoop around first? Should we split up?” Somewhere, she thought, there had to be a private library.

“Wow this place is boring.” Cece yawned as the two slid in through the open door and studied the office that they found themselves in. “You’d think that someone obsessed with exorcisms might have a bit more personality.” She pushed aside a self help book lying on the desk and took a glance at her desk calendar, “She has scheduled times for lunch.” As if that was the most boring thing on the planet.

Either this woman was the worst occultist she had ever seen, or all of her more interesting things were hidden away somewhere. “It’s totally rude, but technically speaking she’s the one that left the door open. She should be more careful about her belongings. So let’s snoop.” Cece wasted no time moving to dig through her other belongings. Given how nonchalant the rest of the room was, Cece wasn’t convinced they were going to find anything too bizarre or helpful just sitting out in the open.

“Oh, didn’t I tell you? They hired me because the fun department was empty,” Morgan teased. She watched her feet carefully as she tiptoed onto the plush carpet with her muddy leather oxfords. She hadn’t planned on playing hide and seek in some dusty mini-mansion when she’d left the house, so she was left cringing at every squeak the leather made on the floor and hoping against hope that everyone in the den was too engrossed in the movie to notice.

As luck would have it, the library was one room off from the den. Morgan pointed at it, giving Cece a look of, I don’t know if I got this. One foot, then the other. Could Cece get in there first.

In the den, someone yawned and got up, murmuring about refills. Morgan dropped to the floor, panic in her eyes. Was this the worst idea ever?

The library had to have something useful. If it was just filled with normal literature and more self help books, Cece was going to lose her mind. At least Morgan seemed pretty into the whole espionage thing, tiptoeing around the place and slipping through the door into the library as silently as a mouse. That swiftness and suave attitude seemed to dissipate when movement could be heard from farther in, someone getting up to get a refill. Morgan dropped immediately and Cece remained in the doorway, unsure what the best thing to do in this scenario was. Would the person asking even come this way? Cece crept back a few steps, peaking around to get just a moment’s glance of someone walking towards them. They would definitely see Morgan if something wasn’t done. Would these people be more interested in calling the cops or offing anyone in their way? Cece couldn’t be sure enough, so she figured her only option was to be a distraction of some sort. Back in the office, Cece found a paper weight on the desk and pushed it aside, sliding it off the desk with a loud crack against the floor. That ought to do some distracting.

Morgan heard the paperweight fall before she realized what Cece was doing. Her head whipped around, question marks sprouting all over her face. But whoever was heading her way turned the other direction to see the commotion, and Morgan was able to take her chance. Hopefully Cece wouldn’t be so far behind.

The library was the same as the rest of the house, expected to the point of comical. There were shelves of matching leatherbound British novels, another set of American ones, a whole row of paperbacks and theory that were almost certainly just for posturing, and… who lived like this? Who actually worked here? This was a magazine-style library. Which meant-- “Fuck.” Morgan covered her mouth and flinched. Too loud. Right.

She started peeking behind books, looking for hidden volumes, then the large desk centered at the back of the room. No one really had secret compartment doors, at least not here, the house was too small but-- Morgan kicked back the rug that covered the floor. Cut into the pale hardwood was a heavy door, older and darker, with a black handle that looked to be iron. She peeked her head out, searching for Cece to get her over here, quickly, before anyone realized how reckless they were being in a stranger’s house.

The door was well-oiled and rose silently at Morgan’s tug, and inside-- “Yes!” Beams of light from the other room flashed on. The shadows in the library vanished. It was time to hurry.

Cece ducked behind the desk to avoid whoever was coming towards her. She had successfully distracted the man from discovering Morgan but hadn’t quite thought through the fact that the man would now be coming towards the source of the noise that Cece had caused. Cece began rifling through her purse quickly, pulling a bin of powder free and cupping some into the palm of her hand. Once the footsteps finally became close enough, Cece popped up from behind the counter. “Hi there.”

The man jumped before settling on a confused expression, “Who are you?” He asked, more curious than angry. Probably unsure if Cece was supposed to be there in the first place. “Uh-” Cece began, trying for a long moment to think of an excuse for too long before finally giving up, “I can’t think of a good excuse” She shrugged before pulling her hand up and opening her palm, blowing and sending the powder directly into his face. He stumbled backwards and Cece jumped forward, grabbing onto his shirt and helping direct his fall into the chair by the desk. She patted him softly. Better to get some rest right there.

She slipped across the floor until she found Morgan and then crawled over to her, “For the record I didn’t sign up for this” Cece whispered at her, eyeing the new door that she had discovered. Before hearing more voices. “Welp, after you!”

Morgan’s muscles were already clenched with confusion and unspoken questions. “Sign up for what?” She hissed. “You said we should snoop! Nothing bad has happened, right? And look at all the spooky books down there!” She shined the flashlight on her phone down the ladder, showing tables full of messy, half open books, arcane circles etched on leather, and iron chimes dangling from the ceiling. “Oh, yes, this is the jackpot.”

“Is it now?” A voice called behind them.

Morgan barely suppressed a squeal as Amanda Wallace filled in the doorway. Her straw-white hair seemed to puff up out of sheer rage. “I don’t remember receiving your RSVP, Professor Beck,” she said stiffly. “May I ask what you are doing in my library, opening my trap door?” A smaller, slightly younger head popped up over Amanda’s shoulder and murmured that she’d see the students out. Leigh Cromwell, probably. Guess they weren’t too late for the party after all.

“Hey, Amanda--!” Morgan drew out the words longer, as if a few more syllables in Amanda would help smooth things over, or give her a better idea about what to do next.

“Don’t ‘hey’ me,” Amanda snapped, bristling with a bitter frown. Downstairs, now.” She pointed into the dimly lit trapdoor room, and her look did not suggest that she was entertaining counterarguments at the moment.

“Ummm” Cece considered what may or may not be considered to be bad in Morgan’s mind. And depending on that, whether or not she wanted to share that with Morgan. Putting a man to sleep was hardly that bad, right? She didn’t hurt the man. He would wake up and at worst his memory would be a bit foggy and maybe have some nausea. Nothing that would last more than a week. “Define bad.”

Morgan was right, this was a jackpot. The space was different from the rest of the house. It didn’t look like the end result of an HGTV makeover, for starters. It wasn’t basic or expected. This room was hidden away and it was used. This woman that the two were spying on definitely used this room.

Speaking of the woman they were spying on. Apparently they had been discovered. Cece awkwardly watched  the exchange. Apparently the two were super close work colleagues. “If there was no RSVP, does that mean she wasn’t supposed to bring a plus one?” Cece grinned slightly, completely ignored by the woman and instead following behind Morgan as the two were led away from the space they had just found.

Morgan backed down into the room, feeling, all of a sudden, that she should have told more people where she was going. Of course, she’d told Deirdre they had a lead, but if she were to drop a pin right now, would Deirdre know what to do with it? Remmy might, but the part where she had to explain what she was doing here might not lead to the best of conversations. But, fortunately, there weren’t any high tech keypads standing in their way of getting out. Just one seriously perturbed old woman.

Morgan made her way over to where the stacks of books were the largest and the shelves were packed to bursting. She looked for sigils, icons, anything recognizable. No one ever labeled ‘find harm here,’ but there were unavoidable markers if you knew how to look for them.

“I should report you to the police, for trespassing,” Amanda snapped. “And I could do much worse. But I would like to know first, Professor Beck, what you are doing in my trapdoor of all things. Do you have no respect for others?”

“On the contrary--” Morgan said carefully, flashing Cece big ‘what do we do?’ eyes, “I have the utmost respect for you and your interests.” She backed away until she could back no further. “The interests you keep a secret, especially. I think I might have something that’s of interest to your attention. A ghost something that is, let’s say, too good for mercy.” She reached out for one of the tomes, a leatherbound journal, by the look of it. Not as old as it was pretending to be, and bursting with pasted-in clips and notes.

“Not so fast.” She took out a little pearl handled pistol, gold and shiny, like something out of Agatha Christie. She cocked the safety with a slow, deliberate click. “That’s sensitive material, Professor. Access has to be earned. Tell me the truth, do what I say, and maybe we’ll see about it.”

The two hadn’t found themselves in an ideal situation, Cece was willing to admit that much. The woman that had discovered them hardly seemed especially dangerous. She was a college professor, taller than Cece was but that was hardly an impressive feat. The only thing she looked capable of seriously harming was a student’s grade point average. Still, the woman had enough to hide that she kept it hidden beneath the library, and she really didn’t like the intrusion by her colleague.

Morgan attempted to sweet talk her way out of it. Honestly, Morgan came across as such a pleasant person that Cece probably would have laughed it off if she had found the woman trespassing in her own home. Then again, maybe that didn’t count when Morgan had already previously lived with her. When Morgan reached for a book, hopefully one that Morgan deemed important, Amanda acted with an elevated decree of hostility. Looked like a bingo to Cece. The woman pulled out a small handgun, pointing it at Morgan but still eyeing Cece every now and again. She didn’t show much interest in Cece at all, which may have been more a mistake than anything else. “Your terms and conditions don’t sound all that appealing.” Cece called to her, straightening her back to give herself the appearance of being taller. She wasn’t sure that it worked. “Don’t get me wrong. You have the upper hand here. We’re totally up to no good. But don’t you have a door number three option?”

The woman finally looked Cece over. It had probably been the first time that she had offered her anymore than a passing glance, “I don’t even know who you are. This doesn’t concern you in the slightest.” She turned away from Cece again, but irritation seemed evident. Cece slowly dug into her purse again. She knew she had something else useful in there it was just a matter of rifling around until she found out. Once she did, she popped the lid off and dipped her fingers into it. “I just wanted to give you the option of rethinking your offer. Morgan and I have places to be. Let us go now and we can all enjoy the rest of our nights in peace.”

This time the woman finally turned the gun away from Morgan and towards Cece, at the same time that Cece rose up her hand and grabbed onto the woman’s wrist. “Have you ever heard of curare?” Cece asked the woman, a hint of curiosity in her voice. Though nothing apparent was happening, the woman hadn’t yet pulled the trigger and instead looked silently at Cece. “Some hunting tribes use it to paralyze prey. Normally, it doesn’t have a lot of effect on humans if ingested orally or through the skin.” By the woman’s expression, it was clear the effects had started to take effect now, “But with a bit of alchemy, it can be altered. All of a sudden, it just takes a tiny bit rubbed against the skin to get into the blood system. As Amanda began to fall back, Cece grabbed onto the gun, letting it slip from the woman’s hands as she crashed against the ground. “You should be able to talk still, it might just be a little mumbled. So try to speak up.”

Cece set the gun against the shelf and crossed her arms, “You got any questions for her?” she asked Morgan. Cece wasn’t sure this counted as life or death exactly, but the gun hadn’t been entirely promising. At this rate, Cece knew that she’d have to do something at the end to make sure that Amanda didn’t hold an unfriendly grudge against the two of them. Cece had gone this long, but now in the span of just a few weeks she would be whipping out the memory spell twice. Yikes. “Spare no details, something tells me that Amanda’s memory of the night might end up a bit fuzzy anyways.”

Morgan was scurrying for Cece and wishing zombies had super speed when it happened. She couldn’t let Cece get hurt and didn’t Cece know she was basically bullet-proof? Not one more friend, not one more life she cared about was going down because of-- and then Amanda’s face was going slack and she was sinking to the floor, and Cece was giving a pretty impressive speech of her own. “Holy shit,” Morgan whispered, suddenly feeling a little woozy with shock. Then, as it settled, “You...are so amazing, Cece!” She ran over and gave her a hug, ecstatic with relief. “Okay, so, one of your proteges was arrested for what sounded like some serious supernatural damage, and he said he had to get the ghosts. So I’m thinking you know a lot about exorcisms, maybe harm exorcisms, specifically?”

Amanda made some unintelligible noises that sounded aggravated enough to mean ‘yes’ to Morgan.

“Great! So, where would I find those? Is it here? Or--here? Or--” At the sound more throaty, aggravated groaning, Morgan knew she was right on the money. She hauled out everything from the self she could carry and started looking. “Woah, Nelly, some of these pages are torn from other volumes.” Morgan peered over the desk at Amanda on the floor. “Have you been defacing historical archives? That’s not very polite, you know. I wonder what would happen if I reported some of these original books as damaged and gave your name? That might be a bummer for research funding and future archive access, right?” Satisfied with her fun, she started flipping through, grateful that even though Amanda was a thief, she was at least an organized one. There was a handy table of contents and index between each hodge podge volume, and by some topics there was a reference number that seemed to correspond to a file, probably in the cabinet at the other end of the room.

Amanda made another slurry attempt at speech.

Morgan’s face crinkled. “French Revolution? Did you hear French Revolution?” She gave Cece a look to make sure she hadn’t misunderstood and started checking dates throughout her haul. Sure enough, there was a hefty volume with some emphasis on the 18th century and quite a few notes in French and English as she started flipping through. “Cece, come look at this,” she said. “I think this… I think I found something! What do these ingredients look like to you?”

If Cece had any worries that Morgan might think she had taken things too far, those fears were immediately quelled when Morgan launched into a hug. Cece hugged back, keeping her finger away from any of Morgan’s skin, “I don’t think this would work on zombies, but better not take the chance.” Considering the rest of the abilities that Morgan had now that she was undead, Cece wasn’t convinced it would have paralyzed her the way it had Amanda. If it did, the fast healing probably would have fixed her pretty quickly. But better to avoid the situation regardless. “But that was nothing. Didn’t want her messing up one of our pretty faces.”

Morgan was far better at searching and researching than Cece was. The extent of Cece’s reading had gone into her plans to get away from the coven. Since then, the books she had stolen and brought with her mostly stayed hidden in the floorboards of her closet. Something for a rainy day, if it ever came. For the most part, Cece scanned the shelves as Morgan actually talked to the woman and searched for something that was useful to her.

Cece hadn’t heard French Revolution at first, but hearing Morgan question it made Cece laugh and clap for Morgan’s better hearing skills, “You know I thought I heard bitch contusion but that makes way more sense.” Morgan flipped through a volume and called Cece over to look at something, but the symbols on the page weren’t like anything Cece had worked with before. “Yikes.” Cece started, trying to look for smaller details and anything that did look familiar, “I can pick out a few things. I see some containment symbols. Probably used to keep something trapped. But nothing that I’ve worked with before.”

“Me either,” Morgan admitted, “But that--” she pointed to the word, “Is definitely French for spirit, and some of these ingredients look like they’re obeying sympathetic principles for inflicting pain. I’m gonna need a dictionary or three to figure some of this out, and you know, an expert, but you saw the containment sigil too, right!” She snapped the book shut and held it close to her chest, her eyes shining with relief. “I think this is it, Cece. I think this is--” Morgan was lost for words and only smiled, glowing with gratitude for her friend. “This is the key to everything I’ve been looking for.”

“Well I know a guy if you need a French interpreter.” Cece stated nonchalantly, “Can’t promise he won’t be grumpy about it though.” Cece couldn’t keep an easy grasp on who in town knew who, but it seemed like a safe bet that Morgan and Kaden were acquainted. “Fuck yeah! Former roomies strike again!” Cece called out triumphantly, raising her hand for a high five. Once the two were done celebrating, Cece remembered that they had company. Cece spun around to their host for the night and clapped her hands together, “Amanda. You’ve just been so welcoming tonight, truly. We had a great time. We’re going to wrap up and then I promise it’ll be like we were never even here.” Cece scooted towards her and knelt down towards the woman. “Are we done here Morgan?”

Morgan joined Cece beside her colleague, still light on her feet with victory and beaming with pride in her friend. “We do make pretty good partners in crime if I say so myself,” she said. “And, you know, aside from, hmm---” She reached back over to the desk and took a couple more books. “These. Just for good measure. And fun. Trespassing is rude, Professor Wallace, but pulling guns on your colleagues is far worse.” She nodded at Cece to work her magic. They’d gotten what they came for and then some.

“This probably won’t hurt,” Cece began, pressing her fingers against Amanda’s temple, “Or if it does you won’t remember it. Which is basically the same thing.” Amanda’s eyes were frantic at first, darting back and forth almost definitely trying to will her body to move. But soon they settled, floating shut as Cece dove into her memories to pluck them free. She figured the last half hour or so would do the trick. The woman would be left with a lot of blurry portions on the night, undoubtedly waking up in this room to wonder how she had gotten here. But those were hardly Cece’s concerns. She made sure to go back far enough to when Amanda started suspecting someone was here. Once Cece was done, she left Amanda on the floor and stood up, “She should be waking up soon. She should be able to move shortly after. If you have what we need, we should get out of here.” Cece suggested, heading towards the exit of the room before snapping and swinging back towards her, “Actually, now is probably the best time to mention that there may be another person that conveniently fell asleep in the office. We may want to stop by on our way out and wipe him too. Just to be safe.”

Morgan stopped halfway on the stairs they came down in just to gape at Cece in awe. “Remind me to never underestimate you for the rest of your days. And maybe bring you up on my list of people to call next time I need help with the forces of darkness. You’re a dangerous lady, Cece Bishop…” She gave Cece a chivalrous hand out of the cellar, grinning in the evening light. “But, then again, so am I sometimes.”

[amphtaminedreams]

J.K Rowling & The Echo Chamber of TERFs: Why Nobody Wants your Transphobic “Opinion”

TW// Discussion of Sexual Assault and Transphobia

SO...

I’ve seen the term “allyship fatigue” going round a lot lately on Twitter, since the issues of police brutality, institutional racism, and now transphobia have taken central stage.

And it’s weird. To be honest, hearing other white cis people calling themselves “allies” has always sounded kinda self-congratulatory. Taking this to the level of martyrdom that the phrase “allyship fatigue” evokes makes me want to heave. It’s shit that anyone even has to be saying Black Lives STILL Matter, but it does seem to unfortunately be the case that every time there is a highly publicised murder of a black individual by police, the explosion of us white people calling ourselves allies and retweeting and reblogging statements of solidarity only lasts so long before half revert back to being complacent with and uncritical of a world seeped with casual racism. Is that what “allyship fatigue” is? The excuse for that? Not only does the term take the focus off of the marginalised group the movement is centred around but it makes supporting equal rights sound like some kind of heroic burden we’ve chosen to take on rather than addressing a debt we owe and being not even good but just plain decent human beings. WE are not the ones shouldering the weight here, and if your mental health is suffering, that is not the fault of the people asking for their rights. Log off. We have the privilege to do that. It just doesn’t need to be a spectacle.

At the same time, this public onslaught of ignorance and hatred that the coverage of the Black Lives Matter movement has triggered (that let me again emphasise, black people have had to involuntarily be on the receiving end of their whole lives) and the frustration and anger that comes from seeing these absolute trash takes from people with no research into the subject who build their argument purely on “what about”isms is do-I-even-want-to-bring-children-into-this-fucking-world levels of miserable. In terms of earth beginning to look more and more like the prequel describing the events which lead up to a dystopian novel, the chaos of the last 4 weeks or so (2020 has not only shattered the illusion of time but also danced on the shards, I know) is the tip of the iceberg. I saw a thread about what’s going on in Yemen at the moment, which I had no idea about, and immediately felt consumed by guilt that I didn’t know. With the advent of social media, there’s been this sudden evolutionary shift where we’re almost required and expected to know about, have an opinion on, and be empathetic with every humanitarian crisis at once. I think young people feel this especially, which is why I say that sometimes it’s worth talking to an older person before you brush them off as a racist or a homophobe and see if they’re open to hearing different opinions-in general, I think we’re a generation that is used to being expected to consume a huge amount of information at once. They are not. For a lot (NOT all) of the older, middle-class, white population, ignorance isn’t a conscious choice, it is the natural way of life. The parameters of empathy until very recently have only had to extend just past your closest circle of friends to encompass people you “relate to”. That doesn’t mean they aren’t capable of caring about other things, and sometimes we owe them a chance to change their perspective first, if for no reason other than to advance the cause of, well, basic human rights for all.

So where does J.K Rowling come into all this? I hear you ask. Why doesn’t she just stop rambling? You potentially wonder. Well, I’m getting to it. 

J.K Rowling isn’t an unconsciously ignorant people. She is what I would call consciously ignorant. And of all weeks to flaunt this ignorance, she chose a time when people are already drowning in a cesspit of hatred. The woman whose whole book series supposedly revolves around the battle between good and evil didn’t even try to drain the swamp. She instead added a bucket of her transphobic vitriol into it. 

Let me preface this by saying that I wouldn’t wipe my arse with the Sun. What they did with the statement she made regarding her previous abusive relationship, seeking out said abusive partner for an interview and putting it on the front page with the headline “I slapped J.K”, whilst expected from the bunch of cretinous bottom feeders who work there, is disgusting. That being said, the pattern of behaviour J.K Rowling has exhibited since she first became an online presence is equally disgusting, and just because the Sun have been their usual shithead selves, doesn’t mean we should forget the issue at hand, that issue being her ongoing transphobia and erasure of trans women from women’s rights.

As I’m sure is the case for many people on Tumblr, J.K Rowling has always been such a huge inspiration for me, and Harry Potter was my entire childhood. My obsession with it continued until I was at least 16 and is what got me through the very shit years of being a teenager, and that will forever be the case. I’m not here to discuss the whole separation of the art from the artist thing because whilst I ordinarily don’t think that’s really possible, at this point the “Harry Potter universe” has become much bigger than J.K herself. I was so pleased to see Daniel Radcliffe, Emma Watson and Rupert Grint all affirm their support for trans rights-I was raised on the films up until the 4th one which I wasn’t old enough to see at the cinema, and the DVD was at the top of my Christmas list. They were always my Harry, Hermione and Ron. It was only between the fourth and fifth films that I started to read the books to fill that gaping in-between-movies hole, but as I grew up, I read them over and over and over again. Any of the subtext that people are talking about now in light of her antisemitism and transphobia went completely over my head, though who knows, whilst I can sit here and write that I’m certain I didn’t, maybe I did pick up some unconscious biases along the way? The art/artist discussion is a complex one and I don’t know if I’ll ever read the books again at this point.

There was absolutely no subtext, however, in the “think piece” on J.K’s website addressing the response to her transphobic tweets. There wasn’t all that much to unpack in the first tirade, they were quite openly dismissive-first that womanhood is defined by whether or not one experiences menstruation (I currently don’t due to health issues but I’m betting this wouldn’t make me any less woman in her eyes), and second, regurgitating an article which furthers the fallacy that trans women simply existing erases the existence of cisgender lesbian women. Rowling’s initial response to the backlash was to blame it on a glass of red wine, I think? Which is such a weird go-to excuse for celebrities because not once have I ever got drunk and completely changed my belief system. If you’re not transphobic sober, you don’t suddenly become transphobic drunk. What you are saying is that you’re not usually publicly transphobic (which isn’t even the case with Rowling because this is hardly her first flirtation with bigotry via social media) but that whoopsies! You drank some wine and suddenly thought it was acceptable!

Now what is her excuse for the formal response she wrote to the backlash, dripping with transphobic dog whistles and straight up misinformation (UPDATE: and as of yesterday, blocking Stephen King quite literally for replying to her with the tweet “trans women are women”, in case you thought that this whole thing was a case of her intentions being misconstrued)? Drunk tweets are one thing but if she managed to write a whole fucking essay whilst pissed I imagine there’s a lot of university students out there who’d pay her good money to learn that skill.

Here is the bottom line. TRANS WOMEN ARE WOMEN. There is no discussion around that. And if you don’t understand why, at the very least, you can be respectful of the way a person chooses to identify, especially when that person is an already targeted minority.

Obviously, sex and gender are complex things. Based on the fact that we don’t walk around with our nether-regions out, we generally navigate our way through the world using our gender and the way we present our gender. Gender of course means many different things to many different people; some see it as a sliding scale kind of thing whereas some people can’t see themselves on the scale at all, and choose to use terms other than man or woman to express how they identify. But, whatever gender one chooses to identify as, we live in a modern world-with all the scientific advancements we’ve made and all that we now know about the brain, using what is between people’s legs to define them is an ignorant, outdated copout. You’ll find that a lot of transphobes can live in harmony with trans women who conform, who have classically feminine features, maybe facial feminisation surgery, trans women who keep quiet about how they’re seen by cis women and don’t kick up “too much of a fuss” (which is in itself still a perfectly valid, brave and understandable way to live your life after years of feeling like you don’t fit in btw). The trans women that Joanne and her friends take the most issue with is the ones who want to expand what womanhood means and stretch the boundaries of what is and isn’t acceptable, destroying the confines of simplistic model that TERFs feel comfortable operating within. The ones who fight to be recognised as no “lesser” than cis women. Calling a person a TERF is quite literally just asserting that they are someone who wants to exclude trans women from their definition of womanhood, or in other words wants to cling to the old, obsolete model. If J.K Rowling cannot let the statement “trans women are women” go unchallenged (which we’ve seen from her response to Stephen King’s tweet she cannot), then she is by definition a TERF. It’s not a slur. It’s a descriptor indicating the movement she has chosen to associate herself with. Associating the descriptor of the position you so vehemently refuse to denounce in spite of all evidence and information offered to you with the concept of a “witch hunt” when trans women are ACTUALLY brutally murdered for an innate part of their identity is insulting, at the very least.

Let’s get this straight: despite transphobes trying to conflate sex with gender and arguing that sex is the only “real” identifier of the two, our existence on this planet and our perception of this world is a gendered experience. It is our brain, where the majority of researchers agree that gender lies, which decides and dictates not only who we are and how we feel but also how we interact with everyone around us. I don’t think it’s an outlandish statement to say that when it comes to who we are as people, that flesh machine protected by our skull is the key player.  PSA for transphobes everywhere: when people say penises have a mind of their own, they are NOT talking literally. The more you know. 

Gender is obviously a much newer concept than sex-it is both influenced by and interacts with every element of our lives. It’s also much more complex, in that there are still many gaps in our understanding. I assume these two factors combined with the familiarity of the (usually) binary model of biological sex are a part of why TERFS fundamentally reject the importance of gender in favour of the latter. Yes, most of the time, we feel our gender corresponds with our sex, but not always, and nor is there any concrete proof that this has to be the case. Most studies tend to agree that our brains start out as blank slates, that we grow into the gender we are assigned based on our bodies. In other words, our sex only defines our gender insofar as the historical assumption that they are the same thing, which in turn exposes us to certain cultural expectations. To any TERFs that have somehow ended up here-if you haven’t already, I suggest looking into the research of Gina Rippon, a neuroscientist whom has spent a large portion of her professional career analysing the data of sex differences in the brain. Whilst she originally set out to find some kind of consistent variance between the brains of the 2 prominent sexes to back up the idea that the brains of men and women are inherently different, she found nothing of significance-individual differences, yes, but no consistent similarities in the brains of one sex that were not present in the other. Once differences in brain size were accounted for, “well-known” sex differences in key structures disappeared-in terms of proportion, these structures take up the same amount of space in the brain regardless of sex. Her findings are best summed up by her response to the question: are there any significant differences in the brain based on sex alone? Her answer is no. To suggest otherwise is “neurofoolishness”. Not only does her research help put to bed the myth that our brains are sexed along with the rest of our bodies during development (this is now believed to happen separately, meaning the sex of our bodies and brains may not correspond), but also the idea propagated by the patriarchy for centuries that basically boils down to “boys will be boys”-a myth used to condone male sexual violence against women and even against each other on the basis that it is inherent and “can't be helped”. That they are just “built differently”. Maybe at one point in human evolution, men were conditioned to fight and women were conditioned to protect, but whilst the idea remains and continues to affect our societal structures (and thus said cultural expectations), we’ve moved on. I mean we evolved from fish for fuck’s sake but you don’t see us breathing underwater. 

Gender identity is based on many things and admittedly we don’t fully have the complete picture yet. The effects that socialisation and gender norms in particular, as much as we don’t want them to exist, have on our brain are huge; there’s evidence that they can leave epigenetic marks, or in other words cause structural changes in the brain which drive biological functions and features as diverse as memory, development and disease susceptibility. Socialisation alters the way our individual brains develop as we grow up, and as much as I’d love to see gender norms disappear, they’ll probably be around for a long time to come, as will their ramifications. The gap between explaining how socialisation affects the brain of cisgender individuals compared to the brains of transgender or non-binary individuals is not yet totally clear, but as with every supposed cause and effect psychology tries to uncover, there are outliers and individual differences. No, brains are not inherently male or female at birth but they are all different, and can be affected by socialisation differently. In one particularly groundbreaking study conducted by Dick Swaab of the Netherlands Institute for Neuroscience, postmortems of the brains of transgender women revealed that the structure of one of the areas in the brain most important to sexual behaviour more closely resembled the postmortem brains of cisgender women than those of cisgender men-it’s also important that these differences did not appear to be attributable to the influence of endogenous sex hormone fluctuations or hormone treatment in adulthood.

Maybe dysphoria is something that evolves organically and environmental factors don’t even come into it. Like I said, we don’t have the whole picture. What we DO know is that for some people, as soon as they become self-aware, that dysphoria is there, and the evidence for THAT, for there being common variations between the brains of cisgender individuals and transgender individuals, is overwhelming. You can be trapped in a body that does not correspond with how your brain functions, or how you wish to see yourself. Do individuals like J.K Rowling really believe it is ethical to reinforce the idea that we are defined by our sex and that our sex should decide the course of our lives, should decide how we are treated? That we should reduce people to genitals and chromosomes when our gender, the lens through which we see and interact with the world, could be completely different? Do they not see anything wrong with perpetuating the feelings of “otherness” and dysphoria in trans individuals that results from society’s refusal to see them as anything more than what body parts they have? In a collaboration between UCLA MA neuroscience student Jonathan Vanhoecke and Ivanka Savic at the Karolinska Institute in Sweden, the statistics collected pointed to what trans activists have always been trying to get at-the areas of the brain responsible for our sense of our identity showed far more neural activity in the brains of trans individuals when they were looking at depictions of their body that had been changed to match their gender identity than when this wasn’t the case; when they saw themselves with a body that corresponded with their gender identity, when they were “valid” by society’s definition, they felt more themselves. When J.K Rowling tells trans people that their “real identity” is the sex they were born with, she is denying them this right to be themselves and due to her large platform, encouraging others to do the same. YOU are doing that, J.K. And who knows why? Where does your transphobia come from? Peel back the bullshit layers of waffle about feeling silenced and threatened, which you know you are directing at the wrong group of people, and admit it’s for less noble reasons. Taking the time to unlearn the instinct embedded into your generation to see people according to the cultural status quo of biological determinism is effort, I know-but you wrote a 700+ page book. I’m sure you can manage it. Or is it an ego thing? You don’t want to admit that you may have been uneducated on gender and sex in the past, and now have to stick by your reductive position so your image as an “intellectual” isn’t compromised. I don’t know. Only you do. But your position is irresponsible and dangerous either way. You can make up bullshit reasons as to why the link between trans individuals and the incidence of suicide attempts and completions isn’t relevant or representative of the struggle that trans people face due to the hatred that people like you propagate but it is there, and you J.K Rowling, someone who has spoken in the past about the horror of depression, should know better. You should know better than to CLAIM you know better than the experienced researchers who have found the same pattern time and time again-that the likelihood of trans individuals committing suicide is significantly higher than that of cis people. 

No, Rowling’s transphobia has never been as upfront as saying “I don’t believe transgender people exist” but she continues to imply that when she makes claims such as womanhood being defined by whether or not one experiences menstruation, and the completely subjective concept of whether an individual has faced sex-based violence from cisgender men. I’m sure she’d be out here taking chromosome proof cards like Oysters if it wasn’t for intersex individuals throwing her whole binary jam into a tailspin. Yep, there’s even suggestions that the binary biological model might not be so binary these days-just because two people have, say, XY chromosomes, does not mean that these chromosomes are genetically identical between individuals-the genes they carry can, and do, vary and so their actions and expressions of sex vary. 

Ideally, what TERFs want to do with their language of “real womanhood” is create an exclusive club that trans women are left out of when they too suffer under the same patriarchal society that those who are born female do. Yes, they might not experience ALL the issues a person born with female genitalia do, but no two women’s life experiences are the same anyway. Trans women also have their own horrible experiences with the patriarchy, and are often victims of a specific kind of gendered violence that is purported by the idea of “real womanhood”. Don’t throw trans sisters under the bus because you’re angry about your experience as a woman on this planet-direct your anger at the fucking bus. Don’t claim that “many trans people regret their decision to transition” when the statistics overwhelmingly show that this is the EXACT FUCKING OPPOSITE of the truth (according to British charity organisation Mermaids, surgical regret is proportionately very low amongst gender affirmation outpatients and research suggesting otherwise has been broadly disproven) because you’ve spoken to a selective group of trans individuals probably handpicked by the TERFS you associate with to confirm their biases, and then have the nerve to claim that trans-activists live in echo chambers on top of that. Don’t use anecdotes and one-off incidences where “trans women” (I say trans women in quotation marks because we’re pretty much talking about a completely statistically insignificant group of perverted cis men who have, according to TERFs, somehow come to the conclusion that going through transition will make their already easy-to-get-away-with hobby of assaulting women even...easier to get away with?) have committed sexual crimes to demonise and paint as predatory group who are largely at risk and in 99.9% of situations, the ones being preyed on. It’s a point so disgusting that trans activists shouldn’t even have to respond to it, but the idea that an individual would go to the pains of legally changing their gender and potentially the hell of the harassment that trans people face, the multiple year long NHS waiting lists to see specialist doctors,  just so that they can gain access to women only spaces is ridiculous. It’s worth noting here just how sinister you repeatedly bringing up this phantom threat of cis men becoming trans women in order to assault women in “women only” spaces is. The implication here is that they should use the toilet corresponding to the sex they were born as, right? Because it’s all about safety? Well, statistically speaking, far more trans women are abused whilst having to use men’s toilets than when they use women’s ones and the same goes for trans men, and yet you don’t mention it once. Your suggestion also puts people born female who identify as women but maybe do not dress or present in a typically feminine way at risk of being ostracised when THEY need to use the women’s bathroom. The idea that by ceasing to uphold values like yours we are putting women at risk is quite simply, unsubstantiated; the legislation to allow individuals to use the bathroom corresponding to whichever gender they legally identify as has been around since 2010 in the UK and yet we’ve yet to see the sudden spike in the number of women being assaulted in bathrooms you imply will exist if we create looser rules around gender identity and let people use whichever toilet they feel the need to. Similarly, in a study of US school districts, Media Matters found that 17 around the country with protections for trans people, which collectively cover more than 600,000 students, had no problems with harassment in bathrooms or locker rooms after implementing their policies. If cis men want to assault women, they will. They don’t need to pretend to be trans to do so. Don’t pretend to be speaking as a concerned ally of LGBTQ+ individuals when you’re ignoring the thoughts of the majority of individuals who come under that category.

(Just Some of the Trans Women Murdered for Being Trans Over the Last Couple of Years, L-R: Serena Valzquez, Riah Milton, Bee Love Slater, Naomi Hersi, Layla Pelaez, and Dominique Fells)

Trans women are not the threat here. Bigots like you are the threat. HOW DARE you use your platform to reinforce this rhetoric that gets trans people killed when there are so many much MUCH more important things going on right now. Two black trans women had been murdered just for being black trans women in the week you wrote your essay defending those initial tweets. This is an ongoing issue. As a cis woman, my opinion should read as sacred texts to you right, Joanne? Because I’ll say with my whole chest that I feel far more threatened by bigots like you who do not care for the harmful impact of their words than I do by trans women. I do not feel threatened by trans women AT ALL. And yeah, to me, unless they tell me otherwise that they like to go out their way to affirm their trans-ness (which I completely respect-it takes a lot of courage to be proud about your past in a world that condemns you for it), they’re just WOMEN like any other. Yes their experience of “womanhood” may be different to mine but no two individuals experiences are the same anyway and our gender related suffering has the same cause. As a rich, white, cis woman, it’s wild that you are painting yourself as the victim in this debate when trans people can face life in prison and in some places a death sentence for openly identifying with a gender different to their sex in a lot of countries. Nobody is saying that you can’t talk about cis women. Nobody is saying you can’t talk about lesbian issues either, though it’s a bit of a piss-take that you like to throw that whole trans women erase lesbian existence argument out there as a kind of trump card to say “look, I can’t be a transphobe, I’m an LGBTQ+ ally!”, an argument akin to the racist’s age old “I can’t be racist, I have black friends!”. You know from the responses you get to your transphobia that majority of the LGBTQ+ community are very much adamant that trans women are “real women” and that the same goes for trans men being “real men”, so don’t claim to speak for them. You cannot simultaneously care about LGBTQ+ rights and deny trans people their right to live as who they are, however veiled your sentiments around that may be. The whole gay rights movement of the 60s and 70s exist partially BECAUSE of black trans women such as Martha P Johnson if you didn’t know, and though it’s kinda common knowledge I’m doubting that you do because very little of what you tout is backed up by any kind of research. The articles you retweet, echoing the views of lesbians who also happen to be TERFs do not count-the idea that trans people existing simultaneously erases the existence of lesbians only applies to individuals such as yourself who don’t see trans women as women in the first place. That is the problem! Most people don’t have an issue with the fact that you may have a preference for certain genitalia, but I would argue that ignoring exceptional circumstances related to trauma or some other complex issue, relationships are supposed to be with the person as a whole, not their “organic” penis or vagina and it’s kind of insulting to anyone in a same sex relationship to reduce their bond to that.

Back to my point though, of course there are issues that cis women and lesbians face that need talking about, but trans people are affected by the same patriarchal system. You don’t need to go out of your way to mention that they’re not included in whichever given specific issue when there are also cis women who may not have experienced some of the things TERFs reference. You especially don’t need to act as if trans women are the reason we need to have these discussions in the first place. As I’ve said, as MANY women have said, repeatedly-they are NOT the threat here. It is disgusting to see someone I once had so much admiration for constantly punch down at a group that is already marginalised.  It’s 2020, J.K, there’s so much info out there. YOU’RE A FULLY GROWN WOMAN. There’s no justification. We get it, you had a tomboy phase. You weren’t like “other girls”. You didn’t like living under a patriarchal system. So you think you understand the mindset of people who want to transition. You think you’re not doing anything wrong by helping to slow the advancement of trans rights because well, you turned out fine? But you clearly fundamentally misunderstand what being trans is. It’s not about your likes and dislikes and having issues with the experience of being a woman (god knows we all do but I doubt anyone truly thinks for one moment that being trans would be any easier), it’s about how you think and feel at your core. It’s such a complex issue, and all the majority of trans people are asking you to do is LISTEN to them. You may be determined to live in binaries, yet the bigger picture is always more complex and fluid and it’s ever-changing, so all we can do is keep an open mind and keep wanting to know more and gather more evidence. If you’re capable of the mental gymnastics required to retcon the piece of work you wrote in the 90s to make it seem as if you were “ahead of the diversity game”, to the extent that you are now claiming Voldermort’s snake has always actually been a Korean woman and see nothing wrong with that when paired with the fact that the only Asian character you originally included was called Cho Chang, then well…I’m sure you can put your ego aside and do the groundwork to understand what trans people are trying to tell you too. You inspired a lot of children and teenagers and even adults, and got them through some very difficult times, taught that the strength of one’s character matters far more than what anyone thinks of you. You claimed you wanted to stand up for the outcasts.

Well, stand up for the outcasts. Now’s a better time than any. And once again: TRANS WOMEN ARE WOMEN AND TRANS MEN ARE MEN. They shouldn’t have to hear anything else.

Lauren x

[DISCLAIMER: shitty collages are mine but the background is not, let me know if you are aware of the artist so I can credit!]

[czechforrain]

Caught up to the RWBY manga...and I’ve got opinions

CW / TW : Some discussions of implied sexual assault. 

Spoilers up to Ch 18 of the RWBY Manga and Vol 2 of the series TV show. 

So last time I commented on the manga I was just past the white fang thing with blake and I responded idk interested in how the manga took it’s approach with it. I wouldnt say positive but curious about it in a harmless way. 

THINGS REALLY FELL OFF THE RAILS. 

The manga basically speeds through the rest of volume two leaving behind major scenes and shortening the rest to where the impact of them is almost completely diminished. There are also some character differences that bear out due to the author giving people more or less focus.

The biggest changes are with Yang and Blake’s relationship. Now even if you dont like BEES, the formation of their friendship is a vital part of the show. Someone can read everything as “just friends” but them having a close relationship is inarguable. The moment where Yang confronts Blake on her single minded focus to find Roman / Adam and the White fang is this crucial moment where Yang gets through to Blake, shares her backstory and establishes a bond between them. 

It’s nowhere in the manga. IT WAS CUT. 

And it’s such a shame because up to this point you could have mis-characterized Yang as the dumb party blonde stereotype that even she would play up in the early season where it’s apparent that she’s someone who is sharp, focused and can read into people pretty well. She recognizes Blake’s anger and tells her that it isn’t wrong for her to want Justice but if she doesn’t take care of her self shell never be able to achieve it. 

Oh some other cuts. RAVEN. Just never showed up because they didn’t even fight on the train. They just kind of got to the point of train impact without facing that much obstacles before all the Grimm attacked. 

It’s really frustrating because 

1. That was an S tier Fight. 

2. It did a great job at pointing out what Yang’s weaknesses were. 

3. Introduced Raven as someone super important and powerful. 

For some reason they still have Banesaw around and he fights Blake later. It actually makes more sense he’d fight Blake than Weiss narrative-wise but that’s besides the point, it’s just kind of weird he’d just be there anyways since he wasn’t a big shot or anything. 

Oh and STRQ isnt mentioned at all. 

Ok now that we are talking about the Villains. 

Roman is weird, in the show’s he’s this dashing suave dude who’s like “ah there you are red, you’re too late hahaha” *dips but in the comic he’s got this weirdly sadistic side almost like he’s being built up to be more of a threat than what he was and a more unhinged person. He threatens murder directly a lot more and one time I even thought he threatened Neo but the paneling was just weird and he’s talking to Banesaw. Either way it seems like he’s less kind to Neo in general and since that’s literally the only person he seemed to get along with in the show that makes me care less about him besides “ 100% evil sunday morning cartoon villain” I’ll take my “80% evil sunday morning cartoon villain” thank you very much

BUT THERE IS ONE SCENE WITH HIM EVERYONE DESPISES

It’s a HORRENDOUS scene in Chapter 15 thought where 

CONTENT WARNING: Sexual Assault Implications 

Ruby gets captured, in the manga it’s because she’s trying to get back Zwei, in the show it’s because she falls into a hole. That doesn’t really matter anyways she’s tied up and well here’s the page 

followed by 

and this isn’t as bad as it was originally before pressure to change it  https://www.reddit.com/r/RWBY/comments/f2f8j9/the_controversy_regarding_rwby_manga_chapter_15/ 

This is absolutely messed up. Just going over the content you have:

“I’d love to Entertain you myself”

“Have far more pressing concerns with a human like yourself”

“Plenty of Fun to be had, I’m sure”

and then Ruby gagged, and handcuffed to a chair as a bunch of tall faceless men in long black cloaks loom over her. You could say this all is just a misunderstanding and it’s just meant to foreshadow violence as a threat but it’s just done with such a sexual assault that the most charitable take is it’s a dogwhistle to that subject matter. Anyways thaat absolutely didn’t belong in RWBY and even reading it in Viz made me double take how they set up this scene and gave it such dark implications. Not that it was a deliberate narrative writing choice because it is undone really quickly. It just comes off as edgy and gross. 

Anyways some other things: 

JNPR Saga. Jaunedice is gone and while I’m not gonna lie, it’s definitely good that we didn’t have to relive through jaune going through his “ If I keep asking, maybe i’ll eventually get a yes through persistence” arc, I really feel like the pyrrha and jaune content is also weakened and though they might have overplayed this up in the show at least it ended up working on making me a shipper. Idk it wasn’t terrible but it felt a lot more surface level here. Also Ren and Nora were here too but even less prominent. 

Speaking of the dance, Blake goes with Sun instead of Yang. Because Sun invites her under the context of “you owe me”. Even though it’s done tongue in cheek, like even manga sun would hold it against her if she refused I think that this line does a good deal of disservice to Sun and also paints him in a weird Adam-ish tone. Sun’s whole deal is that he’s about unconditional kindness, he likes blake but he wouldnt want her to go with him unless she wanted it for herself. Leaning into the “haha let’s just say you owe me” leans more into something that Adam would use a source of manipulation. 

Oobleck: Is given a major glow up and actually ends up doing a lot in the end to the point at times it almost seems like it’s his story. He pulls of 300 IQ moves and ended up coordinating all the hunters and huntresses to the point of the breach based on the direction the wind was blowing and schematics he saw through someone’s pocket. Ok that’s an exaggeration but not by that much. The author is a fanboy over him and it’s good for memes but I’d argue it doesn’t improve the story by making him a more important character. I guess cool to see him fight a little bit more but it was kind of odd when he stunts on everyone so damn much. 

The fighting in general has some weak panelling except for a few scenes where it’s showing impact. The light as hell inking style makes it kind of annoying when there’s multiple people in one fight against a big target and you have to differentiate everyone and how people move from place to place. The way your eyes are supposed to move while reading a fight and how character motion transfers through panels. 

Neat informative video about that: https://youtu.be/zFFru4q_4H8?t=420 (whole video but I started at the point where they talk about panelling)

The art style is unique and i’ll give it that but too often it seems a bit more contrast and thicker lines would really benefit the series. Even when I was enjoying it, I still had these concerns. It’s just annoying when the artist is generally pretty good but you gotta zoom in to see certain things and all of that. 

So yeah, i’ve been disappointed in the later chapters to say the least and that’s incredibly incriminating when I wasn’t even that big of a fan of this adaptation to start with. I thought that maybe it could have been a loose reinterpretation for someone who was put off by V1/V2 animation standards/ wanted to get through the series even quicker but I couldn’t in good conscience recommend this as an alternative for the main series anymore. And that’s a shame. Luckily this all ends with V2 so we won’t have to worry about what else would be cut, shortened or ignored from the main series and we can focus on the actual show which all of love...or like at the least. 

[sp3ncer-jean]

&&guests may mistake me as (danielle campbell), but really i am (spencer jean + cis female + she/her) and my DOB is (03/15/1997). i am applying for the (event coordinator) position as part of the EHP and would like to live in suite (209). i should be hired because i am (empathetic, honest & selfless), but i can also be (pessimistic, fearful & indecisive) at times. personally, i like to (blog & drink wine) when off the clock, but that won’t interfere with work.

tw; rape, abusive relationship.

Born on the West-side of the city.

The youngest of 4 kids. 

Her whole family didn’t have much growing up. Both parents worked weird jobs to get them all through financially.

She was really close to her older cousin, Dan from a very young age. He would take her out often and they got very close. 

Most of the family didn’t think much of it until Spencer turned six, and even then it was just weird glances occasionally from family members. 

Spencer herself felt like Dan hung the moon in the sky. He was always kind to her and never made her feel stupid. Plus he was older and gave her so much of his time so it always made her feel special.

It was not longer after her eighth birthday that Dan pulled her to the side and said he wanted to play a new game. She was hesitant at first to give him what he explained as “special touches” but he insisted that it would make him very happy, and she always wanted him to be happy.

This “game” went on until she was eleven. She explained it to her father who was horrified after he realized what this game was. He confronted Dan, who was now eighteen, and he denied it. 

Not longer after, Spencer’s three brothers paid him a visit. He was found in an alley all alone the next morning, completely naked and unconscious. 

Spencer felt like a husk after she no longer had any contact with Dan. So much so that she began to lash out and she wasn’t the bright and happy child that she had been. 

Her mother and father started looking into programs for her but quickly realized that they couldn’t afford any of them. After much conversation and tears, they decided to pack her up and send her to her mother’s widowed sister, Maggie.

Maggie was always very eclectic and outspoken and she’d been lonely since her husband died before they could have any children together. She was so excited to have Spencer come stay with her that she gave her her own completely furnished room with a computer and TV. 

Spencer was very hesitant to leave her parents and brothers. She knew that their home wasn’t much, but it was home. Maggie lived on the rich side of town and she wasn’t completely sure if she’d be able to fit in over there. Her mother and father both explained to her that she could come visit whenever she wanted and her brothers would come by as often as they could. 

After reassurance from her parents, Spencer packed up the very few belongings she actually cared about and moved in with Maggie. 

The first few weeks were a whirlwind of shopping trips. Maggie worked from home for a high profile company and her husband had left her a rather large fortune. And Maggie already adored Spencer and spared no expense for her niece. New clothes, games, furniture for her room. Spencer wasn’t exactly comfortable with all the money she knew was being spent, but she already felt as if she could trust Maggie more than anyone else she’d ever met. 

Maggie got Spencer into therapy not long after she moved in. Her therapist explained as gently as she could to Spencer what had happened to her. No one up until that point had explained to Spencer that what Dan had done was wrong, because they didn’t really know how. Maggie had to take her home in tears after that specific therapy session. 

Spencer’s therapist suggested different activities to help her cope. She began painting, writing, playing various instruments as well as throwing herself headfirst into her academics all while adjusting to her new life with Maggie. 

Under Maggie’s guidance, Spencer breezed through middle school. She made a small group of friends and socialized fairly often in and out of school. By eighth grade, she was in all honors classes and even there she was requesting harder and more complex assignments. 

Spencer visited often with her family and grew extremely close to her brothers. Her father often still blamed himself for her relationship with Dan but her mother often scolded him for this as lovingly as she could. As they watched their daughter flourish with Maggie, they both knew that they had made the right choice for her, even if sometimes it didn’t feel that way. 

Her freshman year of high school, Maggie requested the school test her for her grade level versus just putting her into freshman classes. Maggie knew that Spencer had much more in her mind than she often led on, and insisted that she be tested. To Spencer’s shock, she tested out of both freshman and sophomore year. According to all of her test scores, she was at a junior year level. She was signed up for junior year classes and started her first year of high school. 

Spencer was terrified of the potential bullying this situation would be her into, but much to her surprise, she made many friends with her upperclassmen peers. They often came to her for advice and homework help. 

She graduated Valedictorian at the age of sixteen. She had colleges seeking her out before the end of her junior year but she didn’t want to leave Maggie. Over the five years she had spent with Maggie, they had grown very very close. Spencer adored Maggie and the little routine that they had just naturally fallen into. 

Spencer took courses to become an event planner/coordinator. It was something she’d always enjoyed helping with as a kid and teenager so she figured why not. Plus living in the Chicago area, she knew there would never be a shortage of people needing an event coordinator. She was able to get all of the certifications she needed in a little less than a year. At seventeen, she began going to the University of Chicago. She majored in Psychology and minored in Visual Arts. 

College for Spencer was amazing. She started dating not long after she started attending University because in high school she felt like it just wasn’t the right time after all of her trauma and hung out with the potheads on campus.

She met a guy named Tanner on her first day of classes. He was her ideal man, or at least what she thought it was. He held doors open for her, brought her flowers, and held her hand around his friends. But not long after they started getting physically involved, he started to feel like he had some entitlement to her. He started to convince her she didn’t need to spend time with her family and more importantly, Maggie. He started keeping her at his apartment as often as he could. And quickly, it turned physically abusive. He started to convince her she wasn’t worth any of the time anyone else but him was giving her. 

Spencer was finally able to sneak away and see Maggie for a weekend. She was telling Maggie what had been happening and she watched her get angrier than she had ever seen her, even after telling her everything that had happened with Dan when she was a kid. Maggie drove her back to Tanner’s apartment and helped her collect her things, as well as reporting him to the campus. 

Tanner did attempt to contact her after he was expelled from the University but Maggie was quick to help her get a restraining order just in case. 

Spencer graduated with her degree at the age of twenty-one and on the dean’s list. Her whole family showed up for her graduation and she was given a bouquet by each of her brothers.

Her parents offered for her to move back in with them, but she politely declined. She wanted to stay with Maggie and help her with whatever she could. 

Maggie would bring Spencer to the Malnati when she had bad weeks at school for a small get away, so when she found out they were hiring, she jumped on the opportunity as quickly as she could. 

[rubiakxma]

Shadow Headcanons - d/nt r/blog

Headcanons are under read more for triggers and length. Please read tw in tags before continuing. Thank you.<3

Ruby’s attire of choice is as depicted above, to give him a bit of difference from his alternates. He does have the hover shoes and he does wear them sometimes, but this is his main outfit/attire. He typically wears a light grey hooded sweatshirt and a dark grey/black leather jacket over top. He wears knee high brown boots and he does have wrist inhibitors you just can’t see them through the jacket. Almost every interaction with Ruby, he will be in this attire unless stated otherwise. He prefers this as it covers not only scars but because its comfortable and he likes it for decency reasons. This art was made by @spiritwinding​.<3

Ruby has a nick in left ear from a bullet wound caused by an alternate. Its very small, but noticeable. He bares 36 in total scars across his arms that were caused by himself. He also has a stab wound on the right side of his chest. It is buried under fur and hard to see when he isn’t wearing his jackets.

Ruby can run sonic speed, without the hover boots (hence why he wears the brown boots). The hover boots help for smoother movement and easier gliding/drifting. But he can move super speeds on his own without the need of the hover shoes. He likes the boots though because they are lighter, even if he lacks a little more control.

Ruby has a soft spot for animals. He doesn’t really outright show this, but he’d save a bug and put it outside before smashing it or letting other’s smash it. He’s the type to rescue cats from trees or free turtles from netting. His soft spot for animals comes from Maria. She use to talk about animals on the ark all the time and he’s forever since wanted to protect them.

He does NOT require a chaos emerald to perform chaos control/chaos blast/chaos spears or anything chaos related not tied to his super form. I know this headcanon is funky because canon wise the writers say chaos energy can’t be used without a chaos energy but then a lot of Sonic games prove this wrong (at least from whats i’ve seen) Shadow is made with chaos energy so I believe in the beginning yeah, he struggled without it but now he is well adverse in how to control his abilities.

Ruby is well versed in piano playing along with the bass. Though, you will never catch him playing either. He also keeps a collection of old records that he has found through the years and he likes to listen to them on very rare occasions.

He cannot sing very well at all. His voice isn’t bad, he just doesn’t do it enough to really be comfortable or know how to breathe properly doing it. Again, not that you would ever see/hear him sing in your lifetime. 

The Black Arms blood can be extremely weird at times. He’s immune to all illness and disease, as well as the effects of alcohol and drugs. He typically cannot develop infections or anything. The only thing that can counter this is: A.) If he obtains a lot of deep/serious injuries that require a lot of healing. His blood can become overwhelmed and overworked and either slow or pretty much stop which is when he can get sick/develop infections. To avoid infections, his body will go into deep sleep to regain itself. He still feels pain and can take either as long or longer then a normal mobian to heal if his body is completely overworked and B.) Mephiles blood can potentially damage the black arms blood cells if not completely wipe them out and pretty much null their immuno possibilities.

His favorite food is cheesecake and he typically drinks black coffee or chamomile tea with a hint of lemon. He will not drink soda nor alcohol. He knows they won’t do anything to him, he’s just not interested in them. Regular style cheesecake is his absolute favorite thing. 

Ruby is atheist. He does not believe in a higher power nor would he worship it. He sees no purpose in it and considers it a waste of time. (Again mun =/= muse do NOT send hate) This comes from he looks at the view of the horrible things worlds go through (i.e black arms attacking, 06, the world splitting apart, the war) and doesn’t see how a higher power could do such heinous acts. But also - Mephiles is a deity and NO.

Ruby has NEVER until recently been exposed to the phantom ruby. His world died during 06. Therefore everything after never happened. He knows about it a little bit from Spirit, but he is unaware of its capabilities and strengths. He only knew about the Gaia’s because he reads a LOT and read the manuscripts.

In his free time, Ruby will read. He basically has a library of books in his cabin and if hes not interested in being social he will read. He reads anything from fiction, to text books, to even romance novels. Its more so for just reading everything, but he secretly likes romance b ut hes taking that to the grave with him lol.

He likes to be clean: Ruby is not a fan of being dirty. He doesn’t like being muddy, soaked, covered in dirt, dust, ash, etc. He hates it. He hates feeling grimy and will attempt to shower at the first feeling of dirt. 

He doesn’t require sleep/eating/water as he is a genetic hybrid. He doesn’t need it, but will indulge. Just because he doesn’t need to sleep, doesn’t mean he can’t feel tired. He doesn’t have to sleep, but if hes bored enough or hes been all over the place he might sleep. And when he does sleep, he is very CALM. He doesn’t toss or turn really. He typically sleeps on his back with one hand behind his head, one rested at his side with his legs straight out (maybe slightly bent) or he sleeps on his stomach with his hands under his head and his one leg bent up over a pillow. He doesn’t snore and typically he wakes up in the same position he woke up in. 

[louisweasleyy]

[ & ; * - matt daddario / homosexual / he/him ] isn’t it weird how close { sebastian 'bash' monroe } resembles { matt daddario }? damn, i heard they are a { twenty three } year old { undergraduate } and a member of { delta sigma chi } studying { music composition }. outside of class { bash } participates in { art } and their party anthem is { colors } by { halsey }.

hi guys! i’m madison and sorry for posting this so late. i have family visiting so my activity is gonna be a little spotty until after this weekend. i’m also playing rory (the kristine froseth fc!) anyways like this if you’d like to plot with bash and i’ll message you!

tw: child abuse, death

There he is, the Dean’s son and a Yale Legacy!

For as long as he could remember, it’s unfortunately always been him and his father. His mom died while giving birth to Bash and his Dad has never ever forgiven him for it.

Their grandparents are never really around except for when they need Bash and his father for publicity but mainly they benefit off of the school’s wages and go on extravagant vacations and want nothing to do with the Monroe boys.

His father is abusive though he hides it well because…he’s the Dean of the school. Both physically, emotionally and verbally. Since he’s been dealing with it his entire life, he’s sort of accepted it as something that he deserves so he doesn’t really fight it. After all, if it weren’t for him his mother would still be alive. And his father isn’t hurting anyone other than him so Bash has never…really seen the problem. A complete victim’s mindset.

So due to this he thinks he’s a worthless piece of shit that won’t amount to anything and who doesn’t deserve love or happiness. As his father constantly reminds him, he’s just a burden on the world and all around him, feeding to the country’s overpopulation. He was the biggest mistake of his Dad’s life.

Even though Sebastian is a MAN now, a whole 23 years, he hasn’t gravitated away from his Dad. Again, he thinks he deserves it and he believes he needs his father. Dean Monroe has convinced him that he wouldn’t survive a minute in the world without him. Bash is just…delusional and as much as he hates his Dad, he grossly respects and values his opinion. After all he doesn’t know better and doesn’t know anything more.

On the frequent occasions where his father beats him to where it’s visible, Bash will usually go to a bar and elicit a fight to get more flesh wounds apparent so that he has an alibi. So basically everyone at Yale just thinks he’s a drunken troublemaker who gets into a shit ton of fights. Which like…isn’t wrong. He is drunk or high 99% of the time and he’s getting into fights.

At least when he gets hit, he feels something. Whereas he’s gotten so good at numbing and shoving down any sort of feelings. Shout out to liquor!

He’s always loved music, it’s his sole happy place and when his fingers are gracing that of a piano it’s like…he’s transported away from the bullshit. As lame as it sounds, he feels like his piano is his only and last connection to his Mom. She used to play and when he plays, he feels like he’s playing for her and to her like…spiritually. He can feel her when he’s writing, composing and playing. She gives him the music and he puts it to paper.

Also gay af.

ALSO DO NOT CALL HIM SEBASTIAN. it’s a massive fucking trigger for him! it’s what his dad always calls him before he’s about to beat the shit out of him. i mean you can but he won’t react great.

His ex-boyfriend is Grayson and his father forced him to break up with him

Also Bash got into Julliard with a full ride scholarship but his dad is...possessive so he fucked with his admissions and made it so Bash could not get accepted into any other school.

PERSONALITY WISE:

He’s a sarcastic asshole who tries to act all tough but who is severely craving human intimacy and companionship. When people start to get close and he starts to trust them, he panics, literal panic attacks that cause him to just snap and do everything he can to push that person FAR away and out of his life. He’s really smart but he doesn’t think so which means he doesn’t apply himself. Doesn’t really trust anyone. Will party and sometimes when he’s really high he’ll like…relax and cut loose and be real with people but then the next day he’ll deny it ever happened.

PLOTS:

In simple terms: FWB, Exes that he probably cheated on or pushed away, Hook ups, Friends, Study buddies, party buddies, smoking buddies, reckless shithead buddies etc.

MORE DETAILED PLOTS:

ROMANTIC/PHYSICAL:

[ current | fwb ] muse a and muse b met through mutual friends and quickly hit it off as friends. offhandedly one day, muse a mentioned something one day that muse b quickly turned sexual. they locked eyes and the next minute they were in a room, locked away, undressing each other. after exiting the room, the two agreed that it would never happen again…until a few days later, when it did. they keep saying they won’t come back for more.

[ current | just do it already ] muse a and muse b have been in love with each other for like, ever. neither of them are willing to admit it though, even to themselves. their friends are constantly joking about it and they both wave it off – but when one isn’t looking, anyone could see the adoration in the other’s face with ease.

[ past | dating ] muse a and muse b were the kind of people that immediately rejected each other, going to other people instead. then muse a found themselves in a room with their ex and pulled muse b aside to ask them to fake being their significant other for the night. over the next few hours, their fake date became a real one and soon things progressed into a relationship.

[ previous | friends…i guess? ] muse a and muse b were friends prior to their spontaneous hook-up and their world turned upside down. dazed, they decided to start dating that moment and to their credit, tried to make it work for a few weeks. muse a finally ( and nervously ) let out that they weren’t feeling it. to their relief, muse b admitted they were feeling the same. they decided to stay friends, but now have the added “i’ve seen you naked” awkwardness.

[ previous/current | on again, off again ] muse a and muse b love each other, but their relationship is toxic so they are constantly on and off. they always get along as friends, but the second they became lovers something always changes. they care a lot about each other, but something always goes awry.

[ your choice | hook up ] muse a recently broke up with their significant other, and in their post-breakup state got some revenge by hooking up with their ex’s best friend, muse b. neither expected the night to be so…memorable. your choice on what they do about it.

PLATONIC:

[ positive | two way street ] muse a and muse b frequent the same coffee shop and often made casual hellos to each other until the coffee shop raised their prices. muse a went to order their usual drink and lifted their eyes in surprise at the new price, hand helplessly prepared to hand over exact change. muse b quickly swooped in and saved the day, buying both of their coffees. next time they were both in the shop, muse a paid for muse b’s drink. they flip who pays each time as some sort of game now, but they’ve only had minor conversation as one or the other always seems to be in a rush.

[ positive | friends ] when muse a moved in, they didn’t expect to see muse b climbing up/standing on the fire escape right outside their living room window. they went to confront muse b and scared them, making both fear for the life of muse b for a moment. apologetic, muse a invited muse b in and the two connected almost immediately. ( muse b may or may not have explained their presence on the fire escape during this conversation // reason could have been that they knew who lived in muse a’s apartment before but didn’t know that they moved )

[ current | platonic or romantic ] *tw: alcohol. muse a and muse b met at a bar. throughout the night, muse b got more and more inebriated. being the good ( or bad ) samaritan they are, muse a decides to take muse b back to their house before they end up on the floor. when they arrive at muse a’s building/house, muse b ( loudly ) asks muse a how the heck ! muse a knew where they lived. turns out – they live a mere few floors/doors/houses away from each other.

[ current | platonic ] muse a is an extrovert – so much so that when muse b started moving in, they didn’t even wait for the moving truck to pull away before introducing themselves. in fact, muse a even started helping unload the truck without being asked. ( BONUS: muse b was super grateful for the help and their relationship is great // muse b is Grumpy™ and was annoyed that muse a started helping without asking and their relationship is tense. )

[gotatext]

by this point im p sure u all know the drill.... i’m nora, 23, she/her, gmt and tonight matthew im going to be greta o’driscoll, a terrible person but a hot one which frankly makes it almost ok. here is her pinterest..... this intro is literally just copied n pasted frm the last time i played her so soz if u’ve read it like 10+ times.... 

「 diana silvers. cis-female. 」have you seen greta o’driscoll around yet? i hear she decided to be in POTENTAS for their SOPHOMORE year as a CRIMINAL PSYCHOLOGY major. the 20 year old SHEPHERD is known to be tenacious, magnetic, capricious and evasive. ➨ the muse is written by nora, she/her, gmt.

was adopted as an infant. had two foster moms and two older sisters so always surrounded by women. lived in a boarding house, very much like the one in 20th century women, with lodgers coming in and out all the time, mostly artsy young women because her gay moms were both high school teachers trying to set up their own arts collective. one of her moms left when she was 4, n she doesn’t really remember her.

while living with entirely women made her super into catlin moran and the guilty feminist, as a teenager she often let boys walk all over her bc she just craved male attention jst bcos she’d never really experienced it. saw it as something aspirational, like sitting in the back of chad’s second-hand truck while he drove you to macdonalds and offered you and his five friends with identical haircuts weed was the height of being cool to greta, she wanted to be their dream girl, even if it meant compromising her beliefs

was always a really sporty bitch. it started with a junior athletics squad, which turned into athletics and cheer, which then became athletics, cheer and hockey until she basically was doing a different activity every night. she came to see her body as a tool that she could make work for her if she trained it up and this attitude’s always kind of stayed with her that as long as her body is strong she is capable of anything. runs every day. 

bubbly bitch but also massive snake. metaphorically and literally, always shedding her skin. loyal to few, ruled by none, out for herself, babey!! every place she goes, she becomes a new character, someone who’s a figment of her imagination, as if each city is repertory theatre and she’s a character actress, so as a result som ppl think she’s called rita, some ppl know her as margot, she just flicks through identities like nobodies business.

left school at 18 n went backpacking around the states making money in the casinos by being a shot girl (yeehaw) and trying to make it as a mysterious 1920s widow with a smoky voice, a dark secret n a heart of gold, looking for love in the big city. all she found was producers and acting agents who’d promise her stardom n actually just fuck her in a motel n then ignore her calls.

TW domestic violence, TW gun, her watershed moment came when she met luke in sioux falls while she was working at a strip club. he was a few years older and had a car, and they kind of went from seeing each other to being that super intense couple who are just necking all the time.

they got engaged like 3 months after they met n rented a flat together, much to her family’s annoyance but she was 19 so there wasn’t much they could do. their relationship was super super intense though, often really heightened and when they fought it could become quite violent, but she’d pass it off as just him being really passionate.

one of their fights got really heated and greta threatened him with the gun he kept in the glove box of his vauxhall corsa, but the safety was off and she accidentally shot him. she pleaded self defence in the trial n cos of the amount of times she’d been hospitalised for various concussions n things like ‘fallling down the stairs’ the police were like yea… pretty watertight evidence that he was a bastard who [chicago voice] had it coming….. 

she’s now under witness protection, rehoused in livingstone as a sports-scholarship student, due to the amount of police involvement in the area, it would mean should one of luke’s family members try to track her down, she’d be relatively safe

massive sports fanatic. plays tennis. on the cheer team. was a track superstar in her high school. honestly just that sporty bitch, you’ll see her doing lines at a party at half four and then on your way to your 9am lecture you see her running across the park like a fresh fucking daisy who is this bitch. maybe it’s maybelline, maybe its coke.

massive feminist. low key quite scared of powerful men bcos of her ex. wants to start a female only lesbian commune bc she misses her childhood in a south dakota boarding house and has endless support for women. honestly annoyed that she is attracted to men, would so be 100% gay if it was a choice. cuffs her jeans and can’t drive. is That bisexual. skateboards. wears backwards caps.  i hate her 

isn’t a foward-planner, however. greta prefers to leave her options open, play the field, live in a spontaneous manners so her study style is mostly cramming a few days before a test, or staying up all night writing an essay on a massive adrenline boost powered by red bull or probably adderall, scribbling (or typing) furiously into the night.

has an addictive personality. seems unable to do anything in a small dose, she has to let it utterly consume her. with sports, she’s fiercely competitive. with alcohol, it’s never a shot, it’s a whole bottle – wine or whiskey – she’ll be table dancing before the night’s up and making out with someone she’ll regret in the morning. 

not afraid to go after what she wants !! ambitious academically and romantically thirsty !! she loves the adrenaline of the chase. when someone’s easy to get, she becomes bored. very bisexual and very proud of it. feminist as fuck nd part of a queer representation in the arts group which holds fortnightly meetings to discuss lgbt representation in film, literature, art etc.

old soul in a young person’s body. all the shit that has gone on has kind of aged her. she’s quite cynical about everything now. always smoking smoking smoking. very edie sedgwick in that way.  little girls skirts bought for next-to-nothing at the market because she’s skinny enough to get away with it, barely long enough to cover your bum, and then the ugliest baggy sweater you’ve ever seen thrown over it.

likes old things. old books, old music, old houses, it reminds her of happier times like when she wasn’t alive. buys all her music on vinyl and has a gramphone because “The Sound quality is Better” kfdsjj.

super into pop art and andy warhol. puts female friendships above everything but at the same time, would fuck her best friends man

her clothing style is like…. vintage thrift store but make it preppy. berets and cute hats, neck scarves, large fluffy cardigans or like those leathery jackets with big suede fringes on them, mini skirts (very 70s), and knee high socks or boots. quite often she’ll be in sports kit, maybe a cute tennis skirt, n when she’s feeling casual she’ll wear like, a talking heads tshirt with a pair of mom jeans and converse, but otherwise, the library is her catwalk.

aesthetics:

a bubble of pink gum on chapped lips, mom jeans, a beaten up pair of adidas, denim jackets, strawberry laces, knee-highs, chapped lips, peeling sticky plasters, split knuckles, bruises you try to cover with concealer, stick and poke tattoos, hot coffee, sleep caught in your eyes on a lazy afternoon, kissing girls, cigarette smoke shrouding you like a veil, alien conspiracy theories and sci-fi paperbacks, doc martens with fraying laces, the red string of a thong peaking out purposely from jeans, leonine arch of your back and that stellar smile that says ‘you have no idea who you’re dealing with’, a rucksack permanently packed for the move, a streak of red across your lips, roller blades, cut knees, not eating your greens, smiling with a mouthful of blood, and piercing your own ears with a safety pin when your mom wouldn’t take you, kate moss posters lining the walls of a teenage bedroom, his name scrawled in rage across the pages of a diary, thumb holes poked through the cuffs of your sleeves, a tennis racket you punched through in a fit of temper, feet pounding the earth until your soles bleed crimson, sleeping in a cherry lip balm and scrunchies to keep the wild locks from your eyes.

wanted plots

frinds !! unlikely friends !! toxic friends !! former best friends separated by sports rivalries ! sporting friends who are on other teams but who she absolutely loves playin against!!! 

since greta literally can’t differentiate between romantic and platonic love, she’s got off with so many of her mates, so i want awkward friendships where they nearly dated, or exes that have now just turned into weird friendships

 girls from the cheer team who she’s like, weirdly intimate with like the shower together but its not a Thing cos the other girls straight !!! what do u mean !! aha just fun !

and I want like, fellow criminology students who are like?? how is this bitch still passing?? i swear she goes out every night?? 

she works part time at a fast food restaurant, i want a mate that just goes and sits in there talking to her until her manager gets angry. 

ppl she did a few modules with ie. art history, bio-med, film studies, before changing course and somehow sort of remaining in touch with

 ppl who she runs track with. 

someone she’s trying to make a zine with. 

here’s a list of plots on her old blog if u want any of them w her.

would love plots of any type, throw them all at me please, i cnt wait to interact w all of u. like this if u want me to message you about connections / plots! xo

full biography if u can be bothered

trigger warnings: drugs, domestic abuse, gun.

you never meant for it to happen. you’d heard the stories, of girls who let their man walk all over them, and thought to yourself “i’ll never be one of those girls…” the kind that eat low-fat yoghurt and drink slim fast to shred a few extra pounds because he said she was getting round in the tummy, or the ones who spent their evenings tied to a kitchen sink drinking wine while him and the boys played poker, wishing god, if only I could get out of here. not you, not you raised by strong women, four bright shining beacons. single mother with her hard-as-nails attitude and her stony glares, elder sisters (twins) one ginger, one blonde, one doctor, one lawyer, both determined to take a bullet to the brain and a hammer to the patriarchy before they let a man touch them without asking. you were always so inferior, so insecure and small, like a bird (like a sparrow) with blonde plaits down your back sucking tropicana whilst your busom buds sucked dick, their lips permanently ripe with stories of their sexual exploits, fake tan and glittered nails whilst you sat in the unbroken egg of virginity wondering what it was like to be loved. one day you found out.

lily milligan’s parents gone and a free house for the night, bottles of ouzo and tequila swiped from your mother’s liquor cabinet thinking she wouldn’t know (she always knew) your legs, hardened from pep squad, slut dropping on a kitchen table because the boys thought it would be fun to get the quiet girl drunk. you’d never had a sip before that night. band t-shirts, denim shorts and the split soles of rotten converse that you refuse to let go of, you still clutched with both hands to your youth, but in a tube top now (borrowed from alice carmichael who had a sister in college) and a short tennis skirt, your feet not in trainers but in thigh-high boots. uncomfy as hell but lily said you needed to look sexy. you didn’t know if you wanted to be sexy. you didn’t know what kind of girl you were, if you were even a girl at all. but robbie looked at you like he knew exactly who you were, like he knew you better than you knew yourself, and his lips had the pink cupid’s bow of a movie star, and his hair was dark locks, curling like a mane. his hands were soft, and suddenly on your waist, and after three more shots his lips were on yours and his name was the only sound in your head and on your lips as you lost it in lily’s college sister’s bedroom beneath the glare of a T-Pain poster. you bled for what seemed like hours, his hand still in yours, kissing on the sofa as truth tellers and dare devils continued to spin a bottle of unprecedented youth. you thought it was love. robbie was the one. he loved you, you knew it, how else could someone be so soft? but soon he grew bored, scrunched up your paper heart and set it alight. then came the tears, the hatred, the ‘fuck robbie, in fact, fuck all boys.’ and that you did.

you were known for being easy. any boy could be yours for a night, as long as he promised to love you for those few short breaths and pants before you cried yourself to sleep. you felt poisoned, but poisonous as well, as if by ensnaring these young boys you were gaining power over them, and not the other way around. soon it started to work. they’d want more, but you’d deny them it, sick of sucking off silly schoolboys, they’d call you a tease, a vixen. maybe you were, but you couldn’t help but want older men. you got the history teacher first time, him bending you over his desk to sneak a hand up your tennis skirt as the after-school clubs carried on next door, unawares. love didn’t exist, not for you. it was nothing but a game for pretty young girls to play, bubble gum in their canines and a hand tugging at the hem of their cheer skirt.

there was so much anger inside of your small body, ‘beware of boys and their hook-like words’. hockey helped. there was something formidable about the feeling of a stick like a weapon in your hands and the thwack it made against thighs in the heat of a scrum - “slipped, sorry!” - you’d utter with a snakeskin smile, millicent quinn knowing that you’d hit her on purpose because she shagged robbie at that party last week. she couldn’t prove it, cobbled acne on her forehead turning green with disgust. ben came into your life like a car crash. two years your senior, with a baseball jacket and shoulders like a god. he became your personal hero. on the pitch, he was lethal. together, you could bring anyone to their ruin. each day after last period he’d be waiting in his car. you’d leap into his arms like a girl-half starved, love me, love me, love me, your heated kisses the envy of every junior girl. he was yours for three blissful years, utterly yours, and you were his, his star-spangled girl, and he was your knight - you were both the same, playing games, always difficult to predict. it was a shock to all when he proposed, high-school sweethearts find love in south dakota.

the engagement was a bittersweet affair; three months – you barely out of your gingham print skirts and into a graduation gown, him, a surly quarterback towering above your sisters, cigarette at his lips and a scowl like a fart in a lift. they hated him. so did you. but you were eighteen and in love, and he fitted the cookie cutter mould. everyone wanted him, and you had him. you had him and you were happy, happy, happy, and he loved you. he said he’d give you the world, anything you wanted hand-picked and given to you. instead, he gave you a jack russell terrier and a flat you couldn’t swing a cat in, wallpaper peeling like the rotten bits inside of you, the bits that only he knew. and you got tireder and tireder of the sad excuse of a life he’d picked out for you, him out doing god knows what to pay the bills, and you dancing on tables to pave your way to stardom, and this was love, this was real, until the shine wore off and your fresh-faced, dimple-cheeked cheerleader facade faded and the ugliness started to reveal itself, the whining, the petulance, the sharp-tempered cruelty, the mind games, the need to always win, win, win. he was dull, he was boring, he was nothing like the boy the girls had said he was and no chiselled six pack could hide his lack of anything remotely interesting, your patience wearing thin until it snapped like rubber, a rucksack on your back, running shoes on your feet and the joint bank account emptied into your eighth grade birthday wallet.

you built your small fortunes working the casinos of sioux falls, a crimson dress and an attitude to match. bookish archie with his little dipper freckles was fun for a month, before he became just as dull and dreary as the rest. a three hour bus and you were in minneapolis, bright eyed and bushy tailed, fresh meat ready for the pickings. a hostel here, a friendly co-worker’s sofa there as you made what you could by taking off your clothes and shaking your ass like you were back in pep squad, doing what you did best. you met your fair share of creeps, and soon it was back on the road to escape a wide-eyed stalker and a restless itch for more. milwaukee, chicago, you made the roads your own. log cabins and lodgings, and the occasional motel, a beaten up pick up truck purchased at a scrap merchants – you got a few miles out of it before it bit the dust, and when you finally set it alight after nights spent lounging across the driver’s seat, a parka tucked over you as a duvet, you were sad to see it go. you’re nomadic by fault, never attaching to place, people or things, creating a new personality in every place you go like a character actress; each town is a different repertory theatre, and you’re the star. a compulsive liar, you even fib about your own name, to some you’re ellen, nineteen, bookish, a law student who likes smoking and cosmos. to someone else you’re rita, you’re twenty five and look young for your age, like smoking, comics and fucking in public places.

in the bright lights of michigan, you found charlie, sweet charlie, too good for you, though you let him spoil you while he thought you were the small town girl of his dreams. next came abigail, who was fun until the jealously kicked in, and then luke, gorgeous luke, dangerous, exciting, who despite his temper, despite the fights, despite bruises down your spine and your teeth marks on his arms, loved you with the strength of a wild fire. there was destruction in your wishbones, a savageness from the field, from the pitch and now somehow in his arms, you were godly. he was cruel, he was careless, and he refused to fall at your feet like so many other boys had, which only you made you want him all the more. you were rage incarnate. you hated him so fiercely you thought you might kill him, so he played the only card you wouldn’t predict; proposed.

the house you shared was a backstreet flat in detroit, you making your name as a downtown singer while he footed the bill with pills. they had a drug for anything these days, to dull the senses, to pick them up, to drive you to insanity or pull you out of the madness hole. the two of you lived like criminals on the run (you never told him that you were, living out your days as the enigma he wanted you to be), you with your voice like caramel and fishnet legs. you were his and his alone until his hand was at your throat and the gun was in your hands screaming at him to stop, stop, stop, until a bullet stoppered his brain, crimson staining linoleum as you cast yourself out like lucifer. self defence was decreed the moment they saw your violet neck, black tears and headlight eyes and mind screaming red, red, red like the pom-poms you shook so willingly in school and the insides of his skull. you were gone, and “you” was born, renamed “greta”, boxed, shipped-out, and next-day delivered to livingstone where under witness protection you were a student, blank slate, fresh-faced in a place where no one knew your name, doing what you always did and starting again.

[cinenthusiast]

Previous Top Ten By Year lists:  1935, 1983, 1965, 1943, 1992, 1978, 1925, 1969 1930

Previous Top Ten By Year: 1949 Posts: Top Ten By Year: 1949 – Poll Results 100 Images from the Films of 1949 What I’ll Remember About the Films of 1949: A Love Letter #10. The Queen of Spades (UK/Dickinson)  #9. Rendezvous in July (Becker)/Au royaume des cieux (Duvivier) (France) #8. Too Late for Tears (US / Haskin)  #7. The Heiress (US / Wyler)  #6. The Set-Up (US / Wise)  #5. Caught (US / Ophüls) #4. The Passionate Friends (UK / Lean)  #3. Puce Moment (US / Anger) #2. The Third Man (UK / Reed) 

For those unaware of my Top Ten By Year project:  The majority of my viewing habits have been dictated by this project since September of 2013. Jumping to a different decade each time, I choose comparatively weaker years for me re: quantity of films seen/quantity of films loved. I use list-making as a way to see more films and revisit others in a structured and project-drive way. I was sick of spending too much time trying to decide what to watch, or watching films just to cross them off another dumb canon list. I wanted to engage. I wanted films to be enhanced by others, by looking at a specific moment in time. I wanted something that led me to seeing or revisiting things I might not have gotten to otherwise. Lastly, my lists are based on personal favorites, not any weird notion of an objective best.

This is the first year I’ll be doing separate posts for each film. #9 will go up Monday. After that, one will go up each day until the end. Then I’ll post them all together so they are gathered in one place. There are a lot of films I loved that did not make the cut. In particular, Flamingo Road, Such a Pretty Little Beach, On the Town, Inspirace, The Reckless Moment, Reign of Terror, The Rocking Horse Winner, and Samson and Delilah are all films I thought at one point would be on here. Of all of these, Flamingo Road was a sure thing until it wasn’t at the very last minute. Please go watch it.

#1. Bitter Rice (Italy / De Santis) (first-time watch)

Two women and two cultures intertwined.

There are two sides to Bitter Rice. One has neorealism, Silvana, and Italy. The other has film noir, Francesca, and America. When all is said and done these two women will have swapped places, for better and much worse. And when Italy’s other neorealist filmmakers see Bitter Rice, they will take it as a betrayal of truth and the political. In short, they hated it. In this time of crucial political upheaval when neorealism carried legitimate cultural cache, director Giuseppe De Santis had made something too slick, too tawdry, and too American. The message was tarnished by the method. But De Santis was a Marxist who happened to admire and study John Ford, King Vidor, and the visual patterns of Hollywood studio filmmaking. He saw mass appeal as a way to both entertain and denounce, and made a film in which neorealism is hijacked and reconfigurated to be a noir melodrama.

Bitter Rice has a lot of recognizably neorealist markers; location shooting, a focus on labor and economic struggle, the tactile particulars of rice worker life, and the use of the specific cultural practices such as the choral Coralita. The sound of women wading through water, the way it would around their legs, and the strain of being hunched over day after day — it’s all made vivid. But it is easy to see why Bitter Rice would seem a betrayal. Its mutinous synthesis of “authenticity” and artificiality was a signpost towards neorealism’s end. Soon there would be stars, genre, production in the Italian film industry.

The synthesis is clear from the very first scene. The authenticity of the mondine (female rice workers) is introduced with grandiosity and sweep. There are no docu-elements here, but plenty of elaborate tracking and crane shots to go around, the kind of gradually encompassing images you’d be more likely to find in a DeMille epic. Watching the very first scene I thought: “Wait — what am I in for?”. All preconceived notions were immediately scrapped, and I realized my trip to the rice fields of Po Valley would be a very different one indeed. Then, a couple carrying stolen jewels are chased into the station waiting to transport the workers to the fields. Their arrival feels like an alien invasion, as if some freak chemical accident at the film lab spilled one film into another. This dichotomy plays throughout with electric and arresting cohesion, making it so distinctly unlike any other film from its movement. 

While De Santis was inspired by the Hollywood narrative format, he also uses American culture’s insidious postwar presence to illustrate the dangers of breaking from solidarity for hollow (the fake jewels!) individual gain. This is done using the two incredible and complex women of Bitter Rice‘s center. After Francesca the Moll (Doris Dowling, an American actress) is forced to assimilate in the rice fields, she finds purpose among the mondine. In order to stay in hiding, she has to advocate for the rights of her fellow non-contract workers. But this is never done as a means to an end. Francesca never schemes to stay on; she is always shown as sincerely leading the protests for the group. Life becomes bigger than herself, and she learns to stand both as her own woman, and as part of the mondine.

Francesca also begins to see her personal life more clearly. You get the sense that despite loving Walter (Vittorio Gassman), she is not blind to how reprehensible he is (I mean, in the first scene he literally used her as a human shield so….). But she had nowhere to go, and no strength to pull away. Life in Po Valley gives her that strength. The value of the collective is present throughout, with choral scenes, aerial shots showcasing the lines of working women linked together, and fragments of peripheral characters and their various troubles. They push themselves to the brink under oppressive conditions just to make it to the next job, and there is power in their (at times friction-filled) solidarity (I was also reminded of last year’s Support the Girls, also about a community of women united by unforgiving labor).

Then there is the shrewd but naive young Silvana (Silvana Mangano, who I’ll talk about later), a peasant that dreams of wealth. She is seduced by all things coded America and money (she should talk to Caught’s Leonora!). We first meet her doing the boogie woogie (she does a lot of dancing, employed for seduction and statement). In this group of women, where everyone is introduced as part of a whole, she immediately stands out as modern. She chews gum, loves big-band, and is seen reading photo-romances, the then-popular prepackaged fantasies that were read by lower and working class Italian women. Silvana wants out; she longs for adventure, riches, and a certain kind of romance. But the way out that presents itself is a different kind of way out, and she is too blinded by inexperience to understand it.

The camera links Francesca and Silvana all the time. Whether in two-shots or individual spaces, there is an invisible tether between them. Their lives and fates take part in a film-length body-swap. Silvana talks about fate a lot, but is seen making deliberate choices towards certain doom. She can’t see Walter for what he is — an exploiter and a monster. But Francesca gives her an out, replaying about her life with Walter and the terrible things he has done. She tries to take the abuse and hardship she lived through and save someone else from making the mistakes she did. But Silvana can’t see past the jewels and the suit. There is only the potential for excitement, for something that is not this. After all, Walter “looks like a gentleman” (aka a hotshot gumshoe); so he must be, right? While Francesca’s transformation is one of victorious camaraderie, Silvana’s (both actress and character) is altogether much murkier; one marked by punishment.

Silvana Mangano never wanted her body to represent the whole of Italy, but it did. Audiences were scandalized just seeing the unapologetically full female form (au natural, code for Armpit Hair), the kind that becomes sexualized simply by existing. She was the prototype of the “earthy women” that would cause such a stir overseas (later embodied by Gina Lollobrigida and Sophia Loren). She started out by winning Miss Rome, a post-war contest that further enhanced the idea of body-as-nation, and an honor that became synonymous with future screen tests. Unlike Lollobrigida and Loren, Mangano didn’t cash in on overseas notoriety for a Hollywood career. She became resentful of her image, and of fame, eventually giving herself a drastic reinvention (her figure was now svelte and arch, her look cold) and starring in art films by Pasolini and Visconti in the late 1960s and 1970s (and Dune!).

The camera doesn’t ogle Mangano Tex Avery style; this isn’t Jane Russell in The Outlaw. But it aims to stay back, taking in the whole of her whenever possible. And you can’t help but take part in that — I love looking at her. She is the textbook case for why the male gaze is not an open-and-shut. For all its appallingly absolute authority on the almost-whole of filmic language, women enjoy it too! One of the great joys of watching films is watching bodies, both male and female. I am hypnotized and, yes, completely turned on by Silvana Mangano in Bitter Rice. The camera may not be that Tex Avery wolf, but I’ll admit that I am. 

Critics felt her body, and Bitter Rice’s eroticism as represented by her, cheapened the film and nullified its political message. Yet a crucial part of its political message is the punishment her and her body endures for betraying the homeland (a tactic that opens up a whole other can of worms). She is eroticized, symbolic, made into a cautionary tale. Her final fugue march is just like Ann Todd’s in The Passionate Friends. Claude Rains gets there in time. Francesca cannot.

(TW: rape)

She is raped. It is a rape that takes away her body. We don’t see much of it after that. In those last thirty minutes she is made up of haunted black pupils, lit like she’s telling a ghost story. She is immediately ostracized by the filmmaking, quarantined off in shots of the mondine in ways you feel more than see. It’s not obvious, but intrinsic and heartbreaking. The most startling example takes place immediately following her assault. It is pouring out (during these scenes a stunning rain shower falls right in front of the camera like a curtain) and the women have banded together, refusing to let the weather set them behind schedule. Silvana walks in a daze, confused and in shock. Ahead, a sick woman who shouldn’t be out in her condition begins having an attack. She howls out, and begins writhing in pain as the women surround her and hold her down. They begin to sing in an attempt to calm her (they are all one). Silvana looks on in horror. This is a mirror image of what she just went through, her trauma reflecting right back at her. She is watching herself. She begins to scream. She is drowned out, not part of the coralita, not part of anything anymore. Her cries go unheard.

The meat locker finale is one last compare-and-contrast session. Both women have guns. Both women have a man beside them. One is shaking and shaken. The other is determined and resolute. Francesca is still trying to save the other end of the tether. There is something so moving and uncommon in Francesca’s committed efforts to protect Silvana despite the harm she causes and rivalry she insists on. It’s hard to put into words how much I love these women, these characters, these performances. Bitter Rice pays such close attention to how women communicate with each other (in both speech and body language, the silent glares and stares may as well be full conversations), and to the breadth of female experience, struggle, and loyalty. We see how hard it is for Francesca to break away from Walter. We see that Silvana’s sense of right and wrong are muddied by what she wants out of life. We see that Silvana’s actions are not unfeeling; there is such pain on her face as she undoes the mondine’s hard work. The list goes on as more layers are pulled back. 

Watching Bitter Rice is that all-too rare sensation of not knowing where a film is headed, or what story it will tell (unless you’ve read this before watching). Francesca and Silvana are often hard to read. By the end, that body swap trajectory is clear, but only at the end. And despite the larger-than-life symbolic statuses they represent, they are two of the most layered and human women I’ve ever seen onscreen. They don’t fit into any neat box — not within neorealism, and not within noir. Francesca and Silvana are with me now, and I’m the better for it.

Top Ten By Year: 1949 #1 – Bitter Rice (Italy / De Santis) Previous Top Ten By Year lists:  1935, 1983, 1965, 1943, 1992, 

[surveys-at-your-service]

Survey #200

tw for abuse.

If you’re pale, do you get made fun of for it? No. Are you white/black/asian/mexican/etc? White. Ever been to Washington D.C.? Did you get to meet the president of the time? I've driven very close to it, but no. Ever been to NYC Or LA? If so, how were your experiences there? No. Were you adopted? If so, have you met your biological parents? How about biological siblings or grandparents? N/A Ever had an abusive parent or other family member? If so, what’s the worst they did? No, thank Christ. Are either of your parents engaged but not married yet? No. Do you like older or younger siblings better? I have both, but. Hypothetically, if I had to choose one in general (not picking between my real sisters), probably younger. Ever had to take care of a baby sibling? If do, did you feel responsible, or were you just annoyed? No. We're 2-3 years apart, so there's never been a situation like that. Have you ever had a close friend get knocked up early? Can we not say "knocked up." No. Do you prefer baby boys or baby girls? I mean it depends on the kid, but I believe boys have less of an attitude. Are you one of those losers that buys things with the letter of your name? Well they're not "losers?" But whatever, no. I don't see the appeal at all. Have you done any form of martial arts? If so, what? If not and you want to, which one(s)? No, but I'd like to learn some form of self-defense. Would you be willing to let someone you know die if it means you can save an entire village? Lol this is such a Life Is Strange question, don't do this to my emotions. It depends on the person. If you were to write a letter to your future self, what would you say? Something about absolutely never giving up, regardless of the struggle. What are your thoughts on cults? Do you know anyone who has joined one? To my understanding, not all cults are bad... I think. If there are harmless ones, go for it, dude. Whatever you wanna believe. I knew a guy back in school who created one. What is a character trope that you really dislike? (For example, the Manic Pixie Dream Girl) The bitchy, germaphobe priss. Are you a fan of steampunk? If you don’t know what it is, would it be something you’d be interested in looking into? Hell yeah. What was the first job that you ever held? Do you remember how much you were paid (if you’re comfortable sharing)? Sales associate at GameStop. Idr. Would you say that you’re good at understanding people with accents (especially those who don’t have standard Anglo ones)? Most, save for severely southern. And I live where that accent is commonplace. How do you feel about anarchy? Let's not. Society would crumble in days. If you have any, who’s your favorite music artist from the 1970s? Probably Van Halen, but ugh, I love SO MANY metal/rock bands from that era. Do you think travelling is something that every young person should do to gain life experience? I'd say so. See that the world is more complex and varied than you'd think. When was the last time you listened to new music? I've been listening to new In This Moment songs periodically. Listened to "Blood" a few days ago. What word spelled out looks weird to you? Oh, I'm sure there's plenty. Do you require “closure” after things like break-ups or do you move on easily? I've only had one serious break-up, and I didn't even begin recovery until we had our final conversation over a year later that helped me reach closure. Is there a genre of movie that you just can’t watch? Musicals. Do they count as a genre? What was the last song to give you nostalgia? Hm... I"m blanking. But I know something did pretty recently. Have you ever had a conversation with a cab driver? Never been in a cab. Do you have any shirts from vacation/tourist locations? From beaches, which I never wear. I've only received them as gifts. What is one place you would like to go back and revisit? Chicago. Which would you prefer: a homemade gift, or a store-bought one? Homemade mean more to me usually, but as a gift, it obviously depends on what it is. When was the last time you were “under the influence?” I last drank uhhhh. I think at Sara's when her dad almost made me an alcoholic because holy FUCK bartending skills Jesus fucking Christ. How regular of an occurrence is this? Very rare. Have you ever had a relationship last for a year or longer? Twice now. What ended it, or are you still involved? We know the Jason story; Sara and I are still together. What’s the best time you’ve had at a high school sports game? Ugh, I never had a good time. I was just forced to go because Ashley was a cheerleader. If you’re out late, where are you likely to be? I couldn't even try to tell you the last time I was out late. Do you ever visit your mall’s arcade (if it has one)? Ours doesn't have one. Shirts with sarcastic sayings: yay, or boo? Yay. If “yay,” do you have a favorite? Bring Happy Bunny BACK TO THE FOREFRONT OF SOCIETY. If you lost the use of your limbs, would you still want to live? Eh, if it was just one leg, sure. What’s your absolute favorite topic to discuss? Weeps Markimoo. What is your least favorite topic to discuss? Politics and economics. When was the last time you played hide-and-go-seek? I played with my niece and nephew a few months back. They always hid in the same spots, lmao, but of course you gotta go along with kids, so I could "never find them." Where was your favorite place to hide? As a kid, I aaalways climbed into the toy box. Do you have a library card? Do you use it? No. Do you cuddle with your pet (if you have one)? Yup. What college did you want to attend as a kid? NC State. Was that still your choice when you grew up? Well, it didn't have the major I chose back then, but now that it does, that's probably where I'm transferring too after I get my pre-requisites. What sports star or athlete did you aspire to be like as a kid? None. How many colleges did you attend? Two so far. Going to a new one when I get my goddamn transcript from my cesspit that is my last school. Why did you choose the shirt you have on now? It's just a plain, gray tank. I wear tank tops to bed. Is marriage overrated? No? At this point in your life would you want to start a new career? I haven't even begun a career yet. Growing up what were your favorite cartoon characters? OKAY SO EMBARRASSING SECRET I'VE LITERALLY NEVER REVEALED. I was crazy for Ash Ketchum, and when I was young, I added daily to a story I wrote about being a Pokemon trainer; I didn't have Pokemon games because I was too embarrassed to ask back then, so I resorted to making it up. I filled up literally 3+ journals. Back to the main topic, far into that story, Ash became my boyfriend lmfao. Oh man, just answering this brings back such cute memories. Charmander-Charizard was my best friend and look it was just cute okay. What do you think has changed about you since you were a teenager? I'm way shyer. Looking back at high school were they the best years of your life? No. Were you the type of kid you’d want your children to hang out with? Yeah sure, I was genuinely a good kid. Do you look like your mom? Some say. When was the last time you overslept? I can't oversleep when I never have shit to do. What would you do if you could do anything without failing? Skydive, maybe? Do you use your phone as an alarm? If I need an alarm for whatever reason. What country do you live in? The United States. What is your native language? English. If you could meet any famous person (dead or alive) who would you meet? Take a guess. Do you have any piercings? Eight. Do you judge people that have multiple piercings? Fuck off. Do you dress up on Halloween? I WISH I could. I can't afford to buy shit to throw together as an outfit, nor do I do anything special that day, so. It's just a waste of time, save for taking a picture. Do you watch the Olympics? No. Do you like orange juice? So long there's not pulp in it. Have you read the Bible? Very little of it. Do you have a pet gecko? No. Are you scared of reptiles? Not at all. Have you ever seen the show 16 and Pregnant? Take that shit off television. No. Do you like cinnamon on your apple pie? I hate pie. Do you clap or cheer when at a concert? Well duh. Do you use a comb or brush? A comb. Do you eat the crust of your sandwiches? That's what I eat first since with food, I'm always the type that saves the best for last, and while I don't mind it at all, crust is the "worst" part. When you were younger, did you ever do that exclamation point that looked like an upside down triangle and had a really big dot? No. What are you listening to right now? "Whore" by In This Moment. Honestly, have you ever eaten raw cookie dough? Hell yeah I have, don't even @ me, salmonella. Name a city that starts with A in your state/province etc. Asheville. Name a landmark that starts with M in your state/province etc. Idk. When was the last time you gave a horse a carrot? Boy, I have no clue. Have you ever had to shovel snow? No. What mountain ranges have you seen? Appalachian. Where would you most like to go in your state, etc that you haven’t been? THE ABANDONED WIZARD OF OZ-THEMED PARK. Deadass might get married there, jc. Has a wild animal ever been loose in your house? Mice. What do you like the songs you listen to to be about? I'm big on things dark-themed, especially in like some fantasy or hypothetical situation, or covering sensitive topics in a beautiful way. When was the last time you said ‘yay’? Yesterday when Sara updated me on her weight ahhhHHHHHHH she's getting closer and closer to a healthy one. Would you be a newscaster and speak to everyone in a hurricane? Hell no. Have you ever seen or touched an iceberg? No. Do you use a toaster or toaster oven? Oven. Who was the last member of the opposite sex you laid in a bed with? I think Girt when we were watching TV one day in Nicole's room. Would you rather have a poodle or a rottweiler? Rottweiler! Have you ever had a best friend who was of the opposite sex? Yeah. Where was the last place you stayed over? Sara's. Do you know anyone that owns horses? Not well. Think back to the last time (or a time) when you were in a fight with someone and just blurted out exactly what was on your mind. Did you somewhat regret saying what you said? What happened? When Mom hit me for a completely uncalled-for reason (I can't actually remember what it was, other than it was stupid as hell) last year, I said, "Oh, I can't wait to tell Alyssa (therapist) about this one," and she didn't reply or say another word to me for like hours, maybe not even that night. No, honestly, I don't regret it. You don't slap your fucking kid. Towards the end of your last relationship, how did you know it was over? How did you and your significant other change towards each other? (ex. not calling each other babe, baby, etc.) I wasn't opening up to him any further after four months, and I just didn't feel a romantic connection. I wasn't comfortable. We didn't change much, really, just that we no longer hold hands and he doesn't kiss me obviously. We went back to exactly how we were before, thankfully. Have you ever had a significant other NOT believe you when you said “i love you” to them? Why was that? How did you react? No. Do opposites really attract? Have you ever experienced this? Explain. Sure, for some people. I've never been too attracted to someone too different from me. Has anyone close to you ever drifted away because they started hanging out with a new crowd? Did you try talking to them about it? What eventually happened? Story. Of my goddamn. Life. And only one, my former best friend. Just last year I finally reached out to her, and I guess we're "friends," buuut she only talks to me on her watch. I won't get into that. Have you ever found yourself heading on the wrong path? What happened? Probably, but idr. When did you last not feel accepted? Why did you feel that way? Ha, I'm sure recently. I just about always feel like that. Has anyone had to take your drink from you because you were drinking too much? How did you react? No. What’s your opinion on the world relying on technology too much and not paying enough attention to natural resources? Eek, there're positives and negatives. I totally believe it's possible someday for the singularity to happen, yet at the same time, technology is an almost perfect approach to many tasks, menial or complicated. Have you ever felt like it was just pointless to cry? Did you hold yourself back from crying or did you let it out? Sure, probably. I usually hold it back, typically far more frequently than I should, although on most occasions, crying just doesn't come. I just get a tight jaw and everything. Have you ever had a love/hate relationship with someone? Tell me about it. Meh, Colleen many times. I'm not delving into that story again. Has your pride ever gotten in the way of admitting that you felt weak or were in pain? How so? No. Whose lies have affected you the most? Jason's, although I'll give him enough credit that at the time of making them, he probably meant most/all of them. But they were still lies and broken promises. Have you ever dreamt in another language? No. Who was the last person you met and instantly liked? What about the last person you met who you immediately disliked or got bad vibes from? Hm. Oh, the girl who was in VR class with me. She loved my tattoo, so that sparked a brief convo, and she had awesome ones too. In class, she was funny and relatable and just in general had a very approachable personality. I wanted to talk more to her, but. Shyness and anxiety. ;_; For the other half of the question, I'm uncertain. I'm sure it was some man with my paranoia and distrust. What’s the most interesting news you read or received recently? What about the most depressing? I don't pay much attention to the news unless I just scroll past something on Facebook... and nothing's really coming to me. Ah, checked my FB real quick and I recently shared something about this crow couple that have been together for 12 years; the female has a broken beak, and her mate always feeds her. The most depressing was certainly a dog that was left out in the snow up north, and he was found dead and pretty much frozen in his doghouse. Pretty sure the owner was arrested. Thank fuck for the new law regarding pets being out in the cold. Would you let politics get in the way of a relationship? It would have to be a SERIOUS difference on a major matter that revealed deep, core beliefs. What is one thing someone could say that would automatically make you distrustful of them? I wouldn't mention you have a criminal record around me. I don't care what for unless it was seriously bullshit. What is one way in which you need to learn to control yourself? I need to STOP jumping to conclusions and becoming super defensive when I feel I'm in serious danger of being hurt emotionally. Do you have any friends who are on and off with bfs/gfs all the time? No. When was the last time you almost cried out of exhaustion? It was that and embarrassment. When I was at the airport to go home after visiting Sara, I fucked up in understanding the gate shit, carried my heavy bag ALL the way to the end, ALL the way back to the beginning, and then ALL THE FUCKING WAY BACK when I found the screen that told me my gate. At this same time, my knees were in awful condition and of course the sweating situation was goddamn humiliating. I'm very, very surprised no one asked if I was okay; I can only imagine how contorted and pained my face was, aaaand yay excessive sweating, I was literally soaked. I was very close to crying that day. What's a TV show you hate missing? None. The only situation where I'd be like that is if Meerkat Manor returned. What's a movie/book/TV show/band/whatever you highly recommend? Movie: Forrest Gump; book: Johnny Got His Gun; TV show: The Good Doctor; band: Otep is too underrated. Who taught you to tie your shoelaces? Dad first taught me the "wrong" way, then Mom corrected me in how you should properly do it. What's your favorite picture of yourself as a child? *shrugs* What is something people are surprised to hear about you? I've been told by many people that they're surprised to learn I have just about debilitating social anxiety. I always think I cover it awfully, but apparently I've adapted well enough to it that I can fake comfort decently, I suppose. What was the last bug you saw? Probably a fly, idk. Are there any people you know in real life that you only talk to online? Not off the top of my head... Is it cruel to keep a dog in a cage or tied up most of the time? No shit. About what things are you most selfish? Alone time. I need it. Are you camera shy? Why/why not? Yes, because odds are I will look like a blobfish out of water trying to smile but only succeeding in looking seriously high. What is the worst thing a former boyfriend/girlfriend has done to you? Dropped me like a boulder into a canyon and dashed off with zero intent of breaking up even nearly appropriately. Was anyone rude to you today (or yesterday, if you’re taking this early)? No. What was your favorite sleepover game? *shrugs* Have you ever swore in church? Possibly? Do you have memories from preschool? Some, yeah. Particularly of Christopher and some boy whose name I can't remember being pretty much obsessed with me and always chasing me in recess to hug the fuck out of me and apparently the other boy got in trouble all the time for trying to kiss me. Kinda recently in therapy we dug into my extreme fear of men, people being behind me, and rape (it's too a seriously unrealistic degree), and we think this mighta just been what sparked those fears so early. I also remember I was talkative at nap time, I brought the movie Antz for us to watch and everyone hated it, and I once brought my Snorlax plushy for show-and-tell. I remember making a gingerbread man tree ornament, too. Do you celebrate Earth Day? No, I never really know what to do. :/ I'd love to do even little things like pick up litter, but walking here is pretty dangerous, and we're also in a spot where you' seldom see anything. What is your least favorite thing about your full name? I hate my last name. What’s your favorite kind of Poptart? The chocolate sundae one or whatever it's called? What was the last thing you used sliced bread to make? A sandwich. What does your room look like when you sleep? Still kinda bright with Venus' and Kaiju's lights, Roman is usually in here with me, and Teddy is sometimes. Are your fingers long, or short? Mom always tells me I have Grammy's "long piano fingers." *shrug Do you like your grandparents? She reeeaaally gets under my skin a lot of times, but yeah. Do you like to fly on planes? If I'm at the window seat. What brand name do you think is just way over the top expensive? I'unno, lots. PLENTY of designer clothes shit, though. Like the fuck, most of those things I see are hideous. Do you find it hard to concentrate in really loud places? Yup. Do you tend to get more sleep on the weekends the during the week? They're the same for me. Are you comfortable talking to strangers? No. What’s the most boring game to exist? Why do you dislike it so much? I mean idk. Do you mean board games, card games, video games? I can tell you right off the bat I'm not a card game fan, almost ever. Do you lie about not having extra pens, so you don’t have to lend them? I don't believe I ever did. What’s your favorite YouTube video? What’s it about? Oh boy, I couldn't tell you. Do you get nervous when you’re about to get a haircut? No. What do you do to pass the time when you’re waiting for something? Mess around on my phone. Whenever you take pictures, do they always end up posted on Facebook? No. Can you name something that makes you feel nostalgic from each of the following: a scent, a sight, a sound, a taste, and a feeling? Breakfast cooking (scent), tobacco fields (sight), whippoorwills (sound), those smiley face french fries (taste), excitement (feeling). What is one small thing your significant other does that makes you happy? If you are single, what is one small thing a friend does to make you happy? I love seeing her spaz over something cute lmao. If you could have a dollar for every time something happened, what would it be? Someone pointing out how many meds I'm on. What is something that you wish more people in your life were interested in (a topic, a hobby, etc.)? Ummm idk? What is a feel-good song that you’ve been listening to lately? Well, Epica's "Sacred & Wild" cover always pumps me up a bit. What are some things you enjoy seeing pictures of? m a r k, meerkats, Pyramid Head, Mom legitimately smiling/laughing, Sara with her babies... lots more. Who is somebody from your past that had a big positive impact on you? What would you say if you could speak to them right now? Two of my previous teachers. They always had life lessons to teach and not just English. Have you ever bought something recommended by an ad before? What was it, and were you happy with your purchase? I'm not sure. What is a website that you visit frequently that isn’t a form of social media? Wikis I help edit. Do you watch The Big Bang Theory? I don't watch TV, but if it's on, yeah, I enjoy it. Do you ever listen to country music? No. From inside of your house, how many doors lead outside? Two. Who is the most complicated person in your life right now? Me. Do you still wear armbands or rubber rings in the pool? No. Are you one of those people who talks to everyone when you’re out? Definitely not. What would be your ideal pet? Something very affectionate, calm, and in tuned with my emotions. Are there any websites you just don’t see the point in? I'm sure there's something. Have you got anything you’ve had since you were a baby? Stuffed animals. Mom maybe has my pacifier somewhere. Is there anyone you’re really jealous of? Envious, rather. Do you hit electronics when they don’t work? No. Do you dislike any certain group of people? Well yeah, like rapists and pedophiles. But "hate" is far more suiting. Have you ever bought anything you really wanted, only to never use it? Maybe? I never really have my own money to buy things myself. Are you scared of fireworks? No. What was the last flyer someone gave you for? No clue. Do movies/books inspire you to change your life in any way? Johnny Got His Gun furthered my will to be a pacifist. Do you read movie quotes even when you haven’t seen the movie? No? What does your favorite bag look like? It has a macabre owl/spider design. Do you customize your possessions? Not usually. What’s a smell that makes you feel ill? (besides the obvious) Gasoline will usually give me a headache if I'm dealing with it long enough. Do you get lonely easily? Yeah. Is your car older than a 2000? I don't have my own car. Where was the last place you wrote a check to/used your debit card? I don't have a debit card. Nor have I written a check. What was your favorite board game as a child? I loved Mall Madness believe that shit or not, there was a Cranium fair thing I adored, I loved Clue a lot when I was old enough to understand it, and I was crazy about this The Crocodile Hunter game too, which I've kept for nostalgia purposes, even though it's been broken for a long time. Who was the last person to give you flowers? I think Tyler. If a stranger asked you to take a picture with them what would you do? That's a big 'ole spooky nope. What do you think would be the hardest thing for you to give up? Absolutely Internet. .-. How many times have you been to a museum? A handful, I guess. Would you rather be a panda or grizzly bear? A panda. Do you like BBQ sauce? Omg NO. Have you had sex in the past 3 weeks? Well, lesbian intimacy. Do you regularly experience pain in any part of your body? My knees. Did the last person you kissed ever give you a hickey? No. Do you have to see something to really believe it? No. Do you believe everyone is gifted with something? Eh, I dunno. Have you ever been busted for under age drinking? No. Tell us about the stuffed animal you kept as a kid. What is it called? What does it look like? I have a stuffed moose on my dresser named Brownie. He's all brown and lying down. What’s the most dramatic thing you’ve ever done to prove a point? Who knows. What’s your favorite myth? The one of the Jersey Devil. Have you ever used a Ouija board? I am. SO curious. But too afraid to fuck with them lmao. Are you planning on getting tattoos? Which ones? Oh, hunny. I can at least say my next one is most likely to be the Shadow of the Colossus sigil designed as if it's stamped into the ground on my left hand. Do you read comics? What are your faves? No. Do you have any apple devices? If so what have you got? An ancient iPod nano and my old iPhone. Have you ever said something that you instantly regretted? Very likely. Do you get upset when a pet fish dies? I haven't had a fish in forever, but I never really bonded with any I did have as a little kid. Are you a soprano, alto, tenor or bass? A tenor probably, or alto? Do you bruise easily? Extremely. One reason I got tested for anemia (which came back negative). Do you know anybody who is afraid of clowns? Lots of people. Have you ever seen a zebra? At a zoo. Have you ever had a rolling backpack? Yup. Then we couldn't have them in high school for whatever reason. If you could do magic, what is the first spell you would learn? Healing. Do you hang toilet paper over or under? Whichever way it just happens to be positioned in my hands when I pick it up. When do you feel the most confident? If a situation arises where my meerkat knowledge needs to be spilled lol. What makes you laugh? Unexpected but funny things destroy me the most. Then of course there're actually good jokes and/or sarcasm. What movie quotes do you use of a regular bases? None. What’s the craziest conversation you have ever eaves-dropped on? No clue. What’s the coolest animal you’ve seen in the wild? I saw a perched owl in the woods while fishing years ago; don't remember what kind, though. It was so cool though, it stared right at us while we rowed past. Also quite sure I got a quick glimpse of a mink along the distant bank while also fishing. What do you wish you knew more about? Politics, so I could actually play a knowledgeable role in it by voting in confidence and such. Do you carry hand sanitizer every where you go? Yes. Do you use your fingers to do simple math problems? Yuuuup. Do you wear foundation? Literally only if I'm trying to look my absolute best. Otherwise, god no, I hate how it feels. Do you get self conscious when wearing a bathing suit? Don't even get me started. What makes you distracted? Music, TV, talking... basically dynamic sound. Do you wear really dark eye liner? I only ever wear black. Are you a fan of Justin Bieber? No. Does your hometown have bad memories attached to it? Yeah, some. How many subscribers do you have on your YouTube channel? Idk. Does snow and ice ever got on the inside of you window panes? I don't think so? What do you do for pain? Soldier through it, take meds, use a heating pad or cold washcloth/bag of ice depending on the type of pain, try to sleep to let it hopefully pass or alleviate. What type of lotion do you use? One for dry skin. What were your favorite clothing stores in high school? Hot Topic and rue 21. Name a YouTuber whom you think acts shallow and superficial. I'm sure there's plenty, like say, the Paul brothers. Do you know anyone who has twin babies or toddlers? A woman I vaguely know through dance has twins. If so, what are their names? Idr. Would you ever want to have twins? JESUS FUCKING CHRIST NO If you could have a car in any color you wanted, which color? Burnt orange. What is your favorite Avril Lavigne song? "Nobody's Home" is still incredible. Have you ever done something and been afraid of getting caught? Yeah. Have you ever had a bedroom that had wallpaper on the walls? I think the house I grew up in had it... Would you ever hitchhike? Why or why not? No, because I don't trust strangers for shit. What color is your stapler? Black. Do you have a desk that you sit at in your room? No. Have you ever completed a weight loss program? No. What was the last thing you were mad at a doctor about? OHHHHH, THAT STORY AGAIN?????????????? Where you live, is it possible to get sunburned&frostbitten in same week? Pretty much. Is your mother a lesbian? No. Are you part Swedish? No. Are you planning to travel outside of your country in the next 6 months? I doubt in six months. Do your parents live in the same city as you? Dad doesn't, but I live with Mom. What genre of books interest you the most? Fantasy. Do any of your close friends NOT have a Facebook account? Yeah, I think. German type foods: delicious or disgusting? I don't really know their cuisine. If you had your way, what color(s) would you dye your hair? I've seen a gorgeous pastel rainbow design on short hair before, and I my GOD I want. Do you like seafood? If so, what is your favorite? If not, what is your favorite type of food? UGH no. I do, however, like shrimp. But that's it. Have you ever eaten a veggie burger? Yeah, it wasn't that bad. I had Burger King's during my vegetarian juncture. If you could master any sport, which one would you choose? Dance. If you could meet any major political figure, who would it be? What would you say to him/her? Meh. Do you play any unique instruments? No. In school, did you take any classes to learn how to play any instruments? Flute, yes. Then after I got my lip pierced, I was moved to the percussion section to learn shit in like two days. Basically, I was useless 'til I realized I could position my lip on the mouthpiece where the ring didn't affect the flow of air much. I later got to a point of taking it out for every band class, though. Idr why; instructor probably wanted me to. Did you actually pay attention in Spanish class? I didn't take Spanish. If you drink Monster, what is your favorite flavor? If you don’t drink Monster, why not? None, because it tastes like literal poison. If you had/have a Club Penguin account, how old were you when you got it? No clue. What religion/spiritual path intrigues you the most, if any? Wiccan. What ancient culture intrigues you the most, if any? I don't remember any well enough to answer here. Are/were your parents hippies? I don't believe so? Would you ever consider getting dreadlocks? Oh lort no. If you had a baby boy right now, what would his middle name(s) be? Victor or Vincent, probably. What heritage does your last name imply? Scottish. How about your middle name? French. And first? English. What is your heritage, anyway? That I know of, Irish, German, and Polish. Were your parents born in the United States? Most importantly, were you? If not, what country? Yes to both. “Happy Holidays,” “Merry Christmas,” or “Merry X-Mas?" I couldn't care less.